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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/39218-8.txt b/39218-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f083748 --- /dev/null +++ b/39218-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14872 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Everlasting Arms, by Joseph Hocking + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Everlasting Arms + + +Author: Joseph Hocking + + + +Release Date: March 20, 2012 [eBook #39218] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EVERLASTING ARMS*** + + +E-text prepared by David T. Jones, Mary Meehan, Al Haines, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net) + + + +THE EVERLASTING ARMS + +by + +JOSEPH HOCKING + +Author of "All for a Scrap of Paper," "The Trampled Cross," etc., etc. + + + + + + + +Hodder and Stoughton +London New York Toronto + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + + PROLOGUE + + CHAPTER I A WOMAN'S FACE 1 + + CHAPTER II THE MARCONIGRAM 8 + + CHAPTER III THE SHIPWRECK 15 + + CHAPTER IV "THE ENEMY OF YOUR SOUL" 23 + + + PART I.--THE FIRST TEMPTATION + + CHAPTER V THE ONLY SURVIVING RELATIVE 29 + + CHAPTER VI WENDOVER PARK 39 + + CHAPTER VII LADY BLANCHE MAKES HER APPEARANCE 52 + + CHAPTER VIII COUNT ROMANOFF'S GOSPEL 60 + + CHAPTER IX BEATRICE STANMORE 69 + + CHAPTER X UNCERTAINTY 78 + + CHAPTER XI THE REAL HEIR 86 + + CHAPTER XII THE DAY OF DESTINY 94 + + CHAPTER XIII THE INVISIBLE HAND 102 + + CHAPTER XIV A SCRAP OF PAPER 113 + + CHAPTER XV COUNT ROMANOFF'S DEPARTURE 118 + + CHAPTER XVI RIGGLETON'S HOMECOMING 125 + + CHAPTER XVII FAVERSHAM'S RESOLUTION 132 + + + PART II.--THE SECOND TEMPTATION + + CHAPTER XVIII MR. BROWN'S PROPHECY 140 + + CHAPTER XIX AN AMAZING PROPOSAL 151 + + CHAPTER XX "THE COUNTRY FOR THE PEOPLE" 157 + + CHAPTER XXI THE MIDNIGHT MEETING 165 + + CHAPTER XXII "YOU AND I TOGETHER" 173 + + CHAPTER XXIII THE SO-CALLED DEAD 181 + + CHAPTER XXIV VISIONS OF ANOTHER WORLD 190 + + CHAPTER XXV ROMANOFF'S PHILOSOPHY 199 + + CHAPTER XXVI A VOICE FROM ANOTHER WORLD 209 + + CHAPTER XXVII OLGA MAKES LOVE 218 + + + PART III.--THE THIRD TEMPTATION + + CHAPTER XXVIII THE COUNT'S CONFEDERATE 227 + + CHAPTER XXIX IN QUEST OF A SOUL 236 + + CHAPTER XXX VOICES IN THE NIGHT 245 + + CHAPTER XXXI DICK HEARS STRANGE NEWS 254 + + CHAPTER XXXII BEATRICE CONFESSES 263 + + CHAPTER XXXIII SIR GEORGE'S LOVE AFFAIR 272 + + CHAPTER XXXIV THE DAWN OF LOVE 281 + + CHAPTER XXXV THE ETERNAL STRUGGLE 291 + + CHAPTER XXXVI HIS GUARDIAN ANGEL 301 + + CHAPTER XXXVII AT THE CAFÉ MOSCOW 310 + + CHAPTER XXXVIII THE SHADOW OF A GREAT TERROR 319 + + CHAPTER XXXIX THE TRIUMPH OF GOOD 327 + + CHAPTER XL THE MINISTERING ANGEL 336 + + + + +PROLOGUE + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A WOMAN'S FACE + + +"There may be a great deal in it." + +"Undoubtedly there is. Imagination, superstition, credulity," said Dick +Faversham a little cynically. + +"Well, I can't dismiss it in that fashion," replied the other. "Where +there's smoke there's fire, and you can't get men from various parts of +the world testifying that they saw the Angels at Mons unless there is +some foundation of truth in it." + +"Again I say imagination. Imagination can do a great deal. Imagination +can people a churchyard with ghosts; it can make dreams come true, and +it can also make clever men foolish." + +"Admit that. You still haven't got to the bottom of it. There's more +than mere imagination in the stories of the Angels at Mons, and at other +places. Less than three weeks ago I was at a hospital in London. I was +talking with a wounded sergeant, and this man told me in so many words +that he saw the Angels. He said there were three of them, and that they +remained visible for more than an hour. Not only did he see them, but +others saw them. He also said that what appeared like a great calamity +was averted by their appearance." + +There was a silence after this somewhat lengthy speech, and something +like an uncanny feeling possessed the listeners. + +The conversation took place in the smoke-room of a steamship bound for +Australia, and at least a dozen men were taking part in it. The subject +of the discussion was the alleged appearance of the Angels at Mons, and +at other places in France and Belgium, and although at least half of the +little party was not convinced that those who accepted the stories had a +good case, they could not help being affected by the numerous instances +that were adduced of the actual appearance of spiritual visitants. The +subject, as all the world knows, had been much discussed in England and +elsewhere, and so it was not unnatural that it should form the topic of +conversation in the smoke-room of the outgoing vessel. + +One of the strongest opponents to the supernatural theory was a young +man of perhaps twenty-seven years of age. From the first he had taken up +an antagonistic attitude, and would not admit that the cases given +proved anything. + +"Excuse me," he urged, "but, really, it won't do. You see, the whole +thing, if it is true, is miraculous, and miracles, according to Matthew +Arnold, don't happen." + +"And who is Matthew Arnold, or any other man, to say that what we called +miracles don't happen?" urged Mr. Bennett, the clergyman, warmly. "In +spite of Matthew Arnold and men of his school, the world still believes +in the miracles of our Lord; why, then, should miracles happen in +Palestine and not in France?" + +"If they did happen," interpolated Faversham. + +"Either they happened, or the greatest movement, the mightiest and +noblest enthusiasms the world has ever known, were founded on a lie," +said the clergyman solemnly. + +"That may be," retorted Faversham, "but don't you see where you are +leading us? If, as you say, we accept the New Testament stories, there +is no reason why we may not accept the Angels at Mons and elsewhere. But +that opens up all sorts of questions. The New Testament tells of people +being possessed by devils; it tells of one at least being tempted by a +personal devil. Would you assert that a personal devil tempts men +to-day?" + +"I believe that either the devil or his agents tempt men to-day," +replied the clergyman. + +"Then you would, I suppose, also assert that the old myth of guardian +angels is also true." + +"Accepting the New Testament, I do," replied Mr. Bennett. + +Dick Faversham laughed rather uneasily. + +"Think," went on the clergyman; "suppose someone who loved you very +dearly in life died, and went into the great spirit world. Do you not +think it natural that that person should seek to watch over you? Is it +not natural that he or she who loved you in life should love you after +what we call death? A mother will give her life for her child in life. +Why should she not seek to guard that same child even although she has +gone to the world of spirits?" + +"But the whole thing seems so unreal, so unnatural," urged Faversham. + +"That is because we live in a materialistic age. The truth is, in giving +up the idea of guardian angels and similar beliefs we have given up some +of the greatest comforts in life. Because we have become so +materialistic, we have lost that grand triumphant conviction that there +is no death. Why--why--"--and Mr. Bennett rose to his feet +excitedly--"there is not one of those splendid lads who has fallen in +battle, who is dead. God still cares for them all, and not one is +outside His protection. I can't explain it, but I _know_." + +"You know?" + +"Yes, I know. And I'll tell you why I know. My son Jack was killed at +Mons, but he's near me even now. Say it's unreal if you like, say it's +unnatural if you will, but it's one of the great glories of life to me." + +"I don't like to cast a doubt upon a sacred conviction," ventured +Faversham after a silence that was almost painful, "but is not this +clearly a case of imagination? Mr. Bennett has lost a son in the war. We +are all very sorry for him, and we are all glad that he gets comfort +from the feeling that his son is near him. But even admitting the truth +of this, admitting the doctrine that a man's spirit does not die because +of the death of the body, you have proved nothing. The appearance of the +Angels in France and Belgium means something more than this. It declares +that these spirits appear in visible, tangible forms; that they take an +interest in our mundane doings; that they take sides; that they help +some and hinder others." + +"Exactly," assented Mr. Bennett. + +"You believe that?" + +"I believe it most fervently," was the clergyman's solemn answer. "I am +anything but a spiritualist, as the word is usually understood; but I +see no reason why my boy may not communicate with me, why he may not +help me. I, of course, do not understand the mysterious ways of the +Almighty, but I believe in the words of Holy Writ. 'Are they not all +ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs +of salvation?' says the writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews. While our +Lord Himself, when speaking of little children, said, 'I say unto you +that their angels do always behold the face of My Father who is in +heaven.'" + +Again there was a silence which was again broken by Dick Faversham +turning and speaking to a man who had not spoken during the whole +discussion, but who, with a sardonic, cynical smile upon his face, had +been listening intently. + +"What is your opinion, Count Romanoff?" asked Faversham. + +"I am afraid I must be ruled out of court," he replied. "These stories +smack too much of the nursery." + +"You believe that they are worn-out superstitions?" + +"I should shock you all if I told you what I believe." + +"Shock us by all means." + +"No, I will spare you. I remember that we have a clergyman present." + +"Pray do not mind me," urged Mr. Bennett eagerly. + +"Then surely you do not accept the fables recorded in the New +Testament?" + +"I do not admit your description. What you call fables are the greatest +power for righteousness the world has ever known. They have stood the +test of ages, they have comforted and inspired millions of lives, they +stand upon eternal truth." + +Count Romanoff shrugged his shoulders, and a smile of derision and +contempt passed over his features. + +"All right," he replied, and again lapsed into silence. + +The man had spoken only a very few commonplace words, and yet he had +changed the atmosphere of the room. Perhaps this was because all felt +him utterly antagonistic to the subject of discussion. He was different +from Dick Faversham, who in a frank, schoolboy way had declared his +scepticism. He had been a marked man ever since the boat had left +England. There were several reasons for this. One was his personal +appearance. He was an exceedingly handsome man of perhaps forty years of +age, and yet there was something repellent in his features. He was +greatly admired for his fine physique and courtly bearing, and yet but +few sought his acquaintance. He looked as though he were the repository +of dark secrets. His smile was cynical, and suggested a kind of +contemptuous pity for the person to whom he spoke. His eyes were deeply +set, his mouth suggested cruelty. + +And yet he could be fascinating. Dick Faversham, who had struck up an +acquaintance with him, had found him vastly entertaining. He held +unconventional ideas, and was widely read in the literature of more than +one country. Moreover, he held strong views on men and movements, and +his criticisms told of a man of more than ordinary intellectual acumen. + +"You refuse to discuss the matter?" + +"There is but little use for an astronomer to discuss the stars with an +astrologer. A chemist would regard it as waste of time to discuss his +science with an alchemist. The two live in different worlds, speak a +different language, belong to different times." + +"Of course, you will call me a fanatic," cried the clergyman; "but I +believe. I believe in God, and in His Son Jesus Christ who died for our +sins, and who rose from the dead. On that foundation I build all the +rest." + +A change passed over the Count's face. It might be a spasm of pain, and +his somewhat pale face became paler; but he did not speak. For some +seconds he seemed fighting with a strong emotion; then, conquering +himself, his face resumed its former aspect, and a cynical smile again +passed over his features. + +"The gentleman is too earnest for me," he remarked, taking another cigar +from his case. + +Dick Faversham did not see the change that passed over the Count's face. +Indeed, he had ceased to take interest in the discussion. The truth was +that the young man was startled by what was an unusual occurrence. The +room, as may be imagined, bearing in mind that for a long time a number +of men had been burning incense to My Lady Nicotine, was in a haze of +tobacco smoke, and objects were not altogether clearly visible; but not +far from the door he saw a woman standing. This would not have been +remarkable had not the lady passengers, for some reason known to +themselves, up to the present altogether avoided the smoke-room. More +than this, Dick did not recognise her. He had met, or thought he had met +during the voyage, every lady passenger on the boat; but certainly he +had never seen this one before. He was perfectly sure of that, for her +face was so remarkable that he knew he could not have forgotten her. + +She was young, perhaps twenty-four. At first Dick thought of her as only +a girl in her teens, but as, through the thick smoky haze he watched her +face, he felt that she had passed her early girlhood. What struck him +most forcibly were her wonderful eyes. It seemed to him as though, while +they were large and piercing, they were at the same time melting with an +infinite tenderness and pity. + +Dick Faversham looked at her like a man entranced. In his interest in +her he forgot the other occupants of the room, forgot the discussion, +forgot everything. The yearning solicitude in the woman's eyes, the +infinite pity on her face, chained him and drove all other thoughts +away. + +"I say, Faversham." + +He came to himself at the mention of his name and turned to the speaker. + +"Are you good for a stroll on deck for half an hour before turning in?" + +It was the Count who spoke, and Dick noticed that nearly all the +occupants of the room seemed on the point of leaving. + +"Thank you," he replied, "but I think I'll turn in." + +He looked again towards the door where he had seen the woman, but she +was gone. + +"By the way," and he touched the sleeve of a man's coat as he spoke, +"who was that woman?" + +"What woman?" + +"The woman standing by the door." + +"I saw no woman. There was none there." + +"But there was, I tell you. I saw her plainly." + +"You were wool-gathering, old man. I was sitting near the door and saw +no one." + +Dick was puzzled. He was certain as to what he had seen. + +The smoke-room steward appeared at that moment, to whom he propounded +the same question. + +"There was no lady, sir." + +"But--are you sure?" + +"Certainly, sir. I've been here all the evening, and saw everyone who +came in." + +Dick made his way to his berth like a man in a dream. He was puzzled, +bewildered. + +"I am sure I saw a woman," he said to himself. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE MARCONIGRAM + + +He had barely reached his room when he heard a knock at the door. + +"Yes; what is it?" + +"You are Mr. Faversham, aren't you?" + +"Yes; what do you want?" + +"Wireless for you, sir. Just come through." + +A few seconds later Dick was reading a message which promised to alter +the whole course of his life: + + "_Your uncle, Charles Faversham, Wendover Park, Surrey, just + died. Your immediate return essential. Report to us on arrival._ + BIDLAKE & BILTON, _Lincoln's Inn_." + +The words seemed to swim before his eyes. His uncle, Charles Faversham, +dead! There was nothing wonderful about that, for Dick had heard quite +recently that he was an ailing man, and not likely to live long. He was +old, too, and in the course of nature could not live long. But what had +Charles Faversham's death to do with him? It was true the deceased man +was his father's stepbrother, but the two families had no associations, +simply because no friendship existed between them. + +Dick knew none of the other Favershams personally. His own father, who +had died a few years before, had left him practically penniless. His +mother, whose memory his father adored, had died at his, Dick's, birth, +and thus when he was a little over twenty he found himself alone in the +world. Up to that time he had spent his life at school and at college. +His father, who was a man of scholarly instincts, had made up his mind +that his son should adopt one of the learned professions, although +Dick's desires did not lean in that direction. At his father's death, +therefore, he set to work to carve out a career for himself. He had good +abilities, a determined nature, and great ambitions, but his training, +which utterly unfitted him for the battle of life, handicapped him +sorely. For three years nothing went well with him. He obtained +situation after situation only to lose it. He was impatient of control, +he lacked patience, and although he had boundless energies, he never +found a true outlet for them. + +At length fortune favoured him. He got a post under a company who did a +large business in Austria and in the Balkan States, and he made himself +so useful to his firm that his progress was phenomenal. + +It was then that Dick began to think seriously of a great career. It was +true he had only climbed a few steps on fortune's ladder, but his +prospects for the future were alluring. He pictured himself becoming a +power in the commercial world, and then, with larger wealth at his +command, he saw himself entering Parliament and becoming a great figure +in the life of the nation. + +He had social ambitions too. Although he had had no serious love +affairs, he dreamed of himself marrying into an old family, by which +means the doors of the greatest houses in the land would be open to him. + +"Nothing shall stop me," he said to himself again and again; and the +heads of his firm, realising his value to them, gave him more and more +responsibility, and also pointed hints about his prospects. + +At the end of 1913, however, Dick had a serious disagreement with his +chiefs. He had given considerable attention to continental politics, and +he believed that Germany would force war. Because of this he advocated a +certain policy with regard to their business. To this his chiefs gave a +deaf ear, and laughed at the idea of England being embroiled in any +trouble with either Austria or the Balkan States. Of course, Dick was +powerless. He had no capital in the firm, and as his schemes were rather +revolutionary he was not in a position to press them. + +On the outbreak of war in 1914 Dick's firm was ruined. What he had +predicted had come to pass. Because they had not prepared for this +possible contingency, and because large sums of money were owing them in +Austria and Serbia, which they could not recover, all their energies +were paralysed. Thus at twenty-seven years of age, with only a few +hundreds of pounds in his possession, Dick had to begin at the bottom +again. + +At length a firm who knew something of his associations with his +previous employers offered to send him to Australia to attend to matters +in which they believed he could render valuable service, but payment for +which would depend entirely on his own success. Dick accepted this offer +with avidity. + +This in bare outline was his story up to the commencement of the history +which finds him on his way to Australia with the momentous marconigram +in his hands. + +Again and again he read the wireless message which had been handed to +him. It was so strange, so unexpected, so bewildering. He had never seen +or spoken to his uncle, never expected to. He was further removed from +this representative of his family than the Jews from the Samaritans. It +is true he had seen Wendover Park from the distance. He remembered +passing the lodge gates some year or two before when cycling through +Surrey. From a neighbouring hill he had caught sight of the old house +standing in its broad park-lands, and a pang of envy had shot through +his heart as he reflected that although its owner and his father were +stepbrothers he would never be admitted within its walls. + +But this message had altered everything: "_Your uncle, Charles +Faversham, Wendover Park, just died. Your immediate return essential. +Report to us on arrival._" + +The words burnt like fire into his brain. A wireless message, sent to +him in mid-ocean, must be of more than common purport. Men of Bidlake & +Bilton's standing did not send such messages as a pastime. They would +not urge his immediate return without serious reasons. + +It must mean--it could only mean--one thing. He must in some way be +interested in the huge fortune which Charles Faversham had left behind +him. Perhaps, perhaps--and again he considered the probable outcome of +it all. + +Hour after hour he sat thinking. Was his future, after all, to become +great, not simply by his own energies, but because of a stroke of good +fortune? Or, better still, was his uncle's death to be the means whereby +he could climb to greatness and renown? After all he had not longed so +much for money for its own sake, but as a means whereby he could get +power, distinction, high position. With great wealth at his command he +could--and again a fascinating future spread before him. + +He could not sleep; of course, he couldn't! How could he sleep when his +brain was on fire with wild imaginings and unknown possibilities? + +He reflected on the course of his voyage, and considered where the +vessel would first stop. Yes, he knew they were to call at Bombay, which +was a great harbour from which ships were frequently returning to +England. In three days they would be there, and then---- + +Should he take anyone into his confidence? Should he give reasons for +leaving the ship? Oh, the wonder, the excitement of it all! The +discussion about the Angels at Mons, and the talk about visitants from +the spirit world caring for the people who lived on earth, scarcely +entered his mind. What need had he for such things? + +But who was that woman? For he was sure he had seen her. Tyler, to whom +he had spoken, and the smoke-room steward might say that no woman was +there, but he knew better. He could believe his own eyes anyhow, and the +wonderful yearning look in her eyes still haunted him in spite of the +disturbing message. + +It was not until towards morning that sleep came to him, and then he was +haunted by dreams. Strange as it may seem, he did not dream of Bidlake & +Bilton's message nor of his late uncle's mansion. He dreamt of his +father and mother. He had never seen his mother; she had died at his +birth. He had never seen a picture of her, indeed. He believed that his +father possessed her portrait, but he had never shown it to him. His +father seldom spoke of his mother, but when he did it was in tones of +awe, almost of worship. She was like no other woman, he said--a woman +with all the possible beauty and glory of womanhood stored in her heart. + +And she was with his father in his dream. They stood by his bedside +watching over him. His father's face he remembered perfectly. It was +just as he had seen it when he was alive, except that there was an added +something which he could not describe. His mother's face was strange to +him. Yet not altogether so. He knew instinctively that she was his +mother--knew it by the look on her almost luminous face, by the yearning +tenderness of her eyes. + +Neither of them spoke to him. They simply stood side by side and watched +him. He wished they would speak; he felt as though he wanted guidance, +advice, and each looked at him with infinite love in their eyes. + +Where had he seen eyes like those of his mother before? Where had he +seen a face like the face in his dream? He remembered asking himself, +but could recall no one. + +"Mother, mother," he tried to say, but he could not speak. Then his +mother placed her hand on his forehead, and her touch was like a +benediction. + +When he woke he wondered where he was; but as through the porthole he +saw the sheen of the sea he remembered everything. Oh, the wonder of it +all! + +A knock came to the door. "Your bath is ready, sir," said a steward, and +a minute later he felt the welcome sting of the cold salt water. + +He scarcely spoke throughout breakfast; he did not feel like talking. He +determined to find some lonely spot and reflect on what had taken place. +When he reached the deck, however, the longing for loneliness left him. +The sky was cloudless, and the sun poured its warm rays on the spotless +boards. Under the awning, passengers had ensconced themselves in their +chairs, and smoked, or talked, or read just as their fancy led them. + +In spite of the heat the morning was pleasant. A fresh breeze swept +across the sea, and the air was pure and sweet. + +Acquaintances spoke to him pleasantly, for he had become fairly popular +during the voyage. + +"I wonder if they have heard of that wireless message?" he reflected. +"Do they know I have received news of Charles Faversham's death, and +that I am probably a rich man?" + +"Holloa, Faversham." + +He turned and saw Count Romanoff. + +"You look rather pale this morning," went on the Count; "did you sleep +well?" + +"Not very well," replied Dick. + +"Your mind exercised about the discussion, eh?" + +"That and other things." + +"It's the 'other things' that make the great interest of life," remarked +the Count, looking at him intently. + +"Yes, I suppose they do," was Dick's reply. He was thinking about the +wireless message. + +"Still," and the Count laughed, "the discussion got rather warm, didn't +it? I'm afraid I offended our clerical friend. His nod was very cool +just now. Of course, it's all rubbish. Years ago I was interested in +such things. I took the trouble to inform myself of the best literature +we have on the whole matter. As a youth I knew Madame Blavatsky. I have +been to seances galore, but I cease to trouble now." + +"Yes?" queried Dick. + +"I found that the bottom was knocked out of all these so-called +discoveries by the first touch of serious investigation and criticism. +Nothing stood searching tests. Everything shrivelled at the first touch +of the fire." + +"This talk about angels, about a hereafter, is so much empty wind," went +on the Count. "There is no hereafter. When we die there is a great black +blank. That's all." + +"Then life is a mockery." + +"Is it? It all depends how you look at it. Personally I find it all +right." + +Dick Faversham looked at his companion's face intently. Yes, it was a +handsome face--strong, determined, forceful. But it was not pleasant. +Every movement of his features suggested mockery, cynicism, cruelty. +And yet it was fascinating. Count Romanoff was not a man who could be +passed by without a thought. There was a tremendous individuality behind +his deep-set, dark eyes--a personality of great force suggested by the +masterful, mobile features. + +"You have nerves this morning, Faversham," went on the Count. "Something +more than ordinary has happened to you." + +"How do you know?" + +"I feel it. I see it. No, I am not asking you to make a confidant of me. +But you want a friend." + +"Yes," cried Dick, speaking on impulse; "I do." + +The other did not speak. He simply fixed his eyes on Faversham's face +and waited. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE SHIPWRECK + + +For a moment Dick was strongly tempted to tell his companion about the +wireless he had received. But something, he could not tell what, seemed +to forbid him. In spite of the fact that he had spent a good deal of +time with Count Romanoff he had given him no confidences. There was +something in his presence, in spite of his fascination, that did not +inspire confidence. + +"By the way," ventured Dick, after an awkward silence, "I have often +been on the point of asking you, but it felt like a liberty. Are you in +any way connected with the great Russian family of your name?" + +The Count hesitated before replying. "I do not often speak of it," he +told him presently, "but I come of a Royal Family." + +"The Romanoffs of Russia?" + +The Count smiled. + +"I do not imagine that they would admit me into their family circle," he +replied. "I make no claims to it, but I have the right." + +Dick was duly impressed. + +"Then, of course, you are a Russian. You were born there?" + +"A Russian!" sneered the other. "A vast conglomeration of savagery, +superstition, and ignorance! I do not claim to be a Russian. I have +estates there, but I am a citizen of the world. My sympathies are not +national, insular, bounded by race, paltry landmarks, languages. I live +in a bigger world, my friend. Yes, I am a Romanoff, if you like, and I +claim kinship with the greatest families of the Russian Empire--but la +la, what is it? Thistledown, my friend, thistledown." + +"But you were educated in Russia?" persisted Dick. + +"Educated! What is it to be educated? From childhood I have been a +wanderer. I have taken my degrees in the University of the world. I have +travelled in China, Japan, Egypt, America, the Antipodes. In a few days +we shall call at Bombay. If you will accompany me I will take you to +people in that city, old Indian families whose language I know, whose +so-called mysteries I have penetrated, and who call me friend. Ecco! I +owe my education to all countries, all peoples." + +He did not speak boastfully; there was no suggestion of the boaster, the +braggadocio, in his tones; rather he spoke quietly, thoughtfully, almost +sadly. + +"Tell me this," asked Dick: "you, who I judge to be a rich man, do you +find that riches bring happiness?" + +"Yes--and no. With wealth you can buy all that this world can give you." + +Dick wondered at the strange intonation of his voice. + +"It is the only thing that can bring happiness," added Romanoff. + +"I fancy our friend Mr. Bennett would not agree with you," laughed Dick. +"He would say that a clear conscience meant happiness. He would tell you +that a good life, a clean mind, and a faith in God were the secrets of +happiness." + +Romanoff laughed. + +"What makes a clear conscience? It is a feeling that you have done what +is right. But what is right? What is right in China is wrong in England. +What makes the Chinaman happy makes the Englishman miserable. But why +should the Englishman be miserable because he does the thing that makes +the Chinaman happy? No, no, it won't do. There is no right; there is no +wrong. The Germans are wise there. What the world calls morality is a +bogy to frighten foolish people. 'It is always right to do the thing you +_can_ do,' says Brother Fritz. Personally I believe it to be right to do +what satisfies my desires. It is right because it brings happiness. +After all, you haven't long to live. A few years and it is all over. A +shot from a pistol and _voilà!_ your brains are blown out--you are dead! +Therefore, take all that life can give you--there is nothing else." + +"I wonder?" said Dick. + +"That is why money is all-powerful. First of all, get rid of +conventional morality, rid your mind of all religious twaddle about +another life, and then suck the orange of this life dry. You, now, you +are keen, ardent, ambitious; you love beautiful things; you can enjoy to +the full all that life can give you. Nature has endowed you with a +healthy body, ardent desires, boundless ambitions--well, satisfy them +all. You can buy them all." + +"But I am not rich," interposed Dick. + +"Aren't you?" queried the other. "Who knows? Anyhow, you are young--make +money. 'Money talks,' as the Americans say." + +Again Dick was on the point of telling him about the wireless message, +but again he refrained. + +"By the way, Count Romanoff," he said, "did you see that woman in the +smoke-room last night?" + +"Woman! what woman?" + +"I don't know. I never saw her before. But while you were talking I saw +a woman's face through the haze of tobacco smoke. She was standing near +the door. It was a wonderful face--and her eyes were beyond description. +Great, pure, yearning, loving eyes they were, and they lit up the face +which might have been--the face of an angel." + +"You were dreaming, my friend. I have seen every woman on board, and not +one of them possesses a face worth looking at twice." + +"I asked another man," admitted Dick, "and he told me I was dreaming. He +had been sitting near the door, he assured me, and he had seen no woman, +while the smoke-room steward was just as certain." + +"Of course there was no woman." + +"And yet I saw a woman, unless----" He stopped suddenly. + +"Unless what, my friend?" + +"Unless it was a kind of rebuke to my scepticism last night; unless it +was the face of an angel." + +"An angel in mid-ocean!" Romanoff laughed. "An angel in the smoke-room +of a P. & O. steamer! Faversham, you are an example of your own +arguments. Imagination can do anything." + +"But it would be beautiful if it were so. Do you know, I'm only half a +sceptic after all. I only half believe in what I said in the smoke-room +last night." + +"Perhaps I can say the same thing," said Romanoff, watching his face +keenly. + +"I say!" and Dick laughed. + +"Yes, laugh if you will; but I told you just now that the world +contained no mystery. I was wrong; it does. My residence in India has +told me that. Do you know, Faversham, what has attracted me to you?--for +I have been attracted, I can assure you." + +"Flattered, I'm sure," murmured Dick. + +"I was attracted, because the moment I saw your face I felt that your +career would be out of the ordinary. I may be wrong, but I believe that +great things are going to happen to you, that you are going to have a +wonderful career. I felt it when I saw you come on deck a little while +ago. If you are wise you are going to have a great future--a _great_ +future." + +"Now you are laughing." + +"No, I'm not. I'm in deadly earnest. I have something of the power of +divination in me. I feel the future. Something's going to happen to you. +I think great wealth's coming to you." + +Dick was silent, and a far-away look came into his eyes. He was thinking +of the wireless message, thinking whether he should tell Romanoff about +it. + +"I started out on this voyage--in the hope that--that I should make +money," he stammered. + +"Where?" + +"In Australia." + +"You'll not go to Australia." + +"No? Why?" + +"I don't know--something's going to happen to you. I feel it." + +Dick was again on the point of taking him into his confidence when two +acquaintances came up and the conversation ended. But Dick felt that +Romanoff knew his secret all the time. + +The day passed away without further incident, but towards afternoon +there was a distinct change in the weather. The sky became overclouded, +and the gentle breeze which had blown in the morning strengthened into a +strong, boisterous wind. The smooth sea roughened, and the passengers no +longer sat on deck. The smoke-room was filled with bridge players, while +other public rooms became the scenes of other amusements. + +But Dick preferred being alone. He was still hugging his news to his +heart, still reflecting on the appearance of the strange woman's face in +the smoke-room, and all the time he was under the influence of Count +Romanoff's conversation. + +Perhaps the great, dark, heaving waste of waters excited his nerves and +made him feel something of the mysterious and resistless forces around +him. After all, he asked himself, how small the life of a man, or a +hundred men, appeared to be amidst what seemed infinite wastes of ocean. + +After dinner, in spite of the fact that the weather remained boisterous, +he again went on deck. The sky had somewhat cleared now, and although +there were still great black angry clouds, spaces of blue could be seen +between them. Here the stars appeared, and shone with great brilliancy. +Then the moon rose serene, majestic. Now it was hidden by a great storm +cloud, and again it showed its silvery face in the clear spaces. + +"Great heavens!" cried Dick, "how little a man knows of the world in +which he lives, and what rot we often talk. The air all around me may be +crowded with visitants from the unseen world! My dream last night may +have an objective reality. Perhaps my father and my mother were there +watching over me! Why not?" + +It is said that atheists are bred in slums, and amidst brick walls and +unlovely surroundings. It is also said that there are few sailors but +who are believers--that the grandeur of the seas, that the wonder of +great star spaces create a kind of spiritual atmosphere which makes it +impossible for them to be materialists. Whether that is so I will not +argue. This I know: Dick Faversham felt very near the unseen world as +he leaned over the deck railings that night and gazed across the +turbulent waters. + +But this also must be said. The unseen world seemed to him not good, but +evil. He felt as though there were dark, sinister forces around +him--forces which were inimical to what he conceived to be best in him. + +Before midnight he turned in, and no sooner did he lay his head on his +pillow than he felt himself falling asleep. How long he slept he did not +know. As far as he remembered afterwards, his sleep was dreamless. He +only knew that he was awakened by a tremendous noise, and that the ship +seemed to be crashing to pieces. Before he realised what had taken place +he found himself thrown on the floor, while strange grating noises +reached his ears. After that he heard wild shouts and despairing +screams. Hastily putting on a coat over his night clothes, he rushed out +to see what had happened; but all seemed darkness and confusion. + +"What's the matter?" he cried, but received no answer. + +Stumblingly he struggled towards the companion-way, where he saw a dark +moving object. + +"What's happened?" he gasped again. + +"God only knows, except the vessel going down!" + +"Vessel going down?" + +"Yes; struck a mine or something!" + +Even as the man spoke the ship seemed to be splitting asunder. Harsh, +grating, bewildering noises were heard everywhere, while above the +noises of timber and steel were to be faintly heard the cries of frantic +women and excited men. + +Then something struck him. He did not know what it was, but he felt a +heavy blow on his head, and after that a great darkness fell upon him. + +How long the darkness lasted he could not tell. It might have been +minutes, it might have been hours; but he knew that he suddenly came to +consciousness through the touch of icy-cold water. The cold seemed to +pierce his very marrow, to sting him with exquisite pain. Then he was +conscious that he was struggling in the open sea. + +He had been a strong swimmer from early boyhood, and he struck out now. +He had no idea which way to swim, but swim he did, heedless of direction +or purpose. A kind of instinct forced him to get as far away as possible +from the spot where he came to consciousness. + +There was still a heavy sea running. He found himself lifted on the +crest of huge waves, and again sinking in the depths. But he held on. He +had a kind of instinct that he was doing something to save his life. + +Presently his mind became clear. The past came vividly before him--the +talk in the smoke-room, the wireless message---- + +Yes, he must live! Life held out so much to him. His immediate return to +England was essential. Bidlake & Bilton had told him so. + +Where were the other passengers? He had heard women's cries, the wild +shouts of men, the creaking of timbers, the grating of steel; he had +felt that the great steamship was being torn to pieces. But now there +was nothing of this. There was nothing but the roar of waters--great, +heaving, turbulent waters. + +He still struggled on, but he knew that his strength was going. It +seemed to him, too, as though some power was paralysing his limbs, +sapping his strength. He still had the desire to save himself, to live; +but his will power was not equal to his desire. + +Oh, the sea was cruel, cruel! Why could not the waves cease roaring and +rolling if only for five minutes? He would have time to rest then, to +rest and regain his strength. + +Still he struggled on. Again he felt himself carried on the crest of +waves, and again almost submerged in the great troughs which seemed to +be everywhere. + +"O God, help me!" he thought at length. "My strength is nearly gone. I'm +going to be drowned!" + +A sinister power seemed to surround him--a power which took away hope, +purpose, life. He thought of Count Romanoff, who had said there was +nothing after death--that death was just a great black blank. + +The thought was ghastly! To cease to be, to die there amidst the wild +waste of the sea, on that lonely night! He could not bear the thought of +it. + +But his strength was ebbing away; his breath came in panting sobs; his +heart found it difficult to beat. He was going to die. + +Oh, if only something, someone would drive away the hateful presence +which was following him, surrounding him! He could still struggle on +then; he could live then. But no, a great black shadow was surrounding +him, swallowing him up. Yes, and the ghastly thing was taking shape. He +saw a face, something like the face of--no, he could liken it to no one +he knew. + +The waves still rolled on; but now he heard what seemed like wild, +demoniacal laughter. Once, when a boy, he had seen Henry Irving in +_Faust_; he saw the devils on the haunted mountain; he heard their +hideous cries. And there was a ghastly, evil influence with him now. Did +it mean that devils were there waiting to snatch his soul directly it +left his body? + +Then he felt a change. Yes, it was distinct, definite. There was a +light, too--a pale, indistinct light, but still real, and as his tired +eyes lifted he saw what seemed to be a cross of light shining down upon +him from the clouds. What could it mean? + +It seemed to him that the sinister presence was somehow losing power, +that there was something, someone in the light which grew stronger. + +Then a face appeared above him. At first it was unreal, intangible, +shadowy; but it grew clearer, clearer. Where had he seen it before? +Those great, tender, yearning eyes--where had he seen them? Then the +form of a woman became outlined--a woman with arms outstretched. Her +face, her lips, her eyes seemed to bid him hope, and it felt to him as +though arms were placed beneath him--arms which bore him up. + +It was all unreal, as unreal as the baseless fabric of a dream; and yet +it was real, wondrously real. + +"Help me! Save me!" he tried to say, but whether he uttered the words he +did not know. He felt that his grip on life became weaker and +weaker--then a still, small voice seemed to whisper, "The Eternal God is +thy refuge, and underneath are the Everlasting Arms." + +The roar of the waves grew less, and he knew no more. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +"THE ENEMY OF YOUR SOUL" + + +When again Dick Faversham regained something like consciousness he had a +sensation of choking, of a hard struggle to breathe, which ended in +partial failure. + +He did not know where he was, but he had a sense of warmth, of +restfulness. He thought he heard the ripple of waves on a sunlit shore, +and of wide-spreading trees which grew close to the edge of the sea. + +But it was all indistinct, unreal, and he did not care very much. He was +trying to breathe, trying to overcome the awful sense of choking, and +after a while, dazed, bewildered though he was, he felt his breath come +easier and the weight on his chest grow lighter. But he was terribly +tired--so tired that he had no desire to struggle, so languid that his +very efforts to breathe were the result not of his own will, but of some +claims of nature over which he had no control. He was just a piece of +machinery, and that was all. + +He felt himself going to sleep, and he was glad. He had no curiosity as +to where he was, no desire to know how he came to be there, no +remembrance of the past; he only knew that warm air wrapped him like a +garment, and that he was deliciously tired and sleepy. + +How long he slept he did not know, but presently when he woke he saw the +sun setting in a blaze of glory. Scarcely a breath of wind stirred the +warm, fragrant air, and all was silent save the lapping of the waves and +the screaming of birds in the distance. + +He sat up and looked around him. Great tropical trees grew in wild +profusion, while gorgeous vegetation abounded. It was like some land of +dreams. + +Then suddenly memory asserted itself, and the past flashed before his +mind. Everything became clear, vivid. + +"I am saved! I am alive!" he exclaimed aloud. + +Again he saw the wild upheaving sea; he felt himself struggling in the +deep, while his strength, strength of body, of mind, and will were +failing him. He recalled the dark, fearful presence that surrounded him, +and then the coming of the light, and in the light the outline of a +woman's form. Nothing would ever destroy that memory! The face, the +lips, the eyes! No, he should never forget! And he had seen her arms +outstretched, felt her arms placed beneath him--the arms that bore him +up, brought him to safety. + +"I was saved," he murmured--"saved by an angel!" + +He was startled by the sound of a footstep, and, turning, he saw +Romanoff, and with him came back something of the feeling that some evil +presence surrounded him. + +"That's right, Faversham. I was afraid, hours ago, that I should never +bring you round, but at length you made good, and then, like a sensible +fellow, went to sleep." + +Romanoff spoke in the most matter-of-fact way possible, banishing the +mere thought of angels or devils. + +"Where are we? How did we get here?" gasped Faversham. Up to now he had +not given a thought to the other passengers. + +"Where are we? On an island in the Pacific, my dear fellow. How did we +get here? After the accident--or whatever it was--the boats were +lowered, and all hands were got away. I looked out for you, but could +not find you. There was a great commotion, and it was easy to miss +anyone in the darkness. I was among the last to leave the sinking +vessel, and the boat was pretty full. We had got perhaps half a mile +away from the scene of the wreck, when I saw someone struggling in the +sea. It was by the purest chance possible that I saw. However, I managed +to get hold of--what turned out to be you. You were nearly gone--I never +thought you'd--live." + +"But how did I get here?" asked Dick, "and--and where are the others?" + +"It was this way," and Romanoff still continued to speak in the same +matter-of-fact tones. "As I told you, the boat was jammed +full--overweighted, in fact--so full that your weight was a bit of a +danger. More than one said you were dead, and suggested that--that it +was no use endangering the safety of the others. But I felt sure you +were alive, so I held out against them." + +"And then?" asked Dick. He was only giving half his mind to Romanoff's +story; he was thinking of what he saw when he felt his strength leaving +him. + +"You see the bar out yonder?" and Romanoff pointed towards a ridge of +foam some distance out at sea. "It's mighty rough there--dangerous to +cross even when the sea is smooth; when it is rough--you can guess. I +was holding you in my arms in order to--give room. The oarsmen were +making for land, of course; you see, we had been many hours in a mere +cockleshell, and this island promised safety. But in crossing the bar we +were nearly upset, and I suddenly found myself in the sea with you in my +arms. It was fairly dark, and I could not see the boat, but I was +fortunate in getting you here. That's all." + +"That's all?" + +"Yes; what should there be else?" + +"But the others?" + +"Oh, I expect they've landed somewhere else on the island--sure to, in +fact. But I've not looked them up. You see, I did not want to leave +you." + +"Then you--you've saved me?" + +"Oh, that's all right, my dear fellow. You are here, and you are looking +better every minute; that's the great thing. See, I've brought you some +food--fruit. Delicious stuff. I've tried it. Lucky for us we got to this +place." + +Dick ate almost mechanically. He was still wondering and trying to +square Romanoff's story with his own experiences. Meanwhile, Romanoff +sat near him and watched him as he ate. + +"How long have we been here?" + +"Ten hours at least. Look, my clothes are quite dry. By Jove, I was +thankful for the hot sun." + +"You saved me!" repeated Dick. "I owe my life to you, and yet even +now----" + +"What, my dear fellow?" + +"I thought I was saved in another way." + +"Another way? How?" + +Dick hesitated a few seconds, and then told him, while Romanoff listened +with a mocking smile on his lips. + +"Of course, you were delirious; it was pure hallucination." + +"Was it? It was very real to me." + +"Such things don't happen, my friend. After all, it was a very +matter-of-fact, mundane affair. You were lucky, and I happened to see +you--that's all--and if there was an angel--I'm it." + +The laugh that followed was anything but angelic! + +"I suppose that's it," and with a sigh Dick assented to Romanoff's +explanation. Indeed, with this strange, matter-of-fact man by his side, +he could not believe in anything miraculous. That smile on his face made +it impossible. + +"I don't know how to thank you," he said fervently. "You've done me the +greatest service one man can do for another. I can't thank you enough, +and I can never repay you, but if we ever get away from here, and I have +an opportunity to serve you--all that I have shall be yours." + +"I'll remember that," replied Romanoff quietly, "and I accept what you +offer, my friend. Perhaps the time will come when I can take advantage +of it." + +"I hope you will--you must!"--Dick's mind had become excited--"and I +want to tell you something," he continued, for he was strangely drawn +towards his deliverer. "I want to live. I want to get back to England," +he went on. "I have not told you before, but I feel I must now." + +Whereupon he told him the story of the wireless message and what it +possibly might mean. + +Romanoff listened gravely, and Dick once again experienced that uncanny +feeling that he was telling the other a story he already knew. + +"Didn't I tell you on the boat that something big was in store for you?" +he said, after many questions were asked and answered. "I shall +certainly look you up when I go to England again, and it may be I shall +be able to render you some--further service." + +Night came on, and Dick slept. He was calm now and hopeful for the +future. Romanoff had told him that as the island was on the great trade +route it was impossible for them to be left there long. Vessels were +always passing. And Dick trusted Romanoff. He felt he could do no other. +He was so strong, so wise, so confident. + +For hours he slept dreamlessly, but towards morning he had a vivid +dream, and in his dream he again saw the face of the angel, just as he +had seen on the wild, heaving sea. + +"Listen to me," she said to him. "That man Romanoff is your enemy--the +enemy of your soul. Do you realise it?--your soul. He is an emissary of +the Evil One, and you must fight him. You must not yield to him. You +will be tempted, but you must fight. He will be constantly near you, +tempting you. He is your enemy, working for your downfall. If you give +way to him you will be for ever lost!" + +Dick heard her words quite plainly. He watched her face as she spoke, +wondered at the yearning tenderness in her eyes. + +"How can he be my enemy?" he asked. "He risked his life to save mine; he +brought me to safety." + +"No," she replied; "it was the arms of another that were placed beneath +you, and bore you up. Don't you know whose arms? Don't you remember my +face?" + +"Who are you?" asked Dick. + +Then, as it seemed to him in his dream, Romanoff came, and there was a +battle between him and the angel, and he knew that they were fighting +for him, for the possession of his soul. + +He could see them plainly, and presently he saw the face of Romanoff +gloat with a look of unholy joy. His form became more and more clearly +outlined, while that of the angel became dimmer and dimmer. The evil +power was triumphant. Then a change came. Above their heads he saw a +luminous cross outlined, and he thought Romanoff's face and form became +less and less distinct. But he was not sure, for they were drifting away +from him farther and farther---- + +Again he saw the angel's face, and again she spoke. "You will be +tempted--tempted," she said, "in many ways you will be tempted. But you +will not be alone, for the angel of the Lord encampeth around them that +fear Him. You will know me by the same sign. Always obey the angel." + +He awoke. He was lying where he had gone to sleep hours before. He +started to his feet and looked around him. + +Near him, passing under the shadows of the great trees, he thought he +saw a woman's face. It was the face he had seen on the outgoing vessel, +the face he had seen when he was sinking in the deep waters, the face +that had come to him in his dreams. + +He was about to speak to her, to follow her, when he heard someone +shouting. + +"Faversham! Faversham!" It was Romanoff's voice. "Come quickly. We've +hailed a vessel; our signal has been seen. Come to the other side of the +island." + + + + +PART I.--THE FIRST TEMPTATION + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE ONLY SURVIVING RELATIVE + + +Dick Faversham made his way to the offices of Messrs. Bidlake & Bilton, +Solicitors, Lincoln's Inn Fields, with a fast-beating heart. He felt +like a man whose fortune depended on the turn of a die. If the lawyers +had sent him a message for the purpose he hoped, all was well; if +not----And for the hundredth time he considered the pros and cons of +the matter. + +His rescue from the island had turned out to be one of the prosiest +matters imaginable. The captain of an English-bound steamer had seen the +signals made from the island, and had sent boats. Thus Dick was saved +without difficulty. There were others who had a similar fortune, but +Dick had no chance to speak with them. No sooner did he reach the +steamer than he was taken ill, and remained ill during the whole of the +homeward voyage. + +After he reached Plymouth he began to recover rapidly, but he found on +making inquiries that all who were rescued from the island had +disembarked at the western seaport. This was very disappointing to him, +as he wanted to make inquiries concerning the manner of their escape. Of +Romanoff he neither heard nor saw anything. No one knew anything of him +on the steamer, neither was he known to board it. + +Dick was both glad and sorry because of this. Glad because, although +Romanoff possessed a strange fascination for him, he had never been +altogether comfortable in his presence. The man repelled him even while +he fascinated him, and he felt relieved that he was not on board. On the +other hand, he was sorry, because he had a feeling that this strange, +saturnine man might have been a great help to him in his peculiar +circumstances. + +"It may be all a will-o'-the-wisp fancy," he reflected as he walked +along Fleet Street towards the Law Courts, "and yet it must mean +something." + +His mind was in a whirl of bewilderment, for in spite of Romanoff's +explanation he could not drive from his mind the belief that his +experiences after the vessel was wrecked had been real. Indeed, there +were times when he was _sure_ that he had seen an angel's form hovering +while he was struggling in the sea, sure that he felt strong arms +upholding him. + +"At any rate, this is real," he said to himself as he turned into +Lincoln's Inn Fields. "I am here on dry land. I wear a suit of clothes +which Captain Fraser gave me, and I have twenty-four shillings in my +pocket. Whatever happens, I will at the first opportunity pay the +captain for his kindness." + +He entered the office and gave his name. + +"Do you wish to see Mr. Bidlake or Mr. Bilton?" asked the clerk. + +"Either, or both," replied Dick. + +"Would you state your business, please?" The clerk did not seem to be +sure of him. + +"I will state my business to your principals," replied Dick. "Please +take in my name." + +When the clerk returned his demeanour was changed. He was obsequious and +anxious to serve. + +"Will you come this way, please, sir?" he said. "Mr. Bilton is in Mr. +Bidlake's room, and----" + +He did not finish the sentence, for the door of an office opened and a +man of about fifty years of age appeared. + +"Come in, Mr. Faversham," he invited. "Do you know, I've been on +tenterhooks for days about you." + +"I landed at Tilbury only a few hours ago." + +"Is that so? But it was this way: we, of course, heard that your boat +had been mined, and we also heard that a number of the passengers and +crew were rescued; but news about you was contradictory. In one list of +the saved your name appeared, while in another you were not mentioned. +Tell us all about it." + +"Another time," replied Dick. He was in a fever to know why this very +respectable firm of lawyers should have sent a wireless to him. + +"Yes, yes, of course," assented Mr. Bidlake, leading the way to an inner +room. "Bilton, you may as well come too. My word, Mr. Faversham, I _am_ +glad to see you." + +Dick felt light-hearted. Mr. Bidlake would not receive him in this +fashion had there not been important reasons for doing so. + +"Well now, to come to business right away," said Mr. Bidlake the moment +they were seated--"you got my message?" + +"Twenty-four hours before I was wrecked," replied Dick. + +"Just so. You'll tell us all about that presently. My word, you must +have had a terrible time! But that's by the way. You got my message, and +therefore you know that your uncle, Mr. Charles Faversham, is dead?" + +Dick nodded. He tried to appear calm, but his heart was thumping like a +sledge-hammer. + +"Of course, you know that Mr. Charles Faversham was a bachelor, and--by +the way, Mr. Bilton, will you find the Faversham papers? You've had them +in hand." + +"Yes, my uncle was a bachelor," repeated Dick as Mr. Bidlake hesitated. + +"You've never had any communications with him?" + +"Never." + +"A peculiar man. A genius for business, but, all the same, a peculiar +man. However, I think it's all plain enough." + +"What is plain enough?" + +"Have you the papers, Bilton? That's good. Yes, I have everything here. +This is the last will of Mr. Faversham--a plain, straightforward will in +many ways, although slightly involved in others. However----" + +The lawyer untied some tape, and began scanning some documents. + +"However what?" asked Dick, who by this time was almost beside himself +with impatience. + +"By the way, you can easily put your hand on your birth certificate, as +well as the death certificate of your father, I suppose?" + +"Quite easily." + +"Of course you can. The fact that I have known you for some time makes +things far easier, far less--complicated. Otherwise a great many +formalities would have to be gone into before--in short, Mr. Richard +Faversham, I have great pleasure in congratulating you on being the heir +to a fine fortune--a _very_ fine fortune." + +Mr. Bidlake smiled benignly. + +"My uncle's fortune?" + +"Your uncle's estate--yes. He was a very rich man." + +"But--but----" stammered Dick. + +"Yes, yes, of course, you wish for some details. This is the position. +Your uncle made a will--a rather peculiar will in some ways." + +"A peculiar will?" queried Dick. + +"Yes--as you know, I did a great deal of work for him; but there were +others. Triggs and Wilcox attended to some things, while Mortlake and +Stenson also did odd jobs; but I have made all inquiries, and this is +the last will he made. He wrote it himself, and it was duly witnessed. I +myself have interviewed the witnesses, and there is no flaw anywhere, +although, of course, this document is by no means orthodox." + +"Orthodox? I don't understand." + +"I mean that it is not in legal form. As a matter of fact, it is utterly +informal." + +"You mean that there is some doubt about it?" + +"On no, by no means. It would stand good in any court of law, but, of +course, all such documents are loosely worded. In case of a lawsuit it +would offer occasion for many wordy battles," and Mr. Bidlake smacked +his lips as though he would enjoy such an experience. "But here is the +will in a nutshell," he went on. "You see, his own brother died many +years ago, while your father, his stepbrother, died--let me see--how +long ago? But you know. I need not go into that. As you may have heard, +his sister Helen married and had children; she was left a widow, and +during her widowhood she kept house for your uncle; so far so good. This +is the will: all his property, excepting some small sums which are +plainly stated, was left equally to his sister Helen's children, and to +their heirs on their decease." + +"But where do I come in?" gasped Dick. + +"Here, my dear sir. There is a clause in the will, which I'll read: +'Should not my sister Helen's children be alive at the time of my +decease, all my property is to be equally divided between my nearest +surviving relatives.' Now, here," went on the lawyer, "we see the +foolishness of a man making his own will, especially a man with such +vast properties as Mr. Charles Faversham had. First of all, suppose his +sister Helen's children married and had children who were alive at the +time of Mr. Charles Faversham's death. These children might not inherit +a penny if his sister's children had been dead. Again, take the term +'equally divided.' Don't you see what a bill of costs might be run up in +settling that? What is an equal division? Who is to assess values on an +estate that consists of shipping interests, lands, mines, and a host of +other things? Still, we need not trouble about this as it happens. We +have inquired into the matter, and we find that your Aunt Helen's +children are dead, and that none of them was married." + +"Then--then----" + +"You are the nearest surviving relative, my dear sir, and not only +that--you are the only surviving relative of the late Mr. Charles +Faversham of Wendover Park, Surrey." + +Dick Faversham still appeared outwardly calm, although his brain was +whirling with excitement. The words, 'shipping interests, lands, mines, +and a host of other things,' were singing in his ears. And he--_he_ was +heir to it all! But was there some doubt about it? Was everything so +definite as the lawyer had stated? + +"I believe my Aunt Helen had three children," Dick said after a +silence--"two girls and a boy, or two boys and a girl, I have forgotten +which. Do you mean to say they are all dead?" + +"Certain. Directly on Mr. Faversham's death I went into the matter. Two +of the children died in England. The third, a son, died in Australia. I +was very anxious about that, and spent quite a little fortune in +cablegrams. Still, I got everything cleared up satisfactorily." + +"Tell me how." Dick was very anxious about this. It seemed to him as the +crux of the whole question. + +"It was naturally a little difficult," and Mr. Bidlake smiled +complacently. "Australia is some little distance away, eh? But I managed +it. For one thing, an old articled clerk of mine went to Melbourne some +years ago, and succeeded in getting a practice there. He was very +anxious to oblige me, and got on the track almost immediately. +Fortunately for us, the death of Mr. Anthony Riggleton was somewhat +notorious." + +"And Mr. Anthony Riggleton was my Aunt Helen's son?" asked Dick. + +"Exactly. He was not a young man of high character, and I am given to +understand that Mr. Charles Faversham threatened more than once, when he +was in England, never to leave him a penny. However, he paid his debts, +gave him a sum of money, and told him to go away and never to return +again during his life. It seems, too, that Mr. Anthony Faversham +Riggleton considerably reformed himself during the time he was in +Australia, so much so that favourable reports were sent to his uncle +concerning his conduct. That, I imagine, accounts for his inclusion in +the will. Whether he went wild again, I don't know, but it is certain +that he met his death in a very suspicious way. It seems that he and +some other men met in a house of bad repute not far from Melbourne, and +in a brawl of some sort he came to an untimely end. His body was found +more than twenty-four hours after his death, in the harbour at +Melbourne. Evidently the affair was most unsavoury. His face was much +bashed. A pistol-shot had passed through his brain, and there were some +knife-stabs in his body." + +"And his companions?" asked Dick. + +"They had cleared out, and left no traces behind. You see, they had +plenty of time to do so before the police were able to get to work. +According to the latest reports I have heard, there is not the slightest +chance of finding them." + +"But the body--was it identified?" + +"It was. Letters were found on the body addressed to Mr. Anthony +Faversham Riggleton, and there were also private papers on his person +which left no doubt. Added to this, the evidence of the cashier and of a +clerk of the Bank of Australia was most explicit. You see, he had called +at the bank on the morning of the night of the brawl, and drew what +little money he had. When the body was brought to the mortuary, both the +cashier and the clerk swore it was that of the man who had called for +the money." + +"That was settled definitely, then?" + +"Just so. Oh, you can make your mind quite easy. Directly I got news of +Mr. Charles Faversham's death I naturally took steps to deal with his +estate, and I assured myself of your interest in the matter before +seeking to communicate with you. I would not have sent you that wireless +without practical certainty. Since then I have received newspapers from +Melbourne giving details of the whole business." + +"And my Aunt Helen?" asked Dick. + +"She died before the will was made. I gather that her death caused him +to make the new will--the one we are discussing--in a hurry." + +"And my two other cousins?" Dick persisted. He wanted to assure himself +that there could be no shadow of doubt. + +The lawyer smiled. "Things do happen strangely sometimes," he said. "If +anyone had told me at the time this will was made that you would come in +for the whole estate, I should have laughed. There were three healthy +people in your way. And yet, so it is. They are dead. There is not a +shadow of doubt about it." + +"But didn't my uncle know of their decease?" + +"I can't tell you that. He was a strange man. As I have said, he had a +regular genius for making money, and he lived for his business. He +simply revelled in it; not because he cared about money as such, but +because the accumulation of wealth fascinated him. He was, as you know, +unmarried, and up to the time of his making this will, his sister, of +whom he seemed to have been fond, kept house for him. But he would not +have her children around him. He gave them large sums of money, but he +had no personal knowledge of them. It is quite probable, therefore, that +he, being in failing health for more than a year before his death, would +have no knowledge that they died some time before he did. You would +understand if you had known him. A most eccentric man." + +Dick reflected a few seconds. The way seemed perfectly plain, and yet +everything seemed intangible, unreal. + +"In proof of that," went on the lawyer, "he did not tell either Mr. +Bilton or myself that he had made this will. He simply gave a letter to +the housekeeper he had secured after his sister's death, and told her +that this letter was to be given to me at his decease. That letter," +went on Mr. Bidlake, "contained the key of a safe and instructions to me +to deal with the contents of the safe immediately after his death. Of +course, I opened the safe, and among the first things I found was this +will. The rest I have explained to you." + +"And you say I am very wealthy?" asked Dick almost fearfully. Even yet +it seemed too good to be true. + +"Wealthy!" and the lawyer smiled. "Wealthy, my dear sir! I cannot yet +tell you _how_ wealthy. But if a controlling interest in one of the most +prosperous shipping companies in the world, if the principal holding in +one of our great banks, if landed estates in more than three counties, +if important mining interests, if hundreds of houses in London and hosts +of other things mean great wealth--then I can truly say that you are a +very wealthy man. Of course, I cannot as yet estimate the value of the +whole estate, but the death duties will make a nice fortune--a _very_ +nice fortune. Still, if you decide to entrust your legal business to us, +as we hope you will, we shall be able in a few weeks to give you an +approximate idea of what you are worth." + +"Of course I will do that," replied Dirk hastily; "naturally there is no +question about the matter. That must be settled here and now." + +"Thank you," said Mr. Bidlake. "Naturally Mr. Bilton and myself +appreciate this mark of your confidence. You may depend that neither of +us will spare himself in order to serve you. Eh, Mr. Bilton?" + +"Exactly," replied Mr. Bilton. It was the only word he had as yet spoken +throughout the interview. + +"And now," said Dick, "I want your advice." + +"Our advice? Certainly. What about?" + +"Well, owing to the wreck, I am at this moment in borrowed clothes. I +have only a few shillings in my pocket----" + +"My dear sir," interrupted the lawyer, "that presents no difficulties. +Let me give you an open cheque for two hundred--five hundred--pounds +right away. Naturally, too, you will want to get clothes. You lost +everything in the--the wreck; naturally you did. I had almost forgotten +such things in the--the bigger matter. But that's all right. I have a +private sitting-room here, and my tailor would be only too glad to come +here right away. A most capable man. He would rig you out, temporarily, +in a few hours, and afterwards----" + +"That's all right," interrupted Dick; "but what next?" + +"Take possession at once, my dear sir--at once." + +"But I don't want anything to get into the papers." + +"Certainly not--if we can help it. And I think we can. Shall I ring up +my tailors? Yes?" And Mr. Bidlake took a telephone receiver into his +hand. "That's all right," he added two minutes later. "Hucknell will be +here in less than half an hour, and you can trust him to fix you up and +tide you over the next few days. Yes, he will be glad to do so--very +glad. Terrible business this industrial unrest, isn't it? I'm afraid +it's going to take some settling. Of course, it's world wide, but I say, +thank goodness our people have got more sense and more balance than +those poor Russians." + +The words were simple enough, and the expression was almost a +commonplace, but Dick Faversham felt a sudden pain at his heart. He +thought of the dark, mysterious man who claimed kinship with the great +Russian House of Romanoff, and in a way he could not understand; the +thought seemed to take away from the joyous excitement which filled his +being at that moment. He wished he had never seen, never heard of Count +Romanoff. + +With an effort he shook off the cloud. + +"You suggest that I go to Wendover Park at once?" + +"Yes, say to-morrow morning. It is your right; in a way, it's your duty. +The property is undeniably yours." + +"Would--would you--could you go with me?" stammered Dick. + +"I was on the point of suggesting it myself, my dear sir. Yes, I could +go to-morrow morning." + +"Are there any servants there, or is the house empty?" asked Dick. Again +he had a sense of unreality. + +"Most of the servants are there," replied the lawyer. "I thought it best +to keep them. I am not sure about a chauffeur, though. I have an idea I +discharged him. But it can easily be managed. The housekeeper whom your +uncle engaged on your aunt's death is there, and she, it appears, has a +husband. Rather a capable man. He can get a chauffeur. I'll ring up +right away, and give instructions. You don't mind, do you?" + +"It's awfully good of you," Dick assured him. "I shall feel lost without +you." + +At half-past one Dick accompanied Mr. Bidlake to his club for lunch, +attired in a not at all badly fitting ready-made suit of clothes, which +Mr. Hucknell had secured for him, and spent the afternoon with the +lawyer discussing the new situation. + +"Nine-thirty-five Victoria," said Mr. Bidlake to him as he left him that +night. + +"I'll be there." + +Dick went to his hotel like a man in a dream. Even yet everything was +unreal to him. He had received assurances from one of the most +trustworthy and respectable lawyers in London that his position was +absolutely safe, and yet he felt no firm foundation under his feet. + +"I expect it's because I've seen nothing yet," he reflected. "When I go +down to-morrow and get installed as the owner of everything, I shall see +things in a new light." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +WENDOVER PARK + + +The end of April had now come, and a tinge of green had crept over what +in many respects is one of the loveliest counties in England. The train +in which Mr. Bidlake and Dick Faversham sat had left Redhill and was +passing through a rich, undulating countryside. + +"You feel a bit excited, I expect?" and Mr. Bidlake looked up from his +copy of _The Times_. + +"Just a bit." + +"You'll soon get over your excitement, although, of course, you'll find +the change very great. A rich man has many responsibilities." + +"If I remember aright, there are several other big houses within a few +miles of Wendover Park? Was my uncle on good terms with his neighbours?" + +The lawyer coughed. "He did not go much into society. As I told you, he +was a very eccentric man." + +Dick was quick to notice the tone in which the other spoke. "You mean +that he was not well received?" + +"I mean that he lived his own life. Mr. Faversham was essentially a +business man, and--and perhaps he could not understand the attitude of +the old county families. Besides, feeling against him was rather strong +when he bought Wendover Park." + +"Why?" + +"I daresay you'll learn all about it in time. Enough to say now that Sir +Guy Wendover, the previous owner, was in money difficulties, and the +feeling was that your uncle took advantage of them in order to get hold +of the place. Personally I don't pay much attention to such stories; but +undoubtedly they affected your uncle's position. Possibly they may +affect yours--for a time." The lawyer appeared to utter the last +sentence as an afterthought. + +Presently the train stopped at a wayside station, where the two +alighted. The sun was now high in the heavens, and the birds were +singing gaily. Wooded hills sloped up from the station, while westward +was a vast panorama of hill and dale. + +"I don't think you could find a fairer sight in all England," remarked +Mr. Bidlake. "Ah, that's right. I see a motor-car is waiting for us." + +Dick felt as thought a weight rolled from his shoulders the moment he +stood beneath the open sky. Yes, this was glorious! The air was laden +with the perfume of bursting life. The chorus of the birds exhilarated +him; the sight of the rich loamy meadows, where lambkins sported and +cows fed lazily, made him feel that he was not following some chimera of +the mind, but tangible realities. + +A chauffeur touched his cap. "Mr. Faversham and Mr. Bidlake, sir?" he +inquired. + +A few minutes later the car was moving swiftly along beautiful country +lanes, the like of which only a few English counties can show. Yes, Dick +had to admit it. Beautiful as he thought the whole district to be when +cycling through it years before, he had no idea it was like this. Every +corner they turned revealed new loveliness. All nature seemed bent on +giving him a great welcome to his new home. + +They had covered perhaps half the journey between the station and the +house when the chauffeur jammed his foot on the brake suddenly and +brought the car to a standstill. In front of them stood a small +two-seater, by the open bonnet of which stood a young lady with hand +uplifted. Evidently something had gone wrong with her machine, and the +lane at this point was not wide enough for them to pass. + +Dick immediately alighted. + +"I am awfully sorry to inconvenience you," protested the girl, "but my +engine has stopped, and, try as I may, I can't get it to start again." + +Her face was slightly flushed, partly with her endeavours to start the +engine and partly with impatience; but this did not detract from her +more than usually handsome appearance. For she was handsome; indeed, +Dick thought he had never seen such a striking girl. And this was no +wonder. It is only rare that nature produces such a perfect specimen of +young womanhood as he saw that morning--perfect, that is, in face and +form, perfect in colouring, in stature, in bearing. She was a +brunette--great black flashing eyes, full red lips, raven-black hair, +skin suffused with the glow of buoyant health. More than ordinarily +tall, she was shaped like a Juno, and moved with all the grace and +freedom of an athlete. + +"Help the lady, my man," said Mr. Bidlake to the chauffeur. + +"Sorry, sir," replied the man, "but I don't know anything about engines. +I've only just learnt to drive. You see, sir, Mrs. Winkley didn't quite +know what to do when----" + +"All right," interrupted Dick, with a laugh; "perhaps I can help you." + +"If you only could," laughed the girl. "I haven't had the thing long, +but it never went wrong until to-day. I know how to drive pretty well, +but as for understanding the engine, I'm a mere baby." + +She had a frank, pleasant voice, and laughed as she spoke, revealing +perfect teeth. + +Dick, who had quite a gift for mechanism, quickly found some tools, and +commenced testing the sparking-plugs like a man conversant with his +work. + +"I'll have to take off my coat if you'll excuse me," he said presently. +"I see you start the thing on a battery, and have no magneto. I'm sorry +I don't know this class of car well, but I think I can see what's the +matter." + +"What is it? Do tell me," she cried, with an eager laugh. "I've been +studying motor manuals and all that sort of thing ever since I commenced +to drive, but diagrams always confuse me." + +"The distributor seems to be wrong, and some wires have become +disconnected. Have you been held up long?" + +"Oh, a quarter of an hour--more." + +"And running the battery all the time?" + +"I'm afraid so." + +"You must be careful or your battery'll run out of electricity; that +would mean your being hung up for two days." + +"They told me that at the garage a little time ago. But what must I do?" +and she laughed at him pleasantly. + +"If she doesn't start at once, get someone to adjust the parts. There, I +wonder if she'll go now." + +He touched a switch, and the engine began to run. + +"She seems all right," he said, after watching the moving mass of +machinery for some seconds. + +"Oh, you are good--and--thank you ever so much." + +"It's been quite a pleasure," replied Dick, putting on his coat. "It was +lucky I came by." + +"It was indeed; but look at your hands. They are covered with oil. I +_am_ sorry." + +"Nothing to be sorry for. Oil breaks no bones. Besides, I shall be able +to wash them in a few minutes." + +"You are not going far, then?" + +"Only to Wendover Park. Do you know it?" + +"Know it! Why----" She checked herself suddenly, and Dick thought she +seemed a little confused. "But I must be going now. Thank you again." + +She got into the car, and in a few seconds was out of sight. + +"Remarkably handsome young lady, isn't she?" remarked Mr. Bidlake. "Do +you know who she is?" he asked the chauffeur. + +"Lady Blanche Huntingford, sir," replied the chauffeur. + +"Whew!" whistled Mr. Bidlake. + +"Anybody special?" asked Dick. + +The lawyer smiled. "The incident is decidedly interesting," he replied. +"First, she is cousin to Sir Guy Wendover who used to own Wendover Park, +and second, she is the daughter of Lord Huntingford, the proudest and +most exclusive aristocrat in Surrey." + +"No? By Jove, she is handsome!" + +"It is said that the Huntingfords rule Social Surrey. If they take you +up, your social status is assured; if they boycott you----" and the +lawyer shrugged his shoulders. + +Dick was silent a few seconds. Evidently he was thinking deeply. "Isn't +she glorious?" he cried presently. "I never saw such a dazzling girl. +Did you notice her eyes--her complexion? I--I wouldn't have missed it +for anything." + +The lawyer did not reply. Perhaps he had reasons for his silence. + +The car dashed on for another mile, and then Dick gave a cry of delight. + +"That's it, isn't it?" + +"Yes; that's it." + +They were looking at a lovely old mansion which stood on the slope of a +hill. Stretching away from it were fine park-lands, and beyond these +were wide-stretching woods. Looked at on that fair spring day, it was +indeed a place to be proud of, to rejoice in. + +"I never dreamt it was so fine!" gasped Dick. + +"One of the finest places in England," was the lawyer's complacent +reply. + +Dick looked like one fascinated. It appealed to and satisfied him +altogether. + +"It's old, isn't it?" + +"Three hundred years. It is said that the gardens are a wonder." + +The car passed through some heavily wrought gates, and then rolled under +an avenue of old trees. Dick could not speak; the thought of possessing +such a place made him dumb. A few minutes later they drew up before the +main entrance. + +Dick was the first to leap out. He was eager to enter, to claim +possession, to examine every nook and corner of his new home. He put his +foot on the bottom step leading to the door, and then stopped suddenly. +He felt himself rooted to the ground, felt afraid to move. + +"I congratulate you again," said the lawyer. "I feel proud that I have +the privilege to----" + +"Don't you see? There! Don't you see?" gasped Dick. + +"See?" repeated the lawyer. "Of course I see one of the most beautiful +houses in England." + +"Yes, but nothing else?" he asked excitedly. + +"What do you mean?" queried the lawyer. + +But Dick did not reply. Although the lawyer had seen nothing, he saw in +dim outline the face and form which had appeared to him when he was +sinking in the turbulent waters of the Indian Ocean. Was this a warning +that trouble was to overwhelm him again? + +Dick Faversham had no doubts. Whatever he might think later, he was at +that time certain of what he saw. The sun was shining brightly, and +there was nothing in the various objects by which he was surrounded to +suggest the supernatural, and yet he saw the face of the angel. She +seemed to be hovering over the steps which led to the main entrance of +the house, and for the moment she looked as though she would forbid his +entrance. But only for the moment. Slowly she faded away, slowly he lost +sight of her, and by the time the servant, who had evidently seen the +approach of the car, had reached the door she had gone. + +But he was sure he had seen her. The form he had seen hovering over him +on the wild, turbulent sea was plainly visible to him at the door of +this old Surrey mansion. The face, too, could not be mistaken. The same +calm, benign expression, the same tender mouth. Goodness, purity, +guardianship, all found their expression in those features. But there +was something more. The eyes which had riveted his attention and haunted +his memory for months seemed to convey something different to him now +from what they had then. There was still the same yearning gaze, the +same melting tenderness, but there was something more. They seemed to +suggest fear, warning. Dick Faversham felt as though she wanted to tell +him something, to warn him against some unknown danger. It is true the +feeling was indefinite and difficult to put into words; but it was +there. She might, while not forbidding him to enter the house which had +so unexpectedly come into his possession, be trying to tell him of +dangers, of possible calamity. + +"And do you say that you can see--that--that you saw nothing?" he almost +gasped. + +"I can see a great deal," replied Mr. Bidlake. "I can see one of the +loveliest scenes in England. I can see you standing at the entrance +of--but what do you mean? You look pale--frightened. Aren't you well?" + +Dick opened his mouth to tell what he had seen, but he checked himself. +Somehow the thought of opening his heart to this matter-of-fact lawyer +seemed like sacrilege. He would not understand. He would tell him, just +as Romanoff had told him weeks before, that his mind was unbalanced by +the experiences through which he had passed, that the natural excitement +caused by the news he had heard were too much for him, and caused him to +lose his mental balance. + +"Yes, I am quite well, thank you." + +"Well, what do you mean? What do you think you saw?" + +At that moment the door opened, and the housekeeper, who had hurried to +meet them, appeared, and the lawyer did not listen to his stammering +reply. + +"Good-day, Mr. Bidlake," smiled the housekeeper. "I am glad you got here +all right. Winkley had quite a difficulty in getting a chauffeur. I hope +the one provided was satisfactory?" + +"It's all right, Mrs. Winkley," and the lawyer was very patronising as +he spoke; "the man brought us here safely. This," and he turned towards +Dick, "is Mr. Richard Faversham, the new owner of--hem--Wendover Park, +and your new--master." + +"Indeed, sir," and Mrs. Winkley turned and looked nervously towards +Dick, "I hope you'll be very--happy here, sir. I bid you welcome, sir." + +Dick smiled with frank pleasure and shook hands--a familiarity which +pleased the housekeeper, but not the lawyer. + +"You got my letter, Mrs. Winkley?" Mr. Bidlake said hurriedly. + +"Yes, sir, also your telephone message yesterday. Wendover Park is a +lovely place, Mr. Faversham." + +"It is, indeed, Mrs. Winkley. This Surrey air has given me an appetite, +too." + +Dick was so nervous that he hardly knew what he was saying. As he +glanced around the spacious hall and tried to realise that it was his +own, and as he called to mind that for the last mile he had been passing +through his own property, it seemed to be too wonderful to be true. + +"Yes, the air is very good, and I am glad you are hungry. Lunch will be +ready in half an hour. I have prepared a bedroom for you, Mr. Faversham. +I have assumed you are--staying here?" + +"Rather!" and Dick laughed as he spoke. "You must excuse me if I'm a +little abrupt, Mrs. Winkley. You see, I imagine it will take me some +little time to settle down to the new order of things." + +"I think I understand; it must be a wonderful experience for you. But I +think you'll find everything all right. I have taken great care of +everything since the late Mr. Faversham died. It's all just as he left +it. No doubt you'll want to look over the house?" + +"Presently, Mrs. Winkley; but, first of all, I want to come to an +understanding with you. I am a bachelor, and I don't think I have a +relation in the world, so, for a time, I--shall make no changes in the +place at all. What I mean to say is, that I hope you'll continue to be +my housekeeper, and--and look after me generally. Mr. Bidlake has said +all sorts of good things about you, so much so that I shall regard +myself very fortunate if--if you'll remain in your present position." + +Dick didn't know at all why he said this, except that he had a feeling +that something of the sort was expected from him. + +"I'm sure it's very kind of you to say so, sir," and Mrs. Winkley smiled +radiantly. "Of course I've been a little bit anxious, not knowing what +kind of--of gentleman the new owner would be, or what plans he might +have. But, if you think I'll suit you, sir, I'll do my utmost to make +you comfortable and look after your interests. I was housekeeper to Dr. +Bell of Guildford when the late Mr. Faversham's sister died, and----" + +"Yes, I've heard about that," interrupted Dick. "I'm sure he was lucky +to get you." + +"I did my best for him, sir, and he never grumbled. I lived in these +parts as a girl, so I can get you plenty of references as to the +respectability of my family." + +"I'm sure you can," Dick assented. He was glad that Mrs. Winkley was of +the superior servant order rather than some superior person who had +pretensions to being a fine lady. "By the way, of course you know the +house well?" + +"Know the house well?" repeated Mrs. Winkley. She was not quite sure +that she understood him. + +"Yes; know all the rooms?" laughed Dick nervously. + +"Why, certainly, sir. I know every room from the garret to the cellar," +replied Mrs. Winkley wonderingly. + +"And there are no ghosts, are there?" + +"Ghosts, sir? Not that I ever heard of." + +"I was only wondering. It's an old house, and I was thinking that there +might be a family ghost." + +Mrs. Winkley shook her head. "Nothing of the sort, sir, to my knowledge. +Wait a minute, though; I did hear when I was a girl that the elm grove +was haunted. There's a lake down there, and there was a story years ago +that a servant who had drowned herself there used to wander up and down +the grove wringing her hands on Michaelmas Eve." + +"And where is the elm grove?" + +"It's away towards the North Lodge. You wouldn't see it the way you +came, and it's hidden from here." + +"But the house? There's no legend that that has ever been haunted?" + +"No, sir. I suppose some of the Wendovers were very wild generations +ago, but I never heard that any of their spirits ever came back again." + +Mrs. Winkley was pleased that her new master kept talking so long, +although she came to the conclusion that he was somewhat eccentric. + +"Of course, it was foolish of me to ask," Dick said somewhat awkwardly; +"but the thought struck me. By the way, how long did you say it was to +lunch-time?" + +"Not quite half an hour, sir," replied Mrs. Winkley, looking at an old +eight-day clock. "I'll speak to the cook and get it pushed forward as +fast as possible. Perhaps you'd like a wash, sir? I'll show you to your +room, if you would." + +"Thank you. After that I--I think, Mr. Bidlake, I'd like to go into the +gardens." + +He was afraid he was making a bad impression upon his housekeeper, and +he was angry with himself for not acting in a more natural manner. But +he seemed to be under a strange influence. Although the thought of the +supernatural had left him, his experience of a few minutes before +doubtless coloured his mind. + +A few minutes later they were out in the sunlight again, and they had +scarcely reached the gardens when a man of about fifty years of age made +his way towards them. + +"Good morning, sir," he said, with a strong Scotch accent. "Have I the +honour to speak to the new master?" + +"Yes; my name is Faversham." + +"I'm M'Neal, your second gardener, sir. I thought when I saw you I'd +make bold to speak, sir. I've been here for thirty years, sir, and have +always borne a good character." + +"I've no doubt you have," laughed Dick. "You look it." + +"Thank you, sir. I gave satisfaction to the late Mr. Faversham, and to +Sir Guy Wendover before him, and I hope----" + +"That we shall get on well together. Of course we shall. I like the look +of you." + +He felt better now. The sight of the broad expanse of the park and the +smell of the sweet, pure air made him light-hearted again. + +"Indeed," he continued, "I may as well tell you right away that I intend +to keep everybody that was here in my uncle's days. You can tell the +others that." + +"Thank you, sir. But I'd like to remark that this war has made food +dear." + +"I'll bear that in mind; you'll not find me unjust. All who serve me +shall be well paid." + +"We've all done our best, sir," persisted M'Neal, who was somewhat of a +character, "but I'll not deny that we shall all be the better for a +master. Personally I'm not satisfied with the way things are looking." + +"No? I thought they looked beautiful." + +"Ah, but nothing to what they can look. We are, as you may say, in a +kind of between time now. We've not planted out the beds, although we've +prepared them. If you'll----" + +"Of course I will," Dick interrupted him, with a laugh, "but you must +give me time before making definite promises." + +"If I might show you around," suggested M'Neal, "I think I could +explain----" + +"Later, later," laughed Dick, moving away. "Mr. Bidlake, will you come +over here with me? I want to speak to you privately." + +"Do you know," Mr. Bidlake told him, "that your uncle discharged M'Neal +several times during the time he lived here?" + +"Why?" + +"Because he followed him like a dog whenever he came into the grounds, +and insisted on talking to him. He said the fellow gave him no rest." + +"But why did he take him on again?" + +"He didn't. But M'Neal took no notice of the discharges. He always +turned up on the following morning, and went on with his work as though +nothing had happened." + +"And my uncle paid him his wages?" + +"Yes. You see, the fellow is as faithful as a dog, although he's a +nuisance. My word, what a view!" + +The lawyer made this exclamation as a turn in the path revealed a +landscape they had not hitherto seen. It was one of those stretches of +country peculiar to that part of Surrey, and as Dick looked he did not +wonder at the lawyer's enthusiasm. Beyond the park, which was studded +with giant oaks, he saw a rich, undulating country. Here and there were +farmsteads nestling among the trees; again he saw stretches of +woodland, while in the distance rose fine commanding hills. The foliage +had far from reached its glory, but the tinge of green which was +creeping over every hedgerow and tree contained a promise, and a charm +that no poet could describe. And the whole scene was all bathed in +spring sunlight, which the birds, delighting in, made into a vast +concert hall. + +"My word, it is ripping!" cried Dick. + +"It's glorious! it's sublime!" cried the lawyer. "You are a fortunate +man, Mr. Richard Faversham. Do you know, sir, that all you can see is +yours?" + +"All mine?" Dick almost gasped. + +"Yes, all this and much more." + +For the first time Dick had a real feeling of possession, and something +to which he had hitherto been a stranger entered his life. Up to now he +had been poor. His life, ever since his father died, had been a +struggle. He had dreamed dreams and seen visions, only to be +disappointed. In spite of ambition, endeavour, determination, everything +to which he had set his hand had failed him. But now, as if some fabled +genii had come to his aid, fortune had suddenly poured her favours into +his lap. + +And here was the earnest of it! + +This glorious countryside, containing farms, houses, villages, and +wide-spreading lands, was his. All his! Gratified desire made his heart +beat wildly. At last life was smiling and joyous. What a future he would +have! With wealth like his, nothing would be impossible! + +"Yes, and much more," repeated the lawyer. "On what chances a man's +fortunes turn." + +"What do you mean?" asked Dick, who scarce knew what he was saying. + +"Only this," said Mr. Bidlake. "If that fellow had not been killed in a +drunken brawl, none of this would be yours. As it is, you are one of the +most fortunate men in England." + +"Yes, by Jove, I am." + +The lawyer looked at his watch. "Excuse me, Mr. Faversham, but it is +lunch-time, and I must leave you at five o'clock." + +"I'm sorry you can't stay a few days." + +"Impossible, my dear sir, much as I'd like to. But I've made a little +programme for you this afternoon, if it is quite convenient to you." + +"Yes?" queried Dick. + +"Yes; I've arranged for your steward, your head gamekeeper, and the +other principal men on the estate to call here. I thought you might like +to see them. There, I hear the lunch-gong." + +Dick went back to the house like a man in a dream. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +LADY BLANCHE MAKES HER APPEARANCE + + +At six o'clock that evening Dick Faversham was alone. He had had +interviews with his steward, his bailiff, his gamekeeper, his forester, +his head gardener, and his head stableman, and now he was left to +himself. Mr. Bidlake, after promising to come again in three days, had +gone back to London, while the others had each gone to their respective +homes to discuss the new master of Wendover Park and the changes which +would probably take place. + +Dick had also gone over the house, and had taken note of the many +features of his new dwelling-place. He had examined the library, the +billiard-room, the dancing-room, the minstrels' gallery, the banqueting +hall, and the many other apartments belonging to this fine old mansion. +Evidently many of the rooms had for years been unused, but, as Mrs. +Winkley had said, everything was "in perfect condition." + +His uncle belonged to that order of men who could not bear to let +anything deteriorate for lack of attention, and he had spent his money +freely. In a way, too, Charles Faversham had a sense of fitness. In all +the improvements he had made, he saw to it that the character and spirit +of the old place should in no way be disturbed. Thus, while every room +was hygienic, and every fireplace fitted according to the most modern +ideas, the true character of everything was maintained. Electric light +was installed, but not a single fitting was out of accord with the age +of the building. Modern science had in everything been perfectly blended +with the spirit of the men who had erected this grand old pile centuries +before. + +And Dick felt it all. He was enough of an artist to realise that +nothing was out of place, that it was a home to rejoice in, to be proud +of. If John Ruskin had been alive, and had accompanied him on his tour +of inspection, there was little that the author of _The Seven Lamps of +Architecture_ would have found fault with. + +Most of the furniture, too, was old, and had belonged to the Wendovers. +When Mr. Charles Faversham had bought the estate, he had taken over +everything practically as it stood. Pictures, tapestry, antique articles +of furniture which had been in the house for centuries still remained. + +"Everything has such a homely, cosy feeling!" he exclaimed to himself, +again and again. "The place is not one of those great, giant, homeless +barracks; it's just an ideal home. It's perfect!" + +And it was all his! That was the thought that constantly came to his +mind. This fact was especially made real to him during his interview +with Mr. Boase, the steward. That worthy gentleman, a lawyer who lived +in a little town, most of which belonged to the Wendover estate, made +this abundantly plain by every word he spoke, by every intonation of his +voice. + +Mr. Boase unrolled maps and plans in abundance. He placed before him +lists of tenants, with nature and condition of their tenancy. He told +him how much each farmer paid in rent, how much the house property was +worth, what amount was spent each year in repairs, and finally the net +amount of his rent-roll. And this was all apart from his investments +elsewhere. It was simply fabulous. He who had always been poor, and had +often been hard put to it to pay for food and clothes, found himself +ridiculously wealthy. He had money to burn. Aladdin of romantic renown +was not so much filled with wonder when the slave of the lamp appeared, +ready to do his bidding, as was Dick as he realised his position. + +And he revelled in thought of it all. He was not of a miserly nature, +but he gloried in the influence of the power of wealth, and he painted +glowing pictures of his future. He saw the doors of the rich and the +great open to him; he saw himself courted by people possessing old names +and a great ancestry; he fancied himself occupying positions of +eminence in the life of the nation; he saw proud beauties smiling on +him. + +Nothing was impossible! He knew he had more than an average share of +brains; his late employers had admitted as much to him. He also had the +gift of oratory. On the few occasions he had attempted to address his +fellows this had been abundantly proved. In the past he had been +handicapped, but now---- + +After dinner that night he walked out alone. He wanted to see his +possessions, to feel his own earth beneath his feet, to feast his eyes +on the glorious countryside. + +"It will take me a week," he reflected, "to get used to it all, to fully +realise that it is all mine. I want to feel my feet, to formulate my +plans, to sketch my future. Of course, I shall be alone for a time, but +in a few days the neighbours will be sure to call on me. After that I +must give a ball. Of course, it is a bad time just now, and it is a +nuisance that so many of the young fellows have been called into the +Army; but I'll be able to manage it," and then he pictured the great +ballroom filled with laughter and gaiety. + +Then the memory of Lady Blanche Huntingford came to him. He saw her as +she had appeared to him that morning. What a glorious creature she was! +What great flashing eyes, what a complexion, what a figure! And she +belonged to one of the oldest families in England. The Huntingfords were +a great people before half the titled nobility of the present day were +ever heard of. + +He called to mind what Mr. Bidlake had told him. If the Huntingfords +recognised him, his social position was assured, for Lord Huntingford +was the social magnate of the county. He was almost half in love with +her already. He remembered her silvery laugh, the gleaming whiteness of +her teeth. What a mistress she would make for Wendover Park! And he +could win her love! He was sure he could, and when he did---- + +He blessed the failure of her car to run that morning; blessed the +knowledge he possessed whereby he had been able to render her a service. +Of course, she would find out who he was, and then--yes, he would find +the Open Sesame for every door. + +For the next few days things happened as Dick expected. He was given +time to view his possessions, to take stock of his new position, and +then the neighbours began to call. By this time Dick knew full +particulars of all the old families in Surrey, and he was gratified at +their appearance. Evidently he suffered from none of the antipathy which +had been felt towards his uncle. He was young, he was good looking, he +had the education and appearance of a gentleman, and people accepted him +at his face value. + +One day his heart gave a great bound, for a servant told him that Lord +and Lady Huntingford, accompanied by Lady Blanche Huntingford, were in +the drawing-room. He knew then that his position in the society of the +county would be assured. It was true that Lord Huntingford was +poor--true, too, that his uncle had practically ejected Sir Guy Wendover +from his old home, and that Sir Guy was a relative of the Huntingfords. +But that would count for nothing, and the Huntingfords were the +Huntingfords! + +"This is good of you, Lord Huntingford!" he cried, as he entered the +room. + +"I came to give you a welcome," said Lord Huntingford somewhat +pompously. "I trust you will be very happy here." + +"I'm sure I shall!" cried Dick, with the laugh of a boy. "Wendover Park +feels like Paradise to me." + +"I know the place well," said the peer. "My Cousin Guy, as you may have +heard, used to live here." + +"Yes, I have heard of it, and I'm afraid you must feel rather bitterly +towards me as a consequence." + +"Not at all," replied Huntingford. "Of course, it is all ancient history +now. We _did_ feel cut up about it at the time, but--but I congratulate +you on possessing such a fine old place." + +"But for the fact that I so love it already," said Dick, "I should wish +my uncle had secured some other place; but, for the life of me, I can't. +It's too lovely. Anyhow, I'll try to be not an unworthy successor of Sir +Guy. I hope you'll help me, Lord Huntingford, and you, Lady Huntingford +and Lady Blanche. You see, I'm handicapped. I'm a bachelor, and I'm +entirely ignorant of my duties. I shall look to you for help." + +This was sound policy on Dick's part. Lord Huntingford was a vain man, +and loved to patronise. + +"You began all right," laughed Lady Blanche. "You helped a poor, +forlorn, helpless motorist out of a difficulty." + +"You recognise me, then?" + +"Of course I do. I positively envied the way you tackled that engine of +mine and put it right. Of course, I felt angry when I knew who you were. +No, no, there was nothing personal about it. I only hated the thought +that anyone other than a Wendover should live here. A family feeling, +you know." + +"All that Wendover Park has is yours to command!" and Dick looked very +earnest as he spoke. + +"Now, that's good of you. But don't be too liberal with your promises. I +may take you at your word." + +"Try me!" cried Dick. "I should like to do something to atone. Not that +I can give it up," he added, with a laugh. "I simply couldn't, you know. +But--but----" + +"And how are you going to spend your time?" asked Lord Huntingford. "We +are living in a critical age." + +"I shall make something turn up!" Dick cried heartily, "as soon as I +know where I am." + +"And, meanwhile, I suppose you motor, ride, shoot, golf, and all the +rest of it?" asked Lady Blanche. + +"I have all the vices," Dick told her. + +"You say you golf?" + +"Yes, a little. Would you give me a match?" he ventured. + +"I'd love to," and her eyes flashed into his. + +The next afternoon Dick met Lady Blanche on the golf links, and before +the match was over he believed that he was in love with her. Never +before had he met such a glorious specimen of physical womanhood. To him +her every movement was poetry, her lithe, graceful body a thing in which +to rejoice. + +After the match Dick motored her back to her home. He was in Arcadia as +she sat by his side. The charm of her presence was to him like some +fabled elixir. On their way they caught a glimpse of Wendover Park. The +old house stood out boldly on the hillside, while the wide-stretching +park-lands were plainly to be seen. + +"It's a perfect place," said the girl. "It just wants nothing." + +"Oh yes, it does," laughed Dick. + +"What?" she asked. + +"Can't you think? If you were a bachelor you would," and he watched her +face closely as he spoke. + +He was afraid lest he might offend her, and he wondered if she saw his +meaning. He thought he saw a flush surmount her face, but he was not +sure. They were passing a cart just then, and he had to fix his +attention on the steering-wheel. + +"Do you know," he went on, "it's a bit lonely there. I haven't many +friends. And then, being a bachelor, I find it difficult to entertain. +Not but what I shall make a start soon," he added. + +"I think you are to be envied," she remarked. + +"Of course I am. I'm one of the luckiest fellows in the world. By the +way, I want to give a dance or something of that sort as a kind of +house-warming." + +"How delightful." + +"Is it? But then, you see, I'm so ignorant that I don't know how to +start about it." + +"Don't you? That's a pity. You must get help." + +"I must. I say, will you help me? There is no one I'd so soon have." + +He was sure this time. He saw the rosy tint on her face deepen. Perhaps +she heard the tremor in his voice. But she did not answer him; instead, +she looked away towards the distant landscape. + +"Will you?" he persisted. + +"What could I do?" + +"Everything. You know the people, know who I should invite, and what I +should do. You are accustomed to that kind of thing. I am not." + +Still she was silent. + +"Will you?" he asked again. + +"Perhaps. If you really wish me to." + +She almost whispered the words, but he heard her, and to him there was +something caressing in her tone. + +They passed up a long avenue of trees leading to her home, and a few +seconds later the car stood at the door. + +"You'll come in and have some tea, won't you?" + +"May I?" he asked eagerly. + +"Of course you may. Mother will be expecting you." + +As he rode back to Wendover Park that evening Dick was in Paradise. +Nothing but the most commonplace things had been said, but the girl had +fascinated him. She had appealed to his ambition, to his pride, to his +admiration for perfect, physical womanhood. She was not very clever, but +she was handsome. She was instinct with redundant health; she was +glorious in her youth and vitality. + +"I'm in love," he said to himself more than once. "And she's +wonderful--simply, gloriously wonderful. What eyes, what a complexion, +what a magnificent figure! I wonder if----" + +I am dwelling somewhat on this part of Dick Faversham's life because +I wish the reader to understand the condition of his mind, to +understand the forces at work. Uninteresting as it may be, it is still +important. For Dick passed through some wonderful experiences soon +after--experiences which shook the foundations of his life, and which +will be more truly understood as we realise the thoughts and feelings +which possessed him. + +As I have said, he was in a state of bliss as he drove back to Wendover +Park that evening, but as he neared his lodge gates a curious feeling of +depression possessed him. His heart became heavy, forebodings filled his +mind. It seemed to him that he was on the edge of a dreadful calamity. + +"What's the matter with me?" he asked himself again and again. "The sun +is shining, the world is lovely, and I have all that heart can wish +for." + +Still the feeling possessed him. Something was going to +happen--something awful. He could not explain it, or give any reason for +it, but it was there. + +Then suddenly his heart stood still. As the car drew up to his own door +he again saw the face of the angel. She was hovering over the entrance +just as he had seen her on the day he came to take possession. She +seemed to dread something; there was pain almost amounting to agony in +the look she gave him. + +He had alighted from the car, and he had a dim idea that a man was +approaching to take it to the garage, but he paid no attention to him; +he stood like one transfixed, looking at the apparition. He was aware +that the car had gone, and that he was alone. In a vague way he supposed +that the chauffeur, like the lawyer, had seen nothing. + +"Who are you? What do you want?" + +The words escaped him almost in spite of himself. + +But he heard no voice in reply. He thought he saw her lips trying to +formulate words, but were not able. + +"Tell me," he persisted--"tell me who you are, why you appear to me. +What do you want?" + +Again the apparition seemed to be trying to become audible, only to +fail. Then, although he could hear no distinct voice, her answer seemed +to come to him. + +"Fight, fight; pray, pray," she seemed to be saying. "Beware of the +tempter. Fight, fight; pray, pray. Promise me." + +He was not afraid, but it seemed to him that he was face to face with +eternal realities. He knew then that there were depths of life and +experience of which he was ignorant. + +He heard steps in the hall, and then someone opened the door. + +There stood, smiling, debonair, sardonic, and--yes--wicked, Count +Romanoff. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +COUNT ROMANOFF'S GOSPEL + + +Count Romanoff! + +A weight seemed to settle on Dick Faversham's heart as he saw the +sinister face of his visitor. During the excitement of the last few days +he had scarcely given him a thought. The dark, saturnine stranger had +shrunk away into the background of his life, and no longer seemed of +importance to him. It is true he had now and then wondered whether he +should ever see him again, but as there seemed no present likelihood of +his doing so, he had practically dismissed him from his mind. + +His sudden appearance came to him like a shock. Besides, he was nervous, +excited at what he had just experienced. Every nerve was tingling, every +sense preternaturally awake. What did this apparition mean? Why should +the same face and form appear to him again and again?--first in the +smoke-room of the ship, then on the island, then as he first put foot +into the new inheritance, and now again. What did it mean? Then during +that awful struggle in the stormy sea. + +"Ha, Faversham. You see, I have taken you at your word." + +Dick's thoughts came to earth as the Count's voice reached him. + +"I'm glad to see you," he said cordially, and as he led the way to the +library he was all that a host should be. + +"You see, I was in England, and, having a little spare time, I thought I +would look you up. I hope I'm not taking too great a liberty?" + +"Liberty, my dear fellow! I should be annoyed beyond words if you had +not come to see me. I have hosts of things to discuss with you. +Besides," and Dick spoke like one deeply moved, "I cannot help +remembering that but for you it is not likely I should be here. I should +have been lying somewhere at the bottom of the Indian Ocean." + +"Oh, come now; let's have no more of that. Of course, I had the good +luck to be of service to you, and jolly glad I am; no decent fellow +could have done less than I did." + +"All the same, I cannot forget that I owe my life to you," cried Dick +fervently. "Do you know, I wondered no end what happened to you; tell me +about it." + +"Not until I hear about you. Of course, I can guess a great deal. The +fact that you are here tells me that the wireless you got on the ship +was not only _bona fide_ but important. You are master here, eh?" + +Dick nodded. + +"I've been told that your uncle was a very rich man. Is that so?" + +"Yes." + +"And you are his heir?" + +"Yes." + +"I congratulate you. By Jove, it's a lovely place. I didn't know when +I've seen anything I like so much. And I've seen a few houses, I can +tell you. But really, now, and I hope I'm not impertinent, do you mean +to tell me that you have entered into all old Charles Faversham's +wealth?" + +"I suppose so." + +"Shake hands on it. I can think of no one more fitted to own 'big +money,' as the Americans say. I'm glad of the privilege of seeing you in +possession." + +It seemed to Dick that it was a new Romanoff that he saw. He was no +longer pessimistic, cynical, saturnine. He looked younger, too, and no +one could help admitting that he had that grand air that denotes birth +and breeding. + +"I only arrived in London last night," went on Romanoff. "I got into +Tilbury late in the afternoon, and after I got fixed up at my hotel I +began to wonder about you. Presently I called to mind what you told me, +and--here I am." + +"Of course you'll stay with me a bit?" + +"May I?" + +"May you? Why, of course you must, if you can. That goes without +saying." + +"I say, you are awfully good. I should love to stay a bit. This is one +of the loveliest corners in the world at the loveliest time of the year. +Surrey in May! What can be more attractive!" + +"I'll have your room prepared at once, and, by the way, I'll send a man +to London for your luggage." + +"That is good of you, Faversham. I may as well confess it now. I did +bring a suit-case with me in the hope that you could put me up for the +night, but of course----" + +"You might have known that I'd want you for a long time," Dick +interrupted. + +A servant entered, and Dick gave his instructions. "Now tell me," he +went on; "what did you do on leaving the island? I know practically +nothing about anything. I was very ill, and got no better till the boat +landed at Plymouth." + +Romanoff hesitated for a few seconds, then he replied: + +"Oh, I caught a boat bound for Australia." + +"Australia, eh?" + +"Yes. Our signals were seen by two vessels, one returning to England, +and the other going to Australia, which, as luck would have it, stopped +at Bombay for a few hours. So I took that." + +"And you didn't stay long in the Antipodes?" + +"No, I did not like the country, and I found it necessary to return to +England." + +"I'm jolly glad." + +"Well, here I am anyhow. Isn't life a topsy-turvy business? Who would +have thought when we exchanged commonplaces on that boat a short time +ago we should forgather like this in a lovely old Surrey house? Facts +beat fiction all to bits. Fiction is commonplace, tame, prosy; but +facts--real life--are interesting. Now, tell me about your experiences." + +"Not yet. It's nearly dinner-time. I suppose you brought no evening +clothes?" + +Romanoff laughed. "As a matter of fact, I did. Of course, I was not sure +you were here; but I thought you might be, so I took the liberty of----" + +"Splendid," interrupted Dick. "There, the dressing-bell is ringing. I'll +show you your room. My word, I'm awfully glad you've come. To tell you +the truth, I was feeling a bit depressed." + +"You depressed! I say! Fancy the heir of all this being depressed." + +"But I was. The idea of spending the evening alone dismayed me. You see, +a fellow can't be out every night, and--and there you are. But you've +come." + +"And no one will call to-night?" + +"I don't expect so. Young Clavering, who is home on leave, might come +over for a game of billiards, but I can't think of anyone else likely to +turn up." + +"Clavering--Clavering. I don't think I know the name." + +"Oh, it is a good name in Surrey, I can assure you. It's a very old +family, although I suppose it is frightfully poor. I've only met young +Clavering once, but I liked him very much. Most of the young fellows +around here are in the Army, and the older men are frightful old +fossils. Here's your room. I hope you'll be comfortable." + +Romanoff looked around the room with evident pleasure. He walked to the +window and gazed steadily at the landscape; then he turned to Dick and +gave him a keen, searching glance. + +"You are a fortunate man, Faversham. Speaking as a Russian and also as +one who has travelled all over the world, I say, commend me to England +for comfort. Yes, I'll be all right, my friend." + +When Dick had gone Romanoff threw himself in a chair and gazed into +vacancy. A change passed over his face. He was no longer cheerful and +pleasant; the old sinister, threatening look had come into his eyes, +while his mouth was cruel. Once an expression swept over his features +which suggested a kind of mocking pity, but it was only for a moment. + +During dinner he was in a gay humour. Evidently he had thrown care to +the winds, and lived for the pleasure of the moment. Dick found him +fascinating. He talked pleasantly--at times brilliantly. His +conversation scintillated with sardonic humour. He told stories about +many countries. He related anecdotes about the Imperial House of the +Romanoffs, and described the influence which Rasputin had on the Tzar +and the Tzarina. + +"I cannot understand it," remarked Dick after one of these stories. + +"Understand what?" + +"How a man like the Tzar could allow a dirty charlatan like Rasputin to +have such influence. After all, Nicholas was an educated man, and a +gentleman." + +Romanoff laughed. + +"As well Rasputin as the others," he replied. + +"What others?" + +"The priests of the Holy Orthodox Church. Let me give you a bit of +advice, Faversham; keep clear of all this religious rot. It's true that +you in England pretend to be more advanced than the poor Russians, but +at bottom there's no difference. Wherever religion creeps in, it's the +same story. Religion means credulity, and credulity means lies, +oppression, cant, corruption." + +"Did you meet Rasputin?" + +"Oh yes," replied Romanoff, with a sigh of resignation. "On the whole, I +admired him." + +"I say, that's a bit too thick." + +"Anyhow, the fellow was interesting. He had a philosophy of his own. He +recognised the fact that the world was populated by fools, and he +determined to make the most of his chances. He interpreted religion in a +way that would give the greatest possible gratification to his senses. +His policy was to suck the orange of the world dry. 'Salvation through +sin,' eh?" and Romanoff laughed as he spoke. "Well, it's about the most +sensible religion I ever heard of." + +"It seems to me devilish and dirty," Dick spoke warmly. + +"Nonsense, my dear fellow. Of course, all religion is foolishness--that +is, religion as is usually understood. But if there is to be a religion +at all, Rasputin got hold of the true one." + +"You don't mean that?" + +Romanoff looked at Dick steadily for a few seconds. He seemed to be +thinking deeply as though he were trying to understand his man. + +"Perhaps I don't," he admitted presently. "Sometimes one exaggerates in +order to convey what is actually true. Still, there is a substratum of +truth in the dirty monk's philosophy, as you'll find out before you are +much older. By the way, the evening has turned cold, hasn't it?" + +"Do you find it so? The air of a night is often cold in the early +summer. Have you finished? Then we'll go into my little den where I +always have a fire of an evening." + +A few minutes later Romanoff was sprawling in a large easy-chair with +his feet close to the fire. + +"How long have you been here?" he asked. + +"Not quite a month." + +"Been well received by your neighbours?" + +"On the whole, yes." + +Again Romanoff looked steadily at his companion. "Will you forgive me if +I ask you a few questions?" + +"Certainly. Go ahead." + +"First, then, how do you like being a rich man?" + +Dick glanced around the room, and then gave a look towards the +wide-spreading park-lands. + +"How can one help liking it?" he asked. + +"Exactly. You do not find money to be the root of all evil, then?" + +"Heavens, no!" + +"You would not like to be a poor man again?" + +"What in the world are you driving at? Of course, the very thought of it +is horrible." + +"Just so. I am in my way a student of human nature, and I was a bit +curious. Now for a second question. Who is she?" + +"Oh, I say." + +"Of course she exists." + +"How do you know?" + +"In my way I have the power of divination. When I look at a man I know +something, not much perhaps, but something of his hopes. I felt sure +before I spoke that you were in love. You've been quick about it, my +young friend." + +"I don't know that I am in love." + +"Of course you are. Who is she?" + +"There's no one. At least not yet. I don't suppose she's given me a +second's thought." + +"But you do. Is she young, beautiful? Is she rich, well connected?" + +"Young! beautiful!" laughed Dick. + +"Ah, I see. Not a rustic beauty, by any chance?" + +"Rustic beauty, eh? There's nothing rustic about Lady Blanche +Huntingford." + +"Huntingford! That's one of the best known names in England." + +"Do you know it?" + +"Who doesn't? It's the biggest name in Debrett. But the Huntingfords are +as poor as church mice." + +"What does that matter?" + +"You have enough for both, eh? Of course, that's your hope." + +"Why?" and Dick turned rather sharply on his interlocutor. + +"Oh, nothing personal, my friend. I'm only speaking from a long +experience. The Huntingfords are poor and proud. I do not know of a more +unpleasant combination. I've heard of Lady Blanche--she is about +twenty-four, a great beauty, and so far has not succeeded in the +marriage market. She's had several seasons in London, but the rich +aristocrat has not turned up. That's why she may smile on a commoner--a +newcomer--providing he's rich enough." + +"If you'd seen her, spoken with her, you would not talk like that." + +"Shouldn't I? Who knows? But it's nothing to worry about, my dear +fellow. All talk about the love of women goes for nothing. It doesn't +exist. Of course, there is such a thing as sexual attraction, but +nothing else." + +"You are a terrible cynic, Romanoff." + +"I'm a citizen of the world, and I've gone around the world with my eyes +open. But, as I said, you can have an easy mind. The ball is at your +feet, my dear fellow. Whatever you want you can have." + +"Do be serious." Dick spoke lightly; all the same, he felt uneasy. + +"I _am_ serious," replied Romanoff. "With wealth like yours, you are +master of the world; you can get all the world has to give." + +"I wish I could." + +"I tell you you can. Money is all-powerful. Just think, if you were +poor, not a hope, not an ambition could be realised." + +"That won't do. Hosts of poor fellows have----" + +"Risen to position and power. Just so; but it's been a terrible +struggle, a ghastly grind. In most cases, too, men don't get money until +they are too old to enjoy it. But you are young, and the world's at your +feet. Do you want titles? You can buy them. Power? fame? Again you can +get them. Beautiful women? Love? Yes, even love of a sort you can buy, +if you have money. Poverty is hell; but what heaven there is in this +world can be bought." + +"Then you think the poor can't be happy?" + +"Let me be careful in answering that. If a man has no ambitions, if he +has no desire for power, then, in a negative way, he may be happy +although he's poor. But to you, who are ambitious through and +through--you, who see visions and dream dreams--poverty would be hell. +That's why I congratulate you on all this. And my advice to you is, make +the most of it. Live to enjoy, my dear fellow. Whatever your eyes +desire, take it." + +Dick realised that Romanoff was talking cheap cynicism, that, to use a +journalistic term, it was "piffle" from thread to needle, and yet he was +impressed. Again he felt the man's ascendancy over him, knew that he was +swayed and moulded by a personality stronger than his own. + +Dick did not try to answer him, for at that moment there was a knock at +the door and a servant entered. + +"Mr. and Miss Stanmore have called, sir." + +"I do not think I know them, do I?" asked Dick. + +"I don't know, sir. They live not far from the South Park gates. They +are old residents, sir." + +Whether there was something in the tone of the man's voice, or whether +he desired company other than Romanoff's, I cannot tell. Certain it is +that, acting on impulse and scarcely realising what he was doing, he +said: + +"Show them in here, Jenkins, will you?" + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +BEATRICE STANMORE + + +"You don't mind, do you?" asked Dick, turning to Romanoff when the man +had left the room. + +"Not at all, my dear fellow. Why should I?" + +Again the servant returned and ushered in an old man and a young girl. +The former was a striking-looking figure, and would be noticed in any +crowd. Although old, he stood perfectly upright, and was evidently +healthy and vigorous. His face was ruddy and almost unlined. His white +beard and moustache were allowed to grow long, while his almost massive +head was covered with a wealth of wavy white hair. Perhaps, too, his +attire helped to make his appearance attractive, and his velvet +dinner-jacket suggested the artist or the poet. + +"I hope you'll forgive me calling, Mr. Faversham," he said, taking +Dick's outstretched hand, "but I'm an old man, as well as a man of +moods. I've thought several times of dropping in to see you, but +refrained. I was afraid you would have no use for an old buffer such as +I. But to-night I felt I must, and here I am. This is my granddaughter, +Beatrice." + +"It's awfully good of you to call, Mr. Stanmore, and you, too, Miss +Stanmore." + +Dick looked at the girl full in the face as he spoke, and then all +further words were frozen on his lips. The sight of Beatrice Stanmore +caused his heart to beat wildly, and made him feel that a new influence +had entered the room. + +And yet, at first sight, there was nothing remarkable in her presence. +Picture a fair-haired, blue-eyed girl of eighteen--a girl with a sweet, +winsome, yet mischievous smile, and a perfect complexion; a girl with +well-formed features and an evident sense of humour--and you see +Beatrice Stanmore. And yet your picture would be incomplete. What I have +said suggests a somewhat commonplace girl, such as can be seen by the +score in any country town. But she was not commonplace. Her blue eyes +were large and haunting; sometimes they were sad, and yet there was a +world of mirth and gladness stored in their liquid depths. She was only +eighteen or nineteen years of age, and she did not look older than her +years; but, if you took a second look at her, you would know that her +thoughts were not always a child's thoughts--that she had longings too +deep for words. + +She was dressed very simply. I cannot describe her apparel, but to Dick +it was something light and diaphanous, which set oft a figure which was +at once girlish and yet perfect in its proportions. I do not suppose +that a connoisseur would call her beautiful, but she suggested +health--health of body, of mind, of soul. It would be impossible to +associate her with anything impure, rather a flash from her mirth-loving +eyes would destroy all thought of such a thing. + +"I've seen her before," thought Dick, "but where?" + +No, it was only fancy. She was an utter stranger to him, and yet he was +haunted with the thought that somewhere, at some time, they had met and +known each other, that she had been with him in some crisis. + +"Please forgive us, Mr. Faversham," she said, with a laugh; "it's not my +fault. I should never have had the courage to beard the lion in his +den." + +"What lion? What den?" asked Dick, as he looked into the girl's sunny +face. + +"Of course, you are the lion. You've been the talk of the countryside +for weeks; and--and isn't this your den?" + +She spoke with all the simplicity and frankness of a child, and seemed +to be perfectly unimpressed by the fact that she was talking with one +who was spoken of as one of the richest young men in England. + +"It's I who am the culprit, Mr. Faversham," broke in the old man. "The +impulse came upon me suddenly. I said to Beatrice, 'I am going to call +on young Faversham,' and she jumped at the idea of a walk through the +park, and that's why she's here with me. Please tell me if we are in the +way." + +"In the way? I'm just delighted. And--but let me introduce you to Count +Romanoff." + +Both Hugh Stanmore and his granddaughter looked towards Count Romanoff, +who had risen to his feet. The light was shining fully upon his face, +and Dick could not help feeling what a striking appearance he had. He +half held out his hand to the newcomers and then suddenly withdrew it. + +Old Hugh Stanmore looked at the Count steadily for a few seconds, and +then bowed in silence. It might seem as though something had frozen his +urbanity and cheerfulness. He did not appear to notice the +half-outstretched hand, and Dick felt as though there was an instinctive +antipathy between them. As for Beatrice, she gave the Count a cold nod, +and then, with a perfunctory, "How d'ye do?" turned to Dick again. + +"I'm so glad you've come here to live, Mr. Faversham," she said, with +girlish enthusiasm. + +"You can't be gladder than I," replied Dick; "but, is there a special +reason for your gladness?" + +"Of course there is. I've wanted for years to see the inside of this +house, but I was frightfully afraid of your--your uncle. He always +looked so stern, and so--so forbidding that I hadn't the courage to ask +him. But you are different." + +"Then why haven't you called before?" asked Dick. "I've been here nearly +a month, and yet I've never seen you before." + +"Of course, you must understand," and it was old Hugh Stanmore who +replied, "that we are quite unimportant people. We live in that cottage +not far from your South Lodge, and, not knowing you, we felt rather +sensitive about calling." + +"But your name seems familiar. I'm sure I've heard it somewhere." + +"Not among the people around here, I imagine?" + +"No, I think not; but I seem to have heard of it, or seen it, years +ago." + +"I fancy you are mistaken, although what you say is just possible. When +I was at Cambridge I had tremendous ambitions, and, like thousands of +other callow youths, I made up my mind to win fame. I was something of a +linguist, and had a great longing to win renown as an Egyptologist and +as an Assyrian scholar. However, I had no money to indulge in such +luxuries, so on leaving Cambridge I looked to journalism for a living. I +even wrote a novel," and he laughed merrily. + +"Splendid!" cried Dick. "What was the title of the novel?" + +"I won't tell you that," replied the old man. "I've drawn a very thick +curtain over that effort. However, I might have done something if I'd +persevered; but, luckily or unluckily for me, I had some money left to +me. Not much, but enough to enable me to travel in the East." + +"Yes, and then?" + +"Oh, I'm afraid I did not shine as an Egyptologist, although I had some +wonderful experiences and made some interesting acquaintances. I also +contributed to that phase of literature." + +"I never saw your name in that connection," Dick confessed. + +"I expect not. You see, that was many years ago. Still, although my +health would not stand the Eastern climate, I've kept up my interest in +my early love. But I've been somewhat of a butterfly. On my return to +England I conceived a passion for throwing paint in the eyes of the +public, to quote John Ruskin. I even went so far as to get a few +pictures hung in the Academy. But, in spite of that, I achieved no fame. +Since then I've contributed occasional articles to the reviews, while +such papers as _The Spectator_ and _The Times_ have printed some +effusions of mine which I in my vanity have called poetry. Please +forgive me for talking about myself in this way. I know it is frightful +egotism on my part, but, as I'm one of your nearest neighbours, I'm in a +way introducing myself." + +"It's awfully good of you," replied Dick. "I hope we shall see a good +deal of each other." + +"I hope we shall," replied Hugh Stanmore. "I may as well confess it, Mr. +Faversham, that although I am an old man, I am a creature of impulses. I +do things without being able to give a reason for them. I talk without +knowing why. Do you know that I've never spoken so much about myself to +anyone in this district as I have to-night, and I've lived here for +eighteen years?" + +"What--at the cottage you spoke of?" + +"Yes, at the cottage. I took up my residence there when my son died. He +was an artist who would have won fame if he had lived; but it pleased +the good God to take him away. I determined that I would try to bring +what comfort I could into the life of his young wife. But I was not with +her long. She died at the birth of this little girl here, three months +later." + +A silence fell upon the little company. + +"There, there," laughed Hugh Stanmore, "there's nothing to be sad about. +This life is only a beginning. Actual life comes next, as Browning says. +Besides, I've been very happy looking after my little maid here. It's +rather hard on her, having to see so much of an old man like myself. All +the same, we've had a jolly time." + +"Old man!" cried Beatrice indignantly. "I assure you, Mr. Faversham, +he's the youngest man in Surrey. Sometimes I am quite ashamed of his +frivolity. I'm quite a staid, elderly person compared to him." + +"Anyhow," said the old man, rising, "we must be going now. But be +assured of this, Mr. Faversham: no one wishes you joy in your new home +more than I. We give you a glad welcome to the district, and if an old +man's prayer and an old man's blessing are worth anything, you have +them." + +"But please don't go yet," cried Dick. "It's only a little after nine +o'clock, and--and I'm so glad to have you here. You see, you've only +just come." + +"No, no, I know. But we'll be going now. Some other time, when you +happen to be alone, I'll be glad to come and smoke a pipe with you--if I +may?" + +"May! Of course. Besides, Miss Stanmore said she wanted to look over +the house. When will you come, Miss Stanmore?" + +"I think it must be when you can let Granddad know that you are alone +and have nothing to do," was the girl's reply. "I shall look forward to +it tremendously." + +"So shall I," cried Dick. Then, forgetful of Romanoff, he added, "And I +can assure you, you won't have long to wait." + +Throughout their conversation, only a part of which I have recorded, +Romanoff had not spoken a word. Had Dick been watching him he would have +seen that he was not at all pleased at the presence of the visitors. +There was a dark, lowering look in his eyes, and almost a scowl on his +face. It was evident that a strong feeling of antagonism existed. + +"Good-night, Mr. Faversham," said old Hugh Stanmore, holding out his +hand; then, bowing gravely to Romanoff, he passed out of the room. + +"Oh, but I'll see you to the door, if you _will_ go," insisted Dick, as +for a moment he held Beatrice Stanmore's hand in his. "Allow me." + +He passed through the hall by her side and opened the door. As he did +so, he could barely repress an exclamation of wonder and delight, while +both the old man and the young girl stood as if spellbound. + +It was one of those rare nights which constantly recur to one's +remembrance in after days. It was now the end of May, and while the +summer had not reached its full glory, the fullness of spring made the +earth like a paradise. The sky was cloudless and the silver rays of a +nearly full moon lit up the scene with an unearthly beauty. All around +giant trees stood, while the flowers, which grew in rich profusion, were +plainly to be seen. Away through the leafy trees could be seen the +outline of the country. Here and there the birds, which had barely gone +to rest, were chirping, while away in the distance a cuckoo proclaimed +the advent of summer. + +For a few seconds they stood in silence, then Hugh Stanmore said +quietly, "One can understand Charles Kingsley's dying words on such a +night, Mr. Faversham." + +"What did he say?" asked Dick. + +"'How beautiful God must be,'" quoted Hugh Stanmore. + +Just then a bird burst forth into song--rich-noted, mellow, triumphant. + +"A nightingale!" cried the girl. "Look, Granddad, it is over on that +tree." She went down the drive under the long avenue of trees as she +spoke, leaving Hugh Stanmore and Dick together. + +"They can't be far away on such a night as this," murmured the old man. + +"Who can't be far away?" + +"The angels. The heavens are full of them. Ah, if we could only see!" + +"Do you believe in angels?" + +"Do I believe in them? How can I help believing? It is nearly nineteen +years ago since my boy and his wife died. But they didn't leave me +altogether. They come to me." + +"Have you seen them?" and Dick's eager question was uttered almost +unconsciously. + +"No, not with my natural eyes. Why? I wonder. But I have felt them near +me. I know they are watching over me. You see, they did not cease to +love us when God took them away for some higher service. Naturally, too, +they watch over Beatrice. They could not help it." + +He spoke quietly, and in an almost matter-of-fact way, yet with a +suggestion of reverence in his tones. + +"Who knows who is watching over us now?" continued the old man. "Ah, if +we could only see! 'Are they not all ministering spirits sent to +minister to those who are heirs of Salvation?'" + +Dick felt a shiver pass through him. He reflected that on that very +spot, only a few hours before, he had seen something, _something_--a +luminous figure, a pale, sad face--sad almost to agony! + +"Mr. Faversham," asked Hugh Stanmore suddenly, "who is Count Romanoff?" + +"I don't know much about him," replied Dick. "He was a fellow-passenger +on board the boat on which I was bound for Australia some time ago. Why +do you ask?" + +"You know nothing else? Excuse me." + +"Only that he saved my life." + +"Ah!" + +"Why do you ask?" + +"Nothing. Only he will have a great influence on your life." + +"How do you know?" Dick was greatly excited. + +"I have no reason to give you. I only know." + +"Good or bad?" asked the young man eagerly. + +"I don't know. But did you notice that Beatrice didn't like him? And +I've never once known her wrong in her estimate of people. There, look +at her now, amongst the moon's rays under the trees. Doesn't she look +like an angel? Yes, and she _is_ an angel--one of God's sweetest and +purest and best. But as human as every woman ought to be. Good-night, +Mr. Faversham. Yes, my darling, I'm coming," and the old man went down +the drive with the activity of a boy. + +Dick watched them until they were out of sight. He was influenced more +than he knew by their visit. Their presence, after Count Romanoff's +cynicism, was like some sweet-scented balm; like a breeze from the +mountains after the fetid atmosphere of a cavern. + +"Well, what did you think of them?" he asked of Romanoff on his return. + +The Count shrugged his shoulders. "There's not much to think, is there?" +he asked. + +"I think there is a great deal. I found the old man more interesting +than almost any caller I have had." + +"A dull, prosy, platitudinous old Polonius; as for the girl, she's just +a badly behaved, unformed, bread-and-butter miss." + +Dick did not speak. The Count's words grated on him. + +"By the way," went on Romanoff, "I should like to meet Lady Blanche +Huntingford. I think I knew the old Lord." + +"I promised to call to-morrow afternoon," replied Dick. "I'll take you +over." But he was not so enthusiastic as the Count expected. + +After they had retired to their rooms that night, the Count sat long in +soliloquy. Of what he was thinking it would be difficult to say. His +face was like a mask. + +When he rose from his chair, however, there was a look of decision in +his eyes. + +"The time has come sooner than I thought," he said aloud. "I must bring +the matter to a head at once. Otherwise I shall lose him." + +And then he laughed in his grim, sardonic way, as if something had made +him merry. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +UNCERTAINTY + + +Dick rose early the following morning, and went for a walk in the park. +When he returned he found the Count in the breakfast-room. + +"Quite a pattern young countryman," he laughed. "I saw you reflecting on +the beauties of your own domains. Did you sleep well?" + +"Like a healthy dog. And you?" + +"I never sleep. I dream sometimes--that's all." + +"Still play-acting," laughed Dick. + +"No, there's not a more serious man in England than I, as a rule; but +I'm not going to be serious to-day while the sun shines. When the sun +goes down I shall be tragic. There, Richard is himself again!" + +He threw back his shoulders as he spoke, as though he would shift a +weight from them. "I am hungry, Faversham," he laughed. "Let us eat. +After breakfast I would love a ride. Have you a horse in your stables +that you could lend me?" + +"Of course I have." + +"Good. Then we'll have a gallop till lunch. After that a-wooing we will +go. I'm feverish to see the glorious Lady Blanche, the flower of the +age, the beauty of the county. I say, Faversham, prepare to be jealous. +I can be a most dangerous rival." + +"I can't think of you as a marrying man, Count. Domesticity and you are +oceans apart." + +The Count laughed. "No, a man such as I never marries," he said. +"Marriage! What an idiotic arrangement. But such things always follow +religion. But for religion, humanity would be natural, happy." + +"Come, now. That won't do." + +"It is true, my friend. Ever and always the result of religion has been +to raise unnatural barriers, to create sin. The man who founds a +religion is an enemy to the race. The greatest enemy to the world's +happiness was the Founder of Christianity." + +"In Heaven's name, why?" + +"Because He labelled natural actions as sins, because He was for ever +emphasising a distinction between right and wrong. When there is no +right, no wrong. The evolution of religion, and of so-called morality, +is a crime, because it strikes at the root of human enjoyment. But, +there, I'm getting serious, and I won't be serious. This is a day to +laugh, to rejoice in, and I've an appetite like a hunter." + +Throughout the morning they carried out the programme Romanoff had +suggested. Two of the best horses in the stables were saddled, and they +rode till noon. During all this time the Count was in high spirits, and +seemed to revel in the brightness of the day and the glory of the +scenery. + +"After all, give me a living thing to deal with," he cried. "This craze +for motor-cars is a sign of decadence. 'Enjoyment by machinery' should +be the motto of every motorist. But a horse is different. A horse is +sentient, intelligent. He feels what his rider feels; he enters into the +spirit of whatever is going on." + +"But motoring can be jolly good sport," Dick rejoined. + +"Of course it can. But a motor is impersonal; it is a thing, not a +being. You cannot make it your slave. It is just a matter of steel, and +petrol, and oil. It never becomes afraid of you." + +"What of that?" asked Dick. + +"Without fear there is no real mastery," replied Romanoff. + +"But surely the mastery which is obtained through fear is an +unsatisfactory sort of thing." + +Romanoff looked at Dick as though on the point of replying, but he was +silent. + +"Anyhow, I love a horse," he ventured presently. "I love to feel his +body alive beneath me, love to feel him spurn the ground beneath his +feet." + +"Yes; I, too, love a horse," replied Dick, "and do you know, although +I've only been here a month, this chap loves me. He whines a welcome +when I go to the stable, and he kind of cries when I leave." + +"And he isn't afraid of you?" asked Romanoff. + +"Afraid!" cried Dick. "I hope not. I should hate to feel that a thing I +loved was afraid of me." + +"Wait till you are married," laughed Romanoff. + +"I don't see what that has to do with it." + +"But it has everything to do with it. A wife should obey, and no woman +obeys unless she fears. The one thing man has to do when he marries is +to demand obedience, and until he has mastered the woman he gets none." + +"From the little experience I have, a woman is a difficult thing to +master." + +"Everything can be mastered," replied Romanoff. "It sometimes requires +patience, I'll admit, but it can always be done. Besides, a woman never +respects her husband until he's mastered her. Find me a man who has not +mastered his wife, and I'll show you a man whose wife despises him. Of +course, every woman strives for mastery, but in her heart of hearts +she's sorry if she gets it. If I ever married----" He ceased speaking. + +"Yes; if you married?" + +"I'd have obedience, obedience, obedience," and Romanoff repeated the +word with increasing emphasis. "As you say, it might be difficult, but +it can always be obtained." + +"How?" + +"Of course, if you go among the lower orders of people, the man obtains +his wife's obedience by brute force. If she opposes him he knocks her +down, thrashes her. But as you rise in the scale of humanity, the +methods are different. The educated, cultured man never loses his +temper, seldom utters an angry word. He may be a little sarcastic, +perhaps, but nothing more. But he never yields. The wife cries, pleads, +protests, goes into hysterics perhaps, threatens, but he never yields. +He is polite, cold, cruel if you like, but he never shows a sign of +weakness, and in the end he's master. And mastery is one of the great +joys of life." + +"You think so?" + +"I'm sure of it." + +Dick felt slightly uncomfortable. "You said you wouldn't be serious +to-day, Romanoff," he laughed nervously, "and yet you talk as though +something tragic were in the air." + +"I can assure you I'm in one of my light moods," replied the Count. +"After all, of what account is a woman in a man's life? A diversion if +you like--a creature necessary to his pleasure, but nothing more. When a +man regards a woman as indispensable to his happiness, he's lost. Always +look on a woman, whoever she may be, as a diversion, my friend," and +Romanoff laughed quietly. + +After lunch, however, Romanoff's mood seemed changed. He spoke of his +early days, and of his experiences in St. Petersburg and Moscow. + +"People talk about Paris being the great centre of pleasure," he said a +little indignantly, "but it is nothing compared with St. Petersburg, or +Petrograd, as it is called now. Some day, my friend, I must take you +there; I must show you the sights; I must take you behind the scenes. +Oh, I envy you!" + +"Why should you?" asked Dick. + +"Because you are young, because you have the world at your feet." + +"And haven't you?" + +"Yes, I suppose so. But, then, you go to everything fresh. You will +drink the cup of life for the first time; you will drink deep and enjoy. +But I can never again drink for the first time--there lies the +difference." + +"But if the cup of life is good and sweet, why may not one drink it +again, and again, and still find enjoyment?" + +Romanoff did not reply. He sat for a few seconds in silence, and then +started up almost feverishly. + +"Let us away, my friend," he cried. "I am longing to see Lady Blanche +Huntingford. How did you describe her? Velvety black eyes, rosy lips, +hair as black as the raven's wing, tall, stately, shaped like a Juno +and a Venus combined--was that it? Please don't let's waste any time. +I'm anxious to be off." + +"Even although we are going in a motor." + +"Motors are useful, my friend. I may not like them, but I use them. For +the matter of that, I use everything. I discard nothing." + +"Except religion," laughed Dick. + +"Oh, I have my religion," replied Romanoff. "Some time I'll tell you +about it, but not now. The sunlight is the time for adventure, for love, +for happiness. Let us be off." + +Evidently the Count was impressed by Lady Blanche. Directly he entered +her presence he seemed to forget his cynicism, and to become +light-hearted and gay. + +"Do you know, Lady Blanche," he said, "that I had an idea I had seen you +somewhere. Your name was familiar, and when Faversham spoke of you, I +felt I should be renewing an old acquaintance. Of course, I was +mistaken." + +"Why 'of course'?" + +"The true reply would be too obvious, wouldn't it? Besides, it would be +as trite and as clumsy as the repartee of an Oxford undergraduate." + +"You are beyond me," she sighed. + +Romanoff smiled. "Of course, you are laughing at me; all the same. I'll +say this: I shall have no doubt from this time on as to whether I've met +you. Do you know who I regard as the most favoured man in England?" + +She shook her head. + +"My friend Faversham, of course," and Romanoff glanced towards Dick, who +sat listening and looking with a kind of wonder at the face of the girl. + +"Of course, Wendover is just lovely," she replied. + +"And only a very short motor-run from here," remarked Romanoff. + +The girl pouted as though she were vexed at his words, but it was easy +to see she was not. There could be little doubt that she loved flattery, +and although she felt slightly uncomfortable under the Count's ardent +gaze, she was pleased at his admiration. + +She was also bent on being agreeable, and Dick felt that surely no +handsomer woman ever lived than this glorious creature with whom he +chatted and laughed. More than once he felt his heart beating wildly as +her eyes caught his, and while he wished that Romanoff was not there, he +felt it to be one of the happiest days of his life. + +"If Romanoff were not here I'd ask her to-day," he reflected. "It's true +she's almost a stranger to me; but, after all, what does it matter? Love +does not depend on a long acquaintance." + +For Dick felt sure he was in love. It is true there seemed a kind of +barrier between them, a certain something that kept them apart. But that +he put down to their different upbringing. She was a patrician, the +child of long generations of aristocratic associations, while he, +although his father and mother were gentlefolk, was a commoner. All his +life, too, he had been poor, while during the last few years he had had +to struggle constantly with poverty. It was no wonder, therefore, that +there should be a kind of barrier between them. But that would break +down. Already he was feeling more as if "he belonged" to his new +surroundings, while his neighbours had received him with the utmost +kindness. It was only a matter of time before he would feel at one with +them all. Meanwhile, Lady Blanche charmed him, fascinated him. She +appealed to him as a glorious woman, regal in her carriage, wondrous in +her youth and beauty. + +Once during the afternoon they were alone together, and he was almost on +the point of declaring his love. But something kept him back. What it +was he could not tell. She was alluring, gracious, and seemed to offer +him opportunities for telling her what was in his heart. And yet he did +not speak. Perhaps he was afraid, although he could not have told what +he feared. + +"When are you going to give me another game of golf?" he asked, as they +parted. + +"I don't like threesomes," she laughed, looking towards Romanoff. + +"I share your antipathy," said Romanoff, "but could you not suggest +someone who might bear with me while you and Faversham break the +record?" + +"Please manage it," pleaded Dick. + +"There's a telephone at Wendover, isn't there?" + +"Of course there is. You'll ring me up and let me know, won't you?" + +"Perhaps." + +Her smile was bewildering, and as he felt the warm pressure of her hand +he was in Arcadia. + +"I congratulate you, Faversham," remarked Romanoff, as they neared +Wendover Park. "She's a glorious creature, simply glorious. Cleopatra +was plain compared with her. My word, what a mistress for your new home. +Such eyes, such hair, such a complexion--and what a magnificent figure. +Yes, Faversham, you are a lucky man." + +"If I get her," sighed Dick. + +"Get her! Of course you'll get her. Unless----" + +"Unless what?" asked Dick as the other hesitated. + +Romanoff looked at him for some seconds very searchingly; then he +sighed. + +"Yes, what is it?" persisted Dick, who felt uncomfortable under +Romanoff's look. + +"I'm wondering." + +"Why and at what?" + +"If you are a wise man or a fool." + +"I'm afraid I don't understand." + +"No, but you will presently." + +There seemed to be something so ominous in his words that a feeling like +fear possessed Dick's heart. He had always felt somewhat uncomfortable +in Romanoff's presence, but now the feeling was so intensified that he +dreaded what he might mean. + +"The sun is still shining," went on the Count, "and I told you that I +should be in a festive mood until dark. In another hour the king of day +will have disappeared; then I shall have some serious things to say to +you." + +"Let's have no more play-acting," and Dick laughed nervously. + +"I can assure you, there'll be no play-acting. Everything will be +real--desperately real. But I'm going to say no more now. After dinner +I am going to be serious. But not until. See! Aren't you proud of it +all? Don't you revel in it? Was there ever such a lovely old house, +standing amidst such gorgeous surroundings? Look at those giant trees, +man! See the glorious landscape! Was there ever such a lucky man! What a +mistress Lady Blanche will make!" + +They were now passing up the long avenue which led to the house. Away in +the distance they could see the mansion nestling amidst giant trees +centuries old. From the house stretched the gardens, which were glorious +in the beauty of early summer. And Dick saw it all, gloried in it all; +but fear haunted him, all the same. + +"What is the meaning of this strange mood of yours, Romanoff?" he asked. + +"After dinner, my friend," laughed the other. "I'll tell you after +dinner." + +Throughout dinner the Count was apparently light-hearted, almost to +flippancy, but directly the servants had left them to their coffee and +cigars his mood changed. + +"I told you I was going to be serious, didn't I?" he said slowly. "The +time for laughter has ceased, Faversham. The next hour will be critical +to you--ay, and more than critical; it will be heavy with destiny." + +"What in Heaven's name do you mean?" + +"Have you ever considered," and Romanoff enunciated every word with +peculiar distinctness, "whether you are _really_ the owner of all +this?" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE REAL HEIR + + +Dick Faversham could not repress a shudder as the other spoke. The +Count's words were so ominous, so full of sinister meaning that for the +moment he felt like crying out with fear. He mastered himself after a +few seconds, however, and his reply was calm. + +"I see what you mean," he said quietly. "A few weeks ago I was poor, and +without great expectation. Now----Naturally you wonder whether it is +real to me, whether I can believe in my good fortune." + +"It goes deeper than that, Faversham," was the Count's rejoinder--"very +much deeper than that." + +"What do you mean?" + +"You believe that you are the owner of all this. You regard yourself as +the lawful possessor of the Wendover Park estate, with all its farms, +cottages, and villages; you also think of yourself as the owner of +mining rights, shipping interests, and a host of other things, added to +a very magnificent credit balance at your bankers'. Isn't that so?" + +"Of course I do. What have you to say against it?" Dick spoke almost +angrily. He was greatly excited, not only by the Count's words, but by +his manner of speech. + +"On the strength of it you have cast eyes of love on one of the most +beautiful women in England; you have dreamed of marrying Lady Blanche +Huntingford, who bears one of the oldest names in the land?" + +"And if I have, what then?" + +"Has it ever occurred to you that your fortune rests on a very slender, +a very unsafe, foundation?" + +"I say, Count Romanoff----" + +"Don't be angry, my friend, and, above all, look at everything calmly." + +"Really, this is a trifle thick, isn't it? I'm afraid I must ask for an +explanation of this peculiar manner of speech." + +"I deeply regret that I shall have to give an explanation," and there +was curious vibration in Romanoff's voice. "But please, _please_, +Faversham, don't think unkindly of me because of what I have to tell +you. Perhaps I have been very clumsy, but I have been trying all day to +prepare you for--for what you will regard as bad news." + +"Trying to prepare me? Bad news?" + +"Yes, my friend. I told you this morning that I was not going to be +serious while the sun shone, but that after the sun went down I was +going to be tragically in earnest. The time has come." + +"You spoke of my having no right here!" and a gleam of anger shot from +Dick's eyes. "Might I suggest, Count, that it is a little out of the +common for a guest to tell his host that he has no right to give him +hospitality?" + +"I was afraid you might take it like that," and Romanoff spoke almost +gently. "Doubtless I have been very clumsy, very gauche; all the same, I +have come only in kindness." + +"Am I to understand, then, that you came here for the purpose of telling +me that I am an impostor, an interloper? That, indeed, is interesting." + +"I came as a friend, a well-wisher--as one deeply, very deeply, +interested in your welfare. I came as one who wants you to enjoy what +you believe is your good fortune, and to marry the most beautiful woman +in England. If, after you have heard me, you wish me to leave you, I +will do so--sadly, I will admit, but I will leave you." + +"At least, do not deal in hints, in innuendoes. Tell me exactly what you +mean, and perhaps you will also tell me what particular interest you +have in the matter, and by what right you--you--talk in this way." + +"Faversham, let me first of all admit frankly that I took a great +liking to you during the voyage that ended so--tragically. I am no +longer a boy, and I do not take to people easily; but I felt an +unaccountable interest in you. There were traits in your character that +attracted me. I said to myself, 'I should like to know that young +fellow, to cultivate his acquaintance.' That must be my reason for +taking what interest I have in you. It would have been easy to let you +drown, to--to listen to the appeal of the other occupants of the boat, +and----" + +"Pardon me," interrupted Dick impulsively, "I have behaved like a cad. I +forgot that I owed my life to you. But I was excited--angry. You see, +the suggestion that I am here under false pretences naturally upsets me. +But tell me what you mean. I do not understand you--I am bewildered by +your hints." + +"Of course, I understand your feelings, and am not in the least +offended. I think I know you too well not to take offence easily; +besides, my desire, and my only desire, being to help you makes me +impervious to ordinary emotions." + +"Still," cried Dick, "tell me what you mean. You say my position as +owner of my Uncle Faversham's estates rests on a very slender, a very +unsafe foundation. That is surely a serious statement to make. How do +you know?" + +"Your uncle's will--yes, I will admit I went to Somerset House and paid +a shilling for the right of reading it--states that he gave his fortune +to his sister's sons, and after them to the next-of-kin." + +"Exactly." + +"Presently it came to pass that only one person stood between you and +possession." + +"That is so. I did not know it at the time, but such, I am informed, was +the case." + +"This person's name was Mr. Anthony Riggleton, at that time the only +surviving son of your uncle's sister!" + +"That is so." + +Romanoff lay back in his chair and quietly smoked his cigar. + +"But why these questions?" persisted Dick. + +"I was only thinking, my friend, on what small issues fortune or poverty +may rest." + +"But--but really----" + +"Here is the case as I understand it. Your lawyer told you that Mr. +Anthony Riggleton, the only man who stood between you and all your +uncle's possessions, was killed in a drunken brawl in Melbourne, and +that on his death you became heir. That was why he sent you that +wireless; that was why he summoned you back to England." + +"Exactly." + +"But what if Mr. Anthony Riggleton is not dead?" + +"There is no doubt about that," replied Dick, in tones of relief. "Mr. +Bidlake realised the importance of this, and sent to a lawyer in +Melbourne to make investigations. Every care was taken, every possible +loophole of mistake was investigated. I saw all the documents, all the +newspaper reports." + +"Has it ever struck you that mistakes might be made about this?" + +"Of course. As a consequence I questioned Bidlake closely, and he told +me that doubt was impossible." + +"Let me understand," and Romanoff continued to speak quietly. "Your +position is that Anthony Riggleton, the then heir to all your Uncle +Faversham's fortune, was living in Australia; that he was known in +Melbourne; that he went to a house near Melbourne with some boon +companions; that there was a night of orgy; that afterwards there was a +quarrel; and that Mr. Anthony Riggleton was killed." + +"Evidently you've worked up the case," and there was a sneer in Dick's +voice. + +"But I'm right, am I not?" + +"As far as you've gone, you are roughly right. Of course, his body was +afterwards identified by----" + +"By the cashier of the bank from which he had drawn money, and by +others," interrupted Romanoff. "But what if that cashier made a mistake? +What if it paid him to make it? What if the others who identified the +body were paid to do so? What if Mr. Anthony Riggleton is still alive?" + +"What if a hundred things are true?" cried Dick angrily. "One can ask +such questions for ever. Of course, if Mr. Anthony Riggleton is still +alive, I have no right here. If he is alive, I clear out." + +"And does the prospect please you?" and the Count looked at Dick like +one anxious. + +"Of course, it doesn't please me. If it's true, I'm a pauper, or next +door to one. If it's true, I should have to leave everything and go out +into the world to begin again." + +"And give up all thought of Lady Blanche Huntingford," added the Count. + +"I say, Romanoff, if you've anything definite to tell me, tell it. I +tell you honestly, I don't enjoy all this." + +"Of course you don't. The thought of giving up all this is like thinking +of having your eyes pulled out, isn't it?" + +"But of course it's all rubbish. Of course you are imagining an ugly +bogey man," and Dick laughed nervously. + +"I'm imagining nothing, Faversham." + +"Then you mean to tell me----" + +"That Mr. Anthony Riggleton is alive? Yes, I do." + +Dick gave the Count an angry look, then started to his feet and began to +pace the room. + +"Of course it's all nonsense," he cried after a few seconds. "Please +don't imagine that I'm going to accept a cock-and-bull sort of story +like that. Do you think that Bidlake would be deceived? Do you imagine +that the man he employed in Melbourne would be duped? No, no, I'm not +such a fool as to accept that. Besides, what have you to do with it? Why +did you come here in such a fashion, and with such a story? It does not +look very friendly, does it?" + +"Why I came here, and why I have told you the truth, will leak out +presently. You will see then that I came not as an enemy, but as a +friend." + +"As a friend!" and there was an angry sneer in Dick's voice. + +"As a friend," repeated Romanoff. "Of course," he went on quietly, "I +expected that you would take it in this way; but you will soon see that +my motives are--not unworthy of a friend." + +"Tell me then how you came to know of this. Perhaps you will also give +me some proofs that Mr. Anthony Riggleton, who was found dead, whose +body was identified by responsible witnesses, has so miraculously come +to life again. Believe me, this hearsay, this wonderful story does not +appeal to me. Do you come to me with this--this farrago of nonsense with +the belief that I am going to give up all this?" and he looked out of +the window towards the far-spreading parks as he spoke, "without the +most absolute and conclusive proof? If Mr. Anthony Riggleton is alive, +where is he? Why does he not show himself? Why does he not come here and +claim his own?" + +"Because I have stopped him from coming," replied Romanoff. + +"You have stopped him from coming?" cried Dick excitedly. + +"Exactly." + +"Then you have seen him?" + +"I have seen him." + +"But how do you know it was he? Are Mr. Bidlake's inquiries to go for +nothing? No, no, it won't do. I can't be deceived like that." + +"I know it was he because I have the most absolute proofs--proofs which +I am going to submit to you." + +"You saw him, you say?" + +"I saw him." + +"But where?" + +"In Australia. I told you, didn't I, that--after leaving you I went to +Australia? I told you, too, that I left Australia quickly because I did +not like the country. That was false. I came because I wanted to warn +you, to help you. You asked me just now why, if Mr. Anthony Riggleton +was alive, he did not show himself. I will tell you why. If I had +allowed him to do so, if he knew that he was heir to all you now +possess, you would be a poor man. And I did not want you to be a poor +man. I did not want your life to be ruined, your future sacrificed, your +hopes destroyed. That's why, Faversham. That's why I left Australia and +came here without wasting an hour. That's why I examined your uncle's +will; that's why I came to warn you." + +"To warn me?" + +"To warn you." + +"Against what?" + +"Against dangers--against the dangers which might engulf you--ruin you +for ever." + +"You speak in a tragic tone of voice." + +"I speak of tragic things. I told you that this was your hour of +destiny. I told you the truth. This night will decide your future. You +are a young fellow with your life all before you. You were born for +enjoyment, for pleasure, for ease. You, unlike your uncle, who made all +the wealth we are thinking of, are not a business genius; you are not a +great master personality who can forge your way through difficult +circumstances. You are not cast in that mould. But you can enjoy. You +have barely felt your feet since you came into possession of great +wealth, but already you have dreamt dreams, and seen visions. You have +already made plans as to how you can suck the orange of the world dry. +And to-night will be the time of decision." + +Dick laughed uneasily. "How?" he asked, and his face was pale to the +lips. + +"Is there a photograph of Mr. Anthony Riggleton in the house?" asked +Romanoff. + +"Yes, I came across one the other day. Would you like to see it?" He +went to a drawer as he spoke and took a packet from it. "Here is the +thing," he added. + +"Just so," replied Romanoff; "now look at this," and he took a +photograph from his pocket. "It's the same face, isn't it? The same man. +Well, my friend, that is the photograph of a man I saw in Australia, +weeks after you got your wireless from Mr. Bidlake--months after the +news came that Mr. Anthony Riggleton was dead. I saw him; I talked with +him. He told me a good deal about himself, told me of some of his +experiences in this house. There are a number of people in this +neighbourhood who knew him, and who could identify him." + +"You are sure of this?" gasped Dick. + +"Absolutely." + +"And does he know--that--that his uncle is dead?" + +"Not yet. That's why I hurried here to see you. But he has made up his +mind to come to England, and of course he intends coming here." + +"He told you this, did he?" + +"Yes. I came across him in a little town about five hundred miles from +Melbourne, and when I found out who he was I thought of you." + +"But how do you explain the news of his death, the inquest, and the +other things?" + +"I'll come to that presently. It's easily explained. Oh, there's no +doubt about it, Faversham. I have seen the real heir to all the wealth +you thought your own." + +"But what do you mean by saying that you stopped him from coming here?" +and Dick's voice was husky. + +"I'm going to tell you why I stopped him. I'm going to tell you how you +can keep everything, enjoy everything. Yes, and how you can still marry +the woman you are dreaming of." + +"But if the real heir is alive--I--I can't," stammered Dick. + +"I'm here to show you how you can," persisted Romanoff. "Did I not tell +you that this was the hour of destiny?" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE DAY OF DESTINY + + +Dick Faversham wiped away the beads of perspiration that stood thick +upon his forehead. It seemed to him that he was surrounded by peculiar +influences, that forces were at work which he could not understand. In +one sense he did not at all believe in the story that Count Romanoff had +told him. It appeared to him chimerical, unconvincing. + +It did not seem at all likely that a man of Mr. Bidlake's experience and +mental acumen could have been so deceived. This subtle-minded lawyer, +who had lived in London for so many years and had been spoken of as one +of the most astute and level-headed men in the profession, would not be +likely to communicate news of such great importance to him without being +absolutely certain of his ground. He had shown him details of +everything, too, and Mr. Bidlake was absolutely certain that Mr. Anthony +Riggleton was dead, that he was murdered near Melbourne. The proofs of +this were demonstrated in a hundred ways. No, he did not believe in +Romanoff's story. + +Besides, it was absurd, on the face of it. Who was this Count Romanoff? +He knew little or nothing of him. Though he owed his life to him, he +knew nothing of his history or antecedents. He was afraid of him, too. +He did not like his cynical way of looking at things, nor understand his +mockery of current morality. And should he believe the bare word of such +a man? + +And yet he did believe him. At the back of his mind he felt sure that he +had spoken the truth. + +It came to him with ghastly force that he was not the owner of this fine +old house, and of all the wealth that during the last few weeks he had +almost gloated over. There was something in the tones of Romanoff's +voice--something in his mocking yet intense way of speaking that +convinced him in spite of himself. + +And the fact maddened him. To be poor now after these few brief weeks of +riches would drive him mad. He had not begun to enjoy yet. He had not +carried out the plans which had been born in his mind. He had only just +entered into possession, and had been living the life of a pattern young +man. But he had meant to enjoy, to drink the cup of pleasure to the very +dregs. + +His mind swept like lightning over the conversation which had taken +place, and every word of it was burnt into his brain. What did the Count +mean by telling him that he could retain everything? Why did he persist +in urging that he had hurried from Australia to England to save him from +losing everything? What did he mean by telling him that this was his +hour of destiny--that on his decision would depend the future of his +life? + +"You mean--to say then, that--that----" he stammered, after a long, +painful silence. + +"That Anthony Riggleton, the legal heir of old Charles Faversham, is +alive," interrupted Romanoff. "I myself have seen him, have talked with +him." + +"Does he know that he is--is the rightful heir?" + +"Not yet," and Romanoff smiled. "I took good care of that." + +"You mean----" + +"I mean that I did not save your life for nothing. When I had fully +convinced myself that he was--who he said he was--I of course reflected +on what it meant. I called to mind what you had told me on that island, +and I saw how his being alive would affect you." + +"How did you know? I did not tell you the terms of the will. I did not +know them myself." + +"Does it matter how I knew? Anyhow, he--Riggleton--would guess." + +"How did he know?" + +Romanoff shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know, my dear fellow? But +one can easily guess. He knew he was next-of-kin to old Charles +Faversham, and would naturally think he would inherit his wealth. But +that is not all. Australia, although a long way from England, is not +away from the lines of communication. Melbourne is quite a considerable +city. It has newspapers, telephones, cablegrams, and a host of other +things. But one thing Anthony Riggleton did not know: he did not know +that the terms of the will were published in the Melbourne newspapers. +He was afraid to go near Melbourne, in fact. He thought it best for the +world to think of him as dead. Indeed, he paid a man to personate him in +Melbourne, and that man paid the penalty of his deceit by his life." + +"It's anything but clear to me." + +"Then I'll make it clear. Riggleton had enemies in Melbourne whom it was +necessary for him to see, but whom he was personally afraid to meet. He +had served them very shabbily, and they had threatened him with +unpleasant things. He had as a friend a man who resembled him very +closely, and he offered this friend a sum of money if he would go to +Melbourne and personate him. This man, ignorant of his danger, accepted +the offer--now, do you see?" + +After he had asked many questions about this--questions which Romanoff +answered freely--Dick looked long and steadily at a picture of old +Charles Faversham which hung on the wall. He was trying to co-ordinate +the story--trying to understand it. + +"And where is Anthony Riggleton now?" + +"He is in England." + +"In England! Then--then----" + +"Exactly," interrupted Romanoff. "You see what I meant when I said that +the foundations of your position were very insecure. I do not imagine +that Lady Blanche Huntingford would think very seriously about Dick +Faversham if she knew the whole truth." + +"But--but--in England?" + +"Exactly. In England." + +"But you say he does not know--the truth?" + +"No. He may guess it, though. Who knows?" + +"But why did you not tell me this last night? Why wait till now before +letting me know?" + +Again Romanoff smiled; he might be enjoying himself. + +"Because I like you, my friend. Because I wanted to see the state of +your mind, and to know whether it was possible to help you." + +"To help me?" + +"To help you. I saw the kind of man you were. I saw what such wealth as +you thought you possessed would mean to you. I saw, too, to what uses +you could turn the power that riches would give you. So I made my +plans." + +"But you say he is in England. If so, he will know--all!" + +"No, he does not. I took good care of that." + +"But he will find out." + +Romanoff laughed. "No, my friend, I have taken care of everything. As I +told you, I like you, and I want you to be a great figure in the life of +your country. That is why you are safe--for the present." + +Again Dick wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead. It seemed +to him as though he were standing on a precipice, while beneath him were +yawning depths of darkness. All he had hoped for was mocking him, and he +saw himself sinking under the stress of circumstances, just as on that +terrible night he felt himself sinking in the deep waters. But there +were no arms outstretched to save him, nor friendly help near him. He +looked around the room, noble in its proportions, and handsomely +appointed, and thought of all it suggested. He remembered his last +interview with Mr. Bidlake, when that gentleman gave him an account of +his possessions, and told him of the approximate amount of his fortune. +And now it would all go to this man who was not even aware of the truth. +It was all bewildering, maddening. Before he had properly begun to taste +of the sweets of fortune they were being dashed from his lips. He felt +as though he were losing his senses, that his brain was giving way +under the stress of the news he had heard. + +Then his innate manhood began to assert itself. If what Romanoff had +said were true, he must bear it. But, of course, he would not yield +without a struggle. He would take nothing on the bare word of a man who, +after all, was a stranger. Everything should be proved up to the hilt +before he relinquished possession. + +"Safe for the present!" Dick repeated, and there was a note of angry +scorn in his voice. "Of course, if--if you are not mistaken, there is no +question of safety." + +"No question of safety?" + +"Certainly not. If Anthony Riggleton is alive, and if he is the true +heir to old Charles Faversham, he must make his claim, as I assume he +will." + +"Then you will yield without a struggle?" and there was a peculiar +intonation in Romanoff's voice. + +"No," cried Dick, "I shall not yield without a struggle. I shall place +the whole matter in Bidlake's hands, and--and if I'm a pauper, I +am--that's all." + +"I know a better way than that." + +"I don't understand you." + +"No, but you will in a minute. Faversham, there's no need for you to fix +up anything, no need for anyone to know what only you and I know." + +"Look here," and Dick's voice trembled. "Are you sure that this fellow +you talk about is Anthony Riggleton--and that he is the lawful heir?" + +Romanoff gave Dick a quick, searching glance; then he gave a peculiar +laugh. "Am I sure that the man is Anthony Riggleton? Here's the +photograph he gave me of himself. I compared the photograph with the +man, and I'm not likely to be mistaken. The photograph is the exact +representation of the man. You have photographs of Riggleton in this +house; compare them. Besides, he's been here repeatedly; he's known, I +imagine, to the servants, to the neighbours. If he is allowed to make a +claim, it will not be a question of Roger Tichborne and Arthur Orton +over again, my friend. He will be able to prove his rights." + +"What do you mean by saying, 'if he is allowed to make his claim'?" +asked Dick hoarsely. "Of course he'll be allowed." + +"Why of course? + +"Naturally he will." + +"That depends on you. Did I not tell you that this was your hour of +destiny?" + +"Then the matter is settled. I will not usurp another man's rights. If +he's the lawful owner, he shall have his own. Of course, he will have to +prove it." + +"You don't mean that?" + +"Of course I do. Why not?" + +"Because it would be criminal madness--the act of a fool!" + +"It is the only attitude for a decent fellow." + +Again Romanoff let his piercing eyes fall on Dick's face. He seemed to +be studying him afresh, as though he were trying to read his innermost +thoughts. + +"Listen, my dear fellow," and the Count calmly cut the end of a fresh +cigar. "I want to discuss this matter with you calmly, and I want our +discussion to be entirely free from sentimental rubbish. To begin with, +there is no doubt that the man Anthony Riggleton is alive, and that he +is the legal owner of all Charles Faversham's fabulous fortune. Of that +I've no doubt. If he came here everyone would recognise him, while there +is not a lawyer, not a judge or jury in the land, who would not acclaim +him the owner of all which you thought yours. But, as I said, I like +you. You were meant to be a rich man; you were meant to enjoy what +riches can give you. And of this I am sure, Faversham: poverty after +this would mean hell to you. Why, man, think what you can have--titles, +position, power, the love of beautiful women, and a thousand things +more. If you want to enter public life the door is open to you. With +wealth like yours a peerage is only a matter of arrangement. As for Lady +Blanche Huntingford----" and the Count laughed meaningly. + +"But what is the use of talking like that if nothing really belongs to +me?" cried Dick. + +"First of all, Faversham," went on the Count, as though Dick had not +spoken, "get rid of all nonsense." + +"Nonsense? I don't understand." + +"I mean all nonsense about right and wrong, about so-called points of +honour and that sort of thing. There is no right, and no wrong in the +conventional sense of the word. Right! wrong! Pooh, they are only bogys +invented by priests in days of darkness, in order to obtain power. It is +always right to do the thing that pays---the thing that gives you +happiness--power. The German philosophy is right there. Do the thing you +can do. That's common sense." + +"It's devilish!" exclaimed Dick. + +"Your mind's unhinged, excited, or you wouldn't say so," replied +Romanoff. "Now, look at me," and he fastened Dick's eyes by his intense +gaze. "Do I look like a fanatic, a fool? Don't I speak with the +knowledge of the world's wisdom in my mind? I've travelled in all the +countries in the world, my friend, and I've riddled all their +philosophies, and I tell you this: there is no right, no wrong. Life is +given to us to enjoy, to drink the cup of pleasure to its depths, to +press from the winepress all its sweets, and to be happy." + +He spoke in low, earnest tones, and as he did so, Dick felt as though +his moral manhood were being sapped. The glitter of the Count's eyes +fascinated him, and while under their spell he saw as the Count saw, +felt as he felt. + +And yet he was afraid. There was something awesome in all +this--something unholy. + +"Look here!" and Dick started to his feet. "What do you mean by coming +to me in this way? Why should you so coolly assert that the moralities +of the centuries are nonsense? Who are you? What are you?" + +Again the Count laughed. + +"Who am I? What am I?" he repeated. "You remember Napoleon Bonaparte's +famous words: 'I am not a man. I am a thing. I am a force. Right and +wrong do not exist for me. I make my own laws, my own morals.' Perhaps I +could say the same, Faversham." + +"Napoleon found out his mistake, though," protested Dick. + +"Did he? Who knows? Besides, better taste the sweets of power, if only +for a few years, than be a drudge, a nonentity, a poor, struggling worm +all your days." + +"But what do you want? What have you in your mind?" + +"This, Faversham. If you will listen to me you will treat Anthony +Riggleton as non-existent----" + +"As non-existent?" + +"Yes, you can with safety--absolute safety; and then, if you agree to my +proposal, all you hope for, all you dream of, shall be yours. You shall +remain here as absolute owner without a shadow of doubt or a shadow of +suspicion, and--enjoy. You shall have happiness, my friend--happiness. +Did I not tell you that this was your day of destiny?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE INVISIBLE HAND + + +Again Dick felt as though he were gripped by an irresistible power, and +that this power was evil. It was true that the Count sat in the chair +near him, faultlessly dressed, urbane, smiling, with all the outward +appearance of a polished man of the world; all the same, Dick felt that +an evil influence dominated the room. The picture which Romanoff made +him see was beautiful beyond words, and he beheld a future of sensuous +ease, of satisfied ambition, of indescribable delights. And what he saw +seemed to dull his moral sense, to undermine his moral strength. +Moreover, the man had by his news undermined the foundations of life, +shattered the hopes he had nourished, and thus left him unable to fight. + +"Tell me that this is a--a joke on your part," Dick said at length. "Of +course it's not true." + +"Of course it is true." + +"Well, I'll have it proved, anyhow. Everything shall be sifted to the +bottom." + +"How?" + +"I'll go and see Bidlake to-morrow. I'll tell him what you've said." + +"You will do no such thing." The Count spoke in the most nonchalant +manner. + +"Why not? Indeed, I shall." + +"You will not. I'll tell you why. First, because it would be criminally +insane, and second, because you would be cutting your own throat." + +"Please explain." + +"Understand," replied Romanoff, "that this is really nothing to me after +all. I do not benefit by your riches, or lose by your poverty. Why, I +wonder, am I taking an interest in the matter?" And for the moment he +seemed to be reflecting. "I suppose it is because I like you--of course +that is it. Besides, I saved your life, and naturally one has an +interest in the life one has saved. But to explain: accept for the +moment the conventional standards of right and wrong, good and evil, and +what is the result? Suppose you give up everything to Riggleton--what +follows? You give up all this to an unclean beast. You put power in the +hands of a man who hasn't an elevated thought or desire. You, now--if +you are wise, and retain what you have--can do some good with your +money. You can bring comfort to the people on your estates; you can help +what you believe worthy causes. You, Faversham, are a gentleman at +heart, and would always act like one. Mind, I _don't_ accept +conventional morality; it is no more to me than so much sawdust. But I +do respect the decencies of life. My education has thrown me among +people who have a sense of what's fit and proper. Anyhow, judging from +your own standards, you would be doing an _immoral_ thing by handing +this great fortune to Riggleton." + +"Tell me about him," and Dick felt a tightening at the throat. + +"Tell you about him! An unsavoury subject, my friend. A fellow with the +mind of a pig, the tastes of a pig. What are his enjoyments? His true +place is in a low-class brothel. If he inherited Wendover Park, he would +fill these beautiful rooms with creatures of his own class--men and +women." + +The Count did not raise his voice, but Dick realised its intensity; and +again he felt his influence--felt that he was being dominated by a +personality stronger than his own. + +"No, no," he continued, and he laughed quietly as he spoke; "copy-book +morality has no weight with me. But I trust I am a gentleman. If, to use +your own term, I sin, I will sin like a gentleman; I will enjoy myself +like a gentleman. But this man is dirty. He wallows in filth--wallows in +it, and rejoices in it. That is Anthony Riggleton. Morality! I scorn it. +But decency, the behaviour of a gentleman, to act as a gentleman under +every circumstance--that is a kind of religion with me! Now, then, +Faversham, would it not be criminal madness to place all this in the +hands of such a loathsome creature when you can so easily prevent it?" + +Of course, the argument was commonplace enough. It was a device by which +thousands have tried to salve their consciences, and to try to find an +excuse for wrong-doing. Had some men spoken the same words, Dick might +not have been affected, but uttered by Romanoff they seemed to undermine +the foundations of his reasoning power. + +"But if he is in England?" he protested weakly. + +"He is, but what then?" + +"He must know; he must. He is not an idiot, I suppose?" + +"No; he is cunning with a low kind of cunning--the cunning of a sensual +beast. Some would say he is clever." + +"Then he must find out the truth." + +"Not if you say he must not." + +"What have I to do with it?" + +"Everything," and Romanoff's eyes seemed to be searching into Dick's +innermost soul. + +"But how? I do not understand," and he nervously wiped his moist hands. + +"Say so, and he must be got rid of." + +"How?" + +Romanoff laughed quietly. "These are good cigars, Faversham," he said, +like one who was vastly enjoying himself. "Oh, you can do that easily +enough," he continued. + +"How?" asked Dick. He felt his eyes were hot as he turned them towards +the other. + +"I said treat him as though he were non-existent. Well, let him _be_ +non-existent." + +"You mean--you mean----" and Dick's voice could scarcely be recognised. + +"Why not?" asked the Count carelessly. "The fellow is vermin--just dirty +vermin. But he is a danger--a danger to the community, a danger to you. +Why, then, if it can be done easily, secretly, and without anyone +having the slightest chance of knowing, should you not rid the world of +such a creature? Especially when you could save all this," and he looked +around the room, "as well as marry that divine creature, and live the +life you long to live." + +"Never!" cried Dick. "What?--murder! Not for all the wealth ever known. +No, no--my God, no!" + +"If there are good deeds in the world, that would be a good deed," +persisted Romanoff. "You would be a benefactor to your race, your +country," and there was a touch of pleading in his voice. "Why, man, +think; I have him safe--safe! No one could know, and it would be a +praiseworthy deed." + +"Then why not do it yourself?" cried Dick. There was a sneer as well as +anger in his voice. + +"I am not the next heir to the Faversham estates," replied Romanoff. +"What does it matter to me who owns all that old Charles Faversham +gained during his life?" + +"Then why suggest such a thing? Why, it's devilish!" + +"Don't--please, don't be melodramatic," the Count drawled. "Would you +not kill a rat that ate your corn? Would you not shoot any kind of +vermin that infested your house? Well, Riggleton is vermin, human vermin +if you like, but still vermin, and he is not fit to live. If I, +Romanoff, were in your position, I would have no more hesitation in +putting him out of existence than your gamekeeper would have in shooting +a dog with rabies. But, then, I am not in your position. I have nothing +to gain. I only take a friendly interest in you. I have hurried to you +with all speed the moment I knew of your danger, and I have told you how +you can rid the world of a coarse, dirty-minded animal, and at the same +time save for yourself the thing nearest your heart." + +"Did he come in the same vessel with you?" + +"Suffice to say that I know he is in England, and in safe keeping." + +"Where? How? England has laws to protect everyone." + +"That does not matter. I will tell you if you like; but you would be +none the wiser." + +"Then you have arranged this?" + +"If you like--yes." + +"But why?" + +"Still the same silly question. Have you no sense of proportion, +Faversham? Haven't I told you again and again?" + +Dick was almost gasping for breath, and as he buried his head in his +hands, he tried to understand, to realise. In calmer moments his mind +would doubtless have pierced the cheap sophistry of the Count, and +discarded it. But, as I have said, he was greatly excited, bewildered. +Never as now did he desire wealth. Never as now had the thought of +winning Lady Blanche seemed the great thing in life to be hoped for. And +he knew the Count was right--knew that without his money she would no +more think of marrying him than of marrying the utmost stranger. And yet +his heart craved after her. He longed to possess her--to call her his +own. He saw her as he had never seen her before, a splendid creature +whose beauty outshone that of any woman he had ever seen, as the sun +outshone the moon. + +And this Anthony Riggleton, whom the Count described as vermin, stood in +his way. Because of a quibble on his part this loathsome thing would +ruin his future, dash his hopes to the ground, blacken his life. + +But the alternative! + +"No, of course not!" he cried. + +"You refuse?" + +"Certainly I do. I'm not a murderer." + +"Very well, go your own way. Go to your Mr. Bidlake, see him shrug his +shoulders and laugh, and then watch while your cousin--your +_cousin_!--turns this glorious old place into a cesspool." + +"Yes; rather than stain my hands in----I say, Romanoff," and the words +passed his lips almost in spite of himself, "there must be some deep +reason why you--you say and do all this. Do you expect to gain anything, +in any way, because of my--retaining possession of my uncle's wealth?" + +For the first time the Count seemed to lose possession over himself. He +rose to his feet, his eyes flashing. + +"What!" he cried; "do you mean that I, Romanoff, would profit by your +poor little riches? What is all this to me? Why, rich as you thought you +were, I could buy up all the Faversham estates--all--all, and then not +know that my banking account was affected. I, Romanoff, seek to help a +man whom I had thought of as my friend for some paltry gain! Good-night, +Mr. Richard Faversham, you may go your own way." + +"Stop!" cried Dick, almost carried away by the vehemence of the other; +"of course, I did not mean----" + +"Enough," and the Count interrupted him by a word and a laugh. "Besides, +you do not, cannot, understand. But to rid your mind of all possible +doubt I will show you something. Here is my account with your Bank of +England. This is for pocket-money, pin-money, petty cash as your +business men call it. There was my credit yesterday. In the light of +that, do you think that I need to participate in your fortune, huge as +you regard it?" + +Dick was startled as he saw the amount. There could be no doubt about +it. The imprimatur of the Bank of England was plainly to be seen, and +the huge figures stood out boldly. + +"I'm sure I apologise," stammered Dick. "I only thought that--that--you +see----" + +"All right," laughed the Count, "let it be forgotten. Besides, have I +not told you more than once that I am interested in you? I have shown +you my interest, and----" + +"Of course you have," cried Dick. "I owe you my life; but for you I +should not be alive to-day." + +"Just so. I want to see you happy, Faversham. I want you to enjoy life's +sweetness. I want you to be for ever free from the haunting fear that +this Anthony Riggleton shall ever cross your path. That is why----" + +He hesitated, as though he did not know what to say next. + +"Yes," asked Dick, "why what?" + +"That is why I want to serve you further." + +"Serve me further? How?" + +"Suppose I get rid of Riggleton for you?" + +"I do not understand." + +"Suppose I offer to get rid of Riggleton for you? Suppose without your +having anything to do with him, without knowing where he is, I offer to +remove him for ever from your path--would you consent?" + +"I consent?" + +"Yes; I must have that. Would you give it?" + +"You--you--that is, you ask me if I will consent to--to his--his +murder?" + +"Just that, my friend. That must be--else why should I do it? But--but I +love you, Faversham--as if you were my son, and I would do it for your +happiness. Of course, it's an unpleasant thing to do, even although I +have no moral scruples, but I'll do it for you." + +Again Dick felt as though the ground were slipping from under his feet. +Never before was he tempted as he was tempted now, never did it seem so +easy to consent to wrong. And he would not be responsible. He had +suggested nothing, pleaded nothing. His part would be simply to be +blindly quiescent. His mind was confused to every issue save one. He had +only to consent, and this man Riggleton, the true owner of everything, +would be removed for ever. + +"And if I do not?" he asked. + +"Then nothing more need be said. But look at me, Faversham, and tell me +if you will be such a fool. If there is any guilt, I bear it; if there +is any danger, I face it; do you refuse, Faversham? I only make the +offer for your sake." + +Again Dick felt the awful eyes of the Count piercing him; it was as +though all his power of judgment, all his volition were ebbing away. At +that moment he felt incapable of resistance. + +"And if I consent?" he asked weakly. + +"Of course you will, you _will_, you WILL," and the words were repeated +with peculiar intensity, while the eyes of the two met. "I only make one +stipulation, and I must make it because you need a friend. I must make +it binding for your sake." + +He took a piece of paper from a desk and scribbled a few words. + +"There, read," he said. + +Dick read: + +"I promise to put myself completely under the guidance of Count Romanoff +with regard to the future of my life." + +"There, sign that, Faversham," and the Count placed the pen in his hand. + +Without will, and almost without knowledge, Dick took the pen. + +"What do you want me to do?" asked Dick dully. + +"Sign that paper. Just put 'Richard Faversham' and the date. I will do +the rest." + +"But--but if I do this, I shall be signing away my liberty. I shall make +myself a slave to you." + +"Nonsense, my dear fellow. Why should I interfere with your liberty?" + +"I don't know; but this paper means that." He was still able to think +consecutively, although his thoughts were cloudy and but dimly realised. + +"Think, Faversham. I am undertaking a dirty piece of work for your sake. +Why? I am doing it because I want you to be free from Anthony Riggleton, +and I am doing it because I take a deep interest in you." + +"But why should I sign this?" + +In spite of the Count's influence over him, he had a dull feeling that +there was no need for such a thing. Even although he had tacitly +consented to Romanoff's proposal he saw no necessity for binding +himself. + +"I'll tell you why. It's because I know you--because I read your mind +like a book. I want to make you my protégé, and I want you to cut a +figure in the life of the world. After all, in spite of Charles +Faversham's wealth, you are a nobody. You are a commoner all compact. +But I can make you really great. I am Romanoff. You asked me once if I +were of the great Russian family, and I answered yes. Do you know what +that means? It means that no door is closed to me--that I can go where I +will, do what I will. It means that if I desire a man's aggrandisement, +it is an accomplished fact. Not only are the delights of this country +mine for the asking, but my name is an _Open Sesame_ in every land. My +name and my influence are a key to unlock every door; my hand can draw +aside the curtain of every delight. And there are delights in the world +that you know nothing of, never dreamt of. As my protégé I want them to +be yours. A great name, great power, glorious pleasures, the smile of +beautiful women, delights such as the author of _The Arabian Nights_ +only dimly dreamt of--it is my will that you shall have them all. +Charles Faversham's money and my influence shall give you all this and +more. But I am not going to have a fretful, puling boy objecting all the +time; I am not going to have my plans for your happiness frustrated by +conscience and petty quibbles about what is good and evil. That is why I +insist on your signing that paper." + +Romanoff spoke in low tones, but every word seemed to be laden with +meanings hitherto unknown to Dick. He saw pictures of exquisite +delights, of earthly paradises, of joys that made life an ecstasy. + +And still something kept his hand still. He felt rather than reasoned +that something was wrong--that all was wrong. He was in an abnormal +state of mind; he knew that the influences by which he was surrounded +were blinding him to truth, and giving him distorted fancies about +life's values. + +"No," he said doggedly; "I won't sign, and I won't consent to this +devilish deed." + +Again Romanoff laughed. "Look at me, Dick, my boy," he said. "You are +not a milksop; you were made to live your whole life. Fancy you being a +clerk in an office, a store--a poor little manikin keeping body and soul +together in order to do the will of some snivelling tradesman! Think of +it! Think of Anthony Riggleton living here, or in London, in Paris, in +India--or wherever he pleases--squandering his money, and satiated with +pleasure, while you--you----Pooh! I know you. I see you holding Lady +Blanche in your arms. I see you basking in the smiles of beautiful women +all over the world. I see the name of Faversham world-wide in its +power. I see----" and the Count laughed again. + +All the while, too, he kept Dick's eyes riveted on his own--eyes which +told him of a world of sensuous delights, and which robbed him of his +manhood. No, he could not bear to become poor again, and he would not +give up the delights he had dreamt of. Right! Wrong! Good! Evil! They +were only words. The Count was right. It was his right to enjoy. + +"All right, I'll sign," he said. + +He dipped the pen into the ink, and prepared to inscribe his name, but +the moment he placed his hand on the paper it felt as though it were +paralysed. + +"There is something here!" he gasped. + +"Something here? Nonsense." + +"But there is. Look!" + +It seemed to him that a ray of light, brighter than that of the electric +current that burnt in the room, streamed towards him. Above him, too, he +saw the face that was now becoming familiar to him. Strange that he had +forgotten it during the long conversation, strange that no memory of the +evening before, when over the doorway he had seen an angel's face +beaming upon him and warning him, had come to him. + +But he remembered now. The night on the heaving sea, the vision on the +island, the luminous form over the doorway of the house, all flashed +before him, and in a way he could not understand Romanoff's influence +over him lessened--weakened. + +"Sign--sign there!" urged the Count, pointing towards the paper. + +"What is the matter with your eyes?" gasped Dick. "They burn with the +light of hell fire." + +"You are dreaming, boy. Sign, and let's have a bottle of wine to seal +the bargain." + +"I must be dreaming," thought Dick. "An angel's face! What mad, idiotic +nonsense!" + +He still held the pen in his hand, and it seemed to him that strength +was again returning to his fingers. + +"Where must I sign?" he muttered. "I can't see plainly." + +"There--right at the point of your pen," was the Count's reply. + +But Dick did not sign, for suddenly he saw a white, shadowy hand appear, +which with irresistible strength gripped his wrist. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A SCRAP OF PAPER + + +Suddenly the spell, or whatever had enchained him, was broken. There was +a noise of wheels on the gravel outside, and the sound of footsteps in +the hall. He heard the Count mutter a savage oath, and a moment later +the door opened and he heard a happy, clear, girlish voice: + +"Oh, Mr. Faversham, forgive me for coming; but I really couldn't help +myself." + +It was Beatrice Stanmore who, unheralded and unaccompanied, stood by his +side. + +He muttered something, he knew not what, although he felt as though a +weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and strength came back to his +being. + +"I really couldn't," the girl went on. "Granddad left me just after a +very early dinner, and then I felt awfully miserable and depressed. I +didn't know why. It was just ghastly. Nothing had happened, and yet I +knew--why, I couldn't tell--that something was terribly wrong. Then +something told me that you were in danger, that unless I came to help +you, you would be--oh, I can't put it into words! You are not in danger, +are you?" + +"It was very kind of you to come," muttered Dick. "I'm no end glad to +see you." + +"But--but I'm afraid!" she said in her childish way. "I don't know what +Granddad will say to me. You see, you are a stranger to me, and I had no +right to come. But I couldn't help it--I really couldn't. Someone seemed +to be saying to me all the time, 'Mr. Faversham is in deadly peril; go +to him--go to him quick! quick!' And I couldn't help myself. I kept +telling myself that I was very silly, and all that sort of thing, but +all the time I heard the voice saying, 'Quick, quick, or you'll be too +late!' But I'm afraid it's all wrong. You are all right. You are in no +danger, are you?" + +"I'm no end glad to see you," he repeated. "And it is awfully good of +you to come." + +He still seemed to be under strange influences, but he no longer felt as +though his strength was gone. His heart was strangely light, too. The +presence of the girl by his side gave him comfort. + +"You are not angry with me, then? I've not done wrong, have I?" + +"Wrong? No! You have done quite right--quite. Thank you very, very +much." + +"I'm glad of that. When I had left our house I wanted to run to you. +Then I thought of the car. I've learnt to drive, and Granddad thinks I'm +very clever at it. I simply flew through the park. But I'm glad you are +in no danger. I must go now." + +She had not once looked at Romanoff; she simply stood gazing at Dick +with wide-open, childish-looking eyes, and her words came from her +almost pantingly, as though she spoke under the stress of great +excitement. Then she looked at the paper before him. + +"You are not going to write your name on that, are you?" she asked. + +"No," he replied; "I'm not." + +"You must not," she said simply. "It would be wrong. When I heard the +words telling me to come to you I--I saw--but no, I can't recall it. But +you must not sign that. I'll go now. Good-night, and please forgive me +for coming." + +"Please don't go yet." + +"But I must. I could not stay here. There's something wrong, something +evil. I'm sure there is." + +She glanced nervously towards Romanoff, and shivered. "Good-night," she +said, holding out her hand. "I really must go now. I think the danger is +over--I feel sure it is; and Granddad will be anxious if he comes back +and does not find me." + +"I'll see you to the door," said Dick. "I shall never cease to thank you +for coming." + +Leaving the paper on the table, and without looking at Romanoff, he +opened the door to her, and passed into the hall. + +"Yes; I shall never cease to thank you," he repeated--"never. You have +saved me." + +"What from?" and she looked at him with a strangely wistful smile. + +"I don't know," he replied--"I don't know." + +When they stood together on the gravel outside the door, he gave a deep +sigh. It seemed to him as though the pure, sweet air enabled him to lift +every weight from himself. He was free--wonderfully, miraculously free. + +"Oh, it is heavenly, just heavenly here!" and she laughed gaily. "I +think this is the most beautiful place in the world, and this is the +most beautiful night that ever was. Isn't the avenue just lovely? The +trees are becoming greener and greener every day. It is just as though +the angels were here, hanging their festoons. Do you like my car? Isn't +it a little beauty?" + +"Yes," replied Dick. "May--may I drive you back?" + +"Will you? Then you can explain to Granddad. But no, you mustn't. You +must go back to your friend." + +"He isn't my friend," replied Dick almost involuntarily; "he's just--but +perhaps you wouldn't understand." + +"He isn't a good man," she cried impulsively. "I don't like him. I know +I ought not to say this. Granddad often tells me that I let my tongue +run away with me. But he's not a good man, and--and I think he's your +enemy." + +Dick was silent. + +"Is he staying with you long?" she went on. + +"No, not long." + +"I'm glad of that. He isn't nice. He's--he's--I don't know what. I shall +tell Granddad I've been here." + +"He won't be angry, will he?" + +"No; he's never angry. Besides, I think he'll understand. You'll come +and see us soon, won't you?" + +"I'm afraid I shall not be able to. I'm going away." + +"Going away?" + +"Yes; I'm leaving Wendover Park. At least, I expect so." + +"You don't mean for always?" + +"Yes; for always. To-night has decided it." + +She looked at him wistfully, questioningly. + +"Has that man anything to do with it? Is he driving you away?" + +"No; he wants me to stay." + +She again scanned his features in a puzzled, childish way. "Of course, I +don't understand," she said. + +"No; I hardly understand myself," and he spoke almost involuntarily. +"Thank you very much for coming." + +She clasped his hand eagerly. "I shall be very sorry if you go," she +said, "but please don't do anything that man asks you. Please don't." + +"I won't," replied Dick. + +He started the car for her, and then watched her while she drove down +the avenue. Then he stood for a few seconds looking at the great +doorway. He might have been expecting to see there what had been so +plainly visible before, but there was nothing. + +The grey old mansion was simply bathed in the light of the dying day, +while the silvery moon, which was just rising behind the tree-tops, sent +its rays through the fast-growing leaves. But as Beatrice Stanmore had +said, it was a most wondrous night. All nature was glorying in life, +while the light breezes seemed to bring him distant messages. The birds, +too, even although the sun had set, perhaps an hour before, sent their +messages one to another, and twittered their love-songs as they settled +to their rest. + +He waited on the steps for perhaps five minutes, then he found his way +back to Romanoff. For some seconds neither said anything; each seemed to +have a weight upon his lips. Then Romanoff spoke. + +"You refuse, then?" + +"Yes; I refuse." + +"What do you refuse?" + +"Everything. I refuse to allow you to do that devilish deed. I refuse to +obey you." + +Romanoff laughed as his eyes rested on Dick's face. + +"You know what this means, of course?" + +"Yes, I know." + +"Then--then I interfere no further." + +"Thank you." + +Romanoff waited a few seconds before he spoke again. "Of course, you are +very silly, Faversham," he said. "Soon you'll be sorry for this, and +some time you'll need my help. Meanwhile I'm tired, and will go to bed." + +He passed out of the room as he spoke, and Dick noticed that the scrap +of paper was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +COUNT ROMANOFF'S DEPARTURE + + +The next morning when Dick came downstairs he found Romanoff evidently +prepared for a journey. His luggage had been brought into the hall, and +he was looking at a time-table. + +"Faversham, I am sorry that we part in this way," he said. + +"Are you going?" asked Dick. + +The Count looked at him steadily, as if trying to divine his state of +mind--to know if he had changed his purposes since the previous evening. + +"Naturally," he replied. + +"You have settled on your train?" + +"Yes; I go by the 10.43." + +"Then I will see that a car is in readiness." + +As may be imagined, Dick had spent a well-nigh sleepless flight, and he +was in a nervous condition; but upon one thing he had decided. He would +be studiously polite to the Count, and would in no way refer to the +happenings of the previous night. Even yet he had not made up his mind +about his visitor, except that he agreed with Beatrice Stanmore. The man +still fascinated him; but he repelled him also. There was something +mysterious, evil, about him; but the evil was alluring; it was made to +seem as though it were not evil. + +"Should you alter your mind," said the Count on leaving, "this address +will find me. After to-night at ten o'clock, it will be useless to try +to find me." + +Dick looked at the card he had placed in his hand, and found the name of +one of the best hotels in London. + +When he had gone, the young man felt strangely lonely and fearfully +depressed. The air seemed full of foreboding; everything seemed to tell +him of calamity. As the morning passed away, too, he, more than once, +found himself questioning his wisdom. After all, the Count had asked +nothing unreasonable. Why should he not promise to be guided by a man +who was so much older and wiser than himself? One, too, who could so +greatly help him in the future. + +Again and again he wandered around the house, and through the gardens. +Again and again he feasted his eyes upon the beauty of the park and the +glory of the district. And it was his no longer! Could he not even +now---- + +No; he could not! If Anthony Riggleton were alive, and was the true heir +to old Charles Faversham's wealth, he should have it. The thought of +doing what Romanoff had proposed made him shudder. + +But he would not give up without a struggle. After all, he was in +possession, and he was accepted as the owner of Wendover Park as well as +heir to enormous wealth. Why, then, should he give it up? No; he would +fight for what he held. + +The day passed slowly away. He ate his lonely lunch in silence, and +then, taking a two-seater car, ran it in the direction of Lord +Huntingford's house. Just as he was passing the gates Lady Blanche +appeared, accompanied by a girl of about her own age. + +Almost unconsciously he lifted his foot from the accelerator and pressed +down the brake. + +"Alone, Mr. Faversham?" she asked, with a radiant smile. + +"Quite alone, Lady Blanche." + +"Your guest is gone, then?" + +"He left this morning." + +"Then--then please excuse the informality--but then we are neighbours; +won't you come to dinner _en famille_ on Thursday night? Father will be +delighted to see you. And, oh, I want to introduce you to my friend +here." + +He did not catch the girl's name, but it did not matter. He had only +eyes and ears for this glorious woman. Her face was wreathed with +smiles, while her eyes shone brightly. Surely such a woman was never +known before. In a moment he had forgotten the previous night--forgotten +the great crisis in his life. + +"Thursday! I shall be delighted!" he cried, lifting his cap. + +The two passed on, and he resumed his drive. Why did he not ask them to +accompany him? Why? Why? + +His mind was in a turmoil. The sight of Lady Blanche had set his nerves +tingling, and caused his blood to course madly through his veins. Her +smile, her look, her attitude could only mean one thing: she thought +kindly of him--she thought more than kindly of him. + +Then he remembered. Wendover Park was not his--nothing was his. If +Romanoff told him truly, he was a pauper. All--all would have to be +sacrificed. + +Where he went that afternoon he had no recollection. He only knew that +he drove the car at its utmost speed, and that the country through which +he was passing was strange to him. He wanted to get away from himself, +from his thoughts, from everything that reminded him of the truth. + +He returned to Wendover Park in time for dinner, and from eight to ten +o'clock he sat alone. On his arrival he had asked whether there had been +any callers, any message, and on receiving an answer in the negative, he +had heaved a sigh of relief. In the library after dinner, however, the +whole ghastly position had to be faced, and for two hours his mind was +torn first this way and then that. + +But he did nothing. He could not do anything. How could he? + +The evening--the night passed, and there was no happening. Everything +was orderly, quiet, commonplace. He might never have seen the luminous +figure at the doorway, never felt that awesome gripping of his wrist; +indeed, the whole experience might have been a dream, so unreal was it. + +The next day passed, and still nothing happened. More than once he was +on the point of ringing up Mr. Bidlake, but he refrained. What could he +say to the keen old lawyer? + +He did not leave the house during the whole day. Almost feverishly he +listened to every sound. No footstep passed unnoticed, no caller but was +anxiously scanned. Every time the telephone bell rang, he rushed to it +with fast-beating heart, only to heave a sigh of relief when he +discovered that there was no message concerning the things which haunted +his mind. + +Still another night passed, and still nothing happened. He was beginning +to hope that Romanoff had been playing a practical joke on him, and that +all his fears were groundless. + +Then just before noon the blow came. + +The telephone bell tinkled innocently near him, and on putting the +instrument to his ear he heard Mr. Bidlake's voice. + +"Is that you, Mr. Faversham? + +"Mr. Faversham speaking. You are Mr. Bidlake, aren't you?" + +"Yes." + +This was followed by a cough; then the lawyer spoke again. + +"Will you be home this afternoon?" + +"Yes." + +"I want to see you very particularly. A strange thing has happened. +Grotesque, in fact, and I want you to be prepared for--for anything." + +"What?" + +"I don't like telling you over the telephone. I'm tremendously upset. I +can hardly speak collectedly." + +"I think I know. It has to do with Anthony Riggleton and the Faversham +estates, hasn't it?" + +"How did you know? Yes; it has. It's terribly serious, I'm afraid. I'd +better see you at once. Some arrangement, some compromise might be +made." + +"You mean that Riggleton is not dead? That you've seen him?" + +He spoke quite calmly and naturally. Indeed, he was surprised at his +command over himself. + +"Yes; he's just left me. He's been here for two hours. Of course, I +tried at first to take his visit as a joke, but----" + +"You are convinced that it _was_ Riggleton?" + +"I can have no doubt about it--no possible doubt. He's deadly in earnest +too, and his case is overwhelming--simply overwhelming. Never, outside +the realms of the wildest romance, did I ever come across a case where a +lawyer could be so completely mistaken. But I can't help it, and I'm +afraid that--that your prospects for the future are materially altered. +Of course you might----" + +"You are coming down here, you say. There's a good train from Victoria +at 1.45. Can you catch it?" + +"Ye--s. I think so." + +"Then I'll send a car to meet you at this end." + +He rang the bell, altered the time of lunch, and then sat down to think. +But not for long. Calmly as he had talked to the lawyer, his every nerve +was quivering with excitement, every faculty was in tension. + +He went to the window and looked out. + +All he saw was his no longer. He had no doubt about it, and it seemed to +him that an icy hand was placed upon his heart as he realised it. + +And he might have retained it! + +Was he glad or sorry because of what he had done? Every particle of his +being was crying out for the life he longed to live, and yet----As he +thought of the price he would have to pay, as he remembered Romanoff's +words, he did not repent. + +He calmly waited for the lawyer's arrival. + +By four o'clock Mr. Bidlake was on his way back to London again, and +Dick knew that his own fate was sealed. The lawyer had proved to him +that he had no right to be there, and while he advised him to put on a +bold face, and in the last extremity to try and compromise with Anthony +Riggleton, he held out no hope. Anthony Riggleton was beyond doubt the +true heir of old Charles Faversham, and he had undisputable proofs of +the fact. + +"I am more upset than I can say, Faversham," said the lawyer, when he +had described Riggleton's visit, "but we can't help ourselves. He is +perfectly sure of his ground, and he has reason to be." + +"He convinced you entirely, then?" + +"Absolutely--absolutely." + +Dick was still calm. Perhaps the experiences of the last few days left +him almost incapable of feeling. + +"What sort of fellow is he?" + +The lawyer puckered up his face, and shook his head dismally. "He will +not be a Society favourite," was all he said. + +"But he has no doubts as to his plans?" + +"He says he's going to take possession immediately. If you offer any +opposition, he will apply for an injunction." + +"Has he any money?" + +"He appeared to be quite well off. His clothes are quite new," added the +lawyer, "and he sported some very flashy jewellery. I was impressed by +the thought that he had someone behind him." + +"Did he say so?" + +"No, not definitely, but I formed that impression. Anyhow, you can be +certain of this. He will lose no time in making his claim. Indeed, I +should not be at all surprised if the papers don't contain some notice +of his advent and his claims to-morrow morning." + +"You said something about a compromise." + +"Yes, you see"--and the lawyer coughed almost nervously--"this will be +very awkward for you. You've no right here; you've been spending money +which has not been your own. Still, your case is not without its good +points. You are in possession, you have been accepted as the owner +of--all this, and even although he has the prior claim, you would have +great sympathy from a jury--should it come to that. I told him so. I +don't promise anything, but it might be that he might be disposed to--do +something considerable to persuade you to leave him in possession +quietly." + +"As a kind of salve for my disappointment?" and there was an angry light +in Dick's eyes. + +"If you like to put it that way, yes. But, bless my soul, it is close on +four o'clock, and I must be going. I can't say how sorry I am, and--and +if I can do anything----" + +"Is the fellow married?" interrupted Dick. + +"No--nothing of that sort. After all, no one but he stands in the way of +possession." + +"What shall I do?" Dick asked himself. "I'm worse off than I was before. +At any rate I was in the way of earning a few hundred pounds when that +wireless came. But now everything is altered, and I don't know where to +turn. Still----" and there was a grim, hard look in his eyes. + +Slowly he walked down the avenue towards the lodge gates. Away in the +distance, as though coming towards him, he saw a young girl. It was +Beatrice Stanmore. He took a few steps towards her, and then turned +back. Something forbade his speaking to her; somehow she seemed closely +connected with the black calamity which had fallen on him. + +He had barely returned to the house when he heard the tooting of a motor +horn, and, looking out, he saw a large, powerful motor-car coming +rapidly up the avenue. A minute later he heard voices in the +hall--voices which suggested recognition. Then the door opened. + +"Mr. Anthony Riggleton!" said the servant excitedly. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +RIGGLETON'S HOMECOMING + + +A young fellow about twenty-eight years of age entered the room. He was +a round-faced, thickly built man, and he carried himself with a swagger. +Evidently it had been his desire to get himself up for the occasion. His +clothes were new, and shouted aloud of his tastes. They suggested a +bookmaker. He smoked a large cigar, and wore an aggressive buttonhole. +He did not take off his hat on entering, but, having advanced a couple +of steps, took a survey of the room. + +"Yes," he said, and his voice was somewhat thick; "I remember the old +place well. It's as natural as life." Then, coming up to where Dick was, +he continued, "Of course you know who I am?" + +Dick, who had difficulty in repressing his excitement, mentioned +something about never having seen him before. + +"Oh, stow that!" said the newcomer. "I'm Tony Riggleton, I am. You know +that well enough." + +"I don't see why I should," and Dick's voice was a little angry. He +instinctively disliked Tony Riggleton. + +"I do, though. Why, Bidlake hasn't been gone half an hour. Hopper has +just told me." + +Dick was silent. He did not see at the moment what there was for him to +say. + +"You guess why I'm here?" he went on. + +"I'm not good at guessing." Dick felt that Riggleton had the whip hand +of him, and while he did not intend to make any concessions to his +whilom cousin, he felt sure what the upshot of their meeting would be. + +"Oh, I say, Faversham," and Riggleton moved farther into the room, "it's +no use taking the high hand with me. Of course I don't blame you, and +naturally you're cut up. Anyone would be in your place. But there's +nothing green about me. All this show belongs to me, and I mean to +finger the coin. That's straight. Mind, I've come down here in a +friendly way, and I don't want to be unreasonable. See? I'm old +Faversham's heir. Old Bidlake was obliged to own it, although he +wriggled like a ferret in a hole. I can see, too, that you're a bit of a +swell, and would suit his book better than I can; but I can make the +money go. Don't you make any mistake." + +He laughed as he spoke, and made a pretence of re-lighting his cigar. + +"Come now," he went on, "let's have a bottle of champagne, and then we +can talk over things quietly." + +"There's nothing to talk over as far as I can see," interposed Dick. + +"What do you mean by that?" In spite of his assertive attitude, he did +not appear at ease, and was constantly casting furtive and suspicious +glances towards Dick. + +"I mean," replied Dick, "that if you are old Charles Faversham's heir, +and if you can prove it, there's nothing more to be said." + +"You mean that you'll clear out quietly?" + +There was evident astonishment in his voice. Apparently he had expected +bluster, and perhaps a scene. + +"Of course I shall clear out quietly. Naturally there are formalities +with which you'll have to comply; but, if you are the true owner, you +are, and there's no more to be said." + +Riggleton looked at him with open-mouthed wonder, evidently staggered +that Faversham was taking the matter so calmly. + +Dick was silent. The fellow was getting on his nerves, and he had +difficulty in keeping calm. + +"Then you don't mean to fight it out?" he continued. + +"Why should I?" asked Dick quietly. "You have placed your papers in Mr. +Bidlake's hands, and left everything for his examination. Your identity +will have to be proved, and all that sort of thing; but I hope I've too +much self-respect to try to hold anything that isn't mine." + +"Put it there!" cried Anthony Riggleton, holding out his hand. "That's +what I call acting like a gentleman, that is. I sort of thought you'd +get your monkey up, and--but there. It's all right. There's nothing +fishy about me. I don't pretend to be a saint, I don't. In fact, I don't +believe old Uncle Charlie ever meant me to come in for all his wad. +S'welp me bob, I don't. I was never his sort, and I don't mind telling +you that he as good as kicked me out from here. You see, I was always +fond of a bit of life, and I've gone the whole hog in my time. But +that's all over now." + +"You mean that you're going to reform?" + +"Reform! Not 'alf. No, Faversham; I'm going to have the time of my life. +I'm going to--but--I say, have you been here ever since you thought you +came in for the old man's whack?" + +"Yes; why?" + +"You _are_ a plaster saint. By gosh, you are! But you don't see me +burying myself in this hole. Of course it's very grand, and all that +sort of thing; but, no, thank you! Tony Riggleton is going the whole +hog. What's the use of money else? Of course I shall use the place now +and then. When I feel my feet a bit I shall get some music-hall people +down here for week-ends, and all that sort of thing. But, as for living +here like Bidlake says you have!--no, thank you. London's my mark! I +tell you, I mean to paint the town red. And then, if I can get passports +and that sort of tommy-rot, I'll do Paris and Madrid and Rome. You don't +catch me burying myself like a hermit. Not a little bit. Now I've got +the money, I mean to make it fly. I _should_ be a fool if I didn't!" + +The man was revealing himself by every word he spoke. His tastes and +desires were manifested by his sensual lips, his small, dull eyes and +throaty voice. + +"Now, look here, Faversham," he went on, "I'll admit you are different +from what I expected you to be. I was prepared for a bit of a shindy, +and that's straight. But you've taken a knock-down blow in a sporting +way, and I want to do the thing handsome. Of course I own this show just +as I own all the rest of the old man's estates; but there's nothing mean +about me. Live and let live is my motto. You can stay on here for a week +or a fortnight if you like. I don't want to be hard. For that matter, +although I'm going back to town to-night, I'll come back on Saturday and +bring some bits of fluff from the Friv, and we'll make a week-end of it. +I expect you've plenty of fizz in the house, haven't you?" + +Dick was silent. The conversation, only a part of which I have recorded, +so disgusted him that, although he was not a Puritan by nature, he felt +almost polluted by the man's presence. It seemed like sacrilege, too, +that this fellow should turn Wendover Park into a sty, as he evidently +meant to do, and he found himself wondering whether, after all, he would +not have been justified in accepting Romanoff's offer. + +"Come, what do you say?" went on Riggleton. "I tell you----" and then he +went on to give details of his programme. "There's no need for you to be +so down in the mouth," he concluded. "There's plenty of money, as you +know, and I'll not be hard on you." + +The fellow was so coarsely patronising that Dick with difficulty kept +himself from starting up and rushing from the room. At that moment, +however, a servant entered and brought him a telegram, and a moment +later his brain seemed on fire as he read: + + "Riggleton's claim undoubtedly valid, but can still save situation + if you accept my terms.--ROMANOFF, Hotel Cosmopolitan." + +The words burnt into his brain; he felt as he had felt a few nights +before when Romanoff had placed the paper before him to sign. + +"Any answer, sir?" + +He looked towards a pen which lay on the table before him. Why should he +not send back an acceptance? + +"I say," said Riggleton, "is that about the estate? Because if it is, I +demand to see it." + +His tone was loud and arrogant. The sight of the telegram had evidently +aroused his suspicions and his desire to assert his mastery. + +"Oh, I mean it," he went on. "I'm an easy chap to get on with, but I'm +master here. I tell you that straight." + +Dick felt as though his nerves were raw; the man's presence was +maddening. And he had to give up everything to him! + +"It's a purely personal telegram," he replied. "I'm only considering how +I shall answer it." + +He seized a telegraph form, and dipped a pen into an inkstand, but he +did not write a word. His mind again flew back to the night when +Romanoff tempted him, and when he had felt a hand grip his wrist. + +"Let's get out," he said, cramming the telegram into his pocket. + +"Yes; let's," assented Riggleton; "but let's have a drink before we go. +I say, my man," and he turned to the servant, who still waited, "bring a +bottle of fizz. Yes; do as you're told. I'm your new master. Everything +belongs to me. See?" + +The servant turned to Dick. Doubtless there had been a great deal of +excited conversation in the servants' quarters, and he awaited +confirmation of what he had heard. + +"Do as he tells you," assented Dick, and then he left the room. + +But he could not help hearing what took place between Riggleton and the +servant. + +"What do you mean by looking to him?" asked Riggleton angrily. "Any of +your nonsense and it'll be right about face with you. I'm master here +and no error. It was all a mistake about Faversham. Everything belongs +to me. See? And look here, there's going to be a change here. I ain't no +milksop, I can tell you, and the whole lot of you'll have to get a move +on, or out you go. It isn't much time that I shall spend in this gloomy +hole, but when I am here there'll be something doing. I shall get the +place full of a jolly lot of girls, and Wendover Park won't be no mouldy +church, nor no bloomin' nunnery. You can bet your life on that. +There'll be plenty of booze, and plenty of fun. Now then, get that fizz, +and be quick about it." + +The man's raucous, throaty voice reached him plainly, and every word +seemed to scrape his bare nerves. He left the hall, and went out on the +lawn where the sun shone, and where the pure spring air came to him like +some healing balm. + +This, then, was his cousin! This was the man who was the heir of old +Charles Faversham's great wealth! + +The whole situation mocked him. He believed he had done the thing that +was right, and this was the result of it. + +Like lightning his mind swept over his experiences, and again he +wondered at all that had taken place. He tried to understand his strange +experiences, but he could not. His thoughts were too confused; his brain +refused to grasp and to co-ordinate what he could not help feeling were +wonderful events. + +He looked towards the great doorway, where, on the day of his coming to +Wendover Park, he had seen that luminous figure which had so startled +him. But there was nothing to be seen now. He wondered, as he had +wondered a hundred times since, whether it was an objective reality, or +only the result of a disordered imagination. There, in the bright +sunlight, with Anthony Riggleton's raucous voice still grating on his +ears, he could not believe it was the former. But if it were pure +imagination, why--why----And again his mind fastened on the things +which in spite of everything were beginning to revolutionise his life. + +Then a thought startled him. He realised that a change had come over +him. If he had met Tony Riggleton a few months before, neither the man's +presence nor his language would have so disgusted him. He had writhed +with anger when Riggleton had unfolded his plans to him, and yet a +little while before he himself had contemplated a future which was not, +in essence, so far removed from what his cousin had so coarsely +expressed. Yes; he could not blind himself to the fact that +since--since----But no, nothing was clear to him. + +"I say, Faversham." + +He turned and saw that Riggleton had joined him. + +"Show me around a bit, will you? You see, the old man wouldn't have me +here much, and--I should like to talk things over." + +"I think, when Mr. Bidlake has got everything in order----" + +"Oh, hang Bidlake! Besides, it's no use your talking about Bidlake. I've +settled with him. You don't feel like talking, eh? Very well, let's go +for a walk." + +Almost instinctively Dick turned down the drive which led to the cottage +where Beatrice Stanmore lived. + +"Yes," reflected Riggleton, after they had walked some time in silence; +"I suppose this kind of thing appeals to a poetical bloke like you seem +to be. But it doesn't do for Tony R. I love a bit of life, I do. I +always did. Did you ever hear that I ran away from school, and went off +on my own when I was fifteen? Went to sea, I did, and knocked about the +world. I had a rough time, too; that's why I've no polish now. But I +know the value of money, I do, and you may bet your bottom dollar that +I'll make things hum. Ah, here we are at the lodge gates." + +Dick looked across a meadow, and saw old Hugh Stanmore's cottage. Even +although it was some little distance away he could see the gaily +coloured flowers in the garden and the pleasant quaintness of the +cottage. But it was no longer his. In future it would belong to this +clown by his side, and---- + +His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a motor, and a few seconds +later he caught sight of Lady Blanche Huntingford in her two-seater car. +His heart gave a leap as he saw her put her foot on the clutch, while +the car slowed down by his side. + +The girl smiled into his face. "You've not forgotten your promise for +to-morrow night, Mr. Faversham?" she said, and then, stopping the +engine, she stepped lightly into the lane. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +FAVERSHAM'S RESOLUTION + + +It seemed to Dick that nothing could have happened more unfortunately. +Painfully aware as he was that Anthony Riggleton was standing by his +side, and devouring every detail of the girl's appearance, he felt +ashamed that she should see him. He wanted to run away, longed to disown +all knowledge of the vulgar creature who accompanied him. + +"No, I've not forgotten, Lady Blanche," he managed to say. + +"And we may expect you?" There was eagerness in her voice, expectancy in +the gladness of her bright eyes. + +"I--I'm afraid not," he stammered. + +The girl flashed a quick look upon him--a look partly of questioning, +partly of disappointment. "Really, Mr. Faversham----" she protested, and +then stopped. Perhaps she felt that something untoward had taken place. + +"You see," he went on confusedly, "while I'd just love to come, things +have happened since I saw you. I did not know----" and almost +unconsciously he glanced towards Riggleton. + +"I say, Faversham," and Riggleton put on his most fascinating smile, +"introduce me to your lady friend, won't you? I don't think, when I've +been in the neighbourhood before, that I've had the pleasure of meeting +the young lady." + +But Dick was silent. He simply could not speak of the fellow as his +cousin. Evidently, too, Riggleton felt something of what was passing in +Dick's mind; perhaps, too, he noticed the haughty glance which the girl +gave him, for an angry flush mounted his cheeks, and his small eyes +burnt with anger. + +"Oh, you don't feel like it!" he exclaimed aloud. "And no wonder. Well, +miss, I'll tell you who I am. I'm the owner of this place, that's what I +am. My name's Anthony Riggleton, and I'm what the lawyers call +next-of-kin to old Charles Faversham. That's why I'm boss here. There's +been a big mistake, that's what there's been, and Dick Faversham got +here, not under false pretences--I don't say that--but because people +thought I was dead. But I ain't dead by a long chalk. I'm jolly well +alive, and I'm the heir. That's the situation, miss. I thought I'd tell +you straight, seeing we may be neighbours. As for Dick here, of course +he's jolly well disappointed. Not that I mayn't do the handsome thing by +him, seeing he means to be reasonable. I may make him my steward, or I +might make him an allowance. See?" + +The girl made no response whatever. She listened in deadly silence to +Riggleton, although the flush on her cheek showed that the man's words +had excited her. Also she looked at Dick questioningly. She seemed to be +demanding from him either an affirmation or a denial of what the man +said. But Dick remained silent. Somehow he felt he could not speak. + +"You don't seem to take me, miss," went on Riggleton, who might have +been under the influence of the champagne he had been drinking, "but +what I'm telling you is gospel truth. And it may interest you to know +that I mean to paint this part of the country red. Oh, I'll shake things +up, never fear. Might you be fond of hunting, and that kind of thing, +miss? Because after the war I mean to go in for it strong." + +Still Lady Blanche did not speak to him. The only reply she made was to +get into her car and turn on the engine. "Good afternoon, Mr. +Faversham," she said. "Then must I tell my father that you'll not be +able to come to-morrow?" + +"Perhaps you'd better," replied Dick, "but--I'll explain later." + +Almost unconsciously he lifted his hat, while the car passed out of +sight. + +"By gosh!" exclaimed Riggleton, "she's a stunner, she is!--a regular +stunner. Who is she?" + +But Dick turned and hurried up the drive towards the house. He felt +that he could no longer bear to be near the creature who had robbed him +of everything worth living for. + +"I say, you needn't be so huffy," cried Riggleton, who again joined him. +"Why didn't you introduce me? I don't know when I've seen such a +stunning bit of fluff. She looks regular top-hole stuff too! And hasn't +she got a figure? And I say, Faversham, seeing that I said I was +prepared to do the handsome by you, you might have done the correct +thing. What! Oh, I suppose you were riled because I told her how things +are. But the truth was bound to come out, man! Do you think I would be +such a ninny as not to let her know I was the bloomin' owner of this +show? Tell me, who is she?" + +"Lady Blanche Huntingford." + +He uttered the name curtly, savagely. He was angry with himself for +having spoken at all. + +"Whew! She's Lord Huntingford's daughter, is she?" and he gave a hoarse +laugh. "Well, she's a beauty, she is--just a beauty!" + +He laughed again in high good-humour, indeed, he seemed to be enjoying +himself vastly. + +"You are a deep one, Faversham, you are," he shouted, as he slapped Dick +on the back. "Here was I calling you a fool for staying in this hole +instead of going to London and gay Paree. But I see the reason now. +Dining with her to-morrow night, were you? And it seems that I've spoilt +your little game. Well, she's a bit of all right, that's what she is. A +regular bit of all right. I don't know but after all I shall do the +country squire touch, and make up to her. What are you looking like that +for?" + +For Dick's face was crimson with rage. The fellow's coarse vulgarity was +driving him mad. + +"Are you in love with her?" persisted Riggleton. "Is that it?" + +Still Dick did not speak. He was walking rapidly towards the house--so +rapidly that Riggleton had difficulty in keeping up with him. + +"I say, don't be huffy," went on Tony. "I'm sorry if I didn't do the +correct thing. I didn't mean anything wrong, and I'm not up to the ways +of the swells. As I told you, I ran away from school, and got in with a +rough set. That was why, when I came back here, Uncle Charlie cleared me +out. But I don't believe in grudges, I don't, and I'm sorry if I've put +your nose out. I can't say fairer than that, can I?" + +Dick felt slightly ashamed of himself. He was beginning to understand +Riggleton better now, and to appreciate his coarse kindness. + +"It's all right, Riggleton," he said, "and no doubt you've done the +natural thing. But--but I don't feel like talking." + +"Of course you don't," said Tony, "and of course my coming is a regular +knock-out blow to you. If it was me, I'd have--well, I don't know what I +wouldn't have done. But I'm not such a bad chap after all. And look +here, I meant what I said, and I'm prepared to do the handsome thing. +You play fair with me, and I'll play fair with you. See? I shall make an +unholy mess of things if I'm left alone, and if you like I'll keep you +on here. You shall be my steward, and I'll make you a good allowance. +Then you can stay here, and I'll give you my word of honour that I'll +not try to cut you out with Lady Blanche, although she takes the fancy +of yours truly more than any bit of fluff I've seen for years." + +"For Heaven's sake, drop it!" cried Dick, exasperated. + +"All right," laughed Tony. "I don't mind. There's plenty of girls to be +had. Besides, she's not my sort. She's too high and mighty for me. +Besides," and he laughed raucously, "it all comes back to me now. Once +when I was here before, I nearly got into trouble with her. I was +trespassing on her father's grounds, and she came along and saw me. She +told me to clear out or she'd set the dogs on me. Good Lord! I'd +forgotten all about it, and I never thought I'd see her again. So if +you're gone on her, I'll give you a clear field, my boy. I can't say +fairer than that, now can I?" + +They had reached the house, and Dick again, almost unconsciously, looked +at the great doorway. He dreaded, yet he almost longed to see the great +haunting eyes of the figure which, whether imaginary or real, had become +such a factor in his existence. + +But there was nothing. No suggestion of the luminous form appeared. + +Of course it was all a mad fancy--all the result of exciting and +disturbing experiences. + +"Riggleton," he said, when they had reached the library, "I want to be +quiet; I want to think. You don't mind, do you? I'll explain presently." + +"As you like, my boy. Think as much as you bloomin' well want to. I see +the servant hasn't taken away the fizz, so I'll have another drink." + +Dick threw himself on a chair and covered his face with his hands. He +tried to think, tried to co-ordinate events, tried to understand the +true bearings of the situation. But he could not. His mind was either a +blank or it was filled with mad, confusing thoughts. + +What should he do? + +He thought he had decided on his course of action before Riggleton's +advent, but now everything was a wild chaos; he seemed to be in a +maelstrom. Should he accept Riggleton's offer? The fellow was a fool; +there could be no doubt about that--a coarse-minded, vulgar, gullible +fool. With careful treatment, he, Dick, could still remain master of +Wendover Park; he could have all the money he wanted; he could--and a +vista of probabilities opened up before him. He was sure he could play +with his cousin as a cat plays with a mouse. He could get him in his +power, and then he could do what he liked with him. + +And why not? + +Perhaps, perhaps----He turned towards Riggleton, who was pouring out a +glass of champagne and humming a popular music-hall song. Yes; he could +mould the fellow like clay; he could make him do anything--_anything_! + +He was on the point of speaking, of starting a conversation which would +naturally lead to the thing he had in his mind, but no words passed his +lips. It seemed to him as though two distinct, two antagonistic forces +were in the room. Almost unconsciously he took Romanoff's telegram from +his pocket, and as he did so, he felt as though the sender was by his +side; but even while he thought of the man he remembered something else. +He remembered the night when he had unfolded his plans to him, and when +he had pointed to the paper which he had prepared for him. + +Again he felt the grip of the hand upon his wrist, again he felt a +presence which he could not explain--a presence which forbade him to +sign away his liberty--his soul. + +He thought, too, how immediately afterwards that guileless child +Beatrice Stanmore had rushed into the room, and had told him that she +had been impelled to come to him. + +Suddenly a prayer came to his lips: "O God, help me! For Christ's sake, +help me!" + +It was strange, bewildering. He was not a praying man. He had not prayed +for years, and yet the prayer, unbidden, almost unthought of, had come +into his heart. + +"Well, have you made up your mind?" + +It was Tony Riggleton's voice, and he felt like a man wakened out of a +trance. + +"Yes." + +"Good. You take me on, eh? We'll be pals, and you'll stay on here as my +steward?" + +"No." + +"What are you going to do, then?" + +"I'm going to London." + +"To London, eh? But when?" + +"To-night." + +"To-night! Well, I'm----But--but, all right. I'll drive you there in my +car, and we'll make a night of it." + +"No, thank you. Look here, Riggleton, I'm very much obliged to you, and +I appreciate all you have said; but our paths must lie apart." + +"Lie apart?" Tony's mind was a little confused. "You mean to say that +you don't accept the allowance I'm willing to make you?" + +"I mean that. I thank you very much, but I don't accept." + +"But--but what are you going to do?" + +"I don't know." + +"Have you any money?" + +"No. Yes, I have, though. I've a few pounds which I saved before I +thought I--I was----" + +"Old Uncle Charlie's heir," concluded Tony as Dick hesitated. "But what +about the estate?" + +"The lawyer must settle all that. I'm sorry I'm intruding here. I'll go +and pack my things right away. Some day I'll repay you for the money +I've spent while I've been here." + +"Look here," and Tony came to Dick's side, "don't you be a fool. You +just take things sensibly. Pay me money! Money, be blowed! You just----" + +"No, thank you. I'll go now if you don't mind." + +He left the room as he spoke, and a few minutes later he had packed a +small suit-case. He returned to the room where Tony still remained. + +"Good-bye, Riggleton; I'm off." + +"But you--you're mad." + +"I think I am. Good-bye." + +"But where are you going?" + +"To the station. If I make haste I shall catch the next train to +London." + +Riggleton looked at him in open-mouthed wonder. "Well, you _are_ a +fool!" he gasped. + +Dick rushed out of the house without a word to the servants. He felt as +though he dared not speak to them. Something in his heart--something +which he could not explain--was telling him to fly, and to fly quickly. + +When he reached the doorway he turned and looked. He wanted to see +if--if----But there was nothing. The westering sun shed its bright rays +not only on the house, but on the flowers which bloomed in glorious +profusion; but there was no suggestion of anything beyond the ordinary +to be seen. + +"Of course I _am_ a fool," he reflected; "perhaps I am mad," and then he +again tried to understand the experiences which had so bewildered him. +But he could not. All was confusion. + +He hurried along the drive which led to the lodge near which Beatrice +Stanmore lived. He had a strange longing to see once more the home of +the child who had come to him in the hour of his dire temptation. + +When he had gone some distance he turned to have a last look at the +house. Never had it seemed so fair; never as now did he realise what he +was leaving. What a future he was giving up! What a life he was +discarding! Yes; he had been a fool--an egregious fool! Oh, the folly of +his actions!--the mad folly! + +"Holloa, Mr. Faversham!" + +He turned and saw Beatrice Stanmore. + +"You are going away?" + +"Yes; I'm going to London." + +"And walking to the station? Why?" + +"Because I've no conveyance." + +The girl looked at him wonderingly. Questions seemed to hang upon her +lips--questions which she dared not ask. + +"I'm going away," he went on, "because nothing is mine. There's been a +great mistake--and so I'm going away. Do you understand?" + +She looked at him with childlike wonder. In years she was nearly a +woman, but she was only a child in spirit. + +"But surely you need not go and leave everything?" she queried. + +"No; I need not go." He hardly knew what he was saying. He seemed like a +man under a spell. + +"Then what makes you go?" + +"You," he replied. "Don't you remember? Good-bye." + +He hurried on without another word. He felt he was going mad, even if he +were not mad already. And yet he had a kind of consciousness that he was +doing right. + +"But I will come back some day," he said between his set teeth. "I'll +not be beaten! Somehow--somehow I'll make my way. I'll conquer--yes, +I'll conquer! At all hazards, I'll conquer!" + +There was a grim determination in his heart as he set his face towards +the unknown. + + + + +PART II.--THE SECOND TEMPTATION + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +MR. BROWN'S PROPHECY + + +"Yes, Mr. Faversham; I see such a future before you as was never +possible to any other Englishman." + +The speaker was a man about fifty years of age, short, stout, well fed, +seemingly prosperous. A smile played around his lips---a smile which to +a casual observer suggested a kindly, almost a childlike, innocence. He +might have been interested in orphan schools, charity organisations, or +any other philanthropic movement. His voice, too, was sympathetic and +somewhat caressing, and his whole appearance spoke of a nature full of +the milk of human kindness. + +The two men were sitting in the corner of a smoking-room in a London +club. A most respectable club it was, whose members were in the main +comprised of financiers, prosperous merchants, and men of the upper +middle classes. Money was writ large everywhere, while comfort, solid +comfort, was proclaimed by the huge, softly cushioned chairs, the +thickly piled carpets, and the glowing fires. Any stranger entering the +club would have said that its members were composed of men who, having +plenty of this world's goods, meant to enjoy the comforts which their +gains justly entitled them to. + +Dick Faversham, to whom the words were spoken, smiled, and the smile was +not without incredulity and a sense of wonder. + +"Yes," went on the speaker, "you smile; you say in your heart that I am +a bad example of my theories; but one mustn't be deceived by +appearances. You think, because I am fat and prosperous, that I take no +interest in my fellow-creatures, that I do not dream dreams, see +visions, eh? Is not that so?" + +"Not at all," replied Dick; "but your views are so out of accord with +all this," and he looked around the room as he spoke, "that I am +naturally a bit puzzled." + +"It is because I have accustomed myself to this, because I have seen +inside the minds of rich men, and thus understand their prejudices and +points of view, that I also see the other things. You have seen me in +places different from this, my friend." + +"Yes," replied Dick; "I have." + +"Little as you have realised it," went on the other, "I have watched you +for years. I have followed you in your career; I have seen your +sympathies expand; I have been thrilled with your passion too. You did +not suspect, my friend, three years ago, that you would be where you are +to-day, eh?" + +"No," assented Dick; "I didn't." + +"You have thought much, learnt much, suffered much, seen much." + +"Yes; I suppose so," and a wistful look came into his eyes, while his +face suggested pain. + +"It is said," went on the stout man, "that there is no missioner so +ardent, so enthusiastic, as the new convert; but, as I have told you, +you do not go far enough." + +Dick was silent. + +"You are spoken of by many as a man with advanced ideas, as one who has +an intense passion for justice, as one, too, who has advanced daring +plans for the world's betterment; but I, the fat old Englishman, the +respectable millionaire, the man whom Governments have to consider--mark +that--the man whom Governments have to consider and consult, tell you +that your scheme, your plans are mere palliatives, mere surface things, +mere sticking-plasters on the great, gaping sores of our times. That if +all your ideas were carried out--yes, carried out to the full--you would +not advance the cause of humanity one iota. In a few months the old +anachronisms, the old abuses, would again prevail, while you would be a +back number, a byword, a fellow who played at reform because you neither +had the vision to see the world's real needs nor the courage to attempt +real reform. A back number, my dear sir, and a mere play-actor to boot." + +The fat man watched the flush on Dick's face as he spoke, and was +apparently gratified. + +"You see," he went on, still watching Dick's face closely, "I am getting +on in life, and I have shed my illusions. I have my own philosophy of +life, too. I do not believe that the reformer, that the man who lives to +relieve the woes of others must of necessity be a monk, a Peter the +Hermit, a Francis of Assisi. The labourer is worthy his hire; the great +worker should have a great reward. Why should honour, riches, fall into +the lap of kings who do nothing, of an aristocracy which is no +aristocracy? Youth is ambitious as well as altruistic. Thus ambitions +should be ministered unto, realised. Shakespeare was only a shallow +parrot, when he wrote the words, 'Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away +ambition.' The man who flings away ambition becomes a pulpy reed. He +lacks driving force, lacks elemental passions. If one opposes primitive +instincts, one is doomed to failure." + +"Pardon me if I fail to see what you are driving at," interposed Dick. + +"You'll see in a minute," asserted the other. "What I urge is this: the +man who sets up a new kingdom should be a king. It is his right. The man +who sees a new earth, a more glorious earth, an earth where justice and +right abound, and where neither poverty nor discontent is known--I say +the man who sees that new earth and brings it to pass should rule over +it as king. He should have, not the pomp and empty pageantry of a paltry +hereditary king, but the honour, the power, the riches of the true +king." + +The man paused as if he expected Dick to reply, but no reply was +forthcoming. Still, the stout man was evidently satisfied by his survey +of Dick's face, and he noted the flash of his eyes. + +"That is why, to come back to where we were a few minutes ago," he went +on, "I see such a future for you as was never possible to any other +Englishman. I see you, not only as the man who will revolutionise the +life of this starved and corrupt country, not only as the man who will +bring in a new era of prosperity and happiness for all who are citizens +of the British Empire, but as the man who can enjoy such a position, +such honours, such riches as no man ever enjoyed before. Do you follow +me? The people who are redeemed will make haste to heap glory and honour +upon their redeemer." + +"History does not bear that out," was Dick's reply. + +"No, and why, my friend? I will tell you. It is because the men who have +aimed to be saviours have been fools. It is because they have been blind +to the elemental facts of life. The first business of the saviour is not +self-interest--I do not say that--but to regard his own welfare as +essential to the welfare of others. The man who allows himself to be +crucified is no true saviour, because by allowing it he renders himself +powerless to save. No, no, I see you, not only as one who can be a great +reformer, and as one who can strike death-blows at the hoary head of +abuse, but as one who can lift himself into such fame and power as was +never known before. The plaudits of the multitudes, the most glorious +gifts of the world, the love of the loveliest women--all, all, and a +thousand times more, can be yours. That is your future as I see it, my +friend." + +"Do you know what I think of you?" asked Dick, with a nervous laugh. + +"It would be interesting to know," was the reply. + +"That your imaginative gifts are greater than your logical powers." + +The stout man laughed heartily. "I suppose I puzzle you," he replied. +"You think it strange that I, the financier, the millionaire if you +like, who eats well, drinks good wine, smokes good cigars, and who is a +member of the most expensive clubs in London, should talk like this, eh? +You think it strange that I, who two hours hence will be hobnobbing with +financiers and Cabinet ministers, should be talking what some would +call rank treason with an advanced labour leader, eh? But do not judge +by outward appearances, my friend; do not be misled by the world's +opinions. It is not always the ascetic who feels most acutely or +sympathises most intensely. + +"As I told you, I have watched you for months--years. For a long time I +did not trust you; I did not believe you were the man who could do what +I saw needed doing. Even when I heard you talking to the masses of the +people--yes, carrying them away with the passion of your words--I did +not altogether believe in you. But at length I have come to see that you +are the man for my money, and for the money of others." + +Again he looked at Dick keenly. + +"Ah, I astonish you, don't I? You have looked upon such as I as enemies +to the race. You have not realised that there are dozens of millionaires +in this city of millionaires who almost hate the money they have made, +because they see no means whereby it can be used for the uplifting and +salvation of the oppressed and downtrodden. They do not talk about it, +yet so it is. I tell you frankly, I would at this moment give +half--two-thirds--of all I possess if thereby I could carry out the +dream of my life!" + +The man spoke with passion and evident conviction. There was a tremor in +his voice, and his form became almost rigid. His eyes, too, flashed with +a strange light--a light that spoke almost of fanaticism. + +"You already have in your mind what burns in mine like a raging +furnace," he went on. "You see from afar what has become a fixed, +settled conviction with me. You behold as a hazy vision what I have +contemplated for a long time, until it is clearly outlined, thoroughly +thought out. I will tell you what it is directly. And if that great +heart of yours, if that fine quick mind of yours does not grasp it, +assimilate it, and translate it into actuality, it will be one of the +greatest disappointments of my life. I shall for evermore put myself +down as a blind fool, and my faith in human nature will be lost for +ever." + +"Tell me what it is," and Dick's voice was tense with eagerness. + +Months, years had passed since Dick had left Wendover Park, and both his +life and thoughts had become revolutionised. Perhaps this was not +altogether strange. His manner of life had been altered, his outlook +altogether new. + +Even now as he looked back over those fateful days he could not +understand them. They seemed to him rather as some wild fantastic series +of dreams than as sane and sober realities. Yet realities they were, +even although they were a mystery to him. Often in his quiet hours he +caught himself thinking of the figure of the woman in the smoke-room of +the outward-bound ship, which no one but himself could see, while again +and again he almost shivered as he felt himself sinking in the black, +turbulent sea, while conflicting powers seemed to be struggling to +possess him. Indeed, the wonder of that night never left him. The light +which shone in the darkness, the luminous form above him, the great, +yearning, pitying eyes which shone into his, and the arms outstretched +to save. + +Sometimes it was all visionary and unreal--so visionary was it that he +could not believe in its reality, but at other times he could not doubt. +It was all real--tremendously real. Especially was it so as he thought +of those after days when he had fought the greatest battles of his life. +Again and again he had seen himself in the library at Wendover while +Romanoff stood beside him and told him of his plans; again and again had +he recalled the moment when he took the pen in his hand to sign the +paper, and had felt the grip on his wrist which had paralysed his hand. + +Was it real, or was it imaginary? + +"Suppose I had signed it?" he had often asked himself; "where should I +be now? I should be a rich man--the owner of old Charles Faversham's +huge fortune. Possibly I should have married Lady Blanche Huntingford +and acted the part of the rich squire. But what would Romanoff have +exacted of me? What would be my thoughts about Tony Riggleton?" + +Yes; those were wonderful days, whether they were a dream or a reality, +and sometimes he called himself a fool for not following the Count's +advice, while at others he shuddered to think of the dangers from which +he had escaped. + +He had never seen nor heard of Lady Blanche since. On his arrival in +London he had written an explanatory letter, and had expressed the hope +that she would not lose interest in him. But he had received no reply. +Evidently she regarded him as a kind of an impostor, with whom she could +no further associate herself. + +Neither had he ever seen or heard of Romanoff. This dark, sinister man +had passed away into the shadows, and only remained a strange memory, a +peculiar influence in his life. + +Of Tony Riggleton he had heard various stories, all of which were of the +same nature. Tony had been true to the programme he had marked out. He +had filled Wendover Park with a motley crowd of men and women, and the +orgies there were the talk of the neighbourhood. He had also a flat in +London where he had indulged in his peculiar tastes. + +It was on hearing these stories that Dick had felt that he had acted the +fool. He had become cynical, too, and laughed at the idea that virtue +and honour were wise. + +"If I had followed Romanoff's advice," he had said to himself, "I might +have----" And repeatedly he had recounted what he might have done with +the wealth which he had thought was his. + +For many months Dick had a hard struggle to live. His few weeks of +riches had unfitted him for the battle of life. Society was shaken to +its foundations; the world was a maddening maze. Again and again he had +offered himself for the Army--only to be rejected. He was conscious of +no illness, but the doctors persistently turned him down. + +Presently he drifted towards the industrial North of England and became +employed in a huge factory where thousands of people worked. It was here +that Dick's life underwent a great change. For the first time he found +himself the daily, hourly companion of grimy-handed toilers. + +This gave him a new vision of life; it placed new meanings on great +problems; he was made to look at life from new angles. For the first +time he felt the squalor, the ugliness of life. He lived in a grimy +street, amidst grimy surroundings. He saw things as the working classes +saw them, saw them with all their grey unloveliness, their numbing +monotony. + +Still ambitious, still determined to carve out a career, he felt +oppressed by the ghastly atmosphere in which he found himself. He was +now fast approaching thirty, and he found himself unable to adapt +himself to his new conditions. He thought of all he had hoped to do and +be, and now by some sport of fate he had become engulfed in this +maelstrom of life. + +Little by little the inwardness of it all appealed to him. He had to do +with men and women who were drunken, foul-mouthed, depraved. What wonder +that he himself was becoming coarsened every day! Things at which he +would once have shuddered he now passed by with a shrug of his +shoulders. How could the working classes be refined, how could they have +exalted ideas amidst such surroundings? + +He noticed the tremendous disparity between the moneyed and the working +classes. The former were deliberately exploiting the great world +convulsion, and the peculiar conditions caused thereby, to make huge +profits. It was all wrong--utterly wrong. What was the worker, on whose +labour everything depended? Mere means for swelling the capitalists' +profits. Who cared about them? Politicians talked glibly about what they +meant to do; but they did nothing. + +Newspapers shrieked, and capitalists talked about the disloyalty of the +working classes. How could men go on strike while the very existence of +empire, civilisation, humanity hung in the balance? they asked. But what +of their own disloyalty? What of those who held a pistol at the head of +the Government, and threatened to disorganise the trade of the country +and paralyse output, if they could not stuff their money-bags still +fuller? + +And so on, and on. His new environment changed him--changed his +sympathies, his thoughts, his outlook. He thought of Tony Riggleton +spending the money these people were making for him in wild orgies among +loose men and women, and he became angry and bitter. + +Little by little his superior education asserted itself. He found, too, +that he had a remarkable aptitude for public speech. He discovered that +he could sway huge multitudes by the burning fervour of his words. He +was able to put into language what the people felt, and before long +became a popular hero. + +The world was in a state of flux; old ideas, old conceptions were swept +aside as worn-out fallacies. What ten years before were regarded as +madmen's dreams no longer appeared either unreasonable or quixotic. The +forces of life had become fluid, and it was the toiler of the nation who +was to decide into what channels the new movements were to flow. + +And Dick became a doctrinaire, as well as a dreamer of a new heaven and +a new earth. He became an ardent reader, too. He was surprised at the +ease with which his mind grasped theories hitherto unknown to him, how +he absorbed the spirit of unrest, and how he flung himself into the +world's great fray. + +"Faversham's our man," people said on every side. "He's got eddication, +he's got a fair grip on things, and he can knock the masters to +smithereens when it comes to argument and the gilt o' th' gab." + +"But who is he?" asked others. "He's noan our sort. He was noan brought +up a workin' man." + +"Nay, but he's a workin' man naa. He's worked side by side with the best +on us, and he knows how to put things. I tell thee, he mun go into +Parlyment. He'll mak 'em sit up. He mun be our member." + +This feeling became so strong that Dick was on two occasions selected to +be one of deputations to the Prime Minister, and more than that, he was +chosen to be the chief spokesman to state the workers' claims. + +In all this, not only were his sympathies aroused, but his vanity was +appealed to. It was very pleasant to feel himself emerging from +obscurity; the roar of cheering which the mention of his name elicited +became as sweet as the nectar of the gods to him. + +Again he saw visions, and dreamt dreams. They were different from those +of the old days, but they did a great deal to satisfy him. They told him +of position, of power, of a place among the great ones of the world. +Sometimes he was almost glad that Tony Riggleton inherited Charles +Faversham's huge fortune. If he had retained it, and gained high +position, that position would have been through the toil and brain of +another. Now he would do everything by himself--unaided and alone. + +More than once during the many stormy and excited meetings Dick had +attended, he had seen a kindly, benevolent-looking man, whose face +suggested the milk of human kindness. Dick rather wondered how he came +there, and on asking his name was told that he was called John Brown, +and that, although he did not directly belong to the working classes, he +was in deep sympathy with them, and had more than once subscribed to +their funds. Presently Dick became acquainted with Mr. Brown, and +something like intimacy sprang up between them. + +He found that Mr. Brown was a great admirer of his speeches, and more +than once that gentleman had hinted that if he found any money +difficulty in entering Parliament, he, John Brown, would see that the +difficulty should be removed. + +"I am almost ashamed of being something of a capitalist," he confided to +Dick, "but, at any rate, I can use what money I have for the advance of +the cause which is so dear to me." + +Just before Dick was going to London the next time, he received a letter +from Mr. Brown asking him to meet him at a well-known club. "I have +certain things to say to you," he said, "certain propositions to make +which I think will be worthy of your consideration." + +On Dick's arrival in London he made certain inquiries about Mr. Brown, +which, however, did not help him much. He was by no means a prominent +character, he learnt, but he was believed by many to be a man of +enormous wealth. He was told, moreover, that he was somewhat eccentric, +and loved doing good by stealth. + +It was therefore with aroused curiosity that Dick made his way to the +club in question. He was not yet quite sure of his man, and so he +determined to listen carefully to what Mr. Brown had to say without +committing himself. Before long he found himself deeply interested. The +stout, benevolent-looking man was revealing himself in a new light, and +Dick found himself listening with fast-beating heart. + +"Yes; I will tell you what it is," said Mr. Brown. "I will make plain to +you what I meant when I said that I see such a future before you as was +never possible to any other Englishman." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +AN AMAZING PROPOSAL + + +Dick unconsciously drew his chair nearer the fire, while every nerve in +his body became tense. He felt that the millionaire had not brought him +here for mere pastime. + +"Tell me," said Mr. Brown, "what your plans for the future are." + +"Too hazy to outline," was Dick's reply. + +"That's truer than you think, my friend--far truer than you think; +that's why your position is so absurd. And yet you answer me falsely." + +Dick gave the other a look that was almost angry. + +"No, no, my friend," went on Mr. Brown; "do not mistake me. I do not +accuse you of falsehood. You think you are speaking the truth. But you +are not. In a way, your plans are defined. You mean to be Member of +Parliament for Eastroyd. You mean to be the first Labour Member for that +great working-class constituency. Already you have been approached by +the various unions of the town, and you have been assured that you will +be returned by a triumphant majority. And you've practically accepted, +although you have persuaded yourself that you've not yet made up your +mind. So far so good--or bad; but you are unsettled. There is something +at the back of your mind that you can't explain. It doesn't satisfy you. +Am I not speaking the truth?" + +"Perhaps," assented Dick. + +"And naturally, too. Oh, my young friend, I know--I know. I have been +through it all. What is a Labour Member after all? Just one of a few +others, who is submerged by the great so-called Liberal and Conservative +Parties. What can he do? Speak now and then when he's allowed to, beat +the air, be listened to by a handful of his own supporters, and then +forgotten. Consider the history of the Labour Party. What influence has +it really had on the life of the nation? My friend, the government of +the country is still in the hands of the upper and middle classes in +spite of all you do and say." + +"Pardon me," interrupted Dick, "but what are you driving at? What you +say may be partly true, but at least the hope of the working classes, +politically speaking, lies in the Labour Party." + +"Moonshine, my friend--mere moonshine. The atmosphere of the British +House of Commons stifles the aspiration of the Labour Members. One by +one they are absorbed into the old orthodox parties, and nothing is +done. You know it, too. That's why the thought of becoming a Labour +Member is unsatisfying to you. You would never be a real power, and you +would always be regarded as an outsider, and you would never touch the +helm of affairs." + +Dick was silent. After all, he was not a working man. He had social +ambitions. He desired not only to be a prominent figure among the +working classes; he wanted to be an equal of, a peer amongst the +dominant forces of the world. He still remembered Lady Blanche +Huntingford--as a Labour Member he would be outside her sphere. + +"You see it, don't you?" persisted Mr. Brown. + +"And if I do? What then?" + +"Everything then, my friend. Your present plans would end in nothing. +Not only would you fail to do anything real for the people, but you +yourself would be stultified. A Labour Member! What is he?--a man who, +socially, is patronised; who is recognised only on sufferance; who, if +he marries, must marry a commoner, a woman of the people, with all her +limitations. Oh, I know, I know. And meanwhile the working people still +continue to be trodden underfoot, and who toil for what they can squeeze +out of their employers--their social superiors. Yes, yes, you are +impatient with me. You say I am a long time in getting to my point. But +be patient, my friend; I will get there. I only want you to realise the +truth." + +"Then please get to your point," urged Dick a little impatiently. + +"I will," replied Mr. John Brown, and he placed his chubby hand on +Dick's knee. "Here is the fact, my friend: we live in a time when +nothing is impossible. The world is in travail, in wild convulsions. The +new channels of life are not made. All the forces of life are in a state +of flux. Now is the time for the real leader, the strong man. The great +proletariat is waiting for that leader, longing for him. The people are +tired of the old worn pathways; they are waiting for the new kingdom, +the new deliverer." + +"You are still in the clouds," cried Dick. "Come down to the solid +earth." + +"I will, my friend. England is ripe for real reform, ripe for the new +order. The open sores of the country cannot be healed by +sticking-plasters. They must be cauterised; the cancers must be cut out. +In one word--Revolution!" + +Dick started to his feet, and took a hasty glance around the room. For a +wonder, it was empty. They were alone. + +"You are mad!" he cried. + +"Of course I am," laughed Mr. Brown. "Every man is called mad who sees a +new heaven and a new earth. But, my friend, I speak as an Englishman, as +one who loves his country. I am a patriot, and I want to see a greater, +grander England. I want to see a Britain that shall be happy, +prosperous, contented. I want to destroy poverty, to smash up the old +order of things--an order which has dragged squalor, misery, poverty, +injustice, inequality at its heels. I am tired--_tired_ of seeing +criminal wealth and mad luxury and waste on the one hand, and abject +grinding poverty on the other. And to cure it all you must go to the +roots of things; there must be great upheavals, revolutions. The land +must be the people's, the mineral must be the people's, the water, the +food, the wealth, the Army, the Navy, the _everything_ must belong to +the people." + +"Bolshevism!" The word came from him abruptly--angrily. + +"Yes, Bolshevism," replied the other; "and what then?" + +"Russia!" and there was a sneer in Dick's voice as he uttered the word. + +"Yes, Russia if you like. And still, what then? Would you have Russia go +on century by century as it had been going? Would you have scores upon +scores of millions of men and women go on existing as they were +existing? You know the history of Russia for ten centuries past. What +has it been?--a criminal, bloated, corrupt, cruel, overbearing, +persecuting aristocracy and bureaucracy on the one hand, and a welter of +poor, suffering, starving, outraged, diseased, dying people on the +other. That was Russia. And desperate diseases need desperate remedies, +my friend. Of course, the very name of Russia is being shuddered at just +now. But think, my friend. Birth is always a matter of travail, and +Russia is being re-born. But wait. In ten years Russia will be regarded +as the pioneer of civilisation--as the herald of a new age. Russia is +taking the only step possible that will lead to justice, and to peace, +and prosperity for all." + +"You don't mean that!" Dick scarcely knew that he spoke. + +"I am as certain of it as that I sit here. I swear it by whatever gods +there be!" + +Plain, stout Mr. John Brown was changed. Dick forgot his fat, chubby +hands, his round, benevolent, kindly, but commonplace face. It was a new +Mr. John Brown that he saw. A new light shone in his eyes, a new tone +had come to his voice, a seemingly new spirit inspired him. + +"I go further," cried Mr. Brown, "and I say this: England--the British +Isles need the same remedy. All that you have been thinking about are +sticking-plasters--palliatives, and not cures. What England needs is a +Revolution. All the old corrupt, crushing forces must be destroyed, the +old gods overthrown, and a new evangelist must proclaim a new gospel." + +"A madman's dream," protested Dick. "Let's talk of something else." + +"Not yet," replied Mr. John Brown. "Tell me this, you who long for a new +heaven and a new earth--you who plead for justice, for fraternity, for +brotherhood: do you believe that the programme--I mean the organised +programme--of the Labour Party or the Socialist Party will ever bring +about what you desire?" + +Dick was silent. + +"Ah, you are honest. You know it will not. In your heart of hearts you +know, too, that nothing but a thorough upheaval, a complete Revolution +of the bad old order of things can bring about what you desire. Patching +up an old building whose walls are cracked, whose drains are corrupt, +whose foundations are insecure, is waste of time and energy. If you want +a new sanitary house the old place has to be demolished and the rubbish +_cleared away_! That's it, my friend. That's what's needed in this +country. The rubbish must be cleared away. That's what the people want. +For the moment they are crying out for something, they hardly know what, +but they will have a Revolution, and they are longing for a leader to +lead them, a prophet to interpret their needs." + +"But for England to become another Russia!" Dick's response was that of +a man who had not yet grasped all that was in the other's mind. + +"There is no need of that. Because England has not sunk to the depths of +Russia, her revolution would be less violent. There would be no need for +excesses, for violence. But here is the fact, my friend: three-fourths +of our population belong to the wage-earning classes; they are the +toilers and the moilers; let the true gospel be preached to them, let +the true prophet and leader appear, and they would follow him." + +"And who is to be the prophet, the leader?" + +"You, my friend." + +"I!" gasped Dick. + +"You. Richard Faversham. You who have tasted the sweets of wealth. You +who have toiled and sweated with the workers. You who have eyes to see, +ears to hear. You who have the power to interpret the people's +longings. You who have the qualities of the leader, who can take them to +the Promised Land. You!" + +"Madness!" + +"You say that now. You will not say it in a few hours from now. You can +understand now what I meant when I startled you an hour ago by saying +that I see such a future before you as was never possible to any +Englishman. You are young; you are ambitious. It is right you should be. +No man who is not ambitious is worth a rotten stick to his age. Here is +such a career as was never known before. Never, I say! Man, it's +glorious! You can become the greatest man of the age--of all the ages!" + +Mr. Brown looked at Dick intently for a few seconds, and then went on, +speaking every word distinctly. + +"A Labour Member, indeed! A voting machine at four hundred a year! The +hack of his party organisation! Is that a career for a man like you? +Heavens, such a thought is sacrilege! But this, my friend, is the +opportunity of a life--of all time." + +"Stop!" cried Dick. "I want to grasp it--to think!" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +"THE COUNTRY FOR THE PEOPLE" + + +"But you _are_ mad," said the young man at length. "Even if you are +right in your diagnosis of the disease from which the country is +suffering, if the remedy you suggest is the only one, I am not the man +you need. And even if I were, the remedy is impossible. England is not +where France was a hundred years ago; she is not where Russia is +to-day." + +"And you are not a Lenin, a Trotsky, eh?" and Mr. John Brown laughed +like a man who had made a joke. + +"No, thank Heaven, I am not," and Dick spoke quickly. "I do not believe +in the nationalisation of women, neither do I believe in the destruction +of the most sacred institutions of life." + +"Of course you don't," replied Mr. John Brown, "and I am glad of it. +Russia has gone to many excesses which we must avoid. But what can you +expect, my friend? After centuries of oppression and persecution, is it +any wonder that there has been a swing of the pendulum? The same thing +was true of France a hundred years ago. France went wild, France lost +her head, and neither Danton nor Robespierre checked the extravagances +of the people. But, answer me this. Is not France a thousand times +better to-day than when under the Bourbons and the Church? Is not such a +Republic as France has, infinitely better than the reign of a corrupt +throne, a rotten aristocracy, and a rottener Church? Besides, did not a +great part of those who were guillotined deserve their doom?" + +"Perhaps they did; but--but the thing is impossible, all the same." + +"Why impossible?" + +"For one thing, Lenin and Trotsky are in a country without order and +law. They murdered the Tzar and his family, and they seized the money of +the Government and of the banks. Such a thing as you suggest would need +millions, and you could not get any body of Englishmen to follow on the +Russian lines. Besides--no, the thing is impossible!" + +"Money!" repeated Mr. John Brown, like a man reflecting. "I myself would +place in your hands all the money you need for organisation and +propaganda." + +"In _my_ hands!" + +"In your hands, my friend. Yes, in your hands. But we have talked enough +now. You want time to think over what has been said. But will you do +something, my friend?" + +"I don't know. I suspect not." + +"I think you will. To-night I want you to accompany me to a place where +your eyes will be opened. I want you to see how deep are the feelings of +millions, how strong is the longing for a leader, a guide. You, who have +felt the pulses of the millions who live and act in the open, have no +idea of what is felt by the millions who act in the dark." + +"I do not understand." + +"Of course you don't. You and other so-called Labour leaders, because +you mingle with a class which you call the people, think you know +everything. You believe you know the thought, the spirit of the age. +Come with me to-night and I will show you a phase of life hitherto +unknown to you. You will come? Yes?" + +"Oh yes, I will come," replied Dick, with a laugh. The conversation had +excited him beyond measure, and he was eager for adventure. + +"Good. Be at the entrance to the Blackfriars Underground Station +to-night at eleven o'clock." + +"At eleven; all right." + +Mr. John Brown looked at his watch, and then gave a hasty glance round +the room. He saw two portly looking men coming in their direction. + +"I am sure you will excuse me, Mr. Faversham. It is later than I +thought, and I find I have appointments. But it has been very +interesting to know your point of view. Good evening. Ah, Sir Felix, I +thought you might drop in to-night," and leaving Dick as though their +talk had been of the most commonplace nature, he shook hands with the +newcomers. + +Dick, feeling himself dismissed, left the club, and a minute later found +himself in the thronging crowd of Piccadilly. Taxicabs, buses, richly +upholstered motor-cars were passing, but he did not heed them. People +jostled him as he made his way towards Hyde Park gates, but he was +unaware of it. His head was in a whirl; he was living in a maze of +conflicting thoughts. + +Of course old John Brown was a madman! Nothing but a madman would +advance such a quixotic programme! He pictured the club he had just +left--quiet, orderly, circumspect--the natural rendezvous for City and +West End magnates, the very genius of social order and moneyed +respectability. How, then, could a respected member of such a place +advance such a mad-brained scheme? + +But he had. + +Not that he--Dick Faversham--could regard it seriously. Of course he had +during the last two years been drawn into a new world, and had been led +to accept socialistic ideas. Some, even among the Socialists, called +them advanced. But this! + +Of course it was impossible. + +All the same, there was a great deal in what John Brown had said. A +Labour Member. A paid voting machine at £400 a year! The words rankled +in his mind. + +And this scheme was alluring. The country for the people!... + +He made his way along the causeway, thinking of it. + +A Revolution! The old bad, mad order of things ended by one mighty +upheaval! A new England, with a new outlook, a new Government!... A +mighty movement which might grip the world. A new earth.... + +And he--Dick Faversham? + +Here was scope for new enterprises! Here was a career! On the one hand, +a paid working man member at £400 a year, regarded with a supercilious +smile by the class to which he really belonged; and, on the other, a +force which shook Society to its foundations--a leader whose name would +be on all lips.... + +Of course it was all nonsense, and he would drive it from his mind. + +And he would not meet Mr. John Brown that night. What a madcap idea to +go to some midnight gathering--where, Heaven only knew! And for what? + +He had reached Park Lane, and almost unconsciously he turned eastward. + +He could not remember a single thing that had happened during his walk +from Park Lane to Piccadilly Circus. The great tide of human life surged +to and fro, but he was oblivious of the fact. + +He was thinking--wildly thinking. + +Then suddenly he gave a start. Just as he reached the Circus he saw a +face which set his heart beating wildly. + +"Ah, Faversham, is that you?" + +"Count Romanoff!" Dick almost gasped. + +"Yes; who would have thought of seeing you? Still, the world is small." + +The Count was not changed. He still carried himself proudly, and was +dressed to perfection. Also, he still seemed to regard others with a +degree of indifference. He was the same contemptuous, cynical man of the +world. + +"What are you doing, eh? Still living at Wendover Park?" + +"No. You know I am not." + +"No? Ah, I remember now. I have been knocking around the world ever +since, and had almost forgotten. But your quondam cousin entered +possession, didn't he? But you, what did you do?" + +"Oh, I--I drifted." + +"Drifted--where?--to what? You look changed. Things are not going well +with you, eh?" + +"Yes--quite well, thank you." + +"Yes? You married Lady Blanche? But no, I should have heard of it." + +"No; I did not marry. I am living in Eastroyd." + +"Eastroyd! Where's that?" + +"Don't you know?" + +"Never heard of it before. Is it in England?" + +Dick was growing angry; there was a sneer in every tone of the man's +voice. He felt a mad desire to make the Count see that he had become a +man of importance. + +"Yes; it's in the North," he replied. "It's a huge town of a quarter of +a million people. A great industrial centre." + +"And what are you doing there?" + +"I'm contemplating an invitation to become a Member of Parliament for +the town. I'm assured that, if I accept, my return to the House of +Commons is certain." + +"Ah, that's interesting. And which side will you take--Conservative or +Liberal? Conservative, I suppose?" + +"No; I should stand as a Labour candidate." + +"As a----Surely I didn't hear you aright?" + +"Quite right. My sympathies have come to lie in that direction." + +"But--but--a Labour Member! I thought you had some pretensions to be a +gentleman." + +Dick felt as though he had received the lash of a whip. He wanted to +lash back, to make Romanoff feel what he felt. But no words came. + +"You have no sympathy with the working classes?" he asked feebly. + +"Sympathy! What gentleman could? See what they've done in my own +country. I had little sympathy with Nicky; but great heavens, think! Of +course I'm angry. I had estates in Russia; they had been in the families +for centuries--and now! But the thing is a nightmare! Working classes, +eh! I'd take every mal-content in Europe and shoot him. What are the +working classes but lazy, drunken swine that should be bludgeoned into +obedience?" + +"I don't think you understand the British working classes," was Dick's +response. + +"No? I'm sure I don't want to. I prefer my own class. But pray don't let +me keep you from them. Good evening." + +Without another word, without holding out his hand, the Count turned on +his heel and walked away. + +The incident affected Dick in two ways. First of all, it made his +experiences three years before in the Wendover Park very shadowy and +unreal. In spite of everything, he had not been able to think of the +Count save as an evil influence in his life, as one who desired to get +him into his power for his own undoing. He had had a vague belief that +in some way unknown to him, Romanoff desired to hold him in his grip for +sinister purposes, and that he had been saved by an opposing power. Had +he been asked to assert this he would have hesitated, and perhaps been +silent. Still, at the back of his doubt the feeling existed. But now, +with the memory of the Count's contemptuous words and looks in his mind, +it all appeared as groundless and as unreal as the fabric of a dream. If +he had been right, he would not have treated him in such a fashion. + +The other way in which the incident affected him was to arouse an angry +determination to win a position equal to and superior to that which +would be his as Charles Faversham's heir. He would by his own endeavours +rise to such heights that even the Count's own position would pale into +insignificance. After all, what were kings and princes? Their day was +over. Soon, soon thrones all over the world would topple like ninepins; +soon the power of the world would be in new hands. + +A Labour Member, indeed! Working people swine, were they? Soon the +working people of the world would be masters! Then woe be to a useless, +corrupt aristocracy! As for the leaders of the toilers... + +"I'll meet Mr. John Brown again to-night," he reflected. "I'll go to +this, this!... I wonder what he has in his mind?" + +Meanwhile Count Romanoff wandered along Piccadilly till he came to St. +James's Street. He was smiling as though something pleasant had happened +to him. His eyes, too, shone with a strange light, and he walked like a +victor. + +He walked past the Devonshire Club, and then turned into a street +almost opposite St. James's Square. Here he looked at his watch and +walked more slowly. Evidently he knew his way well, for he took several +turnings without the slightest hesitation, till at length he reached a +house at the corner of a street. He selected a key from a bunch, opened +the door of the house, and entered. For a moment he stood still and +listened; then, walking noiselessly along a thick carpet, he opened the +door of a room and entered. + +"Sitting in the dark, eh? Reflecting on the destiny of nations, I +suppose?" + +The Count's manner was light and pleasant. He was in a good humour. He +switched on the light and saw Mr. John Brown. It would seem that they +had met by appointment. + +"Yes," replied Mr. Brown; "I was reflecting on the destiny of +nations--reflecting, too, on the fact that the greatest victories of the +world are won not by armies who fight in the open, but by brains that +act in the dark." + +"You have seen him. I know that." + +"How do you know?" + +"I know everything, my friend. You met him about an hour ago. You had a +long talk with him. You have baited your hook, and thrown it. Before you +could tell whether the fish would rise, you thought it better to wait. +You decided to make further preparations." + +"Romanoff, I believe you are the devil." + +"Many a true word is spoken in jest, my friend. But, devil or not, am I +not right?" + +"You have seen him? He has told you?" + +"He has told me nothing. Yes, he has, though. He has told me he had +ambitions to be a Labour Member of Parliament." + +"But nothing more?" + +"Nothing more. I was passing along the street and spoke to him." + +The two were looking at each other eagerly, questioningly. Mr. John +Brown's face had become flabby; the flesh around his eyes was baggy. The +eyes had a furtive look, as though he stood in awe of his companion. +Romanoff, too, in spite of his claim to omniscience, might be a little +anxious. + +"The fellow's career is a miracle," remarked Mr. John Brown at length. +"A millionaire one day, a pauper the next. And then to settle down as a +toiler among toilers--to become the popular hero, the socialist leader, +the rebel, the seer of visions, the daring reformer! A miracle, I say! +But with proper guidance, he is the man we need. He can do much!" + +Count Romanoff laughed like one amused. + +"Germany is in a bad way, eh? Poor Wilhelm, what a fool! Oh, what a +fool!" + +"Be quiet!" cried the other hoarsely. "Even here the walls may have +ears, and if it were suspected that----" + +"Exactly, my friend," sneered the Count. "But tell me how you stand." + +For some time they talked quietly, earnestly, the Count asking questions +and raising objections, while Mr. John Brown explained what he had in +his mind. + +"Germany is never beaten," he said--"never. When arms fail, brains come +in. Russia has become what Russia is, not by force of arms, but by +brains. Whose? And Germany will triumph. This fellow is only one of many +who are being used. A network of agencies are constantly at work." + +"And to-night you are going to introduce him to Olga?" and the Count +laughed. + +"The most fascinating woman in Europe, my friend. Yes; to-night I am +going to open his eyes. To-night he will fall in love. To-night will be +the beginning of the end of Britain's greatness!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE MIDNIGHT MEETING + + +Dick Faversham stood at the entrance of the underground station at +Blackfriars Bridge. It was now five minutes before eleven, and the +traffic along the Embankment was beginning to thin. New Bridge Street +was almost deserted, for the tide of theatre-goers did not go that way. +Dick was keenly on the look out for Mr. John Brown, and wondered what +kind of a place he was going to visit that night. + +He felt a slight touch upon his shoulder, and, turning, he saw Mr. Brown +go to the ticket office. + +"Third single for Mark Lane," he said, carelessly throwing down two +coppers, yet so clearly that Dick could not help hearing him. + +Without hesitation Dick also went to the office and booked for the same +place. Mr. Brown took no apparent notice of him, and when the train came +in squeezed himself into a third-class compartment. Having secured a +seat, he lit a cheap black cigar. + +Dick noticed that he wore a somewhat shabby over-coat and a hat to +match. Apparently Mr. Brown had not a thought in his mind beyond that of +smoking his cigar and reading a soiled copy of an evening paper. + +Arrived at Mark Lane, Mr. Brown alighted and, still without taking +notice of Dick, found his way to the street. For some time he walked +eastward, and then, having reached a dark alley, turned suddenly and +waited for Dick to come up. + +"Keep me in sight for the next half-mile," he said quickly. "When I stop +next, you will come close to me, and I will give you necessary +instructions." + +They were now in a part of London which was wholly strange to the young +man. There were only few passers-by. It was now nearly midnight, and +that part of London was going to sleep. Now and then a belated traveller +shuffled furtively along as though anxious not to be seen. They were in +a neighbourhood where dark things happen. + +Evidently Mr. John Brown knew his way well. He threaded narrow streets +and dark alleys without the slightest hesitation; neither did he seem to +have any apprehension of danger. When stragglers stopped and gave him +suspicious glances, he went straight on, unheeding. + +Dick on the other hand, was far from happy. He did not like his midnight +journey; he did not like the grim, forbidding neighbourhood through +which they were passing. He reflected that he was utterly ignorant where +he was, and, but for a hazy idea that he was somewhere near the river, +would not know which way to turn if by any chance he missed his guide. + +Presently, however, Mr. Brown stopped and gave a hasty look around. +Everywhere were dark, forbidding-looking buildings which looked like +warehouses. Not a ray of light was to be seen anywhere. Even although +vast hordes of people were all around the spot where he stood, the very +genius of loneliness reigned. + +He beckoned Dick to him, and spoke in low tones. + +"Be surprised at nothing you see or hear," he advised in a whisper. +"There is no danger for either you or me. This is London, eh? And yet +those who love England, and are thinking and working for her welfare, +are obliged to meet in secret." + +"Still, I'd like to know where we are going," protested Dick. "I don't +like this." + +"Wait, my young friend. Wait just five minutes. Now, follow me in +silence." + +Had not the spirit of adventure been strong upon the young fellow, he +would have refused. There was something sinister in the adventure. He +could not at all reconcile Mr. John Brown's membership of the club he +had visited that afternoon with this Egyptian darkness in a London slum. + +"Follow without remark, and without noise," commanded the older man, +and then, having led the way a few yards farther, he flashed a light +upon some narrow stone steps. + +Dick was sure he heard the movement of a large body of water. He was +more than ever convinced that they were close to the Thames. + +Mr. Brown descended the steps, while Dick followed. His heart was +beating rapidly, but he had no fear. A sense of curiosity had mastered +every other feeling. At the bottom of the steps Mr. Brown stopped and +listened, but although Dick strained his powers of hearing, he could +detect no sound. The place might have been exactly what it appeared in +the darkness--a deserted warehouse. + +"Now, then," whispered Mr. Brown, and there was excitement in his voice. + +A second later he tapped with his stick on what appeared to be the door +of the warehouse. Dick, whose senses were keenly alert, counted the +taps. Three soft, two loud, and again two soft ones. + +The door opened as if by magic. There was no noise, and Dick would not +have known it was opened save for the dim light which was revealed. A +second later he had entered, and the door closed. + +In the dim light Dick saw that he was following two dark forms. +Evidently the person who had opened the door was leading the way. But he +could discern nothing clearly; he thought they were passing through some +kind of lumber room, but he could have sworn to nothing. After that +there was a passage of some sort, and again they descended some more +steps, at the bottom of which Dick heard what seemed the confused murmur +of voices.... + +Dick found himself standing in a kind of vestibule, and there was a +sudden glare of light. Both he and Mr. John Brown were in a well-lit +room, in which some two hundred people had gathered. + +When Dick's eyes had become accustomed to the light, he saw that he was +in the midst of one of the most curious crowds he had ever seen. The +people seemed of many nationalities, and the sexes appeared equally +divided. Very few old people were present. In the main they were well +dressed, and might have been comfortably situated. Nevertheless, it was +a motley crowd--motley not so much because of any peculiarity in their +attire as because of their personalities. What impressed Dick more than +anything else was the look of fierce intelligence on their faces, and +the nervous eagerness which characterised their every movement. Every +look, every action spoke of intensity, and as Dick swept a hasty glance +around the room, he felt that he was breathing an atmosphere which was +altogether new to him--an atmosphere which was electric. + +The room was evidently arranged for a meeting. At one end was a platform +on which was placed a table and half a dozen chairs, while the people +who formed the audience were waiting for the speakers to appear. + +Then Dick realised that all eyes were turned towards himself and that a +sudden silence prevailed. This was followed by what Dick judged to be a +question of some sort, although he could not tell what it was, as it was +asked in a language unknown to him. + +"It is all right. I, John Brown, vouch for everything." + +"But who is he?" This time the question was in English, and Dick +understood that it referred to himself. + +"It is all right, I repeat," replied Mr. Brown. "My companion is a +comrade, a friend, whom you will be glad to hear. Who is he? He is a +Labour leader, and is chosen by the working people of Eastroyd to +represent them in the British Parliament." + +A great deal of scornful laughter followed this. It might have been that +Mr. Brown were trying to play a practical joke upon them. + +"Listen," said Mr. Brown. "I am not unknown to you, and I think I have +proved to you more than once that I am in sympathy with your aims. Let +me ask you this: have I ever introduced anyone who was not worthy and +whose help you have not gladly welcomed?" + +There was some slight cheering at this, and Mr. Brown went on: + +"I need not assure you that I have taken every precaution--_every_ +precaution--or tell you that, if good does not come of my being here, +harm will surely not come of it. This, my friends, is Mr. Richard +Faversham of Eastroyd, whose fiery zeal on behalf of the world's toilers +cannot be unknown to you." + +Again there was some cheering, and Dick noted that the glances cast +towards him were less hostile, less suspicious. + +Mr. Brown seemed on the point of speaking further, but did not. At that +moment a curtain at the back of the platform was drawn aside, and three +men accompanied by two women appeared. It would seem that the time for +the commencement of the meeting had come. + +Dick had some remembrance afterwards that one of the men addressed the +meeting, and that he spoke about the opportunities which the times +offered to the struggling millions who had been crushed through the +centuries, but nothing distinct remained in his mind. Every faculty he +possessed was devoted to one of the two women who sat on the platform. +He did not know who she was; he had never seen her before, and yet his +eyes never left her face. + +Never before had he seen such a woman; never had he dreamed that there +could be anyone like her. + +Years before he had seen, and fancied himself in love with, Lady Blanche +Huntingford. He had been captivated by her glorious young womanhood, her +abundant vitality, her queenly beauty. But, compared with the woman on +the platform, Blanche Huntingford was as firelight to sunlight. + +Even as he sat there he compared them--contrasted them. He remembered +what he had thought of the proud Surrey beauty; how he had raved about +her eyes, her hair, her figure; but here was a beauty of another and a +higher order. Even in his most enthusiastic moments, Lady Blanche's +intellectuality, her spirituality, had never appealed to him. But this +woman's beauty was glorified by eyes that spoke of exalted thoughts, +passionate longings, lofty emotions. + +Her face, too, was constantly changing. Poetry, humour, passion, pity, +tenderness, scorn were expressed on her features as she looked at the +speaker. This woman was poetry incarnate! She was pity incarnate! She +was passion incarnate! + +Dick forgot where he was. He was altogether unconscious of the fact that +he was in a meeting somewhere in the East End of London, and that things +were being said which, if known to the police, would place the speaker, +and perhaps the listeners, in prison. All that seemed as nothing; he was +chained, fascinated by the almost unearthly beauty of the woman who sat +on the little shabby-looking platform. + +Then slowly the incongruity of the situation came to him. The audience, +although warmly dressed and apparently comfortably conditioned, belonged +in the main to the working classes. They were toilers. Most of them were +malcontents--people who under almost any conditions would be opposed to +law and order. But this woman was an aristocrat of aristocrats. No one +could doubt it any more than he could doubt the sunlight. Her dress, +too, was rich and beautiful. On her fingers costly rings sparkled; +around her neck diamonds hung. And yet she was here in a cellar +warehouse, in a district where squalor abounded. + +The speaker finished; evidently he was the chairman of the meeting, and +after having finished his harangue turned to the others on the platform. + +Dick heard the word "Olga," and immediately after the room was full of +deafening cheers. + +The woman he had been watching rose to her feet and waited while the +people continued to cheer. Fascinated, he gazed at her as her eyes swept +over the gathering. Then his heart stood still. She looked towards him, +and their eyes met. There might have been recognition, so brightly did +her eyes flash, and so tender was the smile which came to her lips. She +seemed to be saying to him, "Wait, we shall have much to say to each +other presently." The air of mystery, which seemed to envelop her, +enveloped him also. The hard barriers of materialism seemed to melt +away, and he had somehow entered the realm of romance and wonder. + +Then her voice rang out over the audience--a voice that was rich in +music. He did not understand a word she said, for she spoke in a +language unknown to him. And yet her message reached him. Indeed, she +seemed to be speaking only to him, only for him. And her every word +thrilled him. As she spoke, he saw oppressed peoples. He saw men in +chains, women crushed, trodden on, little children diseased, neglected, +cursed. The picture of gay throngs, revelling in all the world could +give them in pleasure, in music, in song, and wine, passed before his +mind side by side with harrowing, numbing want and misery. + +Then she struck a new note--vibrant and triumphant. It thrilled him, +made his heart beat madly, caused a riot of blood in his veins. + +Suddenly he realised that she was speaking in English, that she was +calling to him in his own language. She was telling of a new age, a new +era. She described how old things had passed away, and that all things +had become new; that old barriers had been broken down; that old +precedents, old prejudices which for centuries had crushed the world, +were no longer potent. New thoughts had entered men's minds; new hopes +stirred the world's heart. In the great cataclysm through which we had +passed, nations had been re-born, and the old bad, mad world had passed +away in the convulsions of the world's upheaval. + +"And now," she concluded, "what wait we for? We await the prophet, the +leader, the Messiah. Who is he? How shall he come? Is he here? Is the +man who is able to do what the world needs brave enough, great enough to +say, like the old Hebrew prophet, 'Here am I, send me'?" + +And even as she spoke Dick felt that her eyes were fastened upon him, +even as her words thrilled his heart. Something, he knew not what it +was, formed a link between them--gave this woman power over him. + +There was no applause as she sat down. The feeling of the people was too +intense, the magnetic charm of the speaker too great. + +Still with her eyes fixed upon Dick, she made her way towards him. He +saw her coming towards him, saw her dark, flashing eyes, her white, +gleaming teeth, felt the increasing charm of her wondrous face. + +Then there was a change in the atmosphere--a change indefinable, +indescribable. Just above the woman's head Dick saw in dim outline what +years before had become such a potent factor in his life. It was the +face of the angel he had seen when he was sinking in the deep waters, +and which appeared to him at Wendover Park. + +"Mr. Richard Faversham," said the woman who had so thrilled him that +night, "I have long been waiting for this hour." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +"YOU AND I TOGETHER" + + +For some time Dick Faversham was oblivious to the fact that the woman +who had so fascinated him a few minutes before stood near him with hands +outstretched and a smile of gladness in her eyes. Again he was under the +spell of what, in his heart of hearts, he called "The Angel." Even yet +he had no definite idea as to who or what this angel was, but there was +a dim consciousness at the back of his mind that she had again visited +him for an important reason. He was certain that her purposes towards +him were beneficent, that in some way she had crossed the pathway of his +life to help him and to save him. + +Like lightning the memory of that fearful night when he was sinking in +the stormy sea came surging back into his mind. He remembered how he had +felt his strength leaving him, while the cold, black waters were +dragging him into their horrible depths. Then he had seen a ray of light +streaming to him across the raging sea; he had seen the shadowy figure +above him with outstretched arms, and even while he had felt himself +up-borne by some power other than his own, the words had come to +him--"Underneath are the Everlasting Arms." + +It was all shadowy and unreal--so much so that in later days he had +doubted its objective reality, and yet there had been times when it had +been the most potent force in his life. It had become such a great and +glorious fact that everything else had sunk into insignificance. + +Then there was that scene in the library at Wendover. He had been on the +point of signing the paper which Count Romanoff had prepared for him. +Under this man's influence, right and wrong had appeared to him but a +chimera of the imagination. The alternative which had appeared before +him stood out in ghastly clearness. He had only to sign the paper, and +all the riches which he thought were his would remain in his possession. +But he had not signed it. Again that luminous form had appeared, while a +hand, light as a feather, but irresistible in its power, had been laid +upon his wrist, and the pen had dropped from his fingers. + +And now the angel had come to him again. Even as he looked, he could see +her plainly, while the same yearning eyes looked into his. + +"Mr. Faversham!" + +He started, like a man suddenly wakened from a dream, and again he saw +the woman who had been spoken of as Olga, and who had thrilled him by +her presence and by the magic of her voice, standing by his side. + +"Forgive me," he said, "but tell me, do you see anyone on the platform?" + +The girl, for she appeared to be only two or three and twenty, looked at +him in a puzzled kind of way. + +"No," she replied, casting her eyes in that direction; "I see no one. +There is no one there." + +"Not a beautiful woman? She is rather shadowy, but she has wonderful +eyes." + +"No," she replied wonderingly. + +"Then I suppose I was mistaken. You are Olga, aren't you?" + +"Yes; I am Olga." + +"And you made that wonderful speech?" + +"Was it wonderful?" and she laughed half sadly, half gaily. + +Suddenly the spell, or whatever it was, left him. He was Dick Faversham +again--keen, alert, critical. He realised where he was, too. He had +accompanied Mr. John Brown to this place, and he had listened to words +which were revolutionary. If they were translated into action, all law +and order as he now understood them would cease to be. + +Around him, too, chattering incessantly, was a number of long-haired, +wild-eyed men. They were discussing the speech to which they had just +listened; they were debating the new opportunities which the times had +created. + +"Ah, you two have met!" It was Mr. John Brown who spoke. "I am glad of +that. This is Olga. She is a Princess in Russia, but because she loved +the poor, and sought to help them, she was seized by the Russian +officials and sent to Siberia. That was two years ago. She escaped and +came to England. Since then she has lived and worked for a new Russia, +for a new and better life in the world. You heard her speak to-night. +Did you understand her?" + +"Only in part," replied Dick. "She spoke in a language that was strange +to me." + +"Yes, yes, I know. But, as you see, she speaks English perfectly. We +must get away from here. We must go to a place where we can talk +quietly, and where, you two can compare ideas. But meanwhile I want you +to understand, Mr. Faversham, that the people you see here are typical +of millions all over Europe who are hoping and praying for the dawn of a +new day. Of course there are only a few thousands here in London, but +they represent ideas that are seething in the minds of hundreds of +millions." + +"Mr. Brown has told me about you," said Olga. "I recognised you from his +description the moment I saw you. I felt instinctively what you had +thought, what you had suffered, what you had seen in visions, and what +you had dreamed. I knew then that you were the prophet--the leader that +we needed." + +Dick gave her a quick glance, and again felt the spell of her beauty. +She was like no woman he had ever seen before. Her eyes shone like +stars, and they told him that this was a woman in a million. The quickly +changing expressions on her face, the wondrous quality of her presence, +fascinated him. + +"I shall be delighted to discuss matters with you," replied Dick. "That +part of your speech which I understood made me realise that we are one +in aim and sympathy. If you will come to my hotel to-morrow, we can +speak freely." + +Olga laughed merrily. "I am afraid you do not understand, Mr. +Faversham," she said. "I am a suspect; I am proscribed by your +Government. A price has been placed on my head." + +Dick looked at her questioningly. + +"No; I am afraid I don't understand," was his reply. + +"Don't you see?" and again she laughed merrily. "I am looked upon as a +dangerous person. News has come to your authorities that I am a menace +to society, that I am a creator of strife. First of all, I am an alien, +and as an alien I am supposed to subscribe to certain regulations and +laws. But I do not subscribe to them. As a consequence I am wanted by +the police. If you did your duty, you would try to hand me over to the +authorities; you would place me under arrest." + +"Are--are you a spy, then?" Dick asked. + +"Of a sort, yes." + +"A German?" + +A look of mad passion swept over her face. + +"A German!" she cried. "Heaven forbid. No, no. I hate Germany. I hate +the accursed war that Germany caused. And yet, no. The war was a +necessity. The destruction of the old bad past was a necessity. And we +must use the mad chaos the war has created to build a new heaven and +create a new earth. What are nationalities, peoples, country boundaries, +man-made laws, but the instruments of the devil to perpetuate crime, +brutality, misery, devilry?" + +Dick shook his head. "You go beyond me," he said. "What you say has no +appeal for me." + +"Ah, but it has," she cried; "that is why I want to talk with you. That +is why I hail you as a comrade--yes, and more than a comrade. I have +followed your career; I have read your speeches. Ah, you did not think, +did you, when you spoke to the people in the grimy north of this country +about better laws, better conditions--ay, and when you made them feel +that all the people of _every_ country should be one vast +brotherhood--that your words were followed, eagerly followed, by a +Russian girl whose heart thrilled as she read, and who longed to meet +you face to face?" + +"You read my speeches? You longed to see me?" gasped Dick. + +"Every word I read, Mr. Faversham; but I saw, too, that you were chained +by cruel tradition, that you were afraid of the natural and logical +outcome of your own words. But see, we cannot talk here!" and she +glanced towards the people who had come up to them, and were listening +eagerly. + +"Come, my friend," whispered Mr. Brown, "you are honoured beyond all +other men. I never knew her speak to any man as she speaks to you. Let +us go to a place where I will take you, where we can be alone. Is she +not a magnificent creature, eh? Did you ever see such a divine woman?" + +"I'm perfectly willing," was Dick's reply, as he watched Olga move +towards the man who had acted as chairman. Truly he had never seen such +a woman. Hitherto he had been struck by her intellectual powers, and by +what had seemed to him the spiritual qualities of her presence. But now +he felt the charm of her womanhood. She was shaped like a goddess, and +carried herself with queenly grace. Every curve of her body was perfect; +her every movement was instinct with a glowing, abundant life. Her +complexion, too, was simply dazzling, and every feature was perfect. A +sculptor would have raved about her; an artist would have given years of +his life to paint her. Her eyes, too, shone like stars, and her smile +was bewildering. + +A few minutes later they were in the street, Dick almost like a man in a +dream, Mr. John Brown plodding stolidly and steadily along, while Olga, +her face almost covered, moved by his side. Dick was too excited to heed +whither they were going; neither did he notice that they were being +followed. + +They had just turned into a narrow alley when there was a quick step +behind them, and a man in a police officer's uniform laid his hand on +Olga's arm and said: + +"You go with me, please, miss." + +The girl turned towards him with flashing eyes. + +"Take your hand from me," she said; "I have nothing to do with you." + +"But I have something to do with you. Come, now, it's no use putting on +airs. You come with me. I've been on the look out for you for a long +while." + +"Help her! Get rid of the man!" whispered Mr. Brown to Dick. "For God's +sake do something. I've a weak heart and can do nothing." + +"Now, then," persisted the policeman. "It's no use resisting, you know. +If you won't come quiet, I may have to be a bit rough. And I _can_ be +rough, I can assure you!" + +"Help! help!" she said hoarsely. + +She did not speak aloud, but the word appealed to Dick strongly. It was +sacrilege for the police officer to place his hands on her; he +remembered what she had told him, and dreaded the idea of her being +arrested and thrown into prison. + +"You won't, eh?" grumbled the policeman. "We'll soon settle that." + +Dick saw him put his whistle to his lips, but before a sound was made, +the young fellow rushed forward and instantly there was a hand-to-hand +struggle. A minute later the police constable lay on the pavement, +evidently stunned and unconscious, while Dick stood over him. + +"Now is our chance! Come!" cried Mr. Brown, and with a speed of which +Dick thought him incapable, he led the way through a network of narrow +streets and alleys, while he and the girl followed. A little later they +had entered a house by a back way, and the door closed behind them. + +"Thank you, Faversham," panted Mr. Brown. "That was a narrow squeak, +eh?" + +He switched on a light as he spoke, and Dick, as soon as his eyes had +become accustomed to the light, found himself in a handsomely, even +luxuriously, appointed room. + +"Sit down, won't you?" said Olga. "Oh, you need not fear. You are safe +here. I will defy all the police officers in London to trace me now. Ah! +thank you, Mr. Faversham! But for you I might have been in an awkward +position. It would have been horrible to have been arrested--more +horrible still to be tried in one of your law courts." + +"That was nothing," protested Dick. "Of course I could not stand by and +see the fellow----" + +"Ah, but don't you see?" she interrupted merrily. "You have placed +yourself in opposition to the law? I am afraid you would be found +equally guilty with me, if we were tried together. Did I not tell you? +There is a price on my head. I am spoken of as the most dangerous person +in London. And you have helped me to escape; you have defeated the ends +of justice." + +"But that is nothing," cried Mr. John Brown. "Of course, Mr. Faversham +is with us now. It could not be otherwise." + +Every event of the night had been somewhat unreal to Dick, but the +reality of his position was by no means obscure at that moment. He, Dick +Faversham, who, when he had advocated his most advanced theories, had +still prided himself on being guided by constitutional methods, knew +that he had placed himself in a most awkward position by what he had +done. Doubtless, efforts would be made to find him, and if he were +discovered and recognised, he would have a very lame defence. In spite +of the honeyed way in which Mr. Brown had spoken, too, he felt there was +something like a threat in his words. + +But he cast everything like fear from his mind, and turned to the young +girl, who had thrown off her cloak, and stood there in the brilliant +light like the very incarnation of splendid beauty. + +"I would risk more than that for this opportunity of talking with you," +he could not help saying. + +"Would you?" and her glorious eyes flashed into his. "I am so glad of +that. Do you know why? Directly I saw you to-night, I felt that we +should be together in the greatest cause the world has ever known. Do +you think you will like me as a co-worker? Do you believe our hearts +will beat in unison?" + +Again she had cast a spell upon him. He felt that with such a woman he +could do anything--dare anything. + +Still, he kept a cool head. His experiences of the last few years had +made him wary, critical, suspicious. + +"I am going to be frank," she went on. "I am going to lay bare my heart +to you. The cause I have at heart is the world's redemption; that, too, +is the cause I believe you, too, have at heart. I want to destroy +poverty, crime, misery; I want a new earth. So do you. But the way is +dangerous, stormy, and hard. There will be bleeding footsteps all along +the track. But you and I together!--ah, don't you see?" + +"I am afraid I don't," replied Dick. "Tell me, will you?" + +She drew her chair closer to him. "Yes; I will tell you," she said in a +whisper. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE SO-CALLED DEAD + + +"Don't be frightened at a word," she laughed. "I shall explain that word +in a few minutes. But it will not need much explanation. At heart you +and I are one." + +Dick waited in silence. + +"You do not help me," and her laugh was almost nervous. "And yet--oh, I +mean so much. But I am afraid to put it into a word, because that word +has been so misunderstood, so maligned. It is the greatest word in the +world. It sweeps down unnatural barriers, petty creeds, distinctions, +man-made laws, criminal usages. It is the dawn of a new day. It is the +sunrise. It is universal liberty, universal right. It is the divine +right of the People!" + +Still Dick was silent, and as she watched him she started to her feet. + +"Who have held the destinies of the great unnumbered millions in the +hollow of their hands?" she cried passionately. "The few. The Emperors, +the Kings, the Bureaucrats. And they have sucked the life blood of these +dumb, suffering millions. They have crushed them, persecuted them, made +them hewers of wood and drawers of water. Why have the poor lived? That +they might minister to the rich. Just that and nothing more. Whether the +millions have been called slaves, serfs, working classes--whatever you +like--the result has been the same. They have existed that the few might +have what they desired. But at last the world has revolted. The Great +War has made everything possible. The world is fluid, and the events of +life will be turned into new channels. Now is the opportunity of the +People. Whatever God there is, He made the world and all that is in it +for the People. In the past it has been robbed from them, but now it is +going to be theirs! Don't you see?" + +Dick nodded his head slowly. This, making allowance for the extravagance +of her words, was what he had been feeling for a long time. + +"Yes," he said presently; "but how are they to get it?" + +"Ah!" she laughed. "I brought you here to-night to tell you. You are +going to give it them, my friend. With me to help you, perhaps, if you +will have me. Will you? Look into my eyes and tell me that you see--that +you understand?" + +Her eyes were as the eyes of a siren, but still Dick did not lose his +head. + +"I see no other way of giving the people justice than by working on the +lines I have been trying to work for years," he said. + +"Yes, you do," she cried triumphantly. "You are a Labour man--a +Socialist if you like. You have a vision of better conditions for the +working classes in England--the British Isles. But what is that? What +does it all amount to? Sticking-plasters, _mon ami_--sticking-plasters." + +"Still, I do not understand," replied Dick. + +"But you do," she persisted, still with her great, lustrous eyes +laughing into his, in spite of a certain seriousness shining from them. +"Think a minute. Here we are at a crisis in the world's history. Unless +a mighty effort is made now, power, property, everything will drift back +to the old ruling classes, and that will mean what it has always meant. +Still the same accursed anomalies; still the same blinding, numbing, +crushing poverty on the one hand; still the same pampered luxury and +criminal waste on the other. All things must be new, my friend--new!" + +"But how?" + +"In one word--Bolshevism. No; don't be startled. Not the miserable +caricature, the horrible nightmare which has frightened the dull-minded +British but a glorious thing! Justice for humanity, the world for the +people! That's what it means. Not for one country, but for all the +countries--for the wide world. Don't you see? The world must become one, +because humanity is one. It must be. Disease in any part of the organism +hurts the whole body. If wrong is done in Russia, England has to pay; +therefore, all reform must be world wide; right must be done +everywhere." + +"Words, words, words," quoted Dick. + +"And more than words, my friend. The most glorious ideal the world has +ever known. And every ideal is an unborn event." + +"Beautiful as a dream, but, still, words," persisted Dick. + +"And why, my friend?" + +"Because power cannot be wrested from the hands in which it is now +vested----" + +"That is where you are mistaken. Think of Russia." + +"Yes; think of Russia," replied Dick--"a nightmare, a ghastly crime, +hell upon earth." + +"And I reply in your own language, 'Words, words, words.' My friend, you +cannot wash away abuses hoary with age with rose water. Stern work needs +stern methods. Our Russian comrades are taking the only way which will +lead to the Promised Land. Do not judge Russia by what it seems to-day, +but by what it will be when you and I are old. Already there are patches +of blue in the sky. In a few years from now things will have settled +down, and Russia, with all its wealth and all its possibilities, will +belong to the people--the great people of Russia. That is what must be +true of every nation. You talk of the great wealth of European +countries, and of America. Who holds that wealth? Just a few +thousands--whereas it should be in the hands of all--all." + +"And how will you do this mighty thing?" laughed Dick. + +"By the people not simply demanding, but taking their rights--taking it, +my friend." + +"By force?" + +"Certainly by force. It is their right." + +"But how?" + +"Think, my friend. Do you believe the people will ever get their rights +by what is called constitutional means? Do you think the landed +proprietors will give up their lands? That the Capitalists will disgorge +their millions? That the bourgeoisie will let go what they have squeezed +from the sweat and toil of the millions? You know they will not. There +is but one way all over the world. It is for the people everywhere to +claim, to _force_, their rights." + +"Revolution!" + +"Yes, Revolution. Do not be afraid of the word." + +"Crime, anarchy, blood, ruin, the abolition of all law and order!" + +"What is called crime and anarchy to-day will be hailed a few years +hence as the gospel which has saved the world." + +Dick could not help being influenced by her words. There was an +intellectual quality in her presence which broke down his prejudices, a +spiritual dynamic in her beauty and her earnestness which half convinced +him. + +"Admitting what you say," he replied presently, "you only proclaim a +will-o'-the-wisp. Before such a movement could be set on foot, you must +have the whole people with you. You must have a great consensus of +opinion. To do this you must educate the people. Then you must have a +tremendous organisation. You would have to arm the people. And you would +need leaders." + +She laughed gaily. "Now we are getting near it," she cried. "You've seen +the vision. You've been seeing it, proclaiming it, unknowingly, for +years, but you've not dared to be obedient to your vision. But you will, +my friend. You will." + +She placed her hand on his arm, and looked half beseechingly, half +coyly, into his face. + +"Do you not see with me?" she cried. "Could you not join with me in a +great crusade for the salvation of the world? For I can be a faithful +comrade--faithful to death. Look into my eyes and tell me." + +Again he looked into her eyes, and he saw as she saw, felt as she felt. +His past life, his past work, seemed but as a mockery, while the vision +she caused him to see was like a glimpse of Paradise. Even yet, however, +a kind of hard, Saxon, common sense remained with him; and she appeared +to realise it, for, still keeping her hand upon his arm, she continued +her appeal. She told him what she had seen and heard, and tried to prove +to him how impossible it was for the poor to have their rights save by +rising in their millions, seizing the helm of power, and claiming, +taking, their own. Still he was not altogether convinced. + +"You describe a beautiful dream," he said, "but, like all beautiful +dreams, it vanishes when brought into contact with hard realities. What +you speak of is only mob rule, and mob rule is chaos. To achieve +anything you must have leaders, and when you get your leaders, you +simply replace one set of rulers by another." + +"Of course we do," was her answer. "But with this difference. The +present leaders are the result of an old bad system of selfish greed. +They think and act for themselves instead of for the good of the people. +But, with you as a leader, we should have a man who thinks only of +leading the children of the world into Light." + +"I?--I?" stammered Dick. + +"Of course, you, my friend. Else why should I long to see you, speak +with you, know you?" + +"Of course it's madness," he protested. + +"All great enterprises are madness," was her reply; "but it is Divine +madness. You were born from the foundation of the world for this work. +You have vision, you have daring, you have the essential qualities of +the leader, for you have the master mind." + +It is easy for a young man to be flattered by a beautiful woman, +especially when that woman is endowed with all charms, physical, +intellectual, personal. Her hand was still on his arm; her eyes were +still burning into his. + +"Of course it is impossible," he still persisted. + +"Why?" she asked. + +"A huge organisation which is international requires the most careful +arrangement--secret but potent." + +"The organisation exists in outline." + +"Propaganda work." + +"It has been going on for years. Even such work as you have been doing +has been preparing the way for greater things." + +"Money--millions of money!" he cried. "Don't you see? It's easy to talk +of leading the people, but difficult to accomplish--impossible, in fact, +in a highly organised country like this." + +"Give me your consent--tell me you will consent to lead us, and I will +show you that this is already done. Even now a million British soldiers +are ready--ready with arms and accoutrements!" + +Again she pleaded, again she fired his imagination! Fact after fact she +related of what had been done, and of what could be done. It needed, she +said, but the strong man to appear, and the poor, the suffering from +every byway, would flock to his standard. + +"But don't you see?" cried Dick, half bewildered and altogether dazzled +by the witchery of her words. "If I were to respond to your call, you +would be placing not only an awful responsibility upon me, but a +terrible power in my hands?" + +"Yes, I do see!" she cried; "and I glory in the thought. Look here, my +friend, I have been pleading with you not for your own sake, but for the +sake of others--for the redemption of the world. But all along I have +thought of you--_you_. It is right that you should think of yourself. +Every man should be anxious about his own career. This is right. We +cannot go against the elementary truths of life. There must be the +leaders as well as the led. And leadership means power, fame! Every +strong man longs for power, fame, position. You do, my friend. For years +you have been craving after it, and it is your right, your eternal +right. And here is the other ground of my appeal, my friend. Such a +position, such fame, such power is offered you as was never offered to +any man before. To be a leader of the world! To focus, to make real the +visions, longings, hopes of unnumbered millions. To make vocal, to +translate into reality all the world has been sighing for--striving +after. Great God! What a career! What a position!" + +"Ah--h!" and Mr. John Brown, who had been silent during the whole +conversation, almost sobbed out the exclamation, "that is it! that is +it! What a career! What a position to struggle after, to fight for! +Power! Power! The Kings and Emperors of the world become as nothing +compared with what you may be, my friend." + +Dick's heart gave a wild leap. Power! place! greatness! Yes; this was +what he had always longed for. As the thought gripped him, mastered him, +impossibilities became easy, difficulties but as thistledown. + +And yet he was afraid. Something, he knew not what, rose up and forbade +him to do things he longed to do. He felt that every weakness of his +life had been appealed to--his vanity, his selfishness, his desire for +greatness, as well as his natural longing for the betterment of the +world. And all the time the beautiful woman kept her hand on his arm. +And her touch was caressing, alluring, bewildering. Her eyes, wondrous +in their brilliance, fascinating, suggesting all the heart of man could +long for, were burning into his. + +He rose to his feet. "I must go," he said. "I will consider what you +have said." + +The woman rose too. She was nearly as tall as he, and she stood by his +side, a queen among women. + +"And you will think kindly, won't you?" she pleaded. "You will remember +that it is the dearest hope of my life to stand by your side, to share +your greatness." + +Dick was silent as he made his way through the dark and silent streets +with Mr. Brown by his side. He was still under the influences of the +night through which he had passed; his mind was still bewildered. + +Just before he reached his hotel, he and Mr. Brown parted--the latter to +turn down Piccadilly, Dick to make his way towards Bloomsbury. When Mr. +Brown had gone, Dick stood and watched him. Was he mistaken, or did he +see the figure of a man like Count Romanoff move from the doorstep of a +large building and join him? Was it Count Romanoff's voice he heard? He +was not sure. + +The night porter of his hotel spoke to him sleepily as he entered. + +"No Zepps to-night, sir," he said. + +"No; I think not. I fancy the Huns have given up that game." + +"Think so, sir? Well, there's no devilish thing they won't think of. I +hear they're going to try a new dodge on us." + +"Oh, what?" + +"I don't know. But if it isn't one thing it's another. Nothing's too +dirty for 'em. Good night--or, rather, good morning, sir." + +"Good morning." + +Dick went to bed, but not to sleep. Again and again his mind rehearsed +the scenes through which he had passed. It all seemed like a dream, a +phantasmagoria, and yet it was very wonderful. + +When daylight came he plunged into a bath, and as he felt the sting of +the cold water on his body, he felt his own man again. His mind was +clear; his senses were alert. + +After breakfast he went for a walk towards Hyde Park. The air was clear +and exhilarating; the great tide of human life stirred his pulses and +caused his blood to course freely through his veins. His mind was saner, +more composed. He turned into the Park at the Marble Arch, and he +watched the crowds of gaily dressed women and swiftly moving motor-cars. + +Presently his heart gave a wild leap. Coming towards him he saw Lady +Blanche Huntingford. He thought he saw her smile at his approach, and +with eager footsteps he moved towards her. He held out his hand. "This +is indeed a pleasure, Lady Blanche," he said. + +She gave him a quick, haughty stare, and passed on. He was sure she +recognised him, but she acted as though he did not exist. She had cut +him dead; she had refused to know him. The woman's action maddened him. +Yet why should she not refuse to recognise him? He was a nobody, whom +she remembered as a kind of Roger Tichborne--an impostor. + +But she should know him! Again the memory of his recent experiences +came surging back into his mind. He could reach a position where such as +she would be as nothing, and like lightning his mind fastened upon +Olga's proposal. + +Yes; he would accept. He would throw himself heart and soul into this +great work. He would become great--yes, the greatest man in England--in +the world! He would go back to his hotel and write to her. + +A little later he sat at a table in the writing-room of the hotel, but +just as he commenced to write the pen dropped from his hand. Again he +thought he felt that light yet irresistible hand upon his wrist--the +same hand that he had felt in the library at Wendover Park. + +He gave a quick, searching glance around the room, and he saw that he +was alone. + +"Who are you? What do you want?" he asked aloud. + +Again he looked around him. Did he see that luminous form, those +yearning, searching eyes, the memory of which had been haunting him for +years? He was not sure. But of this he was sure. The place seemed filled +with a holy influence, and he thought he heard the words, "Watch and +pray, that ye enter not into temptation." + +"Speak, speak, tell me who you are," he again spoke aloud. But no +further answer came to him. + +Bewildered, wondering, he rose to his feet and sauntered around the +room. His attention was drawn to a number of papers that were scattered +on a table. A minute later he was reading an article entitled + + "DO THE SO-CALLED DEAD SPEAK TO US?" + +The paper containing the article was a periodical which existed for the +purpose of advocating spiritualism. It announced that a renowned medium +would take part in a séance that very afternoon in a building not far +away, and that all earnest and reverent seekers after truth were invited +to be present. + +"I'll go," determined Dick as he read. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +VISIONS OF ANOTHER WORLD + + +After Dick had decided to attend the séance he read the article more +carefully. It purported to be written by a man who had given up all +faith in religion and all forms of spiritual life. He had tried to find +satisfaction in the pleasures and occupations of his daily existence, +and had treated everything else as a played-out fallacy. Then two of his +sons had been killed in the war, and life had become a painful, hollow +mockery. By and by he became impressed by the thought that his sons were +alive and wanted to speak to him. Sometimes, too, he had felt as though +presences were near him, but who they were or what they meant he could +not tell. After this he had by pure accident heard two people talking +about their experiences at a séance, and one had distinctly stated that +he had seen and spoken to a dear dead friend. This caused the writer to +turn his attention to spiritualism. The result was that he remained no +longer a materialist, but was an ardent believer in the spiritual world. +He distinctly stated that he had had irrefutable assurance that his sons +were alive, that they had spoken to him, and had brought him messages +from the spirit world. Things which before had been bewildering and +cruel now became plain and full of comfort. Life was larger, grander, +and full of a great hope. + +Dick's heart warmed as he read. Surely here was light. Surely, too, he +would be able to find an explanation to what for years had been a +mystery to him. + +He thought of the conversations he had heard in Eastroyd, in relation to +this, to which he had paid but little attention because his mind had +been too full of other matters, but which were now full of +significance. His mind again reverted to the discussion on the Angels +at Mons. If there were no truth in the stories, how could so many have +believed in them? How could there be such clear and definite testimonies +from men who had actually seen? + +And had not he, Dick Faversham, both seen and heard? What was the +meaning of the repeated appearances of that beautiful, luminous figure +with great, yearning eyes and arms outstretched to save? + +Yes; he would go to this séance. He would inquire, and he would learn. + +He felt he had need of guidance. He knew he had come to another crisis +in his life. The proposal which had been made to him was alluring; it +appealed to the very depths of his being. + +Power, position, fame! That was what it meant. To take a leading part in +the great drama of life, to be a principal factor in the emancipation of +the world! But there was another side. If this movement was spreading +with such gigantic strides--were to spread to England and dominate the +thoughts and actions of the toiling millions of the country--what might +it not mean? + +He was sure of nothing. He could not grasp the issues clearly; he could +not see his way to the end. But it was grand; it was stupendous! +Besides, to come into daily, hourly, contact with that sublime woman--to +constantly feel the magnetic charm of her presence! The thought stirred +his pulses, fired his imagination! How great she was, too. How she had +swept aside the world's conventions and man-made moralities. She seemed +like a warm breath from the lands of sunshine and song. And yet he was +not sure. + +For hours he sat thinking, weighing pros and cons, trying to mark out +the course of his life. Yes; he had done well. Since he had left +Wendover Park he had become an influence in the industrial life of the +North; he had become proclaimed a leader among the working classes; in +all probability he would soon be able to voice their cause in the Mother +of Parliaments. + +But what did it all amount to after all? A Labour Member of Parliament! +The tool of the unwashed, uneducated masses! A voting machine at £400 a +year! Besides, what could he do? What could the Labour Party do? When +their programme was realised, if ever it was realised, what did it all +amount to? The wealth, the power, would still be in the hands of the +ruling, educated classes, while he would be a mere nobody. + +"Sticking-plasters." + +The term stuck to him--mocked him. He was only playing at reform. But +the dream of Olga--the emancipation of the race! the dethronement of the +parasites--the bloodsuckers of the world!--a new heaven and a new +earth!--while he, Dick Faversham, would be hailed as the prophet, the +leader of this mighty movement, with infinite wealth at his command and +power unlimited. Power! + +Men professed to sneer at Trotsky; they called him a criminal, an +outrage to humanity. But what a position he held! He was more feared, +more discussed, than any man in the world--he who a few months before +was unknown, unheard of. And he defied kings and potentates, for kings +and potentates were powerless before him. While behind him was a new +Russia, a new world. + +To be such a man in England! To make vocal and real the longings of the +greatest Democracy in the world, and to lead it. That would mean the +premier place in the world, and---- + +So he weighed the position, so he thought of this call which had come to +him. + +During the afternoon he left his hotel and made his way towards the +house where the spiritualistic séance was to be held. In spite of all +his dreams of social reforms, and the appeal made to his own ambitions, +his mind constantly reverted to the vision which had again come to +him--to the influences he could not understand. + +He found the house, and was admitted without difficulty. It was in a +commonplace, shabby-looking street not far from Tottenham Court Road. On +his arrival he was admitted into a room, where an absurd attempt had +been made to give it an Oriental appearance. An old woman occupied the +only arm-chair in the room. She looked up at his entrance, stared at him +for a few seconds, and then muttered indistinctly. He was followed by +half a dozen others who might have been habitués of the place. + +Presently a man entered, who glanced inquiringly around the room. He +appeared to be about fifty years of age, and had light watery-looking +eyes. He made his way to Dick. + +"You desire to be present at the séance?" he asked of Dick. + +"If I may?" was Dick's reply. + +"You come as a sincere, earnest, reverent inquirer?" + +"I hope so." + +"Is there any friend you have lost, any message you want to receive?" +and he scrutinised Dick closely. + +"At a time like this, we have all lost friends," Dick replied. + +"Ah, then you come as an inquirer?" + +"That is true. I have come to learn." + +"Certainly. But of course there are certain expenses. Would it be +convenient for you to give me ten shillings?" + +Dick gave him a ten-shilling note, whereupon the man turned to another +visitor. + +"A great medium, but keen on business," Dick heard someone say. + +"Yes, but why not? Mediums must live the same as other people." + +Another man entered. He was much younger than the other. He looked very +unhealthy, and his hands twitched nervously. + +"The room is ready," he said, and his voice was toneless. "Perhaps you +would like to see it and examine it before the light is excluded, so +that you may be sure there is no deception." + +Dick with two others accepted the man's invitation. The room into which +he was led was carpetless and completely unfurnished save for a number +of uncushioned chairs and a plain deal table. Nothing else was visible. +There was not a picture on the walls, not a sign of decoration. Dick +and the others professed satisfaction with what they had seen. + +A few minutes later the others joined them, accompanied by the man who +had been spoken of as a "great medium," also the man with the nervous, +twitching hands, who Dick afterwards learned was the leader of the two +mediums. + +"My friends," he said, "will you seat yourselves around the table? We +promise you nothing. The spirits may come, and they may not. I, +personally, am a medium of the old order. I do not pretend to tell you +what spirits say; I make no claim to be a clairvoyant. If the spirits +come they will speak for themselves--if they wish to speak. If there are +persons here who desire a message from the spirit world they will, if +they receive such a message at all, receive it direct from the spirits. +I pretend to explain nothing, just as I promise nothing. But in the past +spirits have come to such gatherings as this, and many comforting +messages have been given. That is all." + +The party then sat down at the table, placed their hands upon it in such +a way that the fingers of one person joined those of the persons sitting +next, and thus formed a circle. All light was excluded. + +For three minutes there was silence. No sound was heard; no light was +seen. All was darkness and silence. + +Then suddenly there was a faint voice--a child's voice. It sounded as +though it came from the ceiling. + +"I am come," wailed the voice. + +"Yes, and I am come." This time the voice seemed to come from the +direction of the window. It was hoarse, and coarse. + +"Who are you? + +"I am Jim Barkum. I was killed at Mons." + +"Anything to tell us?" + +"No; nothin' except I'm all right. I come fro' Sheffield. If you could +tell my mother, Emily Barkum, that I'm very happy I'd be very thankful." + +"What's your mother's address?" + +"Number 14 Tinkers Street." + +After this a number of other spirits purported to come, one of whom +said he was the son of a sitter in the circle, and that he had been +killed in the war. + +"Will you reveal yourself?" said the medium. + +Some phosphorous light shone in the darkness, in the radiance of which +was the outline of a face. + +"Do you recognise it?" asked the medium. + +"It might be Jack," Dick heard a voice say. + +After this there seemed to be a quarrel among the spirits. There was a +good deal of confused talk and a certain amount of anger expressed. Also +a number of feeble jokes were passed and far-away laughter heard. +Evidently the spirits were in a frolicsome humour. + +Dick, whose purpose in coming to the séance was not to take part in a +fiasco, grew impatient. In his state of mind he felt he had wasted both +money and time. It was true he had seen and heard what he could not +explain, but it amounted to nothing. Everything seemed silly beyond +words. There was nothing convincing in anything, and it was all +artificial. + +"I should like to ask a question," he ventured at length. + +"Go ahead," said a voice, which seemed to come from the ceiling. + +"I should like to ask this: why is it that you, who have solved the +great secret of death, should, now you are permitted to come back and +speak to those of us who haven't, talk such horrible drivel?" + +"Hear! hear!" assented a member of the circle. + +"Oh, it's this way," answered the spirit: "every one of you sitting here +have your attendant spirits. If you are intellectual, intellectual +spirits attend you and come to talk to you, but as you are not they just +crack silly jokes." + +There was laughter at this, not only from the sitters, but among the +spirits, of which the room, by this time, seemed to be full. + +"That's not bad," replied Dick. "One might think you'd said that before, +but as it happens we are not all fools, and I personally would like +something more sensible. This is a time when thousands of hearts are +breaking," he added. + +"What would you like to know?" + +It was another voice that spoke now--a sweeter and more refined voice, +and might have belonged to a woman. + +"I would like to know if it is true that each of us have attendant +spirits, as one of you said just now?" + +"Yes; that is true." + +"You mean guardian angels?" + +"Yes; if you like to call them that. But they are not all guardian +angels. There are spirits who try to do harm, as well as those who try +to guard and to save." + +"Are they here now?" + +"Yes; they are here now. I can see one behind you at this moment." + +The atmosphere of the room had suddenly changed. It seemed as though +something solemn and elevating had entered and driven away the +frivolous, chattering presences which had filled the room. A hush had +fallen upon the sitters too, and all ears seemed to be listening +eagerly. + +"You say you can see a spirit behind me now?" + +"Yes." + +"Tell me, is it a good spirit or a bad one?" + +"I do not know. The face is hidden." + +"But surely you can cause the face to be seen. I am anxious to learn--to +know." + +"I think I can tell directly. Wait." + +There was a silence for perhaps ten seconds; then the voice spoke again. + +"The spirit will not show its face," it said, "but it is always with +you. It never leaves you night nor day." + +"Why does it not leave me?" + +"I cannot tell; I do not know." + +"Tell me," persisted Dick, "you do not seem like the other spirits who +have been here--if they are spirits," he added in an undertone. "Can you +not find out if I am watched over for any particular purpose?" + +"Yes, yes, I can. I can see now. It is a guardian angel, and she loves +you." + +"She loves me--why does she love me?" + +"When she was alive she loved you. I think you were engaged. But she +died, and you never married her. But she is always watching over +you--trying to help you. Were you ever engaged to anyone who died?" + +"That is surely a leading question," was Dick's retort. "Is that all you +can tell me?" + +"That is all, except that you have enemies, one in particular, who is +trying to do you harm, and your guardian angel is always near you, +seeking to protect you. Have you an enemy?" + +"Possibly--I don't know. Is that enemy a man or a woman?" + +"I cannot tell. Everything is becoming hazy and dim. I am not a spirit +of the highest order. There, everything is blank to me now." + +After this the séance continued for some time, but as far as Dick was +concerned, it had but little definite interest. Many things took place +which he could not explain, but to him they meant nothing. They might +have been caused by spirits, but then again they might have been the +result of trickery. Nothing was clear to him except the one outstanding +fact that no light had been thrown on the problem of his life. He wanted +some explanation of the wonderful apparition which had so affected his +life, and he found none. For that matter, although the spirit world had +been demonstrated to him, he had no more conviction about the spirit +world after the séance than he had before. All the same, he could not +help believing, not because of the séance, but almost in spite of it, +that a presence was constantly near him, and that this presence had a +beneficent purpose in his life. + +"You were not convinced?" asked a man of him as presently he left the +house. + +Dick was silent. + +"Sometimes I think I am, and sometimes I think I am not," went on the +man. "It's all a mystery. But I know one thing." + +"What?" asked Dick. + +"My old mother, who held fast to the old simple faith in Christ, had no +doubts nor fears," was the man's reply. "I was with her when she was +dying, and she told me that angels were beckoning to her. She said she +saw the face of her Lord, and that He was waiting to welcome her on the +other side. I wish I could see as she saw." + +"Did she believe in angels?" asked Dick. + +"She had no doubt," replied the man. "She said that God sent His angels +to guard those they loved, and that those angels helped them to fight +evil spirits." + +"Accepting the idea of a spirit world, it seems reasonable," and Dick +spoke like one thinking aloud rather than to be answering the man. + +"Did not angels minister to Christ after He was tempted of the Devil?" +persisted the man. "Did not angels help the Apostles? I don't think I'll +bother about spiritualism any more. There may be truth in it; there may +not; but I'd rather get hold of the faith my mother had." + +"I wonder?" mused Dick, as he went away alone. "I wonder? But I'll have +to send an answer to Olga. My word, what a glorious woman, and what a +career! But I don't see my way clear." + +He made his way back to his hotel, thinking and wondering. He felt he +had come to a crisis in his life, but his way was not plain, and he did +not know where to look for light. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +ROMANOFF'S PHILOSOPHY + + +Count Romanoff sat in a handsomely furnished room. It formed a part of a +suite he had taken in a fashionable London hotel. He was smoking a +cigar, while at his side was a tray with several decanters containing +spirits. + +He seemed to be puzzled, and often there was an angry gleam in his eyes, +a cruel smile on his lips. + +"I am not sure of him," he muttered, "and so far I've failed altogether. +More than once I was certain that I had him--certain that he was bound +to me hand and foot, and then----" + +He started to his feet and strode impatiently across the room. He +appeared angry. Looking out of the window, he could see the tide of +human beings which swept hither and thither in the London street. + +"Good and evil," he said aloud--"good and evil. Those people are all the +time tempted, and yet--and yet----But I'll have him. It's only a matter +of time now." + +He heard a knock at the door, and started violently. For a +self-contained, strong man, he seemed at times to be peculiarly +apprehensive. + +"Yes; come in. Ah, it's you, is it? I was expecting you." + +"Count Romanoff, are you ever surprised?" It was Mr. John Brown who +spoke, and who quietly came into the room. + +"Rarely," replied the Count. "Why should I? After all, the events of +life are a matter of calculation. Certain forces, certain powers of +resistance--and there you are." + +"It takes a clever man to calculate the forces or the powers of +resistance," replied Mr. Brown. + +"Just so. Well, I am clever." + +Mr. Brown looked at him curiously, and there was an expression almost of +fear in his eyes. + +"Count Romanoff," he said, "I wonder sometimes if you are not the +Devil--if there is a devil," he added as if in afterthought. + +"Why, do you doubt it?" + +"I don't know. It would be difficult to explain some things and some +people unless you postulate a devil." + +The Count laughed almost merrily. "Then why not accept the fact?" he +asked. + +"Do you?" asked Mr. Brown. + +"I have no doubt of it. I--but wait. You must clear the ground. The +existence of a devil presupposes evil--and good. If what the world calls +evil is evil--there is a devil." + +"You speak like one who knows." + +"I do know." + +"How do you know?" + +"Because----But look here, my friend, you did not come here to discuss +_that_ problem." + +"No; I did not. I came because I wanted to discuss----" + +"A young man called Richard Faversham. Very well, let's discuss him," +and the Count took a fresh cigar and lit it. + +"I've been thinking a good deal since I saw you last," said Mr. +Brown--"thinking pretty deeply." + +The Count for reply looked at Mr. Brown steadily, but spoke no word. + +"I have been wondering at your interest in him," said Mr. Brown. "He's +not your sort." + +"Perhaps that's a reason," he suggested. + +"Still I do not understand you." + +"But I understand you. I know you through and through. You, although you +are a member of the best London clubs, although you pass as a Britisher +of Britishers, and although you bear a good old commonplace English +name, hate Britain, and especially do you hate England. Shall I tell you +why?" + +"Not aloud, my friend--not aloud; there may be servants outside--people +listening," and Mr. Brown spoke in a whisper. + +"I _shall_ speak aloud," replied the Count, "and there is no one +listening. I feel in a communicative, garrulous mood to-night, and it's +no use mincing words. You hate England, because you are German at heart, +and a German by birth, although no one knows it--but me. I also hate +England." + +"Why?" asked Mr. Brown. + +"Because it stands for those things I abominate. Because, in spite of +its so-called materialism, it still holds fast to the old standards of +religion, and all that religion means. It stands for what the world +calls progress, for civilisation, and Democracy. And I hate Democracy." + +"You are a Russian," commented Mr. Brown--"a Russian aristocrat, +therefore you would naturally hate Democracy." + +"Am I?" and the Count laughed. "Well, call me that if you like." + +"You told me so when we first met." + +"Did I? I know you came to me in a sad way. You began to doubt your +country, and your country's victory. You saw that it would never gain +what it desired and hoped on the battlefield. You realised that this +England--this Britain that you had scorned--was mightier than you +thought. You saw that John Bull, whom I hate as much as you, was +practically invincible." + +"Yes; I could not help realising that. I admitted it to you, and you +told me to----" + +"Take special note of Faversham. I told you his story." + +"Yes, you did, and I accepted your advice. I went to Eastroyd; I made +his acquaintance." + +"And were impressed by the power he had obtained over the working +classes, the Democracy, that we hear so much about. As you told me, he +had taken up their cause, and that he had developed the gift of public +oratory so assiduously that his power over working-class audiences was +almost magnetic." + +"But look here, Count, I----" + +"Pardon me a moment. I had studied Faversham for years. For reasons of +my own, I wanted him to do certain things." + +Mr. Brown sat quietly, watching the Count, who ceased speaking suddenly, +and seemed to be staring into vacancy. + +"Did you ever read a book by a man named John Bunyan, called _The Holy +War_?" he asked, with seeming irrelevance. + +Mr. Brown laughed. "Years ago, when I was a boy," he replied. + +"A wonderful book, my friend. I have read it many times." + +"_You_ read it many times! Why, what interest could such a book have for +you?" + +"A very deep interest," and there was a curious intonation in his voice. + +"What interest?" asked Mr. Brown. + +The Count rose to his feet and knocked some ash from the end of his +cigar. "Corpo di Bacco!" he cried. "Did not the man get deep? The city +of Mansoul! And the Devil wanted to get it. So he studied the +fortifications. Eyegate, nosegate, touchgate, eargate he saw, he +understood!" + +"What on earth are you talking about?" asked Mr. Brown in astonishment. + +"There is one passage which goes deep," went on the Count as though Mr. +Brown had not spoken. "It contained some of the deepest philosophy of +life; it went to the roots of the whole situation. I had it in my mind +when I advised you to make Faversham's acquaintance." + +"What passage?" asked Mr. Brown, still failing to catch the drift of the +other's words. + +"It is this," and the Count spoke very quietly. "_For here lay the +excellent wisdom of Him who built Mansoul, that the walls could never be +broken down, nor hurt by the most mighty adverse potentate, unless the +townsmen gave consent thereto._" + +Mr. Brown looked puzzled. "I don't follow you," he said. + +"Don't you? Bunyan wrote in parable, but his meaning is plain. He said +that Diabolus could never conquer Mansoul except by the consent of +Mansoul. Well, I saw this: England--Britain--could never be conquered +except by the consent of the people of England. United, Britain is +unconquerable." + +"Well?" + +"Therefore, I made you see that if your country, which stands for force, +and militarism, and barbarism, was to conquer England you must get +England divided; you must get her own forces in a state of disunity. A +country at war with itself is powerless. Set class against class, +interest against interest, party against party, and you produce chaos. +That is the only hope of your country, my friend. The thing was to get a +man who could do this for you." + +"And you thought of Faversham?" + +"I told you to make his acquaintance." + +"Which I have done. The results you know." + +"Are you satisfied with the results?" + +Mr. John Brown was silent a few seconds. Evidently he was thinking +deeply. + +"He is no Bolshevist at heart," he said. + +"Are you?" + +"I? Great heavens, no! I hate it, except for my enemies. But it has +served our purpose so far. Russia is in a state of chaos; it is +powerless--bleeding at our feet. If Russia had remained united, we, the +Germans, would have been crushed, beaten, ruined. As it is----" + +"I love the condition of Russia," and Romanoff spoke almost exultantly. +"I love it! It is what I hoped for, strove for, prayed for!" + +"You--a Russian--say that! And _you_ pray?" + +"Yes; I pray. What then?" + +"But you did not pray to God?" and there was a note of fear in Mr. +Brown's voice. + +"I prayed to my own god," replied Romanoff, "who is a very good +counterpart of the god of your Kaiser. The good old German god, eh?" and +he laughed ruthlessly. "And what is he, my friend? A god of force, a god +of cruelty. Ruthlessness, mercilessness, anything to win. That's the +German god. I prayed to that." + +Mr. Brown almost shuddered. + +"Yes; the condition of Russia is one of the great joys of my life. It +means victory--victory for me, for you--if we can only get England to +follow Russia's example." + +"If we only could," assented Mr. Brown. + +"And there are elements at work which, properly used, will bring this +about," went on the Count. "I, Romanoff, tell you so. And Faversham is +your man." + +"He is no Bolshevist," again urged Mr. Brown. "At heart he knows what it +means. That's why I am nearly hopeless about him. Give him time to +think, and he will see that it will mean chaos--ruin to the things he +has been taught to love." + +"Before Adam ate the forbidden fruit two things happened," remarked +Romanoff. + +"What?" + +"First the serpent worked. Then the woman." + +"The woman! Yes; the woman!" + +"Human nature is a curious business," went on the Count. "There are +several points at which it is vulnerable. I have made a special point of +studying human nature, and this I have seen." + +"I don't quite follow you." + +"I don't speak in riddles, my friend. Take a strong character like +Faversham, and consider it. What is likely to appeal to it? As I +understand the case, there are three main channels of appeal. First, +money, and all that money means. Next there is ambition, greed for +power, place, position, dominance. Then there is the eternal thing--the +Senses. Drink, gluttony, drugs, women. Generally any one of these things +will master a man, but bring them altogether and it is certain he will +succumb." + +"Yes, yes, I see." + +"Money, and all that money brings, is not enough in Faversham's case. +That I know. But he is intensely ambitious--and--and he is young." + +"That is why you told me to introduce him to Olga?" + +"A woman can make a man do what, under ordinary circumstances, he would +scorn to do. If you advocated Bolshevism to him, even although you +convinced him that he could be Lenin and Trotsky rolled into one, and +that he could carry the Democracy of Britain with him, he would laugh at +you. I saw that yesterday after your conversation with him. He was +attracted for an hour, but I saw that he laughed at your proposals. That +was why I told you to let him see and hear Olga. Now, tell me of their +meeting." + +Mr. Brown described in correct detail Dick's experiences in the East of +London. + +"Never did I believe a woman could be such a siren," Mr. Brown +concluded. "She charmed, she magnetised, she fascinated." + +"Is he in love with her?" asked the Count. + +"If he is not he must be a stone," said Mr. Brown. + +"Yes, but is he? I told you to watch him--to report to me." + +"I do not know. He did not consent readily; he must have time to think, +he said. But, man, he cannot resist her!" + +"I do not know." + +"But have you ever heard of any man who could resist her blandishments? +Has she not been called a sorceress?" + +"Yes, yes, I know--but he promised her nothing?" + +"He said he would let her know later." + +"Then he has resisted. My friend, I do not understand him. But--but--let +me think." + +"He was greatly impressed not only by her, but by her arguments," went +on Mr. Brown presently. "I tell you, the woman is a sibyl, a witch. She +was wonderful--wonderful. While I listened, I--even I--almost believed +in her description of Bolshevism. A new heaven, and a new earth! I tell +you, I almost believed in it. She pictured a paradise, an El Dorado, an +Elysium, and she made Faversham see, understand. I tell you, he cannot +resist her, and if he promises her, as he will, I can see England in a +state of chaos in six months. Then--then----" + +But the Count did not seem to be listening. His eyes were turned towards +the streets, but he saw nothing. + +"He went to a spiritualistic séance this afternoon," he said presently. + +"What?--Faversham?" + +"Yes, Faversham. What do you think it means?" + +"I cannot think. He has never struck me as that sort of fellow." + +"Look here, Brown, have you had many intimate talks with him?" + +"Intimate? Yes, I think so." + +"What have you talked about?" + +"Always about the condition of the people, politics, and things of that +nature." + +"Have you ever discussed religion with him?" + +"I don't believe he has any religion." + +"I wonder?" + +"What do you wonder?" + +"I say, during your conversations with him--during your visits to +Eastroyd--have you ever heard, have you ever discovered, that he is in +love with anyone?" + +"Never. He has taken no notice of women since I have known him. He seems +to have been engrossed in his socialistic work. Mind, I doubt whether, +at heart, he is even a socialist, much less a Bolshevist." + +"That does not matter if we can get him to enlist in Olga's crusade. He +has enough influence among, not only the working classes of the country, +but among the leaders of the working classes all over the land, to +create disturbances. He can inspire strikes; he can cause anarchy among +the people. He can imbue them with Bolshevist ideals; he can make great +promises. That done, the British Army is powerless. Without coals, and +without the means of transport--don't you see?" + +"Of course I see. That's what I've had in my mind from the first. If +that can be done, Germany will be master of the world!" + +"And more than that," and the Count spoke exultantly, "I shall have him, +body and soul." + +"But we must be very careful. If our plans leak out, my life will not be +worth a row of pins." + +Again the Count paced the room. He did not seem to be heeding Mr. Brown. +His face worked convulsively, his eyes burned red, his hands clenched +and unclenched themselves. + +"I vowed I'd have him," he reflected--"vowed he should be mine. Left by +himself he will do great things for what is called the good of the +world. He will work for sobriety, purity, British national life. The man +has powers, qualities which mean great things for what pietists call the +world's betterment. But he is an aristocrat at heart; he loves money, +and, more, he loves position, fame. He is as ambitious as Napoleon. He +longs for power. But he has a conscience; he has a strong sense of what +he calls right and wrong. I thought I had him down at Wendover. But I +failed. Why, I wonder? But I will not fail this time. Olga will dull his +conscience. She has charmed, fascinated him. She will make him her +slave. Then--then----" + +"Yes, yes," broke in Mr. Brown, who had only half understood the Count's +monologue; "then he will cause a revolution here in England, and Britain +as a fighting power will be paralysed. But I am not sure of him. He +loves his country, and unless Olga gets hold of him, and that soon, he +will see what our plans mean, and he will refuse to move hand or foot. +You see, we've got no hold on him." + +"We've every hold on him," almost snapped the Count. "We've appealed to +his every weakness, and Olga will do the rest. I select my tools +carefully, my friend." + +A knock was heard at the door, and the Count impatiently opened it. "I +am engaged; I cannot be disturbed," he said. + +"The lady said she must see you," protested the servant, "so I--I +thought I'd better come." + +The Count looked beyond the man, and saw a woman closely veiled. + +"Show the lady in," and a few seconds later she threw off her wraps and +revealed her face. + +"Olga?" cried both men together. + +"Yes; I thought I'd better brave all danger. I've heard from him." + +"From Faversham?" + +"Yes; a long telegram." + +"What does he say?" gasped Mr. Brown. + +"I have it here," replied Olga breathlessly. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +A VOICE FROM ANOTHER WORLD + + +Dick Faversham walked along Oxford Street thinking deeply. Although he +had been by no means convinced by what he had seen and heard, he could +not help being impressed. The whole of the proceedings might be +accounted for by jugglery and clever trickery, or, on the other +hand, influences might have been at work which he could not +understand--influences which came from the unseen world. But nothing +satisfied him. Everything he had experienced lacked dignity. It was +poor; it was sordid. He could not help comparing the outstanding +features of the séance with the events which had so affected him. The +face of the woman in the smoking-room of the steamer, the sublime figure +which had upheld him when he was sinking in the wild, stormy sea, was +utterly removed from the so-called spirits who had obeyed the summons of +the mediums, and acted through them. How tawdry, too, were the so-called +messages compared with the sublime words which had come to him almost +like a whisper, and yet so plainly that he could hear it above the roar +of the ocean: + +"The Eternal God is thy Refuge, and underneath are the Everlasting +Arms." + +This was sublime--sublime in the great comfort it gave him, sublimer +still in what it signified to the life of the world. + +"It's true, too!" he exclaimed aloud, as he threaded his way along the +crowded thoroughfare. "True!" + +He stopped as the meaning of the words came to him: + +"The Eternal God is thy Refuge, and underneath are the Everlasting +Arms." + +And because that was true, everything was possible! + +As he thought of it, his materialism melted like snow in a tropical sun, +and he realised how superficial and how silly his past scepticism had +been. + +God was behind all, underneath all, in all, through all. And if that was +true, He had a thousand agents working to do His will, an infinite +variety of means whereby His purposes were carried out. He, Dick +Faversham, could not understand them; but what of that? God was greater +than the thoughts of the creatures He had made. + +But what of his own immediate actions? He had promised Olga that he +would that very day send her a telegram where and when he could meet +her, and that this telegram would signify his intention to fall in with +her plans. She had given him directions where this telegram was to be +sent, and he had to confess that he had looked forward to meeting her +again with no ordinary pleasure. + +The memory of their strange conversation on the previous night, and the +picture of her glorious womanhood came to him with a strange vividness. +Well, why should he not send the telegram? + +He passed a post office just then, and turned as though he would enter. +But he did not pass through the doorway. Something, he could not tell +what, seemed to hold him back. He thought little of it, however, and +still made his way along Oxford Street, towards High Holborn. + +Again the problem of the future faced him, and he wondered what to do. +Somehow, he could not tell why, but the thought of meeting the beautiful +Russian did not seem to be in accord with the sublime words which were +surging through his brain: + +"The Eternal God is thy Refuge." + +He found himself thinking of the wondrous face which had appeared to him +as he stood at the door of Wendover Park, and he remembered the words +that came to him. + +"Pray, pray!" the voice had said. "Watch and pray!" + +"God help me!" he cried almost involuntarily. "Great God help me!" + +He still threaded his way through the crowd in the great thoroughfare, +almost unconscious of what he did. He was scarcely aware that he had +uttered a cry to Heaven for help. He passed the end of Chancery Lane and +then came to the old timbered houses which stand opposite Gray's Inn +Road. But this ancient part of London did not appeal to him. He did not +notice that the houses were different from others. He was almost like a +man in a dream. + +Then suddenly he found himself in Staple Inn. How he had come there he +did not know. He had no remembrance of passing through the old doorway, +but he was there, and the change from the roar of the great thoroughfare +outside and the silence of this little sequestered nook impressed him. + +There was not a soul visible in the little square. As all Londoners +know, Staple Inn is one of the smallest and quietest in the metropolis. +The houses which form it are mostly occupied by professional men, and +there is scarcely ever anything like traffic there. But this afternoon +there was no one to be seen, and the change from the crowded highway was +pleasant. + +"What in the world am I doing here?" he asked himself. + +But before he had time to answer the question he had propounded he +realised a strange sensation. Although he could see nothing, he felt +that some presence was near him. + +"Listen." + +The word was scarcely above a whisper, but he heard it plainly. He +looked around him, his senses alert, but nothing was to be seen. + +"Can you hear me?" + +"Yes." He spoke the word almost involuntarily, and his voice seemed +strange to his own ears. + +"Do you know Drury Lane?" + +"Yes," and he looked around wonderingly, trying to locate the voice. + +"To-night, at nine o'clock, you must go to Drury Lane. You must walk +westward until you come to Blot Street. Turn up at Blot Street, and keep +along the right side. You must turn at the third street. You are sure +you are following my instructions?" + +"Yes, yes," he answered excitedly. "Who are you? Where are you?" + +"You must walk along the third street for about twenty steps, stopping +at the door marked 13A. You will knock five times in quick succession. +You will wait five seconds, then you will give two more knocks louder +than the first. The door will be opened, and you will be asked your +business. Your reply will be two words, 'Victory,' 'Dominion.' You will +be admitted without further questions. After that use your own +judgment." + +Suddenly there was a change as if in the whole atmosphere. He had, as it +seemed to him, been in a kind of trance, but now he was more than +ordinarily awake. And he was alone. Whatever had been near him was gone. +The voice had ceased speaking.[1] + +[Footnote 1: In view of the fact that the above incident may be regarded +as utterly unbelievable, I may say that an experience of the same nature +was related to me only a few weeks ago, far more wonderful than the one +I have recorded. Concerning the good faith of those who told the +incident, it is above all suspicion, and of its authenticity there seems +no room for doubt. I cannot further enter into details for obvious +reasons.--THE AUTHOR.] + +For some time Dick Faversham stood alone in the square without moving +hand or foot. He was in a state of astonishment which was beyond the +power of words to describe. But he had no doubt that he had heard the +voice; he was as certain that some presence which he could not see had +been near him as that he was certain he stood there at that moment. + +Outside the square in Holborn the tide of traffic rolled on. Conveyances +filled with human life rushed eastward and westward; men and women, +oblivious to the fact of any world save their own, made their way to +their destinations; but inside the square a man felt he had been in +touch with mystery, eternity. + +He moved into High Holborn like a man in a dream, and stood for a few +seconds watching the faces of the passers-by. + +"And not one of them seems to realise that the spirit world is all +around them," he reflected. + +He never thought of disobeying the commands he had received. The voice +had come to him with a note of authority; the message was one which must +be obeyed. + +Slowly he made his way westward again, and presently came to a post +office. He entered without hesitation, wrote a telegram, gave it to the +clerk, and, having paid for its dispatch, again made his way along the +street. + +"There, that's done with," he said, with a sigh of relief. + +At nine o'clock that night he found himself in Drury Lane following the +instructions he had received. He was quite calm, although his heart +throbbed with expectancy. He had little or no thought of what he was +going to see or hear; enough for him that he was obeying instructions, +that he was acting upon the commands which had come to him for his good. +For he had no doubt that these commands were somehow for his benefit. +Almost unconsciously he associated the presence near him with the one +who had hovered over him with arms outstretched when he had been sinking +in the stormy sea. + +He had no difficulty in finding Blot Street, and quickly found himself +at the third turning of that shabby-looking thoroughfare. + +"Chainley Alley," he read in the dim light of the darkened street lamp +at the corner. + +The place was very quiet. He was now away from the traffic of the broad +streets, and ordinary business had ceased for the day. There was nothing +to mark Chainley Alley from a hundred others which may still be found in +the centre of London. It was simply a dark, grimy little opening which, +to the ordinary passer-by, presented no interest whatever. A minute +later he stood at 13A. All was dark here, and it was with difficulty +that he discerned the number. He listened intently, but heard no sound, +and then, with a fast-beating heart, he knocked five times in quick +succession. Then, waiting five seconds, he knocked again according to +instructions. + +The door opened as if by magic. It might seem that he was expected. But +the passage into which he looked was as black as ink; neither could he +hear anything. + +Then suddenly the silence was broken. "Who are you? What do you want?" +asked someone unseen. + +"'Victory,' 'Dominion,'" he whispered. + +A dim light shone, and he saw what looked like a woman of the caretaker +order. Evidently the house was bigger than he imagined, for the woman +led him down a long corridor which suggested that it was a way to +another and a larger block of buildings in the rear. + +She opened a door and told him to go in. "You will wait there till I +call you," she whispered, and then closed the door behind him. + +There was a thick rug on the floor, which muffled the sound of his +footsteps, but there was no furniture in the room save a deal table and +one straight-backed chair. A tiny gas-jet burnt on the wall, which, +however, was extinguished a few seconds after the door had closed. + +"This is darkness with a vengeance," reflected Dick, but the fact did +not trouble him so much because he had brought a small electric lamp +with him. He switched on this light and saw that the room had no outlet +at all, save the door. There was neither window nor fireplace, and, in +fact, was little more than a large cupboard. + +Before he had time to realise what this might mean, he heard the sound +of footsteps, which seemed to be close by; this was followed by +murmuring voices. Then there were more footsteps, and the voices became +clearer. + +"Is he come?" he heard one man say. + +"Not yet. But he'll soon be here. He did not promise to get here till +half-past nine." + +From that time there was a general hum of conversation, which was +intermingled by the clinking of glasses. It might be that he was close +to a kind of club-room, and that the members were arriving and ordering +refreshments. The conversation continued, now indistinct, and again more +clear. Dick caught snatches of it, but it was not connected, and +conveyed but little meaning to him. + +Suddenly he heard everything plainly, and a sentence struck him. "I hope +he'll be careful," he heard someone say. "The whole lot of us would +swing if we were found here together." The man spoke in German, and +Dick's interest became tense. + +"More likely be shot," someone retorted, with a laugh. + +"But we're safe enough. This is the first time we've been here, and +every care has been taken." + +"I know," said someone, who appeared doubtful, "but if the British +Secret Service people have been fools in the past, they are sharp enough +now. Schleswig thought he was as safe as houses, but he was cleverly +nabbed, and now he's cold meat." + +"Never mind," said another voice, "our turn is coming. Gott in Himmel, +won't we let them know when we are masters of London! Even now the +English don't know that their country is a powder magazine. They little +think that, in spite of their Alien Acts and the rest of it, the country +is still riddled with friends of the Fatherland. Hark, he's coming!" + +This was followed by a general shuffling of feet, and Dick instinctively +felt that something of importance was about to happen. He wondered at +the ease with which he could now hear. Evidently the partition which hid +him from the room in which the conspirators had met (for evidently they +were conspirators) was thin, or else there must have been some secret +channel by which the sounds reached him. He realised, too, that these +people had not entered by way of Chainley Alley, but that their room +must have an outlet somewhere else. Possibly, probably too, as they had +used this meeting-place for the first time that night, these people +would be ignorant of the closet where he was hidden. + +Dick heard a new voice, and he detected in a moment that it was a voice +of authority. I will not attempt to relate all he heard, or attempt to +give a detailed description of all that took place. I will only briefly +indicate what took place. + +The newcomer, who was evidently the person for whom the others had +waited, seemed to regard those to whom he spoke as his subordinates. He +was apparently the leader of a movement, who reported to his workers +what progress had been made, and who gave them instructions as to the +future. + +He began by telling them that things were not going altogether well for +the Fatherland, although he had no doubt of final victory. + +But England--Great Britain--was their great enemy, and, unless she were +conquered, Germany could never again attempt to be master of the world. +But this could never be done altogether by force of arms. + +"Russia is conquered!" he declared; "it lies bleeding, helpless, at our +feet, but it was not conquered on the battlefield. By means of a +thousand secret agencies, by careful and skilful propaganda, by huge +bribes, and by playing on the ignorance of the foolish, we set the +Bolshevist movement on foot, and it has done our work. Of course it has +meant hell in Russia, but what of that? It was necessary for the +Fatherland, and we did our work. What, although the ghastliest outrages +are committed, and millions killed, if Germany gains her ends!" + +What was done in Russia was also being done in Great Britain, he assured +them. Of course, our task was harder because the people had, on the +whole, been well conditioned and had the justest Government in the +world. But he had not been dismayed. Thousands of agencies existed, and +even among the English the Germans had many friends. The seeds which had +been sown were bringing forth their harvest. + +They had fermented strikes, and the English people hadn't known that +they had done it. If some of the key industries, such as coal and +transport, could be captured, England was doomed. This could be done by +Bolshevism; and it was being done. + +"But what real progress has been made?" someone dared to ask presently. + +"We have workers, agents in all these industries," replied the man, "and +I'm glad to tell you that we have won a new recruit, who, although he is +a patriotic Englishman, will help our cause mightily. Our trusted +friend, Mr. John Brown, has got hold of a man who has a tremendous +influence among not only the working-class people in various unions, but +among the leaders of those unions, and who will be of vast help in our +cause, and of making Great Britain another Russia; that done, victory +is ours." + +"Who is he?" + +"A young man named Faversham. John Brown has had him in hand for months, +and has now fairly made him his tool. Even to-night, comrades, we shall +get him into our net." + +"Tell us more about him," cried someone; but before the speaker could +reply, some sort of signal was evidently given, for there was a general +stampede, and in an incredibly short time silence reigned. + +Almost unconsciously Dick switched on his electric lamp and looked at +his watch. It was eleven o'clock. Although he had not realised it, he +had been in the little cupboard of a room more than an hour and a half, +while these men had been plotting the ruin and the destruction of the +country he loved. + +For some time he could not grasp all he had heard, but the meaning of it +was presently clear to him. The thought almost overwhelmed him. He had +unwittingly been again and again playing into the hands of the enemy. + +"I must get out of this," he reflected after a few seconds. "I must get +back to the hotel and think it all out." + +"You can go now." It was the woman who showed him there who spoke. + +A few seconds later he was in the open air, making his way towards Drury +Lane. + +"Thank God!" + +The words passed his lips involuntarily. It seemed the natural +expression of his heart. + +Almost unconsciously he found his way back to his hotel. He had no +remembrance afterwards of the streets he had traversed, or of the +turnings he had taken. His mind was too full of the thought that but for +his wonderful experience in Staple Inn the facts he had learnt that +night would not have been made known to him. + +On reaching his hotel he made his way to his sitting-room, and on +opening the door he saw a letter lying on the table, which on +examination he found to be signed "Olga." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +OLGA MAKES LOVE + + +In order to relate this story in a connected manner it is necessary to +return to Count Romanoff's rooms, where, a few hours earlier, both the +Count and Mr. John Brown were startled by the sudden entrance of Olga. + +"Let me see the telegram," the Count said, holding out his hand. His +voice was somewhat hoarse, and his eyes had a peculiar glitter in them. + +The girl handed it to him without a word. + + "_Impossible for me to come. Am leaving London almost + immediately._--FAVERSHAM." + +"What time did you get this?" he asked. + +"I scarcely know. Almost directly I got it I came to you. I thought it +best. Do you think it is true? Do you believe he will leave London?" + +The Count was silent for a few seconds. "It would seem so, wouldn't it?" +he answered grimly. "But he must _not_ leave London. At all hazards, he +must be kept here." + +"But it means that Olga has failed," cried Mr. John Brown. "It means +that we have lost him!" + +"We have not lost him. I'll see to that," and there was a snarl in +Romanoff's voice. "Olga Petrovic, all now depends on you. At your peril +you must keep him here; you must win him over. If you fail, so much the +worse for you." + +Evidently the girl was angered. "Do you threaten me?" she said, with +flashing eyes. + +"And if I do, what then?" + +"Simply that I will not be threatened. If you speak to me in that +fashion, I refuse to move another finger." + +"I am not in the habit of having my plans destroyed by the whims of a +petulant woman," said the Count very quietly. "I tell you that if you +fail to keep him in London, and if you fail to make him your slave, +ready to obey your every bidding, you pay the penalty." + +"What penalty?" + +"What penalty?" and the Count laughed. "Need you ask that? You are in my +power, Countess Olga Petrovic. I know every detail of your +history--every detail, mind you--from the time you were waiting-maid to +the Czarina. Yours is a curious history, Countess. How much would your +life be worth if it were known to the British authorities that you were +in London? What would our German friends do to you if they knew the part +you played at Warsaw?" + +"You know of that?" she gasped. + +"I know everything, Countess. But I wish you no harm. All I demand is +that you gain and keep Faversham in your power." + +"Why are you so anxious for him to be in my power?" + +"Because then he will be in my power." + +"Your power? Why do you wish him in your power? Do you want to do him +harm?" + +"Harm!" Then Romanoff laughed. "And if I do, what then?" + +"That I refuse to serve you. Carry out your threats; tell the British +authorities who I am. Tell the Germans what I did at Warsaw. I do not +care. I defy you. Unless you promise me that you will not do Faversham +harm, I will do nothing." + +"Why are you interested as to whether I will do Faversham harm?" + +"I am--that's all." + +The Count was silent for a few seconds. Evidently his mind was working +rapidly. "Look at me!" he cried suddenly, and, as if by some power she +could not resist, she raised her eyes to his. + +The Count laughed like one amused. + +"You have fallen in love with him, eh?" + +The girl was silent, but a flush mounted her cheeks. + +"This is interesting," he sneered. "I did not think that Olga Petrovic, +who has regarded men as so many dogs of the fetch-and-carry order, and +who has scorned the thought of love, should have fallen a victim to the +malady. And to a thick-headed Englishman, too! Surely it is very +sudden." + +"You sneer," she cried, "but if I want to be a good woman; what then?" + +The Count waved his hand airily. "Set's the wind in that quarter, eh? +Well, well. But it is very interesting. I see; you love him--you, Olga +Petrovic." + +"And if I do," she cried defiantly, "what then?" + +"Only that you will obey me the more implicitly." + +"I will not obey you," she cried passionately. "And remember this, I am +not a woman to be played with. There have been many who have tried to +get the better of Olga Petrovic, and--and you know the result." + +"La, la!" laughed the Count, "and so my lady threatens, does she? And do +you know, if I were susceptible to a woman's beauty, I should rejoice to +see you angry. Anger makes you even more beautiful than ever. For you +are beautiful, Olga." + +"Leave my beauty alone," she said sullenly. "It is not for you anyhow." + +"I see, I see. Now listen to me. If you do not obey me in everything, I +go to Richard Faversham, and I tell him who and what you are. I give him +your history for the last ten years. Yes, for the last ten years. You +began your career at eighteen and now you are twenty-eight. Yes, you +look a young girl of twenty-two, and pride yourself upon it. Now then, +Countess, which is it to be? Am I to help you to win the love of +Faversham--yes and I can promise you that you shall win his love if you +obey my bidding--or am I to go to him and tell him who Olga Petrovic +really is?" + +The girl looked at him angrily, yet piteously. For the first time she +seemed afraid of him. Her eyes burnt with fury, and yet were full of +pleading at the same time. Haughty defiance was on her face, while her +lips trembled. + +"But if you tell him, you destroy my plans. You cannot do that, Count!" +It was Mr. John Brown who spoke, and there was a note of terror in his +voice. + +"_Your_ plans! What do I care for your plans?" cried the Count. "It is +of my own plans I am thinking." + +"But I thought, and as you know we agreed----" + +"It is not for you to think, or to question my thoughts," interrupted +the Count. "I allow no man to interpret my plans, or to criticise the +way in which I work them out. But rest contented, my dear friend, John +Brown," he added banteringly, "the success of your plans rests upon the +success of my own." + +While they were speaking Olga Petrovic gazed towards the window with +unseeing eyes. She looked quite her age now: all suggestion of the young +girl had gone, she was a stern, hard-featured woman. Beautiful she was, +it is true, but with a beauty marked by bitter experience, and not the +beauty of blushing girlhood. + +"Well, Countess Olga, which is it to be?" asked Romanoff, who had been +watching her while he had been speaking to Mr. Brown. + +"What do you want me to do?" + +"Do! Keep him in London. Enlist his sympathies. Make him your slave as +you have made other men your slaves. Bind him to you hand and foot. Make +him love you." + +A strange light burned in the girl's eyes, for at the Count's last words +she had seemingly thrown off years of her life. She had become young and +eager again. + +"Swear to me that you mean him no harm, and I will do it," was her +reply. "If I can," she added, as an afterthought. + +"Do you doubt it?" asked Romanoff. "Have you ever failed when you have +made up your mind?" + +"No, but I do not feel certain of him. He is not like those others. +Besides, I failed last night. In his heart he has refused me already. He +said he was leaving London almost immediately, which means that he does +not intend to see me again." + +"And you want to see him again?" + +"Yes," she replied defiantly; "I do." + +"Good." He seized a telephone receiver as he spoke and asked for a +certain number. Shortly after he was connected with Dick's hotel. + +"Mr. Richard Faversham of Eastroyd is staying with you, isn't he?" + +"Mr. Richard Faversham? Yes, sir." + +"Is he in?" + +"No, sir, he went out a few minutes ago." + +"Did he say when he was likely to return?" + +"No, sir, he said nothing." + +"But you expect him back to-night?" + +"As far as I know, sir." + +"Thank you. Either I, or a lady friend, will call to see him to-morrow +morning at ten o'clock on a very important matter. Tell him that, will +you?" + +"Certainly, sir. What name?" + +But the Count did not reply. He hung up the telephone receiver instead. + +"Why did you say that?" asked Olga. "How dare I go to his hotel in broad +daylight?" + +"You dare do anything, Countess," replied the Count. "Besides, you need +not fear. Although you are wanted by the British authorities, you are so +clever at disguise that no detective in Scotland Yard would be able to +see through it." He hesitated a moment, and then went on: "If we were in +Paris I would insist on your going to see him to-night, but Mrs. Grundy +is so much in evidence in England that we must not risk it." + +"But if they fail to give him your message?" she asked. "Suppose he +leaves to-morrow morning before I can get there?" Evidently she was +eager to carry out this part of his plans. + +"He will not leave," replied Romanoff; "still, we must be on the safe +side. You must write and tell him you are coming. There is ink and paper +on yonder desk." + +"What shall I write?" she asked. + +"Fancy Olga Petrovic asking such a question," laughed the Count. "Word +your letter as only you can word it, and he will spend a sleepless night +in anticipation of the joy of seeing you." + +She hesitated for a few seconds, and then rushing to the desk began to +write rapidly. + +"And now," said Romanoff, when she had finished, "to avoid all danger +we must send this by a special messenger." + +Thus it was, when Dick Faversham returned from Chainley Alley that night +that he found the letter signed "Olga" awaiting him. + +It was no ordinary letter that he read. A stranger on perusing it would +have said that it was simply a request for an interview, but to Dick it +was couched in such a fashion that it was impossible for him to leave +London before seeing her. For this is what he had intended to do. When +he had sent the telegram a few hours earlier his mind was fully made up +never to see her again. Why he could not tell, but the effect of his +strange experience in Staple Inn was to make him believe that it would +be best for him to wipe this fascinating woman from the book of his +life. Her influence over him was so great that he felt afraid. While in +her presence, even while she fascinated him, he could not help thinking +of the fateful hours in Wendover Park, when Romanoff stood by his side, +and paralysed his manhood. + +But as he read her letter, he felt he could do no other than remain. +Indeed he found himself anticipating the hour of her arrival, and +wondering why she wished to see him. + +He had come to London ostensibly on business connected with his probable +candidature in Eastroyd, and as he had to see many people, he had +engaged a private sitting-room in the hotel. To this room he hurried +eagerly after breakfast the following morning, and although he made +pretensions of reading the morning newspaper, scarcely a line of news +fixed itself on his memory. On every page he saw the glorious face of +this woman, and as he saw, he almost forgot what he had determined as he +left Chainley Alley. + +Precisely at ten o'clock she was shown into the room, and Dick almost +gave a gasp as he saw her. She was like no woman he had ever seen +before. If he had thought her beautiful amidst the sordid surroundings +of the warehouse in the East End of London, she seemed ten-fold more so +now, as slightly flushed with exercise, and arrayed in such a fashion +that her glorious figure was set off to perfection, she appeared before +him. She was different too. Then she was, in spite of her pleading +tones, somewhat masterful, and assertive. Now she seemed timid and +shrinking, as though she would throw herself on his protection. + +"Are you sure you are safe in coming here?" he asked awkwardly. "You +remember what you told me?" + +"You care then?" she flashed back. Then she added quickly, "Yes, I do +not think anyone here will recognise me. Besides, I had to take the +risk." + +"Why?" he questioned. + +"Because your telegram frightened me." + +"Frightened you? How?" + +"Because--oh, you will not fail me, will you? I have been building on +you--and you said you were leaving London. Surely that does not mean +that all my hopes are dashed to the ground? Tell me they are not." + +Her great dark eyes flashed dangerously into his as she spoke, while her +presence almost intoxicated him. But he mastered himself. What he had +heard the previous night came surging back to his memory. + +"If your hopes in any way depend on me, I am afraid you had better +forget them," he said. + +"No, no, I can never forget them. Did you not inspire them? When I saw +you did I not feel that you were the leader we needed? Ah no, you cannot +fail me." + +"I cannot do what you ask." + +"But why? Only the night before last you were convinced. You saw the +vision, and you had made up your mind to be faithful to it. And oh, you +could become so great, so glorious!" + +He felt the woman's magnetic power over him; but he shook his head +stubbornly. + +"But why?" she pleaded. + +"Because I have learned what your proposal really means," he replied, +steeling himself against her. "I was carried away by your pleading, but +I have since seen that by doing what you ask I should be playing into +the hands of the enemies of my country, the enemies of everything worth +living for." + +"You mean the Germans; but I hate Germany. I want to destroy all +militarism, all force. I want the world to live in peace, in prosperity, +and love." + +"I cannot argue with you," replied Dick; "but my determination is fixed. +I have learnt that Mr. John Brown is a German, and that he wants to do +in England what has been done in Russia, so that Germany may rule the +world." + +"Mr. John Brown a German!" she cried like one horror-stricken. "You +cannot mean that?" + +"Did you not know it?" + +"I? Oh no, no, no! you cannot mean it! It would be terrible!" + +She spoke with such passion that he could not doubt her, but he still +persisted in his refusal. + +"I have seen that what you dream of doing would turn Europe, the world, +into a hell. If I were to try to persuade the people of this country to +follow in the lines of Russia, I should be acting the part of a criminal +madman. Not that I could have a tithe of the influence you suggested, +but even to use what influence I have towards such a purpose would be to +sell my soul, and to curse thousands of people." + +She protested against his statement, declaring that her purposes were +only beneficent. She was shocked at the idea that Mr. John Brown was a +German, but if it were true, then it only showed how evil men would +pervert the noblest things to the basest uses. She pleaded for poor +humanity; she begged him to reconsider his position, and to remember +what he could do for the betterment of the life of the world. But +although she fascinated him by the magic of her words, and the witchery +of her presence, Dick was obdurate. What she advocated he declared meant +the destruction of law and order, and the destruction of law and order +meant the end of everything sacred and holy. + +Then she changed her ground. She was no longer a reformer, pleading for +the good of humanity, but a weak woman seeking his strength and +guidance, yet glorious in her matchless beauty. + +"If I am wrong," she pleaded, "stay with me, and teach me. I am lonely +too, so lonely in this strange land, and I do so need a friend like you, +strong, and brave, and wise. And oh, I will be such an obedient pupil! +Ah, you will not leave London, will you? Say you will not--not yet." + +Again she almost mastered him, but still he remained obdurate. + +"I must return to my work, Miss----You did not tell me your name." And +she thought she detected weakness in his tones. + +"My name is Olga Petrovic," she replied. "In my own country, when I had +a country, I was Countess Olga Petrovic, and I suppose that I have still +large estates there; but please do not call me by your cold English term +'Miss.' Let me be Olga to you, and you will be Dick to me, won't you?" + +"I--I don't understand," he stammered. + +"But you do, surely you do. Can you look into my eyes, and say you do +not? There, look at me. Yes, let me tell you I believe in the sacredness +of love, the sacredness of marriage. Now you understand, don't you? You +will stay in London, won't you, and will teach a poor, ignorant girl +wherein she is in error." + +He understood her now. Understood that she was making love to him, +asking him to marry her, but still he shook his head. "I must return to +my work," he said. + +"But not yet--tell me not yet. Forgive me if I do not understand English +ways and customs. When I love, and I never loved before, I cannot help +declaring it. Now promise me." + +A knock came to the door, and a servant came bearing cards on a tray. + +"Mr. Hugh Edgeware," "Miss Beatrice Edgeware," he read. He held the +cards in his hands for a second, then turned to the woman, "I must ask +you to excuse me," he said. "I have friends who have come to see me." + +Olga Petrovic gave him a look which he could not understand, then +without a word left the room, while he stood still like a man +bewildered. + +"Show them up," he said to the servant. + + + + +PART III.--THE THIRD TEMPTATION + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE COUNT'S CONFEDERATE + + +Count Romanoff sat alone in his room. On one side the window of his room +faced Piccadilly with its great seething tide of human traffic, from +another St. James's Park was visible. But the Count was not looking at +either; he was evidently deep in his own thoughts, and it would appear +that those thoughts were not agreeable. + +He was not a pleasant-looking man as he sat there that day. He was +carefully dressed, and had the appearance of a polished man of the +world. No stranger would have passed him by without being impressed by +his personality--a dark and sinister personality possibly, but still +striking, and distinguished. No one doubted his claim to the title of +Count, no one imagined him to be other than a great personage. But he +was not pleasant to look at. His eyes burnt with a savage glare, his +mouth, his whole expression, was cruel. It might seem as though he had +been balked in his desire, as though some cruel disappointment had made +him angry. + +More than once his hands clenched and unclenched themselves as he +muttered angrily, savagely, while again and again a laugh of vindictive +triumph passed his lips. And yet even in his laugh of triumph there was +something of doubt. He was perturbed, he was furious. + +"But he shall be mine," he said at length, "mine! and then----" + +But his tone lacked certainty; his eyes burnt with anger because he had +not been able to accomplish his designs. + +"It might be that he was especially watched over," he reflected, as +though some beneficent Providence were fighting for him. "Providence! +Providence! As though----!" + +He started to his feet and began to pace the room. His stride was angry, +his whole appearance suggested defeat--a defeat which he had determined +to transform to triumph. + +"Good! Evil!" he cried. "Yes, that is it. Good! Evil! And I have given +myself over to evil, and I have sworn that evil could be made stronger +than good! I have sworn to exemplify it, in the case of that young fool, +Dick Faversham. I thought I should have accomplished it long ago but I +have so far failed, failed!" + +He still continued to pace the room, although apparently he was +unconscious of the fact. There was a far-off look in his eyes, a look +that almost suggested despair. + +"Does it mean after all that right is stronger than wrong, that right is +more eternally established in the world than wrong? That in the sweep of +events the power of right is slowly but surely conquering and crushing +the evil, that the story of what is called evolution is the story of the +angel in man overcoming the beast?" + +Again he laughed, and the laugh had a cruel ring in it. + +"No, no; evil is triumphant. Nearly two thousand years have passed since +the Man of Nazareth was crucified, and yet for years the devil has been +triumphant. Europe has been deluged in blood, world hatreds have been +created, murder has been the order of the day, and the earth has been +soaked in blood. No, no; evil is triumphant. The Cross has been a +failure, and Him who died on it defeated!" + +He paused in his angry march around the room, and again he looked +doubtful. + +"No, no," he cried; "cruelty, lies, treason, have not triumphed. Germany +is beaten; her doctrine that might was right--a doctrine born in +hell--has been made false. After all this sword-clanging, all the +vauntings about an invincible army, materialism, devilry, have failed. +Germany is being humbled to the dust, and her militarism defeated and +disgraced." + +The thought was evidently wormwood to him, for his features worked +convulsively, his eyes were bloodshot. It might seem that the triumph of +right filled him with torture. + +Presently he shrugged his shoulders impatiently, and lifted his hands +above his head as though he would throw a burden from him. + +"But that is not my affair," he cried. "It was for me to conquer that +man, to make him my slave. I swore to do it. I had every chance, and I +thought that he, young, ambitious, and subject to all human passions, +would be an easy victim. He was no dreamer, he had none of the makings +of an ascetic, much less a saint, and yet so far he has beaten me. He +still lives what is called the clean, healthy life. He still mocks me. +It might be that he is specially guarded, that some angel of good were +constantly fighting against me, constantly defeating me." + +The thought seemed to disconcert Romanoff. A look almost like fear swept +over his features, and again something like despair came into his eyes. + +"But no, I have other weapons in my armoury yet," he reflected. "He is +no religious fanatic, no pious prig with ideals, he is still ambitious, +still craves for all the things that humanity longs for." + +A clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour of six. + +"He should soon be here," he reflected. "I told him not to waste a +second." + +At that moment there was a knock at the door, and a second later a man +entered who gave the appearance of having come from a distance. + +He was a mild, placid-looking creature whose very walk suggested that he +was constantly making an apology for his existence. A creature not of +highways, but of byways, a humble Uriah Heep sort of fellow who could +act like a whipped cur in his desire to curry favour, but who in his +hour of triumph would show his fangs, and rend his victim without mercy. + +"You are back to time, Slyme. Well, what news?" + +By this time Romanoff was the great gentleman again--haughty, +patronising, calm, and collected. + +"Of course your honour has heard that he's in? I wired the moment I +knew." + +"Yes, I knew that before I got your wire. A servant in the hotel here +told me the moment it was ticked off on the tape. Of course I expected +that. Naturally it was uncertain, as all such things are. One can +calculate on the actions of the few; but not on those of the many. Human +nature is a funny business." + +"Isn't it, your Excellency? It's a remark I've often dared to make; one +can never tell what'll happen. But he's in; he's the Member for +Eastroyd." + +"With over a thousand majority." + +"I've discovered that he's coming up to town by the midnight train from +Eastroyd." + +"Ah!" The Count's eyes flashed with interest. + +"Yes, he seemed very much delighted at his victory, and is coming up I +suppose to consult with other Members of his party." + +"Of course he's delighted with his victory. For heaven's sake refrain +from remarking on the obvious. Tell me about the election." + +"What does your honour, that is, your lordship, want to hear about? What +phase of the election, I mean?" + +"You had your instructions. Report on them." + +"Well, if I may say so," remarked Slyme apologetically, "although he has +over a thousand majority, he has very much disappointed the people." + +"Why? In what way?" + +"He isn't so much of a firebrand as he was. The people complain that he +is too mealy-mouthed." + +"Less of a people's man, do you mean?" + +"I don't say that quite. But he's more moderate. He talks like a man +trying to see all sides of a question." + +The Count reflected a few seconds, and then snapped his fingers. + +"And his private life?" the Count questioned. + +"As far as I could find out, blameless." + +"Have the wealthier classes taken up with him at all?" + +"No, not actively. But they are far less bitter towards him. They are +saying that he's an honest man. I do not say that for myself. I'm only +quoting," added the little man. + +Romanoff asked many questions on this head, which the little man +answered apologetically, as if with a desire to know his employer's +views before making direct statements. + +"There are generally a lot of scandals at a political election," went on +the Count. "I suppose that of Eastroyd was no exception?" He said this +meaningly, as though there were an understanding between them. + +Little Polonius Slyme laughed in a sniggering way. "Polonius" was the +name by which he was known among his friends, and more than once the +Count used it when addressing him. + +"I made many inquiries in that direction," he replied; "I even went so +far as to insinuate certain things," he added with a covert look towards +the Count. "I had some success, but not much." + +But the Count's face was like a mask. Polonius Slyme could tell nothing +of his thoughts. + +"I did not think your lordship would be offended?" he queried with a +cunning look in his eyes. + +"Go on." + +"I had some success, but not much." + +"What were your insinuations about? Drink, drug-taking, debt, +unfaithfulness to his class?--what?" + +"Oh, there was no possibility of doing anything on those lines, +although, as I said, there was some disappointment on the last head. But +that's nothing. I reflected that he was a young man, and a bachelor--a +good-looking bachelor." He added the last words with a suggestive +giggle. + +"I see. Well?" + +"Of course he is a great favourite with the fair sex. By dint of very +careful but persistent investigation I discovered that two ladies are +deeply in love with him." + +Romanoff waited in silence. + +"One is the daughter of a wealthy manufacturer, quite the belle of the +town among the moneyed classes. I inquired about her. There is no doubt +that she's greatly interested in him." + +"And he?" + +"He's been seen in her company." + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"Oh, nothing. She would be a good match for him, that's all. There was a +rumour that she had visited his lodgings late at night." + +"Which rumour you started?" + +"I thought it might be useful some day. As for the other woman, she's a +mill girl. A girl who could be made very useful, I should think." + +"Yes, how?" + +"She's undoubtedly very much in love with him--after her own fashion. +She possesses a kind of gipsy beauty, has boundless ambitions, is of a +jealous disposition, and would stop at nothing to gain her desires." + +"And is Faversham friendly with her?" + +"Just friendly enough for one to start a scandal in case of necessity. +And the girl, as you may say, not being overburdened with conscientious +scruples, could be made very useful." + +Romanoff reflected for some time, then he turned to Slyme again. + +"Slyme," he said, "I don't think you need go any further in that +direction. Faversham is scarcely the man to deal with in the way you +suggest. Still you can keep them in mind. One never knows what may +happen." + +Polonius Slyme was evidently puzzled. He looked cautiously, +suspiciously, at the face of the other, as if trying to understand him. + +"I have tried to do your lordship's will," he ventured. + +"Yes, and on the whole I'm satisfied with what you've done. Yes, what is +it?" + +"If your lordship would deign to trust me," he said. + +"Trust you? In what way?" + +"If you would tell me what is in your mind, I could serve you better," +he asserted, with a nervous laugh. "All the time I have been acting in +the dark. I don't understand your lordship." + +The Count smiled as though he were pleased. + +"What do you want to know?" he asked. + +"I am very bold, I know, and doubtless I am not worthy to have the +confidence of one so great and so wise as your lordship. But I have +tried to be worthy, I have worked night and day for you--not for the +wages, liberal though they are, but solely for the purpose of being +useful to you. And I could, I am sure, be more useful if I knew your +mind, if I knew exactly what you wanted. I am sure of this: if I knew +your purposes in relation to Faversham, if I knew what you wanted to do +with him, I could serve you better." + +The Count looked at Slyme steadily for some seconds. + +"I allow no man to understand my mind, my purposes," the Count answered. + +"Certainly, your lordship," assented the little man meekly; "only your +lordship doubtless sees that--that I am handicapped. I don't think I'm a +fool," he added; "I am as faithful as a dog, and as secret as the +grave." + +"You want to know more than that," replied Romanoff harshly. + +Polonius Slyme was silent. + +"You want to know who I am," continued the Count. "You have been puzzled +because I, who am known as a Russian, should interest myself in this man +Faversham, and up to now you, in spite of the fact that you've hunted +like a ferret, have found out nothing. More than that, you cannot think +why I fastened on you to help me, and, cunning little vermin that you +are, you stopped at nothing to discover it." + +"But only in your interest," assented the little man eagerly; "only +because I wanted to deserve the honour you have bestowed upon me." + +"I am disposed to be communicative," went on the Count; "disposed to +make something of a confidante of you. Of my secret mind, you, nor no +man, shall know anything, but I will let you know something." + +Polonius Slyme drew nearer his master and listened like a fox. "Yes, +your lordship," he whispered. + +"Look here, Polonius, you have just told me that you are a man of +brains: suppose that you wanted to get a strong man in your power, to +make him your slave, body and soul, what would you do? Suppose also that +you had great, but still limited power, that your knowledge was wide, +but with marked boundaries, how would you set to work?" + +"Every man has his weaknesses," replied Polonius. "I should discover +them, fasten upon them, and make my plans accordingly." + +"Yes, that's right. Now we'll suppose that Faversham is the man, what +would you regard as his weaknesses?" + +"Pride, ambition, a love, almost amounting to a passion, for power," +answered the little man quickly. "That would mean a longing for wealth, +a craving for fame." + +"And conscience?" queried the Count. + +"He has a conscience," replied the little man; "a conscience which may +be called healthily normal." + +"Just so. Now I'll tell you something. I've placed wealth in his way, +and he has rejected it for conscience sake. I've tempted him with power +and fame, almost unlimited power and fame, and although he's seen the +bait, he has not risen to it." + +Polonius was silent for some time. Evidently he was thinking deeply; +evidently, too, he saw something of what lay behind the Count's words, +for he nodded his head sagely, and into his cunning eyes came a look of +understanding. + +"Of course you do not care to tell me why you want to make him your +slave, body and soul?" he whispered. + +"No!" the Count almost snarled. "No man may know that." + +"You ask what I would do next?" + +"Yes, I ask that." + +"No man is invulnerable," said the little man, as though he were talking +to himself. "No man ever was, no man ever will be. Every man has his +price, and if one can pay it----" + +"There is no question of price," said the Count eagerly; "nothing need +stand in the way, any price can be paid." + +"I see, I see," and the little man's foxy eyes flashed. "You want to +work the man's moral downfall," he added. "You want to make him a slave +to your will--_not_ to make him a saint?" + +The Count was silent. + +"If I wanted to make such a man a slave to my will, and I had such means +as you suggest, I should find a woman to help me. A woman beautiful, +fascinating, unscrupulous. I would instruct her to be an angel of light. +I would make her be the medium whereby he could obtain all that such as +he desires, and I would make him believe that in getting her he would +find the greatest and best gift in life, a gift whereby all that was +highest and best in this life, and in the life to come, could be got. At +the same time she must be a _woman_, a woman that should appeal to his +desires, and make his pulses throb at the thought of possessing her." + +For some time they spoke eagerly together, the Count raising point after +point, which the little man was not slow to answer. + +"Polonius, did I not know otherwise, I should say you were the devil," +laughed Romanoff. + +"I know you are," replied the little man in great glee. + +"What do you mean?" and there was a kind of fear in the Russian's voice. + +"Only that your cleverness is beyond that of ordinary mankind. You have +thought of all this long before you asked me." + +"Have I? Perhaps I have; but I wanted your opinion." + +"The difficulty is to find the woman." + +"In two minutes she will be here. Go into the next room and watch, and +listen. After she has gone, you shall tell me what you think of her." + +A minute later the door opened, and Olga Petrovic entered the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +IN QUEST OF A SOUL + + +"Good evening, Countess. Thank you for coming so promptly. Be seated, +won't you?" + +Olga Petrovic looked at the Count eagerly, and accepted the chair he +indicated. She looked older than when she left Dick Faversham after the +interview I have described, and there were indications on her face that +she had suffered anxious thoughts, and perhaps keen disappointment. But +she was a strikingly beautiful woman still. Tall, magnificently +proportioned; and almost regal in her carriage. She was fast approaching +thirty, but to a casual observer she appeared only two- or +three-and-twenty. She had the air of a grand lady, too, proud and +haughty, but a woman still. A woman in a million, somewhat captivating, +seductive; a woman to turn the head of any ordinary man, and make him +her slave. One felt instinctively that she could play on a man's heart +and senses as a skilful musician plays on an instrument. + +But not a good woman. She had a world of experience in her eyes. She +suggested mystery, mystery which would appear to the unwary as Romance. +Because of this she could impress youth and inexperience by her +loveliness, she could appear as an angel of light. + +She was magnificently dressed, too. Every detail of her glorious figure +was set off to the full by her _costumier_, and her attire spoke of +wealth, even while this fact was not ostentatious or even intended. In +short, her _costumier_ was an artist who knew her business. + +Evidently, if ever she had been in danger by appearing in public, that +danger was over. There was no suggestion of fear or apprehension in her +demeanour. + +"Why do you wish to see me?" she asked abruptly. + +"I am quite aware," said Romanoff, without taking any apparent notice of +her question, "that I took a liberty in asking you to come here. I +should have asked you when it would have been convenient for you to +graciously receive me at your flat. For this I must crave your pardon." + +There was something mocking in his voice, a subtle insinuation of power +which the woman was not slow to see. + +"You asked me to come here because you wanted me, and because you knew I +should come," she replied. "You knew, too, that I could not afford to +disobey you." + +"We will let that drop," replied the Count suavely. "I count myself +honoured by your visit. How could it be otherwise?" and he cast an +admiring glance towards her. + +The woman watched him closely. It seemed as though, in spite of their +acquaintance, she did not understand him. + +"You see," went on Romanoff, "our Bolshevism is a thing of the past. The +proletariat of England will have none of it. A few malcontents may have +a hankering after it; but as a class the people of England see through +it. They see what it has done for Russia, and they know that under a +Bolshevist régime all liberty, all safety, all prosperity would be gone +for ever." + +The woman nodded. + +"Besides," went on the Count, "you are in a far more becoming position +as the Countess Petrovic, with estates in Russia and elsewhere, than as +Olga, the high priestess of a wild and irresponsible set of fanatics." + +"You have changed your views about those same fanatics," responded the +woman rather sullenly. + +"Have I? Who knows?" was the Count's smiling and enigmatical reply. "But +I did think they might have served my purpose." + +"What purpose?" + +"Dear lady, even to you I cannot disclose that. Besides, what does it +matter?" + +"Because I would like to know. Because--because----" There she broke off +suddenly. + +"Because through it the man Faversham crossed your path, eh?" and the +smile did not leave his face. + +"You knew that Bolshevism would fail in England," cried the woman. "You +knew that the whole genius of the race was against it. Why then did you +try to drag--Faversham into it? Why did you tell me to dazzle him with +its possibilities, to get him involved in it to such a degree that he +would be compromised?" + +"Ah, why?" + +"But he would have none of it," retorted the woman. "He saw through it +all, saw that it was an impossible dream, because in reality it was, and +is, a wild delusion and a nightmare." + +"Perhaps that was your fault," replied Romanoff. "Perhaps your powers of +fascination were not as great as I thought. Anyhow----" + +"Have you seen him lately?" she interrupted. "You know where he is? What +he is doing?" + +Her voice vibrated with eagerness; she looked towards Romanoff with a +flash of pleading in her great lustrous eyes. + +"Don't you read the newspapers?" + +"Not the English. Why should I? What is there in them for me? Of course +I get the Polish and the Russian news." + +"If you read the English newspapers you would have no need to ask where +he is," replied Romanoff. + +"Why, has he become famous?" + +As if in answer to her question there was a knock at the door, and a +servant entered bringing three London evening papers. + +"There," said the Count, pointing to some bold headlines--"there is the +answer to your question." + +"Great Labour Victory in Eastroyd," she read. "Triumphant Return of Mr. +Richard Faversham." + +Her eyes were riveted on the paper, and almost unheeding the Count's +presence she read an article devoted to the election. Especially was her +attention drawn to the Career of the Successful Candidate. + +"Although Mr. Faversham, because of his deep sympathy with the aims of +the working classes, has been returned to Parliament by them," she read, +"he is not a typical Labour Member. As the son of a scholar, and the +product of one of our best public schools, he has naturally been +associated with a class different from that which has just given him its +confidence. Years ago he was regarded as the heir of one of our great +commercial magnates, and for some time was in possession of a great +country house. His association with the middle classes, however, has not +lessened his passionate interest in the welfare of the poor, and +although he has of late become less advanced in his views, there can be +no doubt that he will be a strong tower to the party with which he has +identified himself." + +"He will be in London to-morrow," remarked Romanoff, when presently the +woman lifted her head. + +"In London? To-morrow!" + +The Count noted the eagerness with which she spoke. + +"Yes," he said; "to-morrow." + +"And he will be a great man?" + +"Not necessarily so," answered Romanoff. "He will be a Labour Member at +four hundred pounds a year. He will have to be obedient to the orders of +his party." + +"He never will! He is not a man of that sort!" + +Her voice was almost passionate. Evidently her interest in him was deep. + +"Won't he? We shall see. But he will find it hard to live in London on +four hundred pounds a year. London is not a cheap city in these days. +You see he has all the instincts of his class." + +"Will he be one of the working men? Will he live as they live? Will he +be of their order?" asked Olga. + +"You seem greatly interested, Countess." + +"Naturally. I--I----" + +"Yes, I remember your last interview." + +The woman's eyes flashed with anger. She suggested the "woman scorned." + +"You made love to him, didn't you, Countess? And he--he politely +declined your advances?" Romanoff laughed as he spoke. + +The woman started to her feet. "Did you get me here to taunt me with +that?" she cried. "Besides, did I not obey your bidding? Was it not at +your command that I----" + +"Yes, but not against your will, Countess. You had what our French +neighbours call the _grand passion_ for Faversham, eh?" + +"Why do you taunt me with that?" + +"Because the game is not played out. I do not break my promise, and I +promised you that he should be yours--yours. Well, the time has come +when my promise may be fulfilled." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Countess, are you still in love with Faversham?" + +"I don't know. Sometimes I think I hate him. Tell me, why have you +brought me here to-day?" + +"To give you your opportunity. To tell you how, if you still love +Faversham, you can win him; and how, if you hate him, you can have your +revenge. Surely, Olga Petrovic, you are not the kind of woman who sits +down meekly to a snub. To offer your love to a man, and then accept a +cold rebuff. I thought I knew you better." + +Deeply as his words wounded her, she did not forget her caution. + +"What interest have you in him?" she asked. "I have never been able to +understand you." + +"No, I am not easily understood, and I do not make my motives public +property. But Faversham will in future live in London. He, although he +is a Labour Member, will have but little sympathy, little in common with +his confrères. He will be lonely; he will long for the society of women, +especially for those who are educated, fascinating, beautiful. Olga, are +you the woman to be beaten? Listen, he with his tastes, will need money. +You can give it to him. He will be lonely; he will need companionship. +You have a beautiful flat in Mayfair, and you can be as fascinating as +an angel." + +She listened to every word he said, but her mind might be far away. + +"Why do I care for him?" she cried passionately. "What is he to me? A +middle-class Englishman, with an Englishman's tastes and desires, an +Englishman with the morality of his class. Just a plain, stupid, +uninteresting bourgeois, a specimen of the self-satisfied Puritan." + +"You found him vastly interesting though." + +"Yes, but why should I? Why do I care what becomes of him? He is nothing +to me." + +"He can be something to you though, Countess; you are a beautiful, +fascinating woman. You can appeal to every man's weaknesses, no matter +what they are. With time and opportunity no man can resist you. Say the +word, and I will give you these opportunities." + +"You mean----?" + +"That I want him to be yours. You want him, and I owe you at least +this." + +"You have some other purpose." + +"And if I have, what then? He will be yours, body and soul. Tell me, are +you still in love with him?" + +The woman walked to the window, and looked out on the tide of human +traffic in Piccadilly. For some time she seemed to be lost in thought, +then she burst out passionately. + +"I am angry whenever I think of him. He was as cold as an icicle; I was +like a woman pleading with a stone. Something seemed to stand between +us--something--I don't know what." + +"What, you?" and there was a taunt in the Count's voice. "You, Olga +Petrovic, said to be the most beautiful, the most dangerous woman in +Europe, you whom no man has been able to resist, but who have fascinated +them as serpents fascinate birds? Are you going to be beaten by this +middle-class Englishman, this Labour Member of Parliament with £400 a +year? Will you have him boast that Countess Olga Petrovic threw herself +at him, and that he declined her without thanks?" + +"Has he boasted that?" she cried hoarsely. + +"What do you think?" laughed the Count. "Is he not that kind of man?" + +"No," the word came from her involuntarily. "Only----" + +"Only he is much in favour with the ladies at Eastroyd. I have just been +told that." + +"I hate him!" she said, and her voice was hoarse. + +"I wonder?" queried the Count mockingly. + +"Do you know, have you found out who his visitors were that day, that +morning when I saw him last?" + +"An old man and a chit of a girl." + +"Yes, I know that; I saw them as I left the room. The man might have +been a poet, an artist, and the girl was an unformed, commonplace miss. +But he did not regard them as commonplace. His eyes burnt with a new +light as he read their cards. I saw it. I believe I should have had him +but for that. I had conquered him; he was ready to fall at my feet; but +when he read their names, I knew I had lost. Who were they?" + +"I have not discovered. They could have been only casual acquaintances. +I have had him watched ever since he left London that day, and he has +never seen them since. Of course he may be in love with her. It may be +that he prefers an English wayside flower to such a tropical plant as +yourself. That he would rather have youth and innocence than a woman +twenty-eight years of age, who--who has had a past." + +"He never shall! Never!" + +Her eyes flashed dangerously. She had evidently decided on her course. + +"You may have to play a bold, daring game," insinuated the Count. + +"I will play any game. I'll not be beaten." + +"You love him still--you who never loved any man for more than a month! +And Faversham----" + +"You must find out where he lives, you must let me know." + +"And then?" + +"You may leave everything to me." + +"Mind, Olga, you may have to appear an Angel of Light in order to win +him. In fact I think that will have to be your plan. He has all the +old-fashioned morality of the middle-classes." + +"We shall see!" cried the woman triumphantly. + +"I may trust you then?" + +"Tell me why you wish this? Suppose I--I love him really, suppose I am +willing to become his slave? Suppose I want to settle down to--to quiet +domestic happiness, to loving motherhood? Suppose I want to be good--and +to pray?" + +The Count's eyes burnt red with anger as she spoke, while his features +were contorted as if with pain. + +"Stop that," he almost snarled. "I know you, Olga Petrovic, I know too +much about you. Besides, the Bolshevists have taken your estates, +and--but why argue? You love luxury, don't you? Love beautiful dresses, +love your life of ease, love what money can buy, money that you can't +get without me?" + +"You must tell me all I need to know," she answered with sullen +submissiveness. + +"Yes." + +"Then I will go." + +"And you will not fail?" + +"No, I will not fail." + +She left the room without another word, while Romanoff returned to his +chair, and sat for some time immovable. His face was like a mask. His +deep impenetrable eyes were fixed on vacancy. + +"Yes, Polonius, you can come in. I can see that you are almost tired of +watching me. But my face tells you nothing, my little man." + +Polonius Slyme slinked into the room like a whipped cur. + +"Look here, little man," went on the Count, "I pay you to watch others, +not me. The moment you begin to spy on me, that moment you cease to be +my servant. Do you understand?" + +"But, indeed, your lordship----" + +"Do not try to deny. I know everything. I forgive you for this once; but +never again. Obey me blindly, unquestioningly, and all will be well with +you, but try to spy upon me, to discover anything about me, and the lost +souls in hell may pity you. Ah, I see yow understand." + +"Forgive me, my lord. I will obey you like a slave." + +"What do you think of her?" + +"She is magnificent, glorious! She can turn any man's brain. She is a +Circe, a Sybil, a Venus--no man with blood in his veins can resist her!" + +"That is your opinion, eh?" + +"I never saw such a creature before. And--and she has no conscience!" + +The Count laughed. "Now, Slyme, I have some more work for you." + +"To watch her!" he cried eagerly, rubbing his hands. + +"No, not yet. That may be necessary some time, but not now. I have other +work for you." + +"Yes, my lord." + +"To-morrow morning you will go to Surrey. I will give you all +particulars about the trains and the stations presently. You will go to +a place known as Wendover Park. Near one of the lodge gates of this +house is a pretty cottage. It was occupied, and probably still is, by a +man called Hugh Stanmore and his granddaughter. You must find out +whether he is still there, and learn all you can about them. Report all +to me. You understand?" + +"Perfectly, your Highness," replied Polonius, whose terminology in +relation to the Count was uncertain. + +"You will report to me." + +"Yes, certainly, my lord, everything." + +"Very well, now go." + +The night came on, and the room grew dark, but Count Romanoff did not +switch on the light. He sat alone in the dark thinking, thinking. + +"I have him now," he muttered presently. "Master, you shall have Richard +Faversham's soul." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +VOICES IN THE NIGHT + + +Dick Faversham was on his way to London. He was going there as the +Member for Eastroyd, and he was somewhat excited. He was excited for +several reasons. Naturally he was elated at being a Member of +Parliament, and he looked forward with pleasant anticipation to his +political life in the Metropolis, and to his experiences in the House of +Commons. But that was not all. This was his first visit to London since +he had experienced those strange happenings which we described some time +ago. As the train rushed on through the night he became oblivious to the +presence of his fellow-passengers in the recollection of the events +which were a mystery to him then, even as they were a mystery now. + +Especially did his mind revert to that wonderful experience in Staple +Inn. He had heard a voice although he saw nothing, and that voice had +meant a great deal to him. More than once he had wondered if he had done +right in being silent about what had taken place afterwards. Ought he +not to have gone to the police and told them what he had heard? But he +had not been able to make up his mind to do this. Somehow everything had +been associated with what had come to him in Staple Inn, and of that he +could not speak. It would be sacrilege to do so. Besides, it might not +have been necessary. From the fact that the traitors had left the house +so suddenly, he concluded that the police were cognizant of their +existence. + +But his eyes had been opened. That was why, when Olga Petrovic visited +him, he was unresponsive. And yet he was not sure. + +Should he ever see this beautiful woman again, he wondered? + +He was afraid of her even while he longed to see her. Even then he +recalled the tones of her voice, and the look in her eyes as she had +pleaded with him. He had felt himself yielding to her pleading, all the +barriers of his being seemed to be breaking down before the power of her +glorious womanhood. + +Then there was the coming of Hugh Stanmore and his granddaughter. They +were the last persons he had expected to see, and yet the sight of their +names seemed to break the spell which Olga Petrovic had cast over him. + +There seemed no reason why they should come, and their interview, +considering the circumstances under which he had seen them last was of a +very prosy nature. Hugh Stanmore had happened to meet with a man who was +a Government official, and who had told him of one Richard Faversham who +was one of a deputation to his department, and who had pleaded +passionately for certain things which the working-classes desired. This +led to his learning the name of his hotel, and to the visit which had +followed. + +Hugh Stanmore had scarcely referred to his life at Wendover, and seemed +to be in ignorance of Tony Riggleton's whereabouts. Dick wondered at +this after the interview, and reproached himself with not asking many +questions. At the time, however, he seemed to be indifferent. + +To Beatrice he spoke only a few words. She appeared to be shy and +diffident. If the truth must be told, she seemed ill at ease, and not at +all pleased that her grandfather had brought her there. She was far less +a child than when he had seen her at Wendover, and he had reflected that +she was neither so interesting nor so good-looking as she had been two +or three years before. Still, he was glad to see her, and he remembered +the pleasant smile she had given him when she had left the room. His +conversation with Hugh Stanmore had been almost entirely about his life +at Eastroyd, and the conditions which obtained there. + +He realised, too, that a subtle change had come over his opinions on +his return to Eastroyd. Not that he had less interest in the class whose +cause he had espoused; but he knew that he had been led to take larger +views. + +That was why some discontent had been felt among his most ardent +supporters. Even those who had worked hardest for him during the +election felt it incumbent upon them to raise a note of warning as they +accompanied him to the station that night. + +"It's all very well, Dick, lad," said one advanced Socialist, "but we +mun make a bold front. I don't hold with Bolshevism, or owt of that +sort; but the Capitalist is the enemy of the working man, and we mun put +those money-bags in their right place." + +It was a cold, dark, wintry morning when he arrived in London. The +station and the streets were almost empty, the vehicles were few, and he +felt cold and lonely. He had made no arrangements for his stay in the +Metropolis, but he felt sure that the manager of the hotel where he had +previously made his home would find him temporary accommodation. As it +was impossible to get a taxi, he left his luggage at the station, and +determined to walk. He knew the way well, and as the distance was only +about a mile, he started with comparative cheerfulness. + +As I have said, the streets were well-nigh deserted, and not a single +soul passed him as he made his way up Euston Road. Nevertheless he had +the feeling that he was being followed. More than once he looked around, +but could see no one. Several times, too, he felt sure he heard +following footsteps, but when he stopped there was silence. + +When he turned at St. Pancras Church he looked up and down the street, +but nothing suspicious met his gaze. A milkman's cart, a drayman's +waggon, and that was all. The street lamps threw a sickly light on the +cold wet road, and the houses were dark. London looked asleep. + +For some time after he had passed St. Pancras Church he heard nothing; +but, as he neared Woburn Square, he again heard footsteps. It seemed to +him, too, that he was surrounded by dark influences. Something sinister +and evil seemed to be surrounding him. He was not afraid, and his +nerves were steady, but his brain was filled with strange fancies. + +Almost unconsciously his mind reverted to Count Romanoff. He had seen +him only once since he had left Wendover Park, and the man was still an +enigma to him. He had a thousand times reflected on the strange +happening in the library there, but although he felt he had been saved +from something terrible, he had not definitely associated the Count with +anything supernatural. For Dick was not cast in a superstitious mould. + +The footsteps drew nearer, and again he looked around. Was it a fact, or +was it fancy that he saw a dark form which hurriedly passed from his +sight? + +He was aware a few seconds later that he was walking more rapidly, and +that something like fear was in his heart. + +"Listen." + +He heard the word plainly, and stopped. All was silent here. He saw that +he was in one of the several squares which exist in the neighbourhood, +but he was not sure which. He did not think it was Woburn Square, but it +might be Taviton Square. He was not intimately acquainted with that part +of London. + +"Yes, what is it? Who are you?" + +He spoke aloud, spoke almost unconsciously, but there were no answering +words. He was the only person there. He moved to a lamp and looked at +his watch; he had a vague idea that he wanted to know the time. The +watch pointed to half-past one. Evidently he had forgotten to wind it, +for he knew his train was due to arrive something after three, and that +it was late. + +He was about to start again when he thought he heard the words: + +"Go to Wendover." + +But there was nothing distinct. No voice reached him, and no one was in +sight. At that moment the wind wailed across the open space, and moaned +as it passed through the leafless branches of the trees. The wind seemed +to formulate the same words. + +"Go to Wendover." + +"Of course it's all fancy," he reflected. "I expect my nerves are +playing me tricks. I never knew I had any nerves; but I've been through +an exciting time. I've been making speeches, meeting committees, and +replying to deputations for the last fortnight, and I expect I'm about +done up. After all, fighting an election is no make-believe." + +A shiver passed through him. To say the least of it, even although it +might be pure fancy, there was something uncanny about it all, and he +could not help reflecting on his past experience. + +He did not move, but stood like one spellbound, listening to the wind as +it soughed its way through the shrubs and trees which grew in the centre +of the Square. + +"Who are you?" he asked again. "What do you want?" + +He was sure there was a voice this time. It rose above the wailing wind, +but he could see no one. + +"You are in danger--great danger!" + +"What danger? Who are you?" + +"'Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation.'" + +He recognised the words. They were spoken by One Whose Name he always +held in reverence, spoken to His disciples in a far back age, before the +knowledge of science and critical investigation had emerged from its +swaddling clothes. But they were spoken in a woman's voice, spoken in +almost wailing accents. + +His whole being was filled with a great awe. The voice, the words coming +to him, at such a time and in such a way, filled him with a great +wonder, solemnised him to the centre of his being. + +"If it were not a woman's voice, I might think it was He Himself who +spoke," he said in a hoarse whisper. + +Then he thought of the footsteps, thought of the ominous, sinister +influences which had surrounded him a few minutes before. + +"Lord, Lord Jesus Christ, help me!" + +He said the words involuntarily. They had passed his lips before he knew +he had spoken. + +Was there any answer to his prayer? He only knew that he did not feel +any fear, that a great peace came into his heart. He felt as he had +never felt before, that God was a great reality. Perhaps that was why he +was no longer lonely. There in the heart of the greatest city of the +world, there in the darkness of a winter night, he was filled with a +kind of consciousness that God was, that God cared, that he was not an +orphan for whom no one cared, but a child of the Universal Father. + +He looked up and saw the clouds swept across the sky. Here and there was +a break through which a star shone. Eyes of heaven, they seemed to him. +Yes, the spirit world was very near to him. Perhaps, perhaps--who +knew?--there were messengers of the Unseen all around him. + + "Earth is crammed with heaven, + And every common bush afire with God." + +Where had he heard those words? Ah yes, was it not Elizabeth Barrett +Browning who wrote them, wrote them while in Italy, where she sojourned +with her husband, the greatest poet of his time? + +Again he looked around him, but nothing could be seen by his natural +eyes. The houses, the trees, the gardens all lay wrapped in the gloom of +the cold and darkness of that wintry morning, there in the heart of +London. All the same it seemed that something had been born within him, +something which he could not define, and again he seemed to hear, as he +had heard years before, the glorious words which turned to naught the +ribald and trifling scepticism of men: + +"The Eternal God is thy Refuge, and underneath are the Everlasting +Arms." + +The sublimity of the message appealed to him. Surely no greater words +were ever spoken. They peopled the dark wintry heavens with angels, they +made everything possible. + +"Lord, tell me what to do." + +The prayer came naturally to his lips. It seemed to him that there was +nothing else for him to say. But there were no answering words. All was +silent, save for the soughing of the wind across the square. And yet I +am wrong. He did hear words; they might be born of his own +consciousness, and have no objective reality whatever, but again the +wind seemed to speak to him. + +"Go to Wendover." + +Why should he go to Wendover? He had no right to be there, and from the +rumours that he had heard, Tony Riggleton had turned the old house into +a scene of drunken and sensual orgies. But in answer to his question the +wailing wind seemed to reiterate, as if in a kind of dreary monotony, +the same words, "Go to Wendover, go to Wendover." + +Then suddenly everything became mundane. + +"Good-night, or good morning rather." + +It was a policeman who spoke, and who looked rather suspiciously at the +lonely looking young man. + +"Good morning," replied Dick; "it's not long to daylight is it?" + +"Another hour or two yet. Lost your way?" + +"I've come from King's Cross. I travelled by the midnight train, and +there were no conveyances to be got." + +"Ah, petrol's a bit scarce yet; but I hear we shall have more soon. +Anywhere you want to get?" + +"Yes, I'm going to Jones' Hotel." + +"That's close to the British Museum; and only a few minutes away. I +suppose your room's booked all right. The hotels are very crowded in +London just now." + +"That'll be all right. Good morning, and thank you!" + +"That's all right, sir. Go to the end of the square, turn to the right, +then take the second street to the left and you are there." + +A few minutes later Dick was at the hotel. The night porter knew him +well, and showed him into the smoke-room, where there was a good fire, +and comfortable arm-chairs. + +"You'll be all right here till breakfast, sir, won't you? After that you +can see the manager." + +Five minutes later Dick was asleep. + +A few hours later he met some of his political confrères, two of whom +begged him to lodge with them. + +It was not much of a place they assured him, but the best their money +would run to. "Four hundred a year's very little in London, and that +you'll find out before long," one of them assured him. + +"Every penny has to be looked after, and by living two or three together +we can do things cheaper." + +After seeing their lodgings, however, Dick determined to look around for +himself. He did not relish the idea of sharing apartments with others. +He wanted privacy, and he felt, although, like himself, these men were +"Labour Members," that he had little in common with them. + +"I thought of trying to get a small, cheap flat," he said. + +"Not to be thought of with our pay," was the laughing response. "Of +course you being a bachelor may have saved up a bit, or it may be that +you think you'll be able to make a few pounds by journalism." + +"Some do it, don't they?" he asked. + +"They all want to do it, that's why there's so little chance. But I hear +you are a bit of a swell, been to a public school and all that kind of +thing, so you may have friends at court. Done anything that way?" + +Dick shook his head. "Never," he replied; "but no one knows what he can +do till he tries." + +After considerable difficulty Dick happened upon a service flat which, +although it cost more than he had calculated upon, was so convenient, +and appealed to him so strongly, that he took it there and then. + +Indeed he felt a pleasant sense of proprietorship, as he sat alone in +his new home that night. The room was very small, but it was cosy. A +cheerful fire burnt in the grate, and the reading-lamp threw a grateful +light upon the paper he held in his hand. + +"I must get a writing-desk and some book-cases, and I shall be as right +as rain," he reflected. "This is princely as a sitting-room, and +although the bedroom is only a box, it's quite big enough for me." + +He closed his eyes with lazy contentment, and then began to dream of his +future. Yes, ambition was still strong within him, and the longing to +make a material, yes, an international, reputation was never so +insistent as now. He wondered if he could do it, wondered whether being +a Labour Member would ever lead to anything. + +"A voting machine at four hundred a year." + +He started up as though something had strung him. He remembered who had +said those words to him, remembered how they had wounded him at the time +they were spoken. Was that all he was after his hopes and dreams? He had +been a big man at Eastroyd. People had stopped in the streets to point +him out; but in London he was nobody. + +"A voting machine at four hundred a year!" + +Yes, but he would be more. He had proved that he had brains, and that he +could appeal to the multitude. He had his feet on the ladder now, +and---- + +His mind suddenly switched off. He was no longer in his newly acquired +flat, he was walking from King's Cross to Jones' Hotel, he was passing +through a lonely square. + +"Go to Wendover." + +How the words haunted him. Every time the wind blew he had heard them, +and---- + +He started to his feet. "Well, why not? I have nothing to do to-morrow, +and I can get there in a couple of hours." + +The next morning he eagerly made his way to Victoria Station. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +DICK HEARS STRANGE NEWS + + +"Good mornin', sir." + +The porter touched his cap and looked at Dick curiously. + +"Good morning, Wheelright. You are here still?" + +"Yes, sir. They took the other chap, and left no one in his place, so to +speak. So me and the stationmaster have had to do everything. I was sort +of superannuated, so to speak, when you was 'ere, so I had to take on my +old job when Ritter went. However, I'd 'ear that he'll soon be back." + +"Yes, the boys are coming home now." + +"And a good job, too. Not but what me and the stationmaster have carried +on, so to speak, and I'm as good a man as ever I was." + +Dick remembered old Wheelright well. He did odd jobs at the station +during his short stay at Wendover Park, and was known among the people +in the neighbourhood as "Old So-to-speak." He was also noted as an +inveterate gossip. + +"Comin' down to live 'ere again, so to speak?" he queried, looking at +Dick curiously. + +"No," replied Dick. "Just paying a short visit. I shall be returning by +the 4.20 at the latest." + +Wheelright shuffled on at Dick's side. He was much tempted to ask him +further questions, but seemed afraid. + +"You don't know where--where Squire Riggleton is, I suppose, sir? + +"Why do you ask that?" + +"I was wondering, that's all. There's been a good deal of talk about +him, so to speak. Some say he was took for the army just the same as if +he hadn't sixpence. I have heard he was took prisoner by the Germans, +too. But some people _will_ talk. Have you heard 'bout his being killed, +sir?" + +"No, I never heard that." + +"Ah." He looked at Dick questioningly, and then ventured further. "He +didn't do hisself much credit as a squire," he added. + +"Indeed." + +"No, there was nice carryings on, so I've heard. But then some people +will talk. However, there's no doubt that Mrs. Lawson, who had her two +daughters as servants there in your day, took them both away. It was no +place for respectable Christians to live, she said." + +Dick made no reply. He had just come by train, and was the only +passenger who alighted. Old Wheelright immediately recognised him. He +did not feel altogether at ease in listening to him while he discussed +his cousin, but was so interested that he let him go on talking. The +truth was that Dick did not know why he was there, except that he had +obeyed the command he had heard when walking from King's Cross. As he +stood there that day he was not sure whether he had heard a voice or +whether it was only an impression. But the words haunted him, and he +felt he could do no other than obey. Now he was here, however, he did +not know where to go, or what to do. He felt sensitive about going to +the house which he had thought was his, and asking for admission. The +action would call up too many painful memories. And yet he did not like +going back without once again seeing the home that had meant so much to +him. + +"You know that people have talked a lot about _you_, sir?" + +"I dare say." + +"And everybody was sorry when you left. It was all so funny. Young +Riggleton he came to the Hare and Hounds, and told the landlord all +about it." + +"Indeed." + +"Yes. I did hear that the London lawyers called him over the coals for +talking so much, so to speak. But some people will talk. However, as I'd +say, 'twasn't the lawyer's business. If Riggleton liked to talk, that's +his business. Still I s'pose he had a drop of drink in him, or p'r'aps +he mightn't a' done it. He told the landlord that he'd offered you a +good job if you'd stay, but as the landlord said, 'How could you expect +a gentleman like Mr. Faversham to stay as a servant where he'd been +master?' I suppose he did make the offer, sir?" + +"Is the same housekeeper at Wendover?" asked Dick, not noticing +Wheelright's questions. + +"Oh yes, bless you, sir, yes. I've been told she gave notice to leave +like the other servants; but Riggleton went away instead. He said he +couldn't stand living in a cemetery. That's what he called Wendover, +sir. He came back a few times, but only for a day or two. From what I +hear he hasn't showed his face there for years. All the same, it's kept +in good repair. I suppose the London lawyer do see to that." + +The old man went on retailing the gossip of the neighbourhood, but +beyond what I have recorded he said little that interested Dick. After +all, why should he care about stories concerning Anthony Riggleton, or +pay attention to the scandalous tales which had been afloat? He had no +doubt but that Mr. Bidlake would have given him all information about +his cousin, if he had called and asked him; but he had not gone. + +He made his way along the country lanes, scarcely seeing a single soul. +He was angry with himself for coming, and yet he knew that he had not +been able to help himself. He was there because he had been drawn there +by an irresistible impulse, or because he was under the power of +something, or someone whom he dared not disobey. + +The day was dark and cloudy, and the air was dank and cold. The trees +were leafless, not a flower appeared, and the whole countryside, which +had once appeared to him so glorious, now seemed grim and depressing. + +"Of course, I'm a fool," he muttered savagely, but still he trudged +along until he came to the lodge gates. How proud he had been when he +had first seen them! How his heart had thrilled at the thought that all +he saw was his own, his very own! But now he had no right there. He +might have been the veriest stranger. + +He had carefully avoided the entrance near which old Hugh Stanmore +lived. He did not want the old man to know of his visit. + +He was altogether unnoticed by the people who lived in the lodge, and a +few seconds later was hurrying up the drive. Yes, in spite of the +winter, in spite of the leafless trees, the place was very beautiful. +The noble avenue under which he was walking was very imposing, the +rhododendron, and a dozen other kinds of shrubs relieved the wintry +aspect. Besides, the woods were so restful, the fine park lands were the +finest he had ever seen. + +And he had thought they were all his. He for a short time had been +master of everything! + +Suddenly the house burst on his view, and with a cry, almost like a cry +of pain, he stood still, and looked long and yearningly. No wonder he +had loved it. It was all a country home should be. + +And it might have been his! If he had obeyed Romanoff; but no; even then +he felt thankful that he had not yielded to the man who tempted him. + +For a moment he thought of turning back. It would be too painful to go +and ask for permission to go in. But he did not turn back. As if urged +on by some unseen power he made his way towards the entrance. + +He had an eerie feeling in his heart as he approached the steps. He +called to mind his first visit there, when he had asked the lawyer if he +saw anything. For a moment he fancied he saw the outline of a shadowy +form as he saw it then. But there was nothing. The grey stone walls, +half hidden by ivy, stood before him as they stood then, but that +wondrous face, with pitiful pleading eyes, was not to be seen. + +He felt half disappointed at this. He could understand nothing, but he +had a feeling that it was the form of someone who loved him, someone +sent to protect him. + +At first he had fought the idea. He had told himself that he was too +matter-of-fact, that he had too much common sense to think of an optical +illusion as something supernatural; but as event after event took place +he could not help being possessed by the thought that he was under the +guardianship of something, someone who watched over him, helped him. He +never spoke about it to anyone; it was too sacred for discussion. + +But there was nothing. He heard no voice, saw no form, and a feeling +like disappointment crept into his heart. Dick Faversham was not a +morbid fellow, and he had a feeling of dislike for anything like +occultism. As for spiritualism, in the ordinary sense of the word, it +made no appeal to him. But this was different. Somehow he had a kind of +consciousness that the spirit world was all around him, and that the +Almighty Beneficence used the inhabitants of that spirit world to help +His children. + +No, there was nothing. His visit had been purposeless and vain, and he +would find his way back to the station. Then suddenly the door opened, +and the old housekeeper appeared. + +"It is, it _is_ Mr. Faversham!" + +But he did not speak. A weight seemed on his lips. + +"Come in, sir, come in." + +Before he realised what had taken place he stood in the entrance hall, +and the door closed behind him. + +"Are you come for good?" + +The housekeeper's voice was tremulous with excitement, and her eyes were +eagerly fastened on his face. + +Dick shook his head. "No, I'm only here for a few minutes." + +"But he's dead." + +"Who's dead?" + +"That man. The man Riggleton. Haven't you heard about it?" + +"No, I've not heard." + +"But there were rumours, and I thought you'd come to tell me they were +true. Oh, I am sorry, so sorry. I should love to have you here as master +again. It was such a joy to serve you. And that man, he nearly drove me +mad. He brought bad people here. He filled the house with a lot of low +men and women. And there were such goings on. I stood it as long as I +could, and then I told him I must leave the house at once. So did +several of the servants. He begged me to stop, he offered to double my +wages, but I told him I must go, that I was a respectable woman, and had +served only gentry who knew how to behave themselves. Then he said he +would leave himself, and he persuaded me to stay on. Didn't you hear, +sir?" + +"No, I did not hear. I went away to the North of England." + +"Oh, there were such stories. I suppose he threw away a fortune in +London." + +"Is he there now?" asked Dick. + +"I don't know. I asked Mr. Bidlake, but he would tell me nothing. The +last I heard was that he was forced into the army, and was killed." + +"How long was that ago?" + +"Several months now." + +"And you've heard nothing since?" + +"No, sir; nothing." + +"Well, I will go now." + +"But you'll stay for lunch? I'm not stinted in any way, and Mr. Bidlake +sends me a liberal allowance for the expenses of the house. I can easily +manage lunch, sir, and it would be such a joy to me." + +"You are very kind, and I appreciate it very much; but I really +couldn't--after what took place. I'll go to the Hare and Hounds and have +some bread and cheese." + +"Couldn't you, sir? I'm so sorry, and it's a long way to Lord +Huntingford's." + +"Yes, of course, that's out of the question." + +"But you must have lunch somewhere, and you couldn't go to the Hare and +Hounds." + +"Oh yes, I could. I dare say Blacketter would give me some bread and +cheese. That will be all I shall need." + +The housekeeper began to rub her eyes. "It's just awful," she sobbed. +"To think that you who were master here, and whom we all liked so much, +should have to go to a place like that. But I know. Mr. Stanmore is at +home; he'll be glad to welcome you there." + +"Mr. Stanmore is at home, is he?" + +"Yes, sir. He called here yesterday, and Miss Beatrice is at home too. +They were both here. Mr. Stanmore brought Sir George Weston over to see +the house." + +"Sir George Weston?" and Dick felt a strange sinking at his heart as he +heard the words. "I don't seem to remember the name." + +"He's from the west, sir, from Devonshire, I think. It has been said +that he came to see Miss Beatrice," and the housekeeper smiled +significantly. + +"You mean----" + +"I don't know anything, sir; it may be only servants' gossip. He's said +to be a very rich man, and has been serving in Egypt. Some say that he +came to discuss something about Egypt with Mr. Stanmore; but it was +noticed that he was very attentive to Miss Beatrice." + +"He's been staying at the cottage, then?" + +"For nearly a week, sir." + +"Is he there now?" + +"I don't know, sir. All I know is that he was here with them yesterday. +Mr. Stanmore brought a letter from Mr. Bidlake authorising me to show +them over the house." + +"Is Sir George a young man? You said he was in the army, didn't you?" +Dick could not understand why his heart was so heavy. + +"About thirty, I should think, sir. Yes, I believe he had a high command +in our Egyptian army. He's a great scholar too, and Mr. Stanmore said +that this house was the finest specimen of an Elizabethan house that he +knew of. A very pleasant gentleman too. It's not my business, but he'd +be a good match for Miss Beatrice, wouldn't he? Of course Mr. Stanmore +belongs to a very good family, but I suppose he's very poor, and Miss +Beatrice has hardly a chance of meeting anyone. You remember her, sir, +don't you? She was little more than a child when you were here, but +she's a very beautiful young lady now." + +The housekeeper was fairly launched now, and was prepared to discuss the +Stanmores at length, but Dick hurried away. He would have loved to have +gone over the house, but he dared not; besides, in a way he could not +understand, he longed to get into the open air, longed to be alone. + +"I hope, oh, I do hope that something'll happen," said the housekeeper +as he left the house; but what she did not tell him. + +A little later Dick found himself on the drive leading to Hugh +Stanmore's cottage. He had not intended to take this road, but when he +realised that he was in it, he did not turn back. Rather he hurried on +with almost feverish footsteps. + +Sir George Weston had been spending a week at the cottage, had he? Why? +Was it because he was an Egyptologist, and interested in Hugh Stanmore's +previous researches, or was he there because of Beatrice, as the +servants' gossip said? It was nothing to him, but he had an overwhelming +desire to know. Was Beatrice Stanmore a beautiful girl? She had not +appealed to him in this light when her grandfather brought her to see +him months before; but girls often blossomed into beauty suddenly. +Still, wasn't it strange that Weston should stay at the cottage a week? + +Of course he would not call. He was simply taking the longer road to the +station. Yes, he could plainly see the house through the trees, and---- + +"Is that Mr. Faversham? Well, this is a surprise; but I _am_ glad to see +you." + +It was old Hugh Stanmore who spoke, while Dick in a strangely nervous +way took the proffered hand. + +"Come to look at your old house, eh? I see you've come from that +direction." + +"Yes, I have been--talking with my old housekeeper," he stammered. + +"And you've never been here before since--you left?" + +Dick shook his head. + +"Well, well, life's a strange business, isn't it? But come in, my dear +fellow. You're just in time for lunch." + +Dick began to make excuses, but the other refused to listen, and they +entered the cottage together. + +"I'm afraid I couldn't presume upon your kindness so far." + +"Kindness! Nonsense. Of course you must. Besides, I see that you are a +Member of Parliament, and a Labour Member too. I must talk with you +about it. Lunch will be on the table in five minutes." + +"You are sure I shouldn't be bothering you?" He had an overwhelming +desire to stay. + +"Bother! What bother can there be? I'm only too delighted to see you. +Come in." + +They entered the cottage together. + +"Oh, by the way," went on Hugh Stanmore, as they entered a cosy +sitting-room, "let me introduce you to Sir George Weston." + +A strikingly handsome man of about thirty rose from an arm-chair and +held out his hand. He was in mufti; but it was impossible to mistake him +for anything but a soldier. Head erect, shoulders squared, and a +military bearing proclaimed him to be what he was. + +"Glad to see you, Mr. Faversham," said Sir George heartily "I suppose +you've come down to see----" He stopped abruptly. He felt he had made a +_faux pas_. + +"It's all right," said Dick with a laugh. He felt perfectly at ease now. +"Yes, I came to see the old place which years ago I thought was mine. +You've heard all about it, I've no doubt?" + +"Jolly hard luck," sympathised Sir George. "But anyhow you----" + +"Ah, here's Beatrice," broke in Hugh Stanmore. "Beatrice, my dear, +here's an old friend dropped in to lunch with us. You remember Mr. +Faversham, don't you?" + +The eyes of the two met, and then as their hands met Dick's friendly +feeling towards Sir George Weston left him. He could not tell why. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +BEATRICE CONFESSES + + +Dick Faversham saw at a glance that Beatrice Stanmore had ceased being a +child. She was barely twenty. She was girlish in appearance, and her +grandfather seemed to still regard her as a child. But her childhood had +gone, and her womanhood had come. Rather tall, and with a lissom form, +she had all a girl's movements, all a girl's sweetness, but the flash of +her eyes, the compression of her lips, the tones of her voice, all told +that she had left her childhood behind. But the first blush of her +womanhood still remained. She retained her child's naturalness and +winsomeness, even while she looked at the world through the eyes of a +woman. + +Dick was struck by her beauty too. When years before she had rushed into +the library at Wendover, almost breathless in her excitement, she had +something of the angularity, almost awkwardness, of half-development. +That had all gone. Every movement was graceful, natural. Perfect health, +health of body, health of mind had stamped itself upon her. She had no +suggestion of the cigarette-smoking, slang-talking miss who boasts of +her freedom from old-time conventions. You could not think of Beatrice +Stanmore sitting with men, smoking, sipping liqueurs, and laughing at +their jokes. She retained the virginal simplicity of childlikeness. All +the same she was a woman. But not a woman old beyond her years. Not a +woman who makes men give up their thoughts of the sacredness of +womanhood. + +No one could any more think of Beatrice Stanmore being advanced, or +"fast," than one could think of a rosebud just opening its petals to the +sun being "fast." + +She had none of the ripe beauty of Lady Blanche Huntingford, much less +the bold splendour of Olga Petrovic. She was too much the child of +nature for that. She was too sensitive, too maidenly in her thoughts and +actions. And yet she was a woman, with all a woman's charm. + +Here lay her power. She was neither insipid nor a prude. She dared to +think for herself, she loved beautiful dresses, she enjoyed pleasure and +gaiety; but all without losing the essential quality of +womanhood--purity and modesty. She reminded one of Russell Lowell's +lines: + + "A dog rose blushing to a brook + Ain't modester, nor sweeter." + +That was why no man, however blasé, however cynical about women, could +ever associate her with anything loud or vulgar. She was not neurotic; +her healthy mind revolted against prurient suggestion either in +conversation or in novels. She was not the kind of girl who ogled men, +or practised unwomanly arts to attract their attention. No man, however +bold, would dream of taking liberties with her. But she was as gay as a +lark, her laughter was infectious, the flash of her eyes suggested all +kinds of innocent mischief and fun. She could hold her own at golf, was +one of the best tennis players in the district, and could ride with +gracefulness and fearlessness. + +Does someone say I am describing an impossible prodigy? No, I am trying +to describe a sweet, healthy, natural girl. I am trying to tell of her +as she appeared to me when I saw her first, a woman such as I believe +God intended all women to be, womanly, pure, modest. + +She was fair to look on too; fair with health and youth and purity. A +girl with laughing eyes, light brown hair, inclined to curl. A sweet +face she had, a face which glowed with health, and was unspoilt by +cosmetics. A tender, sensitive mouth, but which told of character, of +resolution and daring. A chin firm and determined, and yet delicate in +outline. This was Beatrice Stanmore, who, reared among the sweet Surrey +hills and valleys, was unsmirched by the world's traffic, and who +recoiled from the pollution of life which she knew existed. A girl +modern in many respects, but not too modern to love old-fashioned +courtesies, not too modern to keep holy the Sabbath Day, and love God +with simple faith. A religious girl, who never paraded religion, and +whose religion never made her monkish and unlovely, but was the joy and +inspiration of her life. + +"I'm so glad to see you, Mr. Faversham," she said. "I've often wondered +why you never came to Wendover." + +"In a way it was very hard to keep away," was Dick's reply. "On the +other hand, I had a kind of dread of seeing it again. You see, I had +learnt to love it." + +"I don't wonder. It's the dearest old house in the world. I should have +gone mad, I think, if I'd been in your place. It was just splendid of +you to take your reverse so bravely." + +"I had only one course before me, hadn't I?" + +"Hadn't you? I've often wondered." She gave him a quick, searching +glance as she spoke. "Are you staying here long?" + +"No, only a few hours. I return to London this afternoon. I came down +to-day just on impulse. I had no reason for coming." + +"Hadn't you? I'm glad you came." + +"So am I." + +There was a strange intensity in his tones, but he did not know why he +spoke with so much feeling. + +"Of course Granddad and I have often talked of you," she went on. "Do +you know when we called on you that day in London, I was disappointed in +you. I don't know why. You had altered so much. You did not seem at all +like you were when we saw you down here. I told Granddad so. But I'm so +glad you are Member of Parliament for Eastroyd, and so glad you've +called. There, the lunch is ready. Please remember, Mr. Faversham, that +I'm housekeeper, and am responsible for lunch. If you don't like it, I +shall be offended." + +She spoke with all the freedom and frankness of a child, but Dick was +not slow to recognise the fact that the child who had come to Wendover +when Romanoff was weaving a web of temptation around him, had become a +woman who could no longer be treated as a child. + +"Are you hungry, Sir George?" she went on, turning to her other visitor. +"Do you know, Mr. Faversham, that these two men have neglected me +shamefully? They have been so interested in rubbings of ancient +inscriptions, and writings on the tombs of Egyptian kings, that they've +forgotten that I've had to cudgel my poor little brains about what they +should eat. Housekeeping's no easy matter in these days." + +"That's not fair," replied Sir George. "It was Mr. Stanmore here, who +was so interested that he forgot all about meal-times." + +The soldier was so earnest that he angered Dick. "Why couldn't the fool +take what she said in the spirit of raillery?" he asked himself. + +"Adam over again," laughed Beatrice. "'The woman tempted me and I did +eat.' It's always somebody else's fault. Now then, Granddad, serve the +fish." + +It was a merry little party that sat down to lunch, even although Dick +did not seem inclined for much talk. Old Hugh Stanmore was in great +good-humour, while Beatrice had all the high spirits of a happy, healthy +girl. + +"You must stay a few hours now you are here, Mr. Faversham," urged the +old man presently. "There's not the slightest reason why you should go +back to town by that four something train. It's true, Sir George and I +are going over to Pitlock Rectory for a couple of hours, but we shall be +back for tea, and you and Beatrice can get on all right while we are +away." + +Sir George did not look at all delighted at the suggestion, but Beatrice +was warm in her support of it. + +"You really must, Mr. Faversham," she said. "I shall be alone all the +afternoon otherwise, for really I can't bear the idea of listening to +Mr. Stanhope, the Rector of Pitlock, prose about mummies and fossils and +inscriptions." + +"You know I offered to stay here," pleaded Sir George. + +"As though I would have kept you and Granddad away from your fossils," +she laughed. "Mr. Stanhope is a great scholar, a great Egyptologist, +and a great antiquary, and you said it would be your only chance of +seeing him, as you had to go to the War Office to-morrow. So you see, +Mr. Faversham, that you'll be doing a real act of charity by staying +with me. Besides, there's something I want to talk with you about. There +is really." + +Sir George did not look at all happy as, after coffee, he took his seat +beside old Hugh Stanmore, in the little motor-car, but Dick Faversham's +every nerve tingled with pleasure at the thought of spending two or +three hours alone with Beatrice. Her transparent frankness and +naturalness charmed him, the whole atmosphere of the cottage was so +different from that to which for years he had been accustomed. + +"Mr. Faversham," she said, when they had gone, "I want you to walk with +me to the great house, will you?" + +"Certainly," he said, wondering all the time why she wanted to go there. + +"You don't mind, do you? I know it must be painful to you, but--but I +want you to." + +"Of course I will. It's no longer mine--it never was mine, but it +attracts me like a magnet." + +Five minutes later they were walking up the drive together. Dick was +supremely happy, yet not knowing why he was happy. Everything he saw was +laden with poignant memories, while the thought of returning to the +house cut him like a knife. Yet he longed to go. For some little +distance they walked in silence, then she burst out suddenly. + +"Mr. Faversham, do you believe in premonitions?" + +"Yes." + +"So do I. It is that I wanted to talk with you about." + +He did not reply, but his mind flashed back to the night when he had sat +alone with Count Romanoff, and Beatrice Stanmore had suddenly and +without warning rushed into the room. + +"Do you believe in angels?" she went on. + +"I--I think so." + +"I do. Granddad is not sure about it. That is, he isn't sure that they +appear. Sir George is altogether sceptical. He pooh-poohs the whole +idea. He says there was a mistake about the Angels at Mons. He says it +was imagination, and all that sort of thing; but he isn't a bit +convincing. But I believe." + +"Yes." He spoke almost unconsciously. He had never uttered a word about +his own experiences to anyone, and he wondered if he should tell her +what he had seen and heard. + +"It was a kind of premonition which made me go to see you years ago," +she said quietly. "Do you remember?" + +"I shall never forget, and I'm very glad." + +"Why are you very glad?" + +"Because--because I'm sure your coming helped me!" + +"How did it help you?" + +"It helped me to see, to feel; I--I can't quite explain." + +"That man--Count Romanoff--is evil," and she shuddered as she spoke. + +"Why do you say so?" + +"I felt it. I feel it now. He was your enemy. Have you seen him since?" + +"Only once. I was walking through Oxford Circus. I only spoke a few +words to him; I have not seen him since." + +"Mr. Faversham, did anything important happen that night?" + +"Yes, that night--and the next." + +"Did that man, Count Romanoff, want you to do something which--which was +wrong? Forgive me for asking, won't you? But I have felt ever since that +it was so." + +"Yes." He said the word slowly, doubtfully. At that moment the old house +burst upon his view, and he longed with a great longing to possess it. +He felt hard and bitter that a man like Tony Riggleton should first have +made it a scene of obscene debauchery and then have left it. It seemed +like sacrilege that such a man should be associated with it. At that +moment, too, it seemed such a little thing that Romanoff had asked him +to do. + +"If I had done what he asked me, I might have been the owner of Wendover +Park now," he added. + +"But how could that be, if that man Riggleton was the true heir?" she +asked. + +"At that time there seemed--doubt. He made me feel that Riggleton had no +right to be there, and if I had promised the Count something, I might +have kept it." + +"And that something was wrong?" + +"Yes, it was wrong. Of course I am speaking to you in absolute +confidence," he added. "When you came you made me see things as they +really were." + +"I was sent," she said simply. + +"By whom?" + +"I don't know. And do you remember when I came the second time?" + +"Yes, I remember. I shall never forget." + +"I never felt like it before or since. Something seemed to compel me to +hasten to you. I got out the car in a few seconds, and I simply flew to +you. I have thought since that you must have been angry, that you must +have looked upon me as a mad girl to rush in on you the way I did. But I +could not help myself. That evil man, Romanoff, was angry with me too; +he would have killed me if he had dared. Do you remember that we talked +about angels afterwards?" + +"I remember." + +"They were all around us. I felt sure of it. I seemed to see them. +Afterwards, while I was sorry for you, I felt glad you had left +Wendover, glad that you were no longer its owner. I had a kind of +impression that while you were losing the world, you were saving your +soul." + +She spoke with all a child's simplicity, yet with a woman's earnestness. +She asked no questions as to what Romanoff had asked him to do in order +to keep his wealth; that did not seem to come within her scope of +things. Her thought was that Romanoff was evil, and she felt glad that +Dick had resisted the evil. + +"Do you believe in angels?" she asked again. + +"Sometimes," replied Dick. "Do you?" + +"I have no doubt about them. I know my mother often came to me." + +"How? I don't quite understand. You never saw her--in this world I +mean--did you?" + +"No. But she has come to me. For years I saw her in dreams. More than +once, years ago, when I woke up in the night, I saw her hovering over +me." + +"That must have been fancy." + +"No, it was not." She spoke with calm assurance, and with no suggestion +of morbidness or fear. "Why should I not see her?" she went on. "I am +her child, and if she had lived she would have cared for me, fended for +me, because she loved me. Why should what we call death keep her from +doing that still, only in a different way?" + +Dick was silent a few seconds. It did not seem at all strange. + +"No; there seems no real reason why, always assuming that there are +angels, and that they have the power to speak to us. But there is +something I would like to ask you. You said just now, 'I know that my +mother often came to me.' Has she ceased coming?" + +Beatrice Stanmore's eyes seemed filled with a great wonder, but she +still spoke in the same calm assured tones. + +"I have not seen her for three years," she said; "not since the day +after you left Wendover. She told me then that she was going farther +away for a time, and would not be able to speak to me, although she +would allow no harm to happen to me. Since that time I have never seen +her. But I know she loves me still. It may be that I shall not see her +again in this life, but sometime, in God's own good time, we shall +meet." + +"Are you a Spiritualist?" asked Dick, and even as he spoke he felt that +he had struck a false note. + +She shook her head decidedly. "No, I should hate the thought of using +mediums and that sort of thing to talk to my mother. There may be truth +in it, or there may not; but to me it seems tawdry, sordid. But I've no +doubt about the angels. I think there are angels watching over you. It's +a beautiful thought, isn't it?" + +"Isn't it rather morbid?" asked Dick. + +"Why should it be morbid? Is the thought that God is all around us +morbid? Why then should it be morbid to think of the spirits of those He +has called home being near to help us, to watch over us?" + +"No," replied Dick; "but if there are good angels why may there not be +evil ones?" + +"I believe there are," replied the girl. "I am very ignorant and simple, +but I believe there are. Did not Satan tempt our Lord in the wilderness? +And after the temptation was over, did not angels minister to Him?" + +"So the New Testament says." + +"Do you not believe it to be true?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +SIR GEORGE'S LOVE AFFAIR + + +The great house stood out boldly against the wintry sky, and Dick +Faversham could plainly see the window of the room where, years before, +he had taken the pen to sign the paper which would have placed him in +Count Romanoff's power. Like lightning his mind flashed back to the +fateful hour. He saw himself holding the pen, saw the words which +Romanoff had written standing clearly out on the white surface, saw +himself trying to trace the letters of his name, and then he felt the +hand on his wrist. It was only a light touch, but he no longer had the +power to write. + +Was it a moral impulse which had come to him, or was it some force which +paralysed his senses, and made him incapable of holding the pen? It +seemed to be both. He remembered having a loathing for the thing +Romanoff wanted him to do. Even then he felt like shuddering at the dark +influences which sapped his will-power, and made wrong seem like right. +But there was more than that. Some force _outside_ himself kept him from +writing. + +And he was glad. True, he was a poor man, and instead of owning the +stately mansion before him, he would presently return to his tiny flat, +where he would have to calculate about every sixpence he spent. But he +was free; he was master of his soul. He was a man of some importance +too. He was the Labour Member for Eastroyd; he had secured the +confidence of many thousands of working people, and his voice was +listened to with much respect by Labour leaders, and in Labour +conferences. + +But he was not quite satisfied. He did not want to be the representative +of one class only, but of all classes. He remembered that he had been +lately spoken of as being "too mealy-mouthed," and as "having too much +sympathy with the employers." + +"A voting machine at four hundred a year!" + +Romanoff's words still stung him, wounded him. He longed for a larger +life, longed to speak for all classes, longed to mingle with those of +his own upbringing and education. + +"What are you thinking of?" + +For the moment he had forgotten the girl at his side, almost forgotten +the subject they had been discussing. + +"Of many things," he replied. + +"You were thinking of that man, Count Romanoff." + +"Was I? Yes, I suppose I was. How did you know?" + +"Telepathy," she replied. "Shall we go back?" + +"If you will. Did you not say you wanted to go to the house?" + +"I don't think I do now. I'm afraid it would be painful to you. But, Mr. +Faversham, I'm glad I helped you; glad you do not own Wendover Park." + +"So am I," he replied; "the price would have been too terrible." + +She looked at him questioningly. She did not quite understand his words. + +"I wonder if you would think it an impertinence if I asked you to +promise me something," she said. + +"Nothing you could ask would be an impertinence," he responded eagerly; +"nothing." + +"That Count Romanoff is evil," she said, "evil; I am sure he is. I know +nothing about him, but I am sure of what I say. Will you promise to have +nothing to do with him? I think you will meet him again. I don't know +why, but I have a feeling that you will. That is why I wanted to say +this, and I wanted to say it in sight of the house which you love." + +"I promise," replied Dick. "It is very good of you to have so much +interest in me." + +"In a way, I don't know that I have very much interest," she said +simply; "and I'm afraid I'm acting on impulse. Granddad says that that +is my weakness." + +"I don't think it is a weakness. I'm not likely to see Count Romanoff +again; but I promise, gladly promise, that if I do I'll yield to him in +nothing. Is that what you mean?" + +"Yes, that's what I mean." + +Her humour suddenly changed. She seemed to have no further interest in +Wendover Park, or its possessor, whoever it might be, and their +conversation became of the most commonplace nature. They chatted about +the possibilities of peace, the future of Germany, and the tremendous +problems Britain would have to face, but all interest in the question +which had engrossed her mind seemed to have left her. Dick was to her +only an ordinary acquaintance who had casually crossed the pathway of +her life, and who might never do so again. Indeed, as presently they +reached the highroad, he thought she became cold and reserved, it might +seem, too, that he somewhat bored her. + +Presently they heard the sound of horses' hoofs coming toward them, and +they saw a lady on horseback. + +"That's Lady Blanche Huntingford," she said; "do you know her?" + +"I did know her slightly," replied Dick, who felt no excitement whatever +on seeing her. + +"Oh yes, of course you did. She's a great beauty, isn't she?" + +"I suppose so." Dick remembered how, in London months before, she had +refused to recognise him. + +For a moment Lady Blanche seemed surprised at seeing Dick. She +scrutinised him closely, as if she was not quite sure it was he. Then +her colour heightened somewhat, and with a nod which might have embraced +them both, she passed on. + +"We must get back to the house," Beatrice said; "Granddad and Sir George +will have returned by this time, and they will want their tea." + +"Sir George is leaving you to-morrow, isn't he?" asked Dick. + +"Yes," she replied, and Dick's heart grew heavy as he saw the look in +her eyes. He did not know why. + +"He's a great soldier, I suppose? I think I've been told so." + +"The greatest and bravest man in the army," she replied eagerly. "He's +simply splendid. It's not often that a soldier is a scholar, but +Granddad says there are few men alive who are greater authorities on +Egyptian questions." + +A feeling of antagonism rose in Dick's heart against Sir George Weston, +he felt angry that Beatrice should think so highly of him. + +"He's a Devonshire man, isn't he?" he asked. + +"Yes; he has a lovely old place down there. The house is built of grey +granite. It is very, very old, and it looks as though it would last for +hundreds and hundreds of years. It is situated on a wooded hillside, and +at the back, above the woods, is a vast stretch of moorland. In front is +a lovely park studded with old oaks." + +"You describe the place with great enthusiasm." There was envy in his +tones, and something more than envy. + +"Do I? I love Devonshire. Love its granite tors, its glorious hills and +valleys. No wonder it is called 'Glorious Devon.'" + +By the time they reached the cottage Sir George Weston and Hugh Stanmore +had returned, and tea was on the table. Sir George seemed somewhat +excited, while old Hugh Stanmore was anything but talkative. It might +seem as though, during the afternoon, the two had talked on matters of +greater interest than the tombs of Egyptian kings. + +When the time came for Dick to depart, Hugh Stanmore said he would walk +a little way with him. For a happy, and singularly contented man, he +appeared much disturbed. + +"I am so glad you came, Mr. Faversham," said Beatrice as she bade him +good-bye. "We had a lovely walk, hadn't we?" + +"Wonderful," replied Dick. "I shall never forget it." + +"And you'll not forget your promise, will you?" + +"No, I shall not forget it." + +"You will let us know, won't you, when you are going to speak in the +House of Commons? I shall insist on Granddad taking me to hear you." + +Sir George Weston looked from one to the other suspiciously. He could +not understand her interest in him. + +"What do you think of Weston?" asked Hugh Stanmore, when they had walked +some distance together. + +"I suppose he's a very fine soldier," evaded Dick. + +"Oh yes, there's no doubt about that. But how did he strike +you--personally?" + +"I'm afraid I didn't pay much attention to him. He seemed a pleasant +kind of man." Dick felt very non-committal. "Do you know him well?" + +"Yes; fairly well. I met him before the war. He and I were interested in +the same subjects. He has travelled a great deal in the East. Of course +I've known of his family all my life. A very old family which has lived +in the same house for generations. I think he is the eighth baronet. But +I was not thinking of that. I was thinking of him as a man. You'll +forgive my asking you, won't you, but do you think he could make my +little girl happy?" + +Dick felt a strange weight on his heart. He felt bitter too. + +"I am afraid my opinion would be of little value," he replied. "You see +I know nothing of him, neither for that matter am I well acquainted with +Miss Stanmore." + +"No, I suppose that's true, and perhaps I ought not to have asked you. I +often scold Beatrice for acting so much on impulse, while I am +constantly guilty of the same offence. But I don't look on you as a +stranger. Somehow I seem to know you well, and I wanted your opinion. I +can speak freely to you, can't I?" + +"Certainly." + +"He has asked me this afternoon if I'll consent to Beatrice becoming his +wife." + +Dick was silent. He felt he could not speak. + +"Of course, from a worldly standpoint it would be a good match," went on +Hugh Stanmore. "Sir George is a rich man, and has a fine reputation, not +only as a scholar and a soldier, but as a man. There has never been a +blemish on his reputation. He stands high in the county, and could give +my little girl a fine position." + +"Doubtless," and Dick hardly knew that he spoke. + +"I don't think I am a snob," went on the old man; "but such things must +weigh somewhat. I am not a pauper, but, as wealth is counted to-day, I +am a poor man. I am also old, and in the course of nature can't be here +long. That is why I am naturally anxious about my little Beatrice's +future. And yet I am in doubt." + +"About what?" + +"Whether he could make her happy. And that is everything as far as I am +concerned. Beatrice, as you must have seen, is just a happy child of +nature, and is as sensitive as a lily. To be wedded to a man who is +not--how shall I put it?--her affinity, her soul comrade, would be +lifelong misery to her. And unless I were sure that Sir George is that, +I would not think of giving my consent." + +"Aren't you forgetful of a very important factor?" asked Dick. + +"What is that?" + +"Miss Stanmore herself. In these days girls seem to take such matters +largely into their own hands. The consent of relations is regarded as a +very formal thing." + +"I don't think you understand, Faversham. Beatrice is not like the +common run of girls, and she and I are so much to each other that I +don't think for a moment that she would marry any man if I did not give +my sanction. In fact, I'm sure she wouldn't. She's only my +granddaughter, but she's all the world to me, while--yes, I am +everything to her. No father loved a child more than I love her. I've +had her since she was a little mite, and I've been father, mother, and +grandfather all combined. And I'd do anything, everything in my power +for her welfare. I know her--know her, Faversham; she's as pure and +unsullied as a flower." + +"But, of course, Sir George Weston has spoken to her?" + +"No, he hasn't. For one thing, he has very strict ideas about +old-fashioned courtesies, and, for another, he knows our relations to +each other." + +"Do you know her mind?--know whether she cares for him--in that way?" +asked Dick. + +"No, I don't. I do know that, a week ago, she had no thought of love for +any man. But, of course, I couldn't help seeing that during the past +week he has paid her marked attention. Whether she's been aware of it, I +haven't troubled to ascertain." + +In some ways this old man was almost as much a child as his +granddaughter, in spite of his long life, and Dick could hardly help +smiling at his simplicity. + +"Of course, I imagine she'll marry sometime," and Dick's voice was a +trifle hoarse as he spoke. + +"Yes," replied Hugh Stanmore. "That is natural and right. God intended +men and women to marry, I know that. But if they do not find their true +mate, then it's either sacrilege or hell--especially to the woman. +Marriage is a ghastly thing unless it's a sacrament--unless the man and +the woman feel that their unity is of God. Marriage ceremonies, and the +blessing of the Church, or whatever it is called, is so much mockery +unless they feel that their souls are as one. Don't you agree with me?" + +"Yes, I do. I suppose," he added, "you stipulate that whoever marries +her--shall--shall be a man of wealth?" + +"No, I shouldn't, except in this way. No man should marry a woman unless +he has the wherewithal to keep her. He would be a mean sort of fellow +who would drag a woman into want and poverty. But, of course, that does +not obtain in this case." + +"I'm afraid I can't help, or advise you," said Dick. "I'm afraid I'm a +bit of an outsider," and he spoke bitterly. "Neither do I think you will +need advice. Miss Stanmore has such a fine intuition that----" + +"Ah, you feel that!" broke in Hugh Stanmore almost excitedly. "Yes, yes, +you are right! I can trust her judgment rather than my own. Young as she +is, she'll choose right. Yes, she'll choose right! I think I'll go back +now. Yes, I'll go back at once. Our conversation has done me good, and +cleared my way, although I've done most of the talking. Good-night, +Faversham. I wish you well. I think you can do big things as a +politician; but I don't agree with you." + +"Don't agree with me? Why?" + +"I don't believe in these party labels. You are a party man, a Labour +man. I have the deepest sympathy with the toilers of the world. I have +been working for them for fifty years. Perhaps, too, the Labour Party is +the outcome of the injustice of the past. But all such parties have a +tendency to put class against class, to see things in a one-sided way, +to foster bitterness and strife. Take my advice and give up being a +politician." + +"Give up being a politician! I don't understand." + +"A politician in the ordinary sense is a party man; too often a party +hack, a party voting machine. Be more than a politician, be a statesman. +All classes of society are interdependent. We can none of us do without +the other. Capital and labour, the employer and the employee, all depend +on each other. All men should be brothers and work for the common +interest. Don't seek to represent a class, or to legislate for a class, +Faversham. Work for all the classes, work for the community as a whole. +And remember that Utopia is not created in a day. Good-night. Come and +see us again soon." + +Hugh Stanmore turned back, and left Dick alone. The young man felt +strangely depressed, strangely lonely. He pictured Hugh Stanmore going +back to the brightness and refinement of his little house, to be met +with the bright smiles and loving words of his grandchild, while he +plodded his way through the darkness. He thought, too, of Sir George +Weston, who, even then, was with Beatrice Stanmore. Perhaps, most likely +too, he was telling her that he loved her. + +He stopped suddenly in the road, his brain on fire, his heart beating +madly. A thousand wild fancies flashed through his brain, a thousand +undefinable hopes filled his heart. + +"No, it's impossible, blankly impossible!" he cried at length. "A +will-o'-the-wisp, the dream of a madman--a madman! Why, even now she may +be in his arms!" + +The thought was agony to him. Even yet he did not know the whole secret +of his heart, but he knew that he hated Sir George Weston, that he +wished he had urged upon old Hugh Stanmore the utter unfitness of the +great soldier as a husband for his grandchild. + +But how could he? What right had he? Besides, according to all +common-sense standards nothing could be more suitable. She was his equal +in social status, and every way fitted to be his wife, while he would be +regarded as the most eligible suitor possible. + +"A voting machine at four hundred a year!" + +Again those stinging words of Count Romanoff. And old Hugh Stanmore had +spoken in the same vein. "A party hack, a party voting machine!" + +And he could not help himself. He was dependent on that four hundred a +year. He dared ask no woman to be his wife. He had no right. He would +only drag her into poverty and want. + +All the way back to town his mind was filled with the hopelessness of +his situation. The fact that he had won a great victory at Eastroyd and +was a newly returned Member of Parliament brought him no pleasure. He +was a party hack, and he saw no brightness in the future. + +Presently Parliament assembled, and Dick threw himself with eagerness +into the excitement which followed. Every day brought new experiences, +every day brought new interests. + +But he felt himself hampered. If he only had a few hundreds a year of +his own. If only he could be free to live his own life, think his own +thoughts. Not that he did not agree with many of the ideas of his party. +He did. But he wanted a broader world, a greater freedom. He wanted to +love, and to be loved. + +Then a change came. On returning to his flat late one night he found a +letter awaiting him. On the envelope was a coroneted crest, and on +opening it he saw the name of Olga Petrovic. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +THE DAWN OF LOVE + + +The letter from Olga ran as follows: + + "DEAR MR. FAVERSHAM,--I have just discovered your address, and I + am writing to congratulate you on the fine position you have won. + It must be glorious to be a Member of the Mother of Parliaments, + to be a legislator in this great free country. I rejoice, too, + that you have espoused the cause of the toilers, the poor. It is + just what I hoped and expected of you. You will become great, my + friend; my heart tells me so. Your country will be proud of you. + + "I wonder whether, if in spite of your many interests and duties, + you will have time to visit a lonely woman? There are so many + things I would like to discuss with you. Do come if you can. I + shall be home to-morrow afternoon, and again on Friday. Will you + not have pity on me?--Yours, + + OLGA PETROVIC." + +Dick saw that her address was a fashionable street in Mayfair, and +almost unconsciously he pictured her in her new surroundings. She was no +longer among a wild-eyed, long-haired crew in the East End, but in the +centre of fashion and wealth. He wondered what it meant. He read the +letter a second time, and in a way he could not understand, he was +fascinated. There was subtle flattery in every line, a kind of clinging +tenderness in every sentence. + +No mention was made of their last meeting, but Dick remembered. She had +come to him after that wonderful experience in Staple Inn--on the +morning after his eyes had been opened to the facts about what a number +of Bolshevists wanted to do in England. His mind had been bewildered, +and he was altogether unsettled. He was afraid he had acted rudely to +her. He had thought of her as being associated with these people. If he +had yielded to her entreaties, and thrown himself into the plans she had +made, might he not have become an enemy to his country, to humanity? + +But what a glorious creature she was! What eyes, what hair, what a +complexion! He had never seen any woman so physically perfect. And, +added to all this, she possessed a kind of charm that held him, +fascinated him, made him think of her whether he would or not. + +And yet her letter did not bring him unmixed pleasure. In a way he could +not understand he was slightly afraid of her, afraid of the influence +she had over him. He could not mistake the meaning of her words at their +last meeting. She had made love to him, she had asked him to marry her. +It is true he had acted as though he misunderstood her, but what would +have happened if old Hugh Stanmore and Beatrice had not come? The very +mystery which surrounded her added to her charm. Who _was_ she? Why did +she go to the East End to live, and how did she possess the means to +live in Mayfair? + +He walked around his little room, thinking hard. For the last few days +his parliamentary duties had excited him, kept him from brooding; but +now in the quietness of the night he felt his loneliness, realised his +longing for society. His position as a Labour Member was perfectly +plain. His confrères were good fellows. Most of them were hard-headed, +thoughtful men who took a real interest in their work. But socially they +were not of his class. They had few interests in common, and he realised +it, even as they did. That was why they looked on him with a certain +amount of suspicion. What was to be his future then? A social gulf was +fixed between him and others whose equal he was, and whatever he did he +would be outside the circle of men and women whose tastes were similar +to his own. + +No, that was not altogether true. Hugh Stanmore and Beatrice treated him +as a friend. Beatrice! + +The very thought of her conjured up all sorts of fancies. He had not +heard from her, or of her since his visit to Wendover. Was she engaged +to Sir George Weston, he wondered? + +He knew now that he had never loved Lady Blanche Huntingford. He had +been attracted to her simply because of her looks, and her social +position. At the time she had appealed to him strongly, but that was +because he had regarded her as a means whereby he could attain to his +social ambitions. But a change had come over him since then--a subtle, +almost indescribable change. The strange events of his life had led him +to see deeper. And he knew he had no love for this patrician woman. When +he had seen her last she had not caused one heart-throb, he was almost +indifferent to her. + +But Beatrice! Why did the thought of her haunt him? Why was he angry +with Sir George Weston, and bitter at the idea of his marrying this +simple country girl? As for himself he could never marry. + +The following morning he wrote to Countess Olga Petrovic. It was a +courteous note saying that at present he was too engaged to call on her, +but he hoped that later he might have that pleasure. Then he plunged +into his work again. + +About a fortnight after his visit to Hugh Stanmore, a letter came to him +from the housekeeper at Wendover. He had told her his London address, +and she had taken advantage of her knowledge by writing. + +"There are all sorts of rumours here about Mr. Anthony Riggleton," she +wrote; "and we have all been greatly excited. Some soldiers have been in +the neighbourhood who declare that they know of a certainty that he is +dead. I thought it my duty to tell you this, sir, and that is my excuse +for the liberty I take in writing. + +"Perhaps, sir, you may also be interested to learn that Sir George +Weston and Miss Beatrice Stanmore are engaged to be married. As you may +remember, I told you when you were here that I thought they would make a +match of it. Of course she has done very well, for although the +Stanmores are a great family, Mr. Stanmore is a poor man, and Miss +Beatrice has nothing but what he can give her. It is said that the +wedding will take place in June." + +The letter made him angry. Of course he understood the old lady's +purpose in writing. She thought that if Anthony Riggleton died, the +estate might again revert to him, and she hoped he would find out and +let her know. She had grown very fond of him during his short sojourn +there, and longed to see him there as master again. But the letter made +him angry nevertheless. Then as he read it a second time he knew that +his anger was not caused by her interest in his future, but because of +her news about Beatrice Stanmore. The knowledge that she had accepted +this Devonshire squire made his heart sink like lead. It seemed to him +that the sky of his life had suddenly become black. + +Then he knew his secret; knew that he loved this simple country girl +with a consuming but hopeless love. He realised, too, that no one save +she had ever really touched his heart. That this was why Lady Blanche +Huntingford had passed out of his life without leaving even a ripple of +disappointment or sorrow. + +Oh, if he had only known before! For he had loved her as he had walked +by her side through Wendover Park; loved her when he had almost calmly +discussed her possible marriage with Sir George Weston. Even then he had +hated the thought of it, now he knew why His own heart was aching for +her all the time. + +But what would have been the use even if he had known? He was a +homeless, penniless man. He could have done nothing. He was not in a +position to ask any woman to be his wife. + +His mood became reckless, desperate. What mattered whatever he did? Were +not all his dreams and hopes so much madness? Had he not been altogether +silly about questions of right and wrong? Had he not been Quixotic in +not fighting for Wendover? Supposing he had signed that paper, what +could Romanoff have done? He almost wished--no, he didn't; but after +all, who could pass a final judgment as to what was right and wrong? + +While he was in this state of mind another letter came from Olga +Petrovic. + +"Why have you not visited me, my friend?" she wrote. "I have been +expecting you. Surely you could have found time to drop in for half an +hour. Besides, I think I could help you. Lord Knerdon was here yesterday +with one or two other Members of the Government. He expressed great +interest in you, and said he would like to meet you. Has he not great +influence? I shall be here between half-past three and six to-morrow, +and some people are calling whom I think you would like to know." + +Lord Knerdon, eh? Lord Knerdon was one of the most respected peers in +the country, and a man of far-reaching power. He would never call at the +house of an adventuress. Yes, he would go. + +The street in which Olga Petrovic had taken up her abode was made up of +great houses. Only a person of considerable wealth could live there. +This he saw at a glance. Also three handsome motor-cars stood at her +door. He almost felt nervous as his finger touched the bell. + +She received him with a smile of welcome, and yet there was a suggestion +of aloofness in her demeanour. She was not the woman he had seen at +Jones' Hotel long months before, when she had almost knelt suppliant at +his feet. + +"Ah, Mr. Faversham," she cried, and there was a suggestion of a foreign +accent in her tones, "I am pleased to see you. It is good of such a busy +man to spare a few minutes." + +A little later she had introduced him to her other visitors--men and +women about whose position there could not be a suggestion of doubt. At +least, such was his impression. She made a perfect hostess, too, and +seemed to be a part of her surroundings. She was a great lady, who met +on equal terms some of the best-known people in London. And she was +queen of them all. Even as she reigned over the motley crew in that +queer gathering in the East of London, so she reigned here in the +fashionable West. + +In a few minutes he found himself talking with people of whom he had +hitherto known nothing except their names, while Olga Petrovic watched +him curiously. Her demeanour to him was perfectly friendly, and yet he +had the feeling that she regarded him as a social inferior. He was +there, not because he stood on the same footing as these people, but on +sufferance. After all, he was a Labour Member. Socially he was an +outsider, while she was the grand lady. + +People condoled with her because her Russian estates had been stolen +from her by the Bolshevists, but she was still the Countess Olga +Petrovic, bearing one of the greatest names in Europe. She was still +rich enough to maintain her position in the wealthiest city in the +world. She was still a mystery. + +Dick remained for more than an hour. Although he would not admit it to +himself, he hoped that he might be able to have a few minutes alone with +her. But as some visitors went, others came. She still remained kind to +him; indeed, he thought she conveyed an interest in him which she did +not show to others. But he was not sure. There was a suggestion of +reserve in her friendliness; sometimes, indeed, he thought she was cold +and aloof. There were people there who were a hundred times more +important than he--people with historic names; and he was a nobody. +Perhaps that was why a barrier stood between them. + +And yet there were times when she dazzled him by a smile, or the turn of +a sentence. In spite of himself, she made him feel that it was a +privilege of no ordinary nature to be the friend of the Countess Olga +Petrovic. + +When at length he rose to go she made not the slightest effort to detain +him. She was courteously polite, and that was all. He might have been +the most casual stranger, to whom she used the most commonplace forms of +speech. Any onlooker must have felt that this Polish or Russian +Countess, whatever she might be, had simply a passing interest in this +Labour Member, that she had invited him to tea out of pure whim or +fancy, and that she would forget him directly he had passed the +doorstep. And yet there was a subtle something in her manner as she held +out her hand to him. Her words said nothing, but her eyes told him to +come again. + +"Must you go, Mr. Faversham? So pleased you were able to call. I am +nearly always home on Thursdays." + +That was all she said. But the pressure of her hand, the pleading of her +eyes, the smile that made her face radiant--these somehow atoned for the +coldness of her words. + +"Well, I've called," thought Dick as he left the house, "and I don't +intend to call again. I don't understand her; she's out of my world, and +we have nothing in common." + +But these were only his surface thoughts. At the back of his mind was +the conviction that Olga Petrovic had an interest in him beyond the +ordinary, that she thought of him as she thought of no other man. Else +why that confession months before? Why did she ask him to call? + +She was a wonderful creature, too. How tame and uninteresting the other +women were compared with her! Her personality dominated everything, made +everyone else seem commonplace. + +She captivated him and fascinated him even while something told him that +it was best for him that he should see nothing more of her. The mystery +that surrounded her had a twofold effect on him: it made him long to +know more about her even while he felt that such knowledge could bring +him no joy. + +But this she did. She kept him from brooding about Beatrice Stanmore, +for the vision of this unsophisticated English girl was constantly +haunting him, and the knowledge that his love for her was hopeless made +him almost desperate. He was a young man, only just over thirty, with +life all before him. Must he for ever and ever be denied of love, and +the joys it might bring to his life? If she had not promised herself to +Sir George Weston, all might be different. Yes, with her to help him and +inspire him, he would make a position for her; he would earn enough to +make a home for her. But she was not for him. She would soon be the wife +of another. Why, then, should he not crush all thoughts of her, and +think of this glorious woman, compared with whom Beatrice Stanmore was +only as a June rosebud to a tropical flower? + +A few days later he called on Olga Petrovic again. This time he spent a +few minutes alone with her. Only the most commonplace things were said, +and yet she puzzled him, bewildered him. One minute she was all smiles +and full of subtle charm, another he felt that an unfathomable gulf lay +between them. + +In their conversation, while he did not speak in so many words of the +time she had visited him at his hotel, he let her know that he +remembered it, and he quickly realised that the passionate woman who had +pleaded with him then was not the stately lady who spoke to him now. + +"Every woman is foolish at times," she said. "In hours of loneliness and +memory we are the creatures of passing fancies; but they are only +passing. I have always to remember that, in spite of the tragic +condition of my country, I have my duty to my race and my position." + +Later she said: "I wonder if I shall ever wed? Wonder whether duty will +clash with my heart to such a degree that I shall go back to my own +sphere, or stay here and only remember that I am a woman?" + +He wondered what she meant, wondered whether she wished to convey to him +that it might be possible for her to forsake all for love. + +But something, he could not tell what, made him keep a strong hold upon +himself. It had become a settled thought in his mind by this time that +at all hazards he must fight against his love for Beatrice Stanmore. To +love her would be disloyal to her; it would be wrong. He had no right to +think thoughts of love about one who had promised to be the wife of +another man. + +Yet his heart ached for her. All that was best in him longed for her. +Whenever his love for her was strongest, he longed only for the highest +in life, even while his conscience condemned him for thinking of her. + +Dick paid Olga Petrovic several visits. Nearly always others were there, +but he generally managed to be alone with her for a few minutes, and at +every visit he knew that she was filling a larger place in his life. + +His fear of her was passing away, too, for she was not long in showing +an interest in things that lay dear to his heart. She evidenced a great +desire to help him in his work; she spoke sympathetically about the +conditions under which the toilers of the world laboured. She revealed +fine intuitions, too. + +"Oh yes," she said on one occasion, "I love your country. It is +home--home! I am mad, too, when I think of my insane fancies of a year +ago. I can see that I was wrong, wrong, all wrong! Lawlessness, force, +anarchy can never bring in the new day of life and love. That can only +come by mutual forbearance, by just order, and by righteous discipline. +I was mad for a time, I think; but I was mad with a desire to help. Do +you know who opened my eyes, Mr. Faversham?" + +"Your own heart--your own keen mind," replied Dick. + +"No, my friend--no. It was you. You did not say much, but you made me +see. I believe in telepathy, and I saw with your eyes, thought with your +mind. Your eyes pierced the darkness, you saw the foolishness of my +dreams. And yet I would give my last penny to help the poor." + +"I'm sure you would," assented Dick. + +"Still, we must be governed by reason. And that makes me think, my +friend. Do you ever contemplate your own future?" + +"Naturally." + +"And are you always going to remain what you are now?" + +"I do not follow you." + +"I have thought much about you, and I have been puzzled. You are a man +with great ambitions--high, holy ambitions--but if you are not careful, +your life will be fruitless." + +Dick was silent. + +"Don't mistake me. I only mean fruitless comparatively. But you are +handicapped, my friend." + +"Sadly handicapped," confessed Dick. + +"Ah, you feel it. You are like a bird with one wing trying to fly. +Forgive me, but the best houses in London are closed to you; you are a +paid Labour Member of Parliament, and thus you represent only a +class--the least influential class. You are shut out from many of the +delights of life. Channels of usefulness and power are closed to you. +Oh, I know it is great to be a Labour Member, but it is greater to be +independent of all classes--to live for your ideals, to have enough +money to be independent of the world, to hold up your head as an equal +among the greatest and highest." + +"You diagnose a disease," said Dick sadly, "but you do not tell me the +remedy." + +"Don't I?" and Dick felt the glamour of her presence. "Doesn't your own +heart tell you that, my friend?" + +Dick felt a wild beating of his heart, but he did not reply. There was a +weight upon his tongue. + +A minute later she was the great lady again--far removed from him. + +He left the house dazzled, almost in love with her in spite of Beatrice +Stanmore, and largely under her influence. He had been gone only a few +minutes when a servant brought a card. + +"Count Romanoff," she read. "Show him here," she added, and there was a +look in her eyes that was difficult to understand. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +THE ETERNAL STRUGGLE + + +Count Romanoff was faultlessly dressed, and looked calm and smiling. + +"Ah, Countess," he said, "I am fortunate in finding you alone. But you +have had visitors, or, to be more exact, a visitor." + +"Yes; I have had visitors. I often have of an afternoon." + +"But he has been here." + +"Well, and what then?" + +The Count gazed at her steadily, and his eyes had a sinister gleam in +them. + +"I have come to have a quiet chat with you," he said--"come to know how +matters stand." + +"You want to know more than I can tell you." + +Again the Count scrutinised her closely. He seemed to be trying to read +her mind. + +"Olga," he said, "you don't mean to say that you have failed? He has +been in London some time now, and as I happen to know, he has been here +often. Has not the fish leaped to the bait? If not, what is amiss? +What?--Olga Petrovic, who has turned the heads of men in half the +capitals of Europe, and who has never failed to make them her slaves, +fail to captivate this yokel! I can't believe it." + +There was sullen anger in her eyes, and at that moment years seemed to +have been added to her life. + +"Beaten!" went on the Count, with a laugh--"Olga Petrovic beaten! That +is news indeed." + +"I don't understand," said the woman. "Something always seems to stand +between us. He seems to fear me--seems to be fighting against me." + +"And you have tried all your wiles?" + +"Listen, Count Romanoff, or whatever your name may be," and Olga +Petrovic's voice was hoarse. "Tell me what you want me to do with that +man." + +"Do? Make him your slave. Make him grovel at your feet as you have made +others. Make him willing to sell his soul to possess you. Weave your net +around him. Glamour him with your fiendish beauty. Play upon his hopes +and desires until he is yours." + +"Why should I?" + +"Because it is my will--because I command you." + +"And what if I have done all that and failed?" + +"You fail! I can't believe it. You have not tried. You have not +practised all your arts." + +"You do not understand," replied the woman. "You think you understand +that man; you don't." + +The Count laughed. "There was never a man yet, but who had his price," +he said. "With some it is one thing, with some it is another, but +all--all can be bought. There is no man but whose soul is for sale; that +I know." + +"And you have tried to buy Faversham's soul, and failed." + +"Because I mistook the thing he wanted most." + +"You thought he could be bought by wealth, position, and you arranged +your plans. But he was not to be bought. Why? You dangled riches, +position, and a beautiful woman before his eyes; but he would not pay +the price." + +"I chose the wrong woman," said the Count, looking steadily at Olga, +"and I did not reckon sufficiently on his old-fashioned ideas of +morality. Besides, I had no control over the woman." + +"And you think you have control over me, eh? Well, let that pass. I have +asked you to tell me why you wish to get this man in your power, and you +will not tell me. But let me tell you this: there is a strange power +overshadowing him. You say I must practise my arts. What if I tell you +that I can't?" + +"I should say you lie," replied the Count coolly. + +"I don't understand," she said, as if talking to herself. "All the time +when he is with me, I seem to be dealing with unseen forces--forces +which make me afraid, which sap my power." + +The Count looked thoughtful. + +"I thought I had captivated him when that German man brought him to the +East End of London," she went on. "I saw that I bewildered him--dazzled +him. He seemed fascinated by my picture of what he could become. His +imagination was on fire, and I could see that he was almost held in +thrall by the thought that he could be a kind of uncrowned king, while I +would be his queen. He promised to come to me again, but he didn't. Then +I went to see him at his hotel, and if ever a woman tempted a man, I +tempted him. I know I am beautiful--know that men are willing to become +slaves to me. And I pleaded with him. I offered to be his wife, and I +almost got him. I saw him yielding to me. Then suddenly he turned from +me. A servant brought him a card, and he almost told me to go." + +"You saw who these visitors were?" + +"Yes; an old man and a slip of a girl. I do not know who they were. +Since he has been living in London, I have watched my opportunities, and +he has been here. I have flattered him; I have piqued his curiosity. I +have been coy and reserved, and I have tried to dazzle him by smiles, by +hand pressures, and by shy suggestions of love. But I cannot pierce his +armour." + +"And you will give up? You will confess defeat?" + +The woman's eyes flashed with a new light. "You little know me if you +think that," she cried angrily. "At one time I--yes, I, Olga +Petrovic--thought I loved him. I confessed it to you, but now--now----" + +"Yes, now?" questioned the Count eagerly. + +"Now that thought is not to be considered. I will conquer him; I will +make him my slave. He shall be willing to sacrifice name, position, +future, anything, everything for me--_everything_." + +"Only, up to now, you've failed." + +"Because, because--oh, Romanoff, I don't understand. What is he? Only +just a commonplace sort of man--a man vulnerable at a hundred +points--and yet I cannot reach him." + +"Shall I tell you why?" asked the Count. + +"Tell me, tell me!" she cried. "Oh, I've thought, and thought. I've +tried in a hundred ways. I've been the grand lady with a great position. +I've been an angel of light who cares only for the beautiful and the +pure. I've appealed to his ambition--to his love for beautiful things. +I've tried to make him jealous, and I've nearly succeeded; but never +altogether. Yes; he is just a clever man, and very little more; but I +can't reach him. He baffles me. He does not drink, and so I cannot +appeal to that weakness. Neither is he the fast man about town that can +be caught in my toils. He honours, almost venerates, pure womanhood, +and----" + +"Tah!" interrupted the Count scornfully. + +"You do not believe it?" + +"Woman is always man's weak point--always!" + +"But not his--not in the way you think. I tell you, he venerates ideal +womanhood. He scorns the loud-talking, free-spoken women. He told me his +thought of woman was like what Wordsworth painted. At heart I think he +is a religious man." + +"Listen," said the Count, "I want to tell you something before I go. Sit +here; that's it," and he drew a chair close to his side. + +He spoke to her half earnestly, half cynically, watching her steadily +all the time. He noted the heaving of her bosom, the tremor of her lips, +the almost haunted look in her eyes, the smile of satisfied desire on +her face. + +"That is your plan of action," he concluded. "Remember, you play for +great stakes, and you must play boldly. You must play to win. There are +times when right and wrong are nothing to a man, and you must be willing +to risk everything. As for the rest, I will do it." + +Her face was suffused half with the flush of shame, half with excited +determination. + +"Very well," she said; "you shall be obeyed." + +"And I will keep my compact," said the Count. + +He left her without another word, and no sign of friendship passed +between them. + +When he reached the street, however, there was a look of doubt in his +eyes. He might have been afraid, for there was a kind of baffled rage on +his face. + +He stopped a passing taxi, and drove straight to his hotel. + +"Is he here?" he asked his valet as he entered his own room. + +"He is waiting, my lord." + +A minute later the little man who had visited him on the day after Dick +Faversham's return to Parliament appeared. + +"What report, Polonius?" asked Romanoff. + +"Nothing of great importance, I am afraid, my lord, but something." + +"Yes, what?" + +"He went to Wendover on the day I was unable to account for his +whereabouts." + +"Ah, you have discovered that, have you?" + +"Yes; I regret I missed him that day, but I trust I have gained your +lordship's confidence again." + +The Count reflected a few seconds. "Tell me what you know," he said +peremptorily. + +"He went down early, and had a talk with an old man at the station. Then +he walked to the house, and had a conversation with his old +housekeeper." + +"Do you know what was said?" + +"There was not much said. She told him there were rumours that Anthony +Riggleton was dead." + +The Count started as though a new thought had entered his mind; then he +turned towards his spy again. + +"He did not pay much attention to it," added Polonius, "neither did he +pay much attention to what she told him about Riggleton's doings at +Wendover." + +"Did he go through the house?" + +"No; he only stayed a few minutes, but he was seen looking very hard at +the front door, as though something attracted him. Then he returned by +another route, and had lunch with that old man who has a cottage near +one of the lodge gates." + +"Hugh Stanmore--yes, I remember." + +"After lunch he went through the park with the old man's granddaughter. +They were talking very earnestly." + +The Count leapt to his feet. + +"You saw this girl?" he asked. + +"Yes. A girl about twenty, I should think. Very pretty in a simple, +countrified way. She is very much loved among the cottage people. I +should say she's a very religious girl. I'm told that she has since +become engaged to be married to a Sir George Weston, who was a soldier +in Egypt." + +"Sir George Weston. Let me think. Yes; I remember. Ah, she is engaged to +be married to him, is she?" + +"That is the rumour. Sir George was staying at Stanmore's cottage at the +time of Faversham's visit. He left the day after." + +"And Faversham has not been there since?" + +"No, my lord." + +"Well, go on." + +"That is all I know." + +"Then you can go; you know my instructions. Remember, they must be +obeyed to the very letter." + +"They shall be--to the very letter." + +The Count entered another room, and opened a safe. From it he took some +papers, and read carefully. Then he sat thinking for a long time. +Presently he looked at his watch. + +Daylight had now gone, early as it was, for winter still gripped the +land. Some days there were suggestions of spring in the air, but they +were very few. The night was cold. + +The Count went to the window, and looked out over St. James's Park. +Great, black ominous-looking clouds rolled across the sky, but here and +there were patches of blue where stars could plainly be seen. He had +evidently made up his mind about something. + +His servant knocked at the door. + +"What time will your lordship dine?" + +"I shall not dine." + +"Very good, my lord." + +Count Romanoff passed into the street. For some time he walked, and +then, hailing a taxi-cab, drove to London Bridge. He did not drive +across the bridge, but stopped at the Cannon Street end. Having paid +the driver, he walked slowly towards the southern bank of the river. +Once he stood for more than a minute watching while the dark waters +rolled towards the sea. + +"What secrets the old river could tell if it could speak," he muttered; +"but all dark secrets--all dark." + +He found his way to the station, and mingled with the crowd there. + +Hours later he was nearly twenty miles from London, and he was alone on +a wide heath. Here and there dotted around the outskirts of the heath he +saw lights twinkling. + +The sky was brighter here; the clouds did not hang so heavily as in the +city, while between them he occasionally saw the pale crescent of a +waxing moon. All around him was the heath. + +He paid no heed to the biting cold, but walked rapidly along one of the +straight-cut roads through the heather and bushes. It was now getting +late, and no one was to be seen. There were only a few houses in the +district, and the inhabitants of these were doubtless ensconced before +cosy fires or playing games with their families. It was not a night to +be out. + +"What a mockery, what a miserable, dirty little mockery life is!" he +said aloud as he tramped along. "And what pigmies men are; what paltry, +useless things make up their lives! This is Walton Heath, and here I +suppose the legislators of the British Empire come to find their +amusement in knocking a golf-ball around. And men are applauded because +they can knock that ball a little straighter and a little farther than +someone else. But--but--and there comes the rub--these same men can +think--think right and wrong, do right and wrong. That fellow +Faversham--yes; what is it that makes him beat me?" + +Mile after mile he tramped, sometimes stopping to look at the sullen, +angry-looking clouds that swept across the sky, and again looking around +the heath as if trying to locate some object in which he was interested. + +Presently he reached a spot where the road cut through some woodland. +Dark pine trees waved their branches to the skies. In the near distance +the heath stretched away for miles, and although it was piercingly cold, +the scene was almost attractive. But here it was dark, gloomy, +forbidding. For some time he stood looking at the waving pine trees; it +might have been that he saw more than was plainly visible. + +"What fools, what blind fools men are!" he said aloud. "Their lives are +bounded by what they see, and they laugh at the spiritual world; they +scorn the suggestion that belting the earth are untold millions of +spirits of the dead. Here they are all around me. I can see them. I can +see them!" + +His eyes burnt red; his features were contorted as if by pain. + +"An eternal struggle," he cried--"just an eternal struggle between right +and wrong, good and evil--yes, good and evil! + +"And the good is slowly gaining the victory! Out of all the wild, mad +convulsions of the world, right is slowly emerging triumphant, the +savage is being subdued, and the human, the Divine, is triumphing." + +He lifted his right hand, and shook his fist to the heavens as if +defiantly. + +"I had great hopes of the War," he went on. "I saw hell let loose; I saw +the world mad for blood. Everywhere was the lust for blood; everywhere +men cried, 'Kill! kill!' And now it is over, and wrong is being +defeated--defeated!" + +He seemed to be in a mad frenzy, his voice shook with rage. + +"Dark spirits of hell!" he cried. "You have been beaten, beaten! Why, +even in this ghastly war, the Cross has been triumphant! Those +thousands, those millions of men who went out from this land, went out +for an ideal. They did not understand it, but it was so. They felt dimly +and indistinctly that they were fighting, dying, that others might live! +And some of the most heroic deeds ever known in the history of the world +were done. Men died for others, died for comradeship, died for duty, +died for country. Everywhere the Cross was seen! + +"And those fellows are not dead! They are alive! they have entered into +a greater life! + +"Why, even the ghastly tragedy of Russia, on which we built so much, +will only be the birth-pains which precede a new life! + +"Everywhere, everywhere the right, the good, is emerging triumphant!" + +He laughed aloud, a laugh of almost insane mockery. + +"But men are blind, blind! They do not realise the world of spirits that +is all around them, struggling, struggling. But through the ages the +spirits of the good are prevailing! + +"That is my punishment, my punishment spirits of hell, my punishment! +Day by day I see the final destruction of evil!" + +His voice was hoarse with agony. He might have been mad--mad with the +torture of despair. + +"All around me, all around me they live," he went on. "But I am not +powerless. I can still work my will. And Faversham shall be mine. I +swore it on the day he was born, swore it when his mother passed into +the world of spirits, swore it when his father joined her. What though +all creation is moving upwards, I can still drag him down, down into +hell! Yes, and she shall see him going down, she shall know, and then +she shall suffer as I have suffered. Her very heaven shall be made hell +to her, because she shall see her son become even what I have become!" + +He left the main road, and followed a disused drive through the wood. +Before long he came to a lonely house, almost hidden by the trees. A +dark gloomy place it was, dilapidated and desolate. Years before it had +perchance been the dwelling-place of some inoffensive respectable +householder who loved the quietness of the country. For years it was for +sale, and then it was bought by a stranger who never lived in it, but +let it fall into decay. + +Romanoff found his way to the main entrance of the house, and entered. +He ascended a stairway, and at length found his way to a room which was +furnished. Here he lit a curiously-shaped lamp. In half an hour the +place was warm, and suggested comfort. Romanoff sat like one deep in +thought. + +Presently he began to pace the room, uttering strange words as he +walked. He might have been repeating incantations, or weaving some +mystic charms. Then he turned out the lamp, and only the fire threw a +flickering light around the room. + +"My vital forces seem to fail me," he muttered; "even here it seems as +though there is good." + +Perspiration oozed from his forehead, and his face was as pale as death. + +Again he uttered wild cries; he might have been summoning unseen powers +to his aid. + +"They are here!" he shouted, and there was an evil joy in his face. Then +there was a change, fear came into his eyes. Looking across the room, he +saw two streaks of light in the form of a cross, while out of the +silence a voice came. + +"Cease!" said the Voice. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +HIS GUARDIAN ANGEL + + +Romanoff ceased speaking, and his eyes were fixed on the two streaks of +light. + +"Who are you? What do you want?" he asked. + +"I am here to bid you desist." + +"And who are you?" + +Slowly, between him and the light, a shadowy figure emerged. Second +after second its shape became more clearly outlined, until the form of a +woman appeared. But the face was obscure; it was dim and shadowy. + +Romanoff's eyes were fixed on the figure; but he uttered no sound. His +tongue was dry, and cleaved to the roof of his mouth. His lips were +parched. + +The face became plainer. Its lineaments were more clearly outlined. He +could see waves of light brown hair, eyes that were large and yearning +with a great tenderness and pity, yet lit up with joy and holy resolve. +A mouth tender as that of a child, but with all the firmness of mature +years. A haunting face it was, haunting because of its spiritual beauty, +its tenderness, its ineffable joy; and yet it was stern and strong. + +It was the face of the woman whom Dick Faversham had seen in the +smoke-room of the outward-bound vessel years before, the face that had +appeared to him at the doorway of the great house at Wendover. + +"You, you!" cried Romanoff at length. "You! Madaline?" + +"Yes!" + +"Why are you here?" + +"To plead with you, to beseech you to let my son alone." + +A change came over Romanoff's face as he heard the words. A new +strength seemed to have come to him. Confidence shone in his eyes, his +every feature spoke of triumph. + +"Your son! His son!" he cried harshly. "The son of the man for whom you +cast me into the outer darkness. But for him you might have been the +mother of _my_ son, and I--I should not have been what I am." + +"You are what you are because you have always yielded to the promptings +of evil," replied the woman. "That was why I never loved you--never +could love you." + +"But you looked at me with eyes of love until he came." + +"As you know, I was but a child, and when you came with your great name, +your great riches, you for a time fascinated me; but I never loved you. +I told you so before he came." + +"But I loved you," said Romanoff hoarsely. "You, the simple country +girl, fascinated me, the Russian noble. And I would have withheld +nothing from you. Houses, lands, position, a great name, all--all were +yours if you would have been my wife. But you rejected me." + +"I did not love you. I felt you were evil. I told you so." + +"What of that? I loved you. I swore I would win you. But you--you--a +simple country girl, poor, ignorant of the world's ways, resisted me, +me--Romanoff. And you married that insipid scholar fellow, leaving me +scorned, rejected. And I swore I would be revenged, living or dead. Then +your child was born and you died. I could not harm you, you were beyond +me, but your son lived. And I swore again. If I could not harm you, I +could harm him, I could destroy him. I gave myself over to evil for +that. I, too, have passed through the doorway which the world calls +death; but powers have been given me, powers to carry out my oath. While +his father was alive, I could do nothing, but since then my work has +been going forward. And I shall conquer, I shall triumph." + +"And I have come here to-night to plead with you on my son's behalf. He +has resisted wrong for a long time. Leave him in peace." + +"Never," cried Romanoff. "You passed into heaven, but your heaven shall +be hell, for your son shall go there. He shall become even as I am. His +joy shall be in evil." + +"Have you no pity, no mercy?" + +"None," replied Romanoff. "Neither pity nor mercy have a place in me. +You drove me to hell, and it is my punishment that the only joy which +may be mine is the joy of what you call evil." + +"Then have pity, have mercy on yourself." + +"Pity on myself? Mercy on myself? You talk in black ignorance." + +"No, I speak in light. Every evil you do only sinks you deeper in mire, +deeper in hell." + +"I cannot help that. It is my doom." + +"It is not your doom if you repent. If you turn your face, your spirit +to the light." + +"I cannot repent. I am of those who love evil. I hate mercy. I despise +pity." + +"Then I must seek to save him in spite of you." + +"You cannot," and a laugh of savage triumph accompanied his words. "I +have made my plans. Nothing which you can do will save him. He has been +given to me." + +For a few seconds there was tense unnatural silence. The room was full +of strange influences, as though conflicting forces were in opposition, +as though light and darkness, good and evil, were struggling together. + +"No, no, Madaline," went on Romanoff. "Now is my hour of triumph. The +son you love shall be mine." + +"Love is stronger than hate, good is stronger than evil," she replied. +"You are fighting against the Eternal Spirit of Good; you are fighting +against the Supreme Manifestation of that Goodness, which was seen two +thousand years ago on the Cross of Calvary." + +"The Cross of Calvary!" replied Romanoff, and his voice was hoarse; "it +is the symbol of defeat, of degradation, of despair. For two thousand +years it has been uplifted, but always to fail." + +"Always to conquer," was the calm reply. "Slowly but surely, age after +age, it has been subduing kingdoms, working righteousness, lifting man +up to the Eternal Goodness. It has through all the ages been overcoming +evil with good, and bringing the harmonies of holiness out of the +discord of sin." + +"Think of this war!" snarled Romanoff. "Think of Germany, think of +Russia! What is the world but a mad hell?" + +"Out of it all will Goodness shine. I cannot understand all, for full +understanding only belongs to the Supreme Father of Lights. But I am +sure of the end. Already the morning is breaking, already light is +shining out of the darkness. Men's eyes are being opened, they are +seeing visions and dreaming dreams. They are seeing the end of war, and +talking of Leagues of Nations, of the Brotherhood of the world." + +"But that does not do away with the millions who have died in battle. It +does not atone for blighted and ruined homes, and the darkness of the +world." + +"Not one of those who fell in battle is dead. They are all alive. I have +seen them, spoken to them. And the Eternal Goodness is ever with them, +ever bearing them up. They have done what they knew to be their duty, +and they have entered into their reward." + +"What, the Evil and the Good together?" sneered Romanoff. "That were +strange justice surely." + +"Shall not the Judge of all the Earth do Right? They are all in His +care, and His pity and His love are Infinite. That is why I plead with +you." + +"What, to spare your son? If what you say is true I am powerless. But I +am not. Wrong is stronger than right. I defy you." + +"Then is it to be a fight between us?" + +"If you will. He must be mine." + +"And what then?" There was ineffable sorrow in the woman's voice. "Would +you drag him into æons of pain and anguish to satisfy your revenge?" + +"I would, and I will. What if right is stronger than wrong, as you say? +What if in the end right shall drag him through hell to heaven? I shall +still know that he has lived in hell, and thus shall I have my +revenge." + +"And I, who am his mother, am also his ministering angel, and it is my +work to save him from you." + +"And you are powerless--powerless, I tell you?" + +"All power is not given to us, but God has given His angels power to +help and save." + +"If you have such power, why am I not vanquished?" + +"Have you not been vanquished many times?" + +"Not once!" cried Romanoff. "Little by little I have been enveloping him +in my toils." + +"Think," replied the other. "When he was tossing on the angry sea, whose +arms bore him up? Think again, why was it when you and he were in the +library together at Wendover, and you tempted him to sell his soul for +gain;--whose hand was placed on his, and stopped him from signing the +paper which would have made him your slave?" + +"Was it you?" gasped Romanoff. + +"Think again. When the woman you selected sought to dazzle him with wild +dreams of power and ambition, and who almost blinded him to the truth, +what led him to discard the picture that came to him as inventions of +evil? Who helped to open his eyes?" + +"Then you--you," gasped Romanoff--"you have been fighting against me all +the time! It was you, was it?" + +"I was his mother, I am his mother; and I, who never intentionally did +you harm, plead with you again. I love him, even as all true mothers, +whether on earth or in the land of spirits, love their children. And I +am allowed to watch over him, to protect him, to help him. It is my joy +to be his guardian angel, and I plead with you to let him be free from +your designs." + +"And if I will--what reward will you give me?" + +"I will seek to help you from your doom--the doom which must be the lot +of those who persist in evil." + +"That is not enough. No, I will carry out my plans; I will drag him to +hell." + +"And I, if need be, will descend into hell to save him." + +"You cannot, you cannot!" and triumph rang in his voice. "I swore to +drag him to hell, swore that his soul should be given over to evil." + +The woman's face seemed to be drawn with pain, her eyes were filled with +infinite yearning and tenderness. She moved her lips as if in speech, +but Romanoff could distinguish no words. Then her form grew dimmer and +dimmer until there was only a shadowy outline of what had been clear and +distinct. + +"What do you say? I cannot hear!" and his voice was mocking. + +The man continued to look at the place where he had seen her, but, as +her form disappeared, the two shafts of light grew more and more +luminous. He saw the bright shining Cross distinctly outlined, and his +eyes burnt with a great terror. Then out of the silence, out of the wide +spaces which surrounded the house, out of the broad expanse of the +heavens, words came to him: + +"Underneath, _underneath_, UNDERNEATH are the Everlasting Arms." + +Fascinated, Romanoff gazed, seeing nothing but the shining outline of +the Cross, while the air seemed to pulsate with the great words I have +set down. + +Then slowly the Cross became more and more dim, until at length it +became invisible. The corner of the room which had been illumined by its +radiance became full of dark shadows. Silence became profound. + +"What does it mean?" he gasped. "She left me foiled, defeated, in +despair. But the Cross shone. The words filled everything." + +For more than a minute he stood like one transfixed, thinking, thinking. + +"It means this," he said presently, and the words came from him in +hoarse gasps, "it means that I am to have my way; it means that I shall +conquer him--drag him to hell; but that underneath hell are the +Everlasting Arms. Well, let it be so. I shall have had my revenge. The +son shall suffer what the mother made me suffer, and she shall suffer +hell, too, because she shall see her son in hell." + +He turned and placed more wood on the fire, then throwing himself in an +arm-chair he sat for hours, brooding, thinking. + +"Yes, Olga will do it," he concluded after a long silence. "The story of +the Garden of Eden is an eternal principle. 'The woman tempted me and I +did eat,' is the story of the world's sin. He is a man, with all a man's +passions, and she is a Venus, a Circe--a woman--and all men fall when a +woman tempts." + +All through the night he kept his dark vigils; there in the dark house, +with only flickering lights from the fire, he worked out his plans, and +schemed for the destruction of a man's soul. + +In the grey dawn of the wintry morning he was back in London again; but +although the servants looked at him questioningly when he entered his +hotel, as if wondering where he had been, he told no man of his doings. +All his experiences were secret to himself. + +During the next few days the little man Polonius seemed exceptionally +busy; three times he went to Wendover, where there seemed to be many +matters that interested him. Several times he made his way to the War +Office, where he appeared to have acquaintances, and where he asked many +questions. He also found his way to the block of buildings where Dick +Faversham's flat was situated, and although Dick never saw him, he +appeared to be greatly interested in the young man's goings out and his +comings in. He also went to the House of Commons, and made the +acquaintance of many Labour Members. Altogether Polonius's time was much +engaged. He went to Count Romanoff's hotel, too, but always late at +night, and he had several interviews with that personage, whom he +evidently held in great awe. + +More than a week after Romanoff's experiences at Walton Heath, Olga +Petrovic received a letter which made her very thoughtful. There was a +look of fear in her eyes as she read, as though it contained disturbing +news. + +And yet it appeared commonplace and innocent enough, and it contained +only a few lines. Perhaps it was the signature which caused her cheeks +to blanch, and her lips to quiver. + +This was how it ran: + + "DEAR OLGA,--You must get F. to take you to dinner on Friday + night next. You must go to the Moscow Restaurant, and be there + by 7.45 prompt. Please look your handsomest, and spare no pains + to be agreeable. When the waiter brings you liqueurs be + especially fascinating. Act on the Berlin plan. This is very + important, as a danger has arisen which I had not calculated + upon. The time for action has now come, and I need not remind + you how much success means to you. + + "ROMANOFF. + + "P.S.--Destroy this as you have destroyed all other correspondence + from me. I shall know whether this is done.--R." + + +This was the note which had caused Olga Petrovic's cheeks to pale. After +reading it again, she sat thinking for a long time, while more than once +her face was drawn as if by spasms of pain. + +Presently she went to her desk, and taking some scented notepaper, she +wrote a letter. She was evidently very particular about the wording, for +she tore up several sheets before she had satisfied herself. There was +the look of an evil woman in her eyes as she sealed it, but there was +something else, too; there was an expression of indescribable longing. + +The next afternoon Dick Faversham came to her flat and found Olga +Petrovic alone. He had come in answer to her letter. + +"Have I done anything to offend you, Mr. Faversham?" she asked, as she +poured out tea. + +"Offend me, Countess? I never thought of such a thing. Why do you ask?" + +"You were so cold, so distant when you were here last--and that was +several days ago." + +"I have been very busy," replied Dick. + +"While I have been very lonely." + +"Lonely! You lonely, Countess?" + +"Yes, very lonely. How little men know women. Because a number of silly, +chattering people have been here when you have called, you have +imagined that my life has been full of pleasure, that I have been +content. But I haven't a friend in the world, unless----" She lifted her +great languishing eyes to his for a moment, and sighed. + +"Unless what?" asked Dick. + +"Nothing, nothing. Why should you care about the loneliness of a woman?" + +"I care a great deal," replied Dick. "You have been very kind to me--a +lonely man." + +From that moment she became very charming. His words gave her the +opening she sought, and a few minutes later she had led him to the +channel of conversation which she desired. + +"You do not mind?" she said presently. "I know you are the kind of man +who finds it a bore to take a woman out to dinner. But there will be a +wonderful band at The Moscow, and I love music." + +"It will be a pleasure, a very great pleasure," replied Dick. + +"And you will not miss being away from the House of Commons for a few +hours, will you? I will try to be very nice." + +"As though you needed to try," cried Dick. "As though you could be +anything else." + +She looked half coyly, half boldly into his eyes. + +"To-morrow night then?" she said. + +"Yes, to-morrow night. At half-past seven I will be here." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +AT THE CAFÉ MOSCOW + + +During the few days which had preceded Dick's visit to the Countess +Olga's house, he had been very depressed. The excitement which he had at +first felt in going to the House of Commons as the Member for Eastroyd +had gone. He found, too, that the "Mother of Parliaments" was different +from what he had expected. + +The thing that impressed him most was the difficulty in getting anything +done. The atmosphere of the place was in the main lethargic. Men came +there for the first time, enthusiastic and buoyant, determined to do +great things; but weeks, months, years passed by, and they had done +nothing. In their constituencies crowds flocked to hear them, and +applauded them to the echo; but in the House of Commons they had to +speak to empty benches, and the few who remained to hear them, yawned +while they were speaking, and only waited because they wanted to catch +the Speaker's eye. + +Dick had felt all this, and much more. It seemed to him that as a +legislator he was a failure, and that the House of Commons was the most +disappointing place in the world. Added to this he was heart-sore and +despondent. His love for Beatrice Stanmore was hopeless. News of her +engagement to Sir George Weston had been confirmed, and thus joy had +gone out of his life. + +Why it was, Dick did not know; but he knew now that he had loved +Beatrice Stanmore from the first time he had seen her. He was constantly +recalling the hour when she first came into his life. She and her +grandfather had come to Wendover when he was sitting talking, with +Romanoff, and he remembered how the atmosphere of the room changed the +moment she entered. His will-power was being sapped, his sense of right +and wrong was dulled; yet no sooner did she appear than his will-power +came back, his moral perceptions became keen. + +It was the same at her second visit. He had been like a man under a +spell; he had become almost paralysed by Romanoff's philosophy of life, +helpless to withstand the picture he held before his eyes; yet on the +sudden coming of this bright-eyed girl everything had changed. She made +him live in a new world. He remembered going outside with her, and they +had talked about angels. + +How vivid it all was to him! Everything was sweeter, brighter, purer, +because of her. Her simple, childish faith, her keen intuition had made +his materialism seem so much foolishness. Her eyes pierced the dark +clouds; she was an angel of God, pointing upward. + +He knew the meaning of it now. His soul had found a kindred soul, even +although he had not known it; he had loved her then, although he was +unaware of the fact. But ever since he had learnt the secret of his +heart he had understood. + +But it was too late. He was helpless, hopeless. She had given her heart +to this soldier, this man of riches and position. Oh, what a mockery +life was! He had seen the gates of heaven, he had caught a glimpse of +what lay beyond, but he could not enter, and in his disappointment and +hopelessness, despair gnawed at his heart like a canker. + +Thus Dick Faversham was in a dangerous mood. That was why the siren-like +presence of Olga Petrovic acted upon his senses like an evil charm. Oh, +if he had only known! + +At half-past seven on the Friday night he called at her flat, and he had +barely entered the room before she came to him. Evidently she regarded +it as a great occasion, for she was resplendently attired. Yet not too +much so. Either she, or her maid, instinctively knew what exactly suited +her kind of beauty; for not even the most critical could have found +fault with her. + +What a glorious creature she was! Shaped like a goddess, her clothes +accentuated her charms. Evidently, too, she was intent on pleasing him. +Her face was wreathed in smiles, her eyes shone with dangerous +brightness. There was witchery, allurement in her presence--she was a +siren. + +Dick almost gave a gasp as he saw her. A girl in appearance, a girl with +all the winsomeness and attractiveness of youth, yet a woman with all a +woman's knowledge of man's weakness--a woman bent on being captivating. + +"Do I please your Majesty?" and her eyes flashed as the words passed her +lips. + +"Please me!" he gasped. "You are wonderful, simply wonderful." + +"I want you to be pleased," she whispered, and Dick thought he saw her +blush. + +They entered the motor-car together, and as she sat by his side he felt +as though he were in dreamland. A delicate perfume filled the air, and +the knowledge that he was going to dine with her, amidst brightness and +gaiety, made him forgetful of all else. + +They were not long in reaching The Moscow, one of the most popular and +fashionable restaurants in London. He saw at a glance, as he looked +around him, that the wealth, the beauty, the fashion of London were +there. The waiter led them to a table from which they could command +practically the whole room, and where they could be seen by all. But he +took no notice of this. He was almost intoxicated by the brilliance of +the scene, by the fascination of the woman who sat near him. + +"For once," she said, "let us forget dull care, let us be happy." + +He laughed gaily. "Why not?" he cried. "All the same, I wonder what my +constituents at Eastroyd would say if they saw me here?" + +She gave a slight shrug, and threw off the light gossamer shawl which +had somewhat hidden her neck and shoulders. Her jewels flashed back the +light which shone overhead, her eyes sparkled like stars. + +"Let us forget Eastroyd," she cried; "let us forget everything sordid +and sorrowing. Surely there are times when one should live only for +gladness, for joy. Is not the music divine? There, listen! Did I not +tell you that some of the most wonderful artists in London play here? +Do you know what it makes me think of?" + +"I would love to know," he responded, yielding to her humour. + +"But I must not tell you--I dare not. I am going to ask a favour of you, +my friend. Will you grant it, without asking me what it is?" + +"Of course I will grant it." + +"Oh, it is little, nothing after all. Only let me choose the wine +to-night." + +"Why not? I am no wine drinker, and am no judge of vintages." + +"Ah, but you must drink with me to-night. To-night I am queen, and you +are----" + +"Yes, what am I?" asked Dick with a laugh, as she stopped. + +"You are willing to obey your queen, aren't you?" + +"Who would not be willing to obey such a queen?" was his reply. + +The waiter hovered around them, attending to their slightest wants. Not +only was the restaurant noted as being a rendezvous for the beauty and +fashion of London, but it boasted the best _chef_ in England. Every dish +was more exquisite than the last, and everything was served in a way to +please the most captious. + +The dinner proceeded. Course followed course, while sweet music was +discoursed, and Dick felt in a land of enchantment. For once he gave +himself over to enjoyment--he banished all saddening thoughts. He was in +a world of brightness and song; every sight, every sound drove away dull +care. To-morrow he would have to go back to the grim realities of life; +but now he allowed himself to be swept along by the tide of laughter and +gaiety. + +"You seem happy, my friend," said the woman presently. "Never before did +I see you so free from dull care, never did I see you so full of the joy +of life. Well, why not? Life was given to us to be happy. Yes, yes, I +know. You have your work to do; but not now. I should feel miserable for +days if I thought I could not charm away sadness from you--especially +to-night." + +"Why to-night?" + +"Because it is the first time we have ever dined together. I should pay +you a poor compliment, shouldn't I, if when you took me to a place where +laughter abounded I did not bring laughter to your lips and joy to your +heart. Let us hope that this is the first of the many times we may dine +together. Yes; what are you thinking about?" + +"That you are a witch, a wonder, a miracle of beauty and of charm. +There, I know I speak too freely." + +He ceased speaking suddenly. + +"I love to hear you speak so. I would rather--but what is the matter?" + +Dick did not reply. His eyes were riveted on another part of the room, +and he had forgotten that she was speaking. Seated at a table not far +away were three people, two men and a woman. The men were Sir George +Weston and Hugh Stanmore. The woman was Beatrice Stanmore. Evidently the +lover had brought his fiancée and her grandfather there that night. It +seemed to Dick that Weston had an air of proprietorship, as he acted the +part of host. He watched while the baronet smiled on her and spoke to +her. It would seem, too, that he said something pleasant, for the girl +laughed gaily, and her eyes sparkled with delight. + +"You see someone you know?" and Olga Petrovic's eyes followed his gaze. +"Ah, you are looking at the table where that pretty but rather +countrified girl is sitting with the old man with the white hair, and +the other who looks like a soldier. Ah yes, you know them, my friend?" + +"I have seen them--met them," he stammered. + +"Ah, then you know who they are? I do not know them, they are strangers +to me; but I can tell you about them. Shall I?" + +"Yes." His eyes were still riveted on them, and he did not know he had +spoken. + +"The girl is the younger man's fiancée. They have lately become engaged. +Don't you see how he smiles on her? And look how she smiles back. She is +deeply in love with him, that is plain. There, don't you see--she has a +ring on her engagement finger. They are very happy. I think the man has +brought the girl and the old man here as a kind of celebration dinner. +Presently they will go to some place of amusement. She seems a poor +simpering thing; but they are evidently deeply in love with each other. +Tell me, am I not right?" + +Dick did not reply. What he had seen stung him into a kind of madness. +He was filled with reckless despair. What matter what he did, what +happened to him? Of course he knew of the engagement, but the sight of +them together unhinged his mind, kept him from thinking coherently. + +"You seem much interested in them, my friend; do you know them well? Ah, +they have finished dinner, I think. There, they are looking at us; the +girl is asking who we are, or, perhaps, she has recognised you." + +For a moment Dick felt his heart stop beating; yes, she was coming his +way. She must pass his table in order to get out. + +With a kind of despairing recklessness he seized the wineglass by his +side and drained it. He was hardly master of himself; he talked rapidly, +loudly. + +The waiter appeared with liqueurs. + +"Yes," cried the Countess, with a laugh; "I chose the wine--I must +choose the liqueurs also. It is my privilege." + +The waiter poured out the spirits with a deft hand, while the woman +laughed. Her eyes sparkled more brightly then ever; her face had a look +of set purpose. + +"This is the only place in London where one can get this liqueur," she +cried. "What is it? I don't know. But I am told it is exquisite. There! +I drink to you!" + +She lifted the tiny glass to her lips, while her eyes, large, black, +bold, seductive, dangerous, flashed into his. + +"Drink, my friend," she said, and her voice reached some distance around +her; "it is the drink of love, of _love_, the only thing worth living +for. Drain it to the bottom, and let us be happy." + +He lifted the glass, but ere it reached his lips he saw that Beatrice +Stanmore and her companions were close to him, and that she must have +heard what Olga Petrovic had said. In spite of the fact that he had +drunk of rich, strong wine, and that it tingled through his veins like +some fabled elixir, he felt his heart grow cold. He saw a look on the +girl's face which startled him--frightened him. But she was not looking +at him; her eyes were fixed on his companion. + +And he saw the expression of terror, of loathing, of horror. It made him +think of an angel gazing into the pit of hell. But Olga Petrovic seemed +unconscious of her presence. Her eyes were fixed on Dick's face. She +seemed to be pleading with him, fascinating him, compelling him to think +only of her. + +Meanwhile Hugh Stanmore and Sir George Weston hesitated, as if doubtful +whether they should speak. + +Dick half rose. He wanted to speak to Beatrice. To tell her--what, he +did not know. But he was not master of himself. He was dizzy and +bewildered. Perhaps it was because he was unaccustomed to drink wine, +and the rich vintage had flown to his head--perhaps because of +influences which he could not understand. + +"Beatrice--Miss Stanmore," he stammered in a hoarse, unnatural voice, so +hoarse and unnatural that the words were scarcely articulated, +"this--this _is_ a surprise." + +He felt how inane he was. He might have been intoxicated. What must +Beatrice think of him? + +But still she did not look at him. Her eyes were still fixed on Olga's +face. She seemed to be trying to read her, to pierce her very soul. Then +suddenly she turned towards Dick, who had dropped into his chair again, +and was still holding the tiny glass in his hand. + +"You do not drink, Dick," said Olga Petrovic, and her voice, though low +and caressing, was plainly to be heard. "You must drink, because I chose +it, and it is the drink of love--the only thing worth living for," and +all the time her eyes were fixed on his face. + +Almost unconsciously he turned towards her, and his blood seemed turned +to fire. Madness possessed him; he felt a slave to the charms of this +bewitching woman, even while the maiden for whom his heart longed with +an unutterable longing was only two or three yards from him. He lifted +the glass again, and the fiery liquid passed his lips. + +Again he looked at Beatrice, and it seemed to him that he saw horror and +disgust in her face. Something terrible had happened; it seemed to him +that he was enveloped in some form of black magic from which he could +not escape. + +Then rage filled his heart. The party passed on without further notice +of him, and he saw Beatrice speak to Sir George Weston. What she said to +him he did not know, but he caught a part of his reply. + +"I heard of her in Vienna. She had a curious reputation. Her _salon_ was +the centre of attraction to a peculiar class of men. Magnificent, +but----" + +That was all he heard. He was not sure he heard even that. There was a +hum of voices, and the sound of laughter everywhere, and so it was +difficult for him to be sure of what any particular person said. Neither +might the words apply to the woman at his side. + +Bewildered, he turned towards Olga again, caught the flash of her eyes' +wild fire, and was again fascinated by the bewildering seductiveness of +her charms. What was the matter with him? He did not seem master of +himself. Everything was strange--bewildering. + +Perhaps it was because of the wine he had drunk, perhaps because that +fiery liquid had inflamed his imagination; but it seemed to him that +nothing mattered. Right! Wrong! What were they? Mere abstractions, the +fancies of a diseased mind. Wild recklessness filled his heart. He had +seen Beatrice Stanmore smile on Sir George Weston, and he had heard the +woman at his side say that she, Beatrice, wore this Devonshire squire's +ring. + +Well, what then? Why should he care? + +And all the time Olga Petrovic was by his side. She had seemed +unconscious of Beatrice's presence; she had not noticed the look of +horror and loathing in the girl's eyes. She was only casting a spell on +him--a spell he could not understand. + +Then he had a peculiar sensation. This mysterious woman was bewitching +him. She was sapping his will even as Romanoff had sapped it years +before. Why did he connect them? + +"Countess," he said, "do you know Count Romanoff?" + +The woman hesitated a second before replying. + +"Dick," she said, "you must not call me Countess. You know my name, +don't you? Count Romanoff? No, I never heard of him." + +"Let us get away from here," he cried. "I feel as though I can't +breathe." + +"I'm so sorry. Let us go back home and spend the evening quietly. Oh, I +forgot. Sir Felix and Lady Fordham are calling at ten o'clock. You don't +mind, do you?" + +"No, no. I shall be glad to meet them." + +A few minutes later they were moving rapidly towards Olga Petrovic's +flat, Dick still excited, and almost irresponsible, the woman with a +look of exultant triumph on her face. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +THE SHADOW OF A GREAT TERROR + + +"Sit down, my friend. Sir Felix and Lady Fordham have not come; but what +matter? There, take this chair. Ah, you look like yourself again. Has it +ever struck you that you are a handsome man? No; I do not flatter. I +looked around The Moscow to-night, and there was not a man in the room +to compare with you--not one who looked so distinguished, so much--a +man. I felt so glad--so proud." + +He felt himself sink in the luxuriously upholstered chair, while she sat +at his feet and looked up into his face. + +"Now, then, you are king; you are seated on your throne, while I, your +slave, am at your feet, ready to obey your will. Is not that the story +of man and woman?" + +He did not answer He was struggling, struggling and fighting, and yet he +did not know against what he was fighting. Besides, he had no heart in +the battle. His will-power was gone; his vitality was lowered; he felt +as though some powerful narcotic were in his blood, deadening his +manhood, dulling all moral purpose. He was intoxicated by the influences +of the hour, careless as to what might happen to him, and yet by some +strange contradiction he was afraid. The shadow of a great terror rested +on him. + +And Olga Petrovic seemed to know--to understand. + +She started to her feet. "You have never heard me sing, have you? Ah no, +of course you have not. And has it not ever been in song and story that +the slave of her lord's will discoursed sweet music to him? Is there not +some old story about a shepherd boy who charmed away the evil spirits of +the king by music?" + +She sat at a piano, and began to play soft, dreamy music. Her fingers +scarcely touched the keys, and yet the room was filled with peculiar +harmonies. + +"You understand French, do you not, my friend? Yes; I know you do." + +She began to sing. What the words were he never remembered afterwards, +but he knew they possessed a strange power over him. They dulled his +fears; they charmed his senses; they seemed to open up long vistas of +beauty and delight. He seemed to be in a kind of Mohammedan Paradise, +where all was sunshine and song. + +How long she sung he could not tell; what she said to him he hardly +knew. He only knew that he sat in a luxuriously appointed room, while +this wonder of womanhood charmed him. + +Presently he knew that she was making love to him, and that he was +listening with eager ears. Not only did he seem to have no power to +resist her--he had no desire to do so. He did not ask whether she was +good or evil; he ceased to care what the future might bring forth. And +yet he had a kind of feeling that something was wrong, hellish--only it +did not matter to him. This woman loved him, while all other love was +impossible to him. + +Beatrice! Ah, but Beatrice had looked at him with horror; all her smiles +were given to another man--the man to whom she had promised to give +herself as his wife. What mattered, then? + +But there was a new influence in the room! It seemed to him as if a +breath of sweet mountain air had been wafted to him--air full of the +strength of life, sweet, pure life. The scales fell from his eyes and he +saw. + +The woman again sat at his feet, looking up at him with love-compelling +eyes, and he saw her plainly. But he saw more: the wrappings were torn +from her soul, and he beheld her naked spirit. + +He shuddered. What he saw was evil--evil. Instead of the glorious face +of Olga Petrovic, he saw a grinning skull; instead of the dulcet tones +of her siren-like voice, he heard the hiss of snakes, the croaking of a +raven. + +He was standing on the brink of a horrible precipice, while beneath him +was black, unfathomable darkness, filled with strange, noisome sounds. + +What did it mean? He still beheld the beauty--the somewhat Oriental +beauty of the room; he was still aware of the delicate odours that +pervaded it, while this woman, glorious in her queenly splendour, was at +his feet, charming him with words of love, with promises of delight; but +it seemed to him that other eyes, other powers of vision, were given to +him, and he saw beyond. + +Was that Romanoff's cynical, evil face? Were not his eyes watching them +with devilish expectancy? Was he not even then gloating over the loss of +his manhood, the pollution of his soul? + +"Hark, what is that?" + +"What, my friend? Nothing, nothing." + +"But I heard something--something far away." + +She laughed with apparent gaiety, yet there was uneasiness in her voice. + +"You heard nothing but my foolish confession, Dick. I love you, love +you! Do you hear? I love you. I tried to kill it--in vain. But what +matter? Love is everything--there is nothing else to live for. And you +and I are all the world. Your love is mine. Tell me, is it not so? And I +am yours, my beloved, yours for ever." + +But he only half heard her; forces were at work in his life which he +could not comprehend. A new longing came to him--the longing for a +strong, clean manhood. + +"Do you believe in angels?" he asked suddenly. + +Why the question passed his lips he did not know, but it sprung to his +lips without thought or effort on his part. Then he remembered. Beatrice +Stanmore had asked him that question weeks before down at Wendover Park. + +Angels! His mind became preternaturally awake; his memory flashed back +across the chasm of years. + +"Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them +who shall be heirs of salvation?" + +Yes; he remembered the words. The old clergyman had repeated them years +before, when he had seen the face of the woman which no other man could +see. + +Like lightning his mind swept down the years, and he remembered the +wonderful experiences which had had such a marked influence on his life. + +"Angels!" laughed the woman. "There are no angels save those on earth, +my friend. There is no life other than this, so let us be happy." + +"Look, look!" he cried, pointing to a part of the room which was only +dimly lit. "She is there, there! Don't you see? Her hand is pointing +upward!" + +Slowly the vision faded, and he saw nothing. + +Then came the great temptation of Dick Faversham's life. His will-power, +his manhood, had come back to him again, but he felt that he had to +fight his battle alone. His eyes were open, but because at his heart was +a gnawing despair, he believed there was nothing to live for save what +his temptress promised. + +She pleaded as only a woman jealous for her love, determined to triumph, +can plead. And she was beautiful, passionate, dangerous. Again he felt +his strength leaving him, his will-power being sapped, his horror of +wrong dulled. + +Still something struggled within him--something holy urged him to fight +on. His manhood was precious; the spark of the Divine fire which still +burnt refused to be extinguished. + +"Lord, have mercy upon me! Christ, have mercy upon me!" + +It was a part of the service he had so often repeated in the old school +chapel, and it came back to him like the memory of a dream. + +"Countess," he said, "I must go." + +"No, no, Dick," cried the woman, with a laugh. "Why, it is scarcely ten +o'clock." + +"I must go," he repeated weakly. + +"Not for another half an hour. I am so lonely." + +He was hesitating whether he should stay, when they both heard the sound +of voices outside--voices that might have been angry. A moment later the +door opened, and Beatrice Stanmore came in, accompanied by her +grandfather. + +"Forgive me," panted the girl, "but I could not help coming. Something +told me you were in great danger--ill--dying, and I have come." + +She had come to him just as she had come to him that night at Wendover +Park, and at her coming the power of Romanoff was gone. It was the same +now. As if by magic, he felt free from the charm of Olga Petrovic. The +woman was evil, and he hated evil. + +Again the eyes of Beatrice Stanmore were fixed on the face of Olga +Petrovic. She did not speak, but her look was expressive of a great +loathing. + +"Surely this is a strange manner to disturb one's privacy," said the +Countess. "I am at a loss to know to what I am indebted for this +peculiar attention. I must speak to my servants." + +But Beatrice spoke no word in reply to her. Turning towards Dick again, +she looked at him for a few seconds. + +"I am sorry I have disturbed you," she said. "Something, I do not know +what, told me you were in some terrible danger, and I went back to the +restaurant. A man there told us you had come here. I am glad I was +mistaken. Forgive me, I will go now." + +"I am thankful you came," said Dick. "I--I am going." + +"Good-night, Countess," he added, turning to Olga, and without another +word turned to leave the room. But Olga Petrovic was not in the humour +to be baffled. She rushed towards him and caught his arm. + +"You cannot go yet," she cried. "You must not go like this, Dick; I +cannot allow you. Besides, I want an explanation. These people, who are +they? Dick, why are they here?" + +"I must go," replied Dick sullenly. "I have work to do." + +"Work!" she cried. "This is not the time for work, but love--our love, +Dick. Ah, I remember now. This girl was at The Moscow with that soldier +man. They love each other. Why may we not love each other too? Stay, +Dick." + +But she pleaded in vain. The power of her spell had gone. Something +strong, virile, vital, stirred within him, and he was master of +himself. + +"Good-night, Countess," he replied. "Thank you for your kind invitation, +but I must go." + +He scarcely knew where he was going, and he had only a dim remembrance +of refusing to take the lift and of stumbling down the stairs. He +thought he heard old Hugh Stanmore talking with Beatrice, but he was not +sure; he fancied, too, that they were close behind him, but he was too +bewildered to be certain of anything. + +A few minutes later he was tramping towards his own humble flat, and as +he walked he was trying to understand the meaning of what had taken +place. + + * * * * * + +Olga Petrovic had been alone only a few seconds, when Count Romanoff +entered the room. Evidently he had been in close proximity all the time. +In his eyes was the look of an angry beast at bay; his face was +distorted, his voice hoarse. + +"And you have allowed yourself to be beaten--beaten!" he taunted. + +But the woman did not speak. Her hands were clenched, her lips +tremulous, while in her eyes was a look of unutterable sorrow. + +"But we have not come to the end of our little comedy yet, Olga," went +on Romanoff. "You have still your chance of victory." + +"Comedy!" she repeated; "it is the blackest tragedy." + +"Tragedy, eh? Yes; it will be tragedy if you fail." + +"And I must fail," she cried. "I am powerless to reach him, and yet I +would give my heart's blood to win his love. But go, go! Let me never +see your face again." + +"You will not get rid of me so easily," mocked the Count. "We made our +pact. I will keep my side of it, and you must keep yours." + +"I cannot, I tell you. Something, something I cannot understand, mocks +me." + +"You love the fellow still," said Romanoff. "Fancy, Olga Petrovic is +weak enough for that." + +"Yes, I love him," cried the woman--"I admit it--love him with every +fibre of my being. But not as you would have me love him. I have tried +to obey you; but I am baffled. The man's clean, healthy soul makes me +ashamed. God alone knows how ashamed I am! And it is his healthiness of +soul that baffles me." + +"No, it is not," snarled Romanoff. "It is because I have been opposed by +one of whom I was ignorant. That chit of a girl, that wayside flower, +whom I would love to see polluted by the filth of the world, has been +used to beat me. Don't you see? The fellow is in love with her. He has +been made to love her. That is why you have failed." + +Mad jealousy flashed into the woman's eyes. "He loves her?" she asked, +and her voice was hoarse. + +"Of course he does. Will you let him have her?" + +"He cannot. Is she not betrothed to that soldier fellow?" + +"What if she is? Was there not love in her eyes as she came here +to-night? Would she have come merely for Platonic friendship? Olga, if +you do not act quickly, you will have lost him--lost him for ever." + +"But I have lost him!" she almost wailed. + +"You have not, I tell you. Go to her to-night. Tell her that Faversham +is not the man she thinks he is. Tell her--but I need not instruct you +as to that. You know what to say. Then when he goes to her to explain, +as he will go, she will drive him from her, Puritan fool as she is, with +loathing and scorn! After that your turn will come again." + +For some time they talked, she protesting, he explaining, threatening, +cajoling, promising, and at length he overcame. With a look of +determination in her eyes, she left her flat, and drove to the hotel +where Romanoff told her that Hugh Stanmore and Beatrice were staying. + +Was Miss Beatrice Stanmore in the hotel? she asked when she entered the +vestibule. + +Yes, she was informed, Miss Stanmore had returned with her grandfather +only half an hour before. + +She took one of her visiting cards and wrote on it hastily. + +"Will you take it to her at once," she commanded the servant, and she +handed him the card. "Tell her that it is extremely urgent." + +"But it is late, your ladyship," protested the man; "and I expect she +has retired." + +Nevertheless he went. A look from the woman compelled obedience. A few +minutes later he returned. + +"Will you be pleased to follow me, your ladyship?" he said. "Miss +Stanmore will see you." + +Olga Petrovic followed him with a steady step, but in her eyes was a +look of fear. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +THE TRIUMPH OF GOOD + + +Beatrice Stanmore was sitting in a tiny room as the Countess Olga +Petrovic entered. It was little more than a dressing-room, and adjoined +her bedroom. She rose at Olga's entrance, and looked at the woman +intently. She was perfectly calm, and was far more at ease than her +visitor. + +"I hope you will pardon the liberty I have taken," and Olga spoke in +sweet, low tones; "but I came to plead for your forgiveness. I was +unutterably rude to you to-night, and I felt I could not sleep until I +was assured of your pardon." + +"Won't you sit down?" and Beatrice pointed to a chair as she spoke. "I +will ask my grandfather to come here." + +"But, pardon me," cried Olga eagerly, "could we not remain alone? I have +much to say to you--things which I can say to you only." + +"Then it was not simply to ask my pardon that you came?" retorted +Beatrice. "Very well, I will hear you." + +She was utterly different from the sensitive, almost timid girl whom +Dick Faversham had spoken to at Wendover. It was evident that she had no +fear of her visitor. She spoke in plain matter-of-fact terms. + +For a few seconds the older woman seemed to be at a loss what to say. +The young inexperienced girl disturbed her confidence, her +self-assurance. + +"I came to speak to you about Mr. Faversham," she began, after an +awkward silence. + +Beatrice Stanmore made no remark, but sat quietly as if waiting for her +to continue. + +"You know Mr. Faversham?" continued the woman. + +"Yes, I know him." + +"Forgive me for speaking so plainly; but you have an interest in him +which is more than--ordinary?" The words were half a question, half an +assertion. + +"I am greatly interested in Mr. Faversham--yes," she replied quietly. + +"Even though, acting on the advice of your grandfather, you have become +engaged to Sir George Weston? Forgive my speaking plainly, but I felt I +must come to you to-night, felt I must tell you the truth." + +Olga Petrovic paused as if waiting for Beatrice to say something, but +the girl was silent. She fixed her eyes steadily on the other's face, +and waited. + +"Mr. Faversham is not the kind of man you think he is." Olga Petrovic +spoke hurriedly and awkwardly, as though she found the words difficult +to say. + +Still Beatrice remained silent; but she kept her eyes steadily on the +other's face. + +"I thought I ought to tell you. You are young and innocent; you do not +know the ways of men. Mr. Faversham is not fit for you to associate +with." + +"And yet you dined with him to-night. You took him to your flat +afterwards." + +"But I am different from you. I am a woman of the world, and your +Puritan standard of morals has no weight or authority with me. Of +course," and again she spoke awkwardly, "I have no right to speak to +you, your world is different from mine, and you are a stranger to me; +but I have heard of you." + +"How? Through whom?" + +"Need you ask?" + +"I suppose you mean Mr. Faversham. Why should he speak to you about me?" + +"Some men are like that. They boast of their conquests, they glory +in--in----; but I need not say more. Will you take advice from a woman +who--who has suffered, and who, through suffering, has learnt to know +the world? It is this. Think no more of Richard Faversham. He--he is not +a good man; he is not fit to associate with a pure child like you." + +Beatrice Stanmore looked at the other with wonder in her eyes. There was +more than wonder, there was terror. It might be that the older woman had +frightened her. + +"Forgive me speaking like this," went on Olga, "but I cannot help +myself. Drive him from your mind. Perhaps there is not much romance in +the thought of marrying Sir George Weston, but I beseech you to do so. +He, at least, will shield you from the temptations, the evil of the +world. As for Faversham, if he ever tries to see you again, remember +that his very presence is pollution for such as you. Yes, yes, I know +what you are thinking of--but I don't matter. I live in a world of which +I hope you may always remain ignorant; but in which Faversham finds his +joy. You--you saw us together----" + +In spite of her self-control Beatrice was much moved. The crimson +flushes on her cheeks were followed by deathly pallor. Her lips +quivered, her bosom heaved as if she found it difficult to breathe. But +she did not speak. Perhaps she was too horrified by the other's words. + +"I know I have taken a fearful liberty with you," went on Olga; "but I +could not help myself. My life, whatever else it has done has made me +quick to understand, and when I watched you, I saw that that man had +cast an evil spell upon you. At first I felt careless, but as I watched +your face, I felt a great pity for you. I shuddered at the thought of +your life being blackened by your knowledge of such a man." + +"Does he profess love to you?" asked Beatrice quietly. + +Olga Petrovic gave a hard laugh. "Surely you saw," she said. + +"And you would warn me against him?" + +"Yes; I would save you from misery." + +For some seconds the girl looked at the woman's face steadily, then she +said, simply and quietly: + +"And are you, who seek to save me, content to be the woman you say you +are? You are very, very beautiful--are you content to be evil?" + +She spoke just as a child might speak; but there was something in the +tones of her voice which caused the other to be afraid. + +"You seem to have a kind heart," went on Beatrice; "you would save me +from pain, and--and evil. Have you no thought for yourself?" + +"I do not matter," replied the woman sullenly. + +"You think only of me?" + +"I think only of you." + +"Then look at me," and the eyes of the two met. "Is what you have told +me true?" + +"True!" + +"Yes, true. You were innocent once, you had a mother who loved you, and +I suppose you once had a religion. Will you tell me, thinking of the +mother who loved you, of Christ who died for you, whether what you say +about Mr. Faversham is true?" + +A change came over Olga Petrovic's face; her eyes were wide open with +terror and shame. For some seconds she seemed fighting with a great +temptation, then she rose to her feet. + +"No," she almost gasped; "it is not true!" She simply could not persist +in a lie while the pure, lustrous eyes of the girl were upon her. + +"Then why did you tell me?" + +"Because, oh, because I am mad! Because I am a slave, and because I am +jealous, jealous for his love, because, oh----!" She flung herself into +the chair again, and burst into an agony of tears. + +"Oh, forgive me, forgive me for deceiving you!" she sobbed presently. + +"You did not deceive me at all. I knew you were lying." + +"But--but you seemed--horrified at what I told you!" + +"I was horrified to think that one so young and beautiful like you +could--could sink so low." + +"Then you do not know what love is!" she cried. "Do you understand? I +love him--love him! I would do anything, anything to win him." + +"And if you did, could you make him happy?" + +"I make him happy! Oh, but you do not know." + +"Tell me," said Beatrice, "are you not the tool, the slave of someone +else? Has not Mr. Faversham an enemy, and are you not working for that +enemy?" + +Her clear, childlike eyes were fixed on the other's face; she seemed +trying to understand her real motives. Olga Petrovic, on the other hand, +regarded the look with horror. + +"No, no," she cried, "do not think that of me! I would have saved Dick +from him. I--I would have shielded him with my life." + +"You would have shielded him from Count Romanoff?" + +"Do not tell me you know him?" + +"I only know of him. He is evil, evil. Ah yes, I understand now. He sent +you here. He is waiting for you now." + +"But how do you know?" + +"Listen," said Beatrice, without heeding her question, "you can be a +happy woman, a good woman. Go back and tell that man that you have +failed, and that he has failed; then go back to your own country, and be +the woman God meant you to be, the woman your mother prayed you might +be." + +"I--I a happy woman--a good woman!" + +"Yes--I tell you, yes." + +"Oh, tell me so again, tell me--O great God, help me!" + +"Sit down," said Beatrice quietly; "let us talk. I want to help you." + +For a long time they sat and talked, while old Hugh Stanmore, who was +close by, wondered who his grandchild's visitor could be, and why they +talked so long. + +It was after midnight when Olga Petrovic returned to her flat, and no +sooner did she enter than Count Romanoff met her. + +"Well, Olga," he asked eagerly, "what news?" + +"I go back to Poland to-morrow, to my old home, to my own people." + +She spoke slowly, deliberately; her voice was hard and cold. + +He did not seem to understand. He looked at her questioningly for some +seconds without speaking. + +"You are mad, Olga," he said presently. + +"I am not mad." + +"This means then that you have failed. You understand the consequences +of failure?" + +"It means--oh, I don't know what it means. But I do know that that child +had made me long to be a good woman." + +"A good woman? Olga Petrovic a good woman!" he sneered. + +"Yes, a good woman. I am not come to argue with you. I only tell you +that you are powerless to hinder me." + +"And Faversham? Does Olga Petrovic mean that she confesses herself +beaten? That she will have her love thrown in her face, and not be +avenged?" + +"It means that if you like, and it means something more. Isaac Romanoff, +or whatever your real name may be, why you have sought to ruin that man +I don't know; but I know this: I have been powerless to harm him, and so +have you." + +"It means that you have failed--_you_!" he snarled. + +"Yes, and why? There has been a power mightier than yours against which +you have fought. Good, GOOD, has been working on his side, that is why +you have failed, why I have failed. O God of Goodness, help me!" + +"Stop that, stop that, I say!" His voice was hoarse, and his face was +livid with rage. + +"I will not stop," she cried. "I want to be a good woman--I will be a +good woman. That child whom I laughed at has seen a thousand times +farther into the heart of truth than I, and she is happy, happy in her +innocence, in her spotless purity, and in her faith in God. And I +promised her I would be a new woman, live a new life." + +"You cannot, you dare not," cried the Count. + +"But I will. I will leave the old bad past behind me." + +"And I will dog your every footstep. I will make such madness +impossible." + +"But you cannot. Good is stronger than evil. God is Almighty." + +"I hold you, body and soul, remember that." + +The woman seemed possessed of a new power, and she turned to the Count +with a look of triumph in her eyes. + +"Go," she cried, "in the name of that Christ who was the joy of my +mother's life, and who died that I might live--I bid you go. From +to-night I cease to be your slave." + +The Count lifted his hand as if to strike her, but she stood before him +fearless. + +"You cannot harm me," she cried. "See, see, God's angels are all around +me now! They stretch out their arms to help me." + +He seemed to be suffering agonies; his face was contorted, his eyes were +lurid, and he appeared to be struggling with unseen powers. + +"I will not yield," he cried; "not one iota will I yield. You are mine, +you swore to serve me--I claim my own." + +"The oath I took was evil, evil, and I break it. O eternal God, help me, +help me. Save me, save me, for Christ's sake." + +Romanoff seemed to hesitate what to do, then he made a movement as if to +move towards her, but was powerless to do so. The hand which he had +uplifted dropped to his side as if paralysed; he was in the presence of +a Power greater than his own. He passed out of the room without another +word. + +The next day the flat of Countess Olga Petrovic was empty, but no one +knew whither she had gone. + + * * * * * + +For more than a month after the scenes I have described, Dick Faversham +was confined to his room. He suffered no pain, but he was languid, weak, +and terribly depressed. An acquaintance who called to see him, shocked +by his appearance, insisted on sending for a doctor, and this gentleman, +after a careful examination, declared that while he was organically +sound, he was in a low condition, and utterly unfit for work. + +"You remind me of a man suffering from shell-shock," he said. "Have you +had any sudden sorrow, or anything of that sort?" + +Dick shook his head. + +"Anyhow, you are utterly unfit for work, that is certain," went on the +doctor. "What you need is absolute rest, cheerful companionship, and a +warm, sunny climate." + +"There's not much suggestion of a warm, sunny climate here," Dick said, +looking out of the window. + +"But I daresay it would be possible to arrange for a passport, so that +you might get to the South of France, or to Egypt," persisted the +doctor. + +"Yes; I might get a passport, but I've no money to get there." + +So Dick stayed on at his flat, and passed the time as best he could. By +and by the weather improved, and presently Dick was well enough to get +out. But he had no interest in anything, and he quickly grew tired. Then +a sudden, an almost overmastering desire came to him to go to Wendover. +There seemed no reason why he should go there, but his heart ached for a +sight of the old house. He pictured it as it was during the time he +spent there. He saw the giant trees in the park, the gay flowers in the +gardens, the stateliness and restfulness of the old mansion. The thought +of it warmed his heart, and gave him new hope. + +"Oh, if it were only mine again!" he reflected. + +He had heard that the rumours of Tony Riggleton's death were false, and +he was also told that although he had been kept out of England for some +time he would shortly return; but concerning that he could gather +nothing definite. + +Of Beatrice Stanmore he had heard nothing, and he had no heart to make +inquiries concerning her. He had many times reflected on her sudden +appearance at Olga Petrovic's flat, and had he been well enough he would +have tried to see her. More than once he had taken a pen in hand to +write to her, but he had never done so. What was the use? In spite of +her coming, he felt that she must regard him with scorn. He remembered +what Olga Petrovic had said in her presence. Besides, he was too weak, +too ill to make any effort whatever. + +But with the sudden desire to go to Wendover came also the longing to +see her--to explain. Of course she was the affianced wife of Sir George +Weston, but he wanted to stand well in her eyes; he wanted her to know +the truth. + +It was a bright, balmy morning when he started for Surrey, and +presently, when the train had left Croydon behind, a strange joy filled +his heart. After all, life was not without hope. He was a young man, and +in spite of everything he had kept his manhood. He was poor, and as yet +unknown, but he had obtained a certain position. Love was not for him, +nor riches, but he could work for the benefit of others. + +When the train stopped at Wendover station, he again found himself to be +the only passenger who alighted. As he breathed the pure, balmy air, and +saw the countryside beginning to clothe itself in its mantle of living +green, it seemed to him that new life, new energy, entered his being. +After all, it was good to be alive. + +Half an hour later he was nearing the park gates--not those which he had +entered on his first visit, but those near which Hugh Stanmore's cottage +was situated. He had taken this road without thinking. Well, it did not +matter. + +As he saw the cottage nestling among the trees, he felt his heart +beating wildly. He wondered if Beatrice was at home, wondered--a +thousand things. He longed to call and make inquiries, but of course he +would not. He would enter the park gates unseen, and make his way to the +great house. + +But he did not pass the cottage gate. Before he could do so the door +opened, and Beatrice appeared. Evidently she had seen him coming, for +she ran down the steps with outstretched hand. + +"I felt sure it was you," she said, "and--but you look pale--ill; are +you?" + +"I'm ever so much better, thank you," he replied. "So much so that I +could not refrain from coming to see Wendover again." + +"But you must come in and rest," she cried anxiously. "I insist on it. +Why did you not tell us you were ill?" + +Before he could reply he found himself within the cottage. + + + + +CHAPTER XL + +THE MINISTERING ANGEL + + +"Are you alone?" he managed to ask. + +"Yes; Granddad went out early. He'll be back in an hour or so. He has +been expecting to hear from you." + +How sweet and fair she looked! There was no suggestion of the exotic +beauty of Olga Petrovic; she adopted no artificial aids to enhance her +appearance. Sweet, pure air and exercise had tinted her cheeks; the +beauty of her soul shone from her eyes. She was just a child of nature, +and to Dick she was the most beautiful thing on God's earth. + +For a moment their eyes met, and then the love which Dick Faversham had +been fighting against for weeks surged like a mighty flood through his +whole being. + +"I must go--I must not stay here," he stammered. + +"But why? Granddad will be back soon." + +"Because----" Again he caught the flash of her eyes, and felt that the +whole world without her was haggard hopelessness. Before he knew what he +was saying he had made his confession. + +"Because I have no right to be here," he said almost angrily--"because +it is dishonourable; it is madness for me to stay." + +"But why?" she persisted. + +He could not check the words that passed his lips; he had lost control +over himself. + +"Don't you understand?" he replied passionately. "I have no right to be +here because I love you--love you more than my own life. Because you are +everything to me--_everything_--and you have promised to marry Sir +George Weston." + +"But I've not." She laughed gaily as she uttered the words. + +"You've not promised to----But--but----" + +"No, of course not. How could I? I do not love him. He is awfully nice, +and I'm very fond of him; but I don't love him. I could never think of +such a thing." + +She spoke quite naturally, and in an almost matter-of-fact way. She did +not seem to realise that her words caused Dick Faversham's brain to +reel, and his blood to rush madly through his veins. Rather she seemed +like one anxious to correct a mistake, but to have no idea of what the +correction meant to him. + +For a few seconds Dick did not speak. "She is only a child," he +reflected. "She does not understand what I have said to her. She does +not realise what my love for her means." + +But he was not sure of this. Something, he knew not what, told him she +_did_ know. Perhaps it was the flush on her cheeks, the quiver on her +lips, the strange light in her eyes. + +"You have not promised to marry Sir George Weston?" he asked hoarsely. + +"No, of course not." + +"But--he asked you?" + +"That is scarcely a fair question, is it?" + +"No, no, forgive me; it is not. But do you understand--what your words +mean to me?" + +She was silent at this. + +"I love you--love you," he went on. "I want you to be my wife." + +"I'm so glad," she said simply. + +"But do you understand?" cried Dick. He could not believe in his own +happiness, could not help thinking there must be some mistake. "This +means everything to me." + +"Of course I understand. I've known it for a long time, that is, I've +felt it must be so. And I've wondered why you did not come and tell me." + +"And you love me?" His voice was hoarse and tremulous. + +"Love you? Why--why do you think I--could be here like this--if I +didn't?" + +Still she spoke almost as a child might speak. There was no suggestion +of coquetry, no trying to appear surprised at his avowal. But there was +something more, something in the tone of her voice, in the light of her +eyes, in her very presence, that told Dick that deep was calling unto +deep, that this maiden, whose heart was the heart of a child, had +entered into womanhood, and knew its glory. + +"Aren't you glad, too?" she asked. + +"Glad! It seems so wonderful that I can't believe it! Half an hour ago +the world was black, hopeless, while now----; but there are things I +must tell you, things I've wanted to tell you ever since I saw you +last." + +"Is it about that woman?" + +"Yes, I wanted to tell you why I was with her; I wanted you to know that +she was nothing to me." + +"I knew all the time. But you were in danger--that was why I could not +help coming to you. You understand, don't you? I had the same kind of +feeling when that evil man was staying with you at the big house. He was +trying to harm you, and I came. And he was still trying to ruin you, why +I don't know, but he was using that woman to work his will. I felt it, +and I came to you." + +"How did you know?" asked Dick. He was awed by her words, solemnised by +the wondrous intuition which made her realise his danger. + +"I didn't know--I only felt. You see, I loved you, and I couldn't help +coming." + +Another time he would have asked her many questions about this, but now +they did not seem to matter. He loved, and was loved, and the fact +filled the world. + +"Thank God you came," he said reverently. "And, Beatrice, you will let +me call you Beatrice, won't you?" + +"Why, of course, you must, Dick." + +"May I kiss you?" he asked, and held out his arms. + +She came to him in all the sweet freshness of her young life and offered +him her pure young lips. Never had he known what joy meant as he knew it +then, never had he felt so thankful that in spite of dire temptation he +had kept his manhood clean. + +Closer and closer he strained her to his heart, while words of love and +of thankfulness struggled for expression. For as she laid her head on +his shoulder, and he felt the beating of her heart, his mind swept like +lightning over the past years, and he knew that angels of God had +ministered to him, that they had shielded him from danger, and helped +him in temptation. And this he knew also: while he had been on the brink +of ruin through a woman, it was also by a woman that he had been saved. +The thought of Beatrice Stanmore had been a power which had defied the +powers of evil, and enabled him to keep his manhood clean. + +Even yet the wonder of it all was beyond words, for he had come there +that morning believing that Beatrice was the promised wife of Sir George +Weston, and now, as if by the wave of some magician's wand, his beliefs +had been dispelled, and he had found her free. + +An hour before, he dared not imagine that this unspoilt child of nature +could ever think of him with love, and yet her face was pressed against +his, and she was telling him the simple story of her love--a love +unsullied by the world, a love unselfish as that of a mother, and as +strong as death. + +"But I am so poor," he stammered at length; "just a voting machine at +four hundred a year." + +"As though you could ever be that," she laughed. "You are going to do +great things, my love. You are going to live and work for the betterment +of the world. And I--I shall be with you all the time." + +He had much to tell her--a story so wonderful that it was difficult to +believe. But Beatrice believed it. The thought of an angel who had come +to him, warned him, guided him, and strengthened him, was not strange to +her. For her pure young eyes had pierced the barriers of materialism, +just as the light of the stars pierces the darkness of night. Because +her soul was pure, she knew that the angels of God were never far away, +and that the Eternal Goodness used them to minister to those who would +listen to their voices. + +Dick did not go to the great house that day. There seemed no reason why +he should. By lunch time old Hugh Stanmore returned and was met by the +two lovers. + +Of all they said to each other, and of the explanations that were made, +there is no need that I should write. Suffice to say that Hugh Stanmore +was satisfied. It is true he liked Sir George Weston, while the thought +that Beatrice might be mistress of his house was pleasant to him; true, +too, that Dick Faversham was poor. But he had no fears. He knew that +this young man's love was pure and strong, that he would never rest +until he had provided a home worthy of her, and that his grandchild's +future would be safe in his hands. + +When Dick left the cottage that night, it was on the understanding that +he would come back as soon as possible. Beatrice pleaded hard with him +not to go to London, but to stay at the cottage and be nursed back to +health and strength. But Dick had to make arrangements for a lengthened +stay away from his work, and to see some of his confrères, so, while his +heart yearned to remain near her, he looked joyfully forward to his +return. + +"And you go away happy, my love?" + +"The happiest man on earth. And you, my little maid?" + +"Oh, Dick, everything is as I hoped and prayed for." + +"And you loved me all the time?" + +"All the time; but I did not know it until----" + +"Until when?" + +"Until another man told me he wanted me." + +Dick was in dreamland as he returned to London. No sooner had he boarded +the train at Wendover than, as it seemed to him, he had arrived at +Victoria. As for the journey between that station and his flat he has no +remembrance to this day. + +"Oh, the wonder of it, the glad wonder of it!" he repeated again and +again. "Thank God--thank God!" + +Then, as if in fulfilment of an old adage, no sooner had he entered his +flat than another surprise awaited him. On his writing-table lay a long +blue envelope, which had been brought by hand that afternoon. Dick +broke the seal almost indifferently. What did he care about letters? +Then he saw the name of Bidlake, and his attention was riveted. + +This is what he read: + + "MY DEAR FAVERSHAM,--Forgive this unceremonious manner of writing, + but I fancy I am a little excited. Riggleton is dead, and thus it + comes about that the Faversham estates--or what is left of + them--revert to you. How it was possible for a man to squander so + much money and leave things in such a terrible mess in such a short + time it is difficult to say. But there it is. Still, a good deal is + left. Wendover Park, and all the lands attached remain untouched, + and a good deal of money can be scraped up. Will you call as soon + as possible on receipt of this, and I'll explain everything to you, + as far as I can.--With heartiest congratulations, yours faithfully, + + "JOHN BIDLAKE." + +Again and again Dick read this letter. He felt something like the lad of +the Eastern Story must have felt as he read. He would not have been +surprised if the Slave of the Lamp appeared, asking what his desires +were, so that they might be performed without delay. December had +changed into June in a single day. + +His joy can be better imagined than described. To know that this old +homestead was his again, to realise that he was no longer homeless and +poor was a gladness beyond words. But he no longer felt as he had felt +when he first saw Wendover. Then his thought had been of his own +aggrandisement, and the satisfaction of his ambitions. Now he rejoiced +because he could offer a home to the maiden he loved, and because he +could do for the world what for years he had dreamt of doing. + +But he was early at Mr. Bidlake's office the following morning. + +"No, no, there's no mistake this time," Mr. Bidlake assured him. "You +can enter into possession with a confident mind. Money! Yes, the fellow +wasted it like water, but you need not fear. You'll have more than you +need, in spite of increased income-tax and super-tax. Talk about romance +though, if ever there was a romance this is one." + +After spending two hours with the lawyer Dick went to the House of +Commons, where he made the necessary arrangements for a couple of weeks' +further absence. + +"Yes, we can manage all right," assented the Labour Member with whom he +spoke. "Not but what we shall be glad to have you back. There are big +things brewing. The working people must no longer be hewers of wood and +drawers of water. We must see to that." + +"Yes, we _will_ see to that," cried Dick. "But we must be careful." + +"Careful of what?" + +"Careful that we don't drift to Bolshevism, careful that we don't abuse +our power. We must show that we who represent the Democracy understand +our work. We must not think of one class only, but all the classes. We +must think of the Empire, the good of humanity." + +The other shook his head, "No mercy on capitalists," he cried. + +"On the other hand we must make capitalists do their duty," Dick +replied. "We must see to it that Capital and Labour work together for +the good of the whole community. There lies the secret of stable +government and a prosperous nation." + +It was late in the evening when Dick arrived at Hugh Stanmore's cottage, +so late indeed that the old man had given up hope of his coming; but +Beatrice rushed to him with a glad laugh. + +"I knew you would come," she said. "And now I am going to begin my work +as nurse right away. You must have a light supper and go to bed at once, +and to-morrow you must stay in bed all day." + +Dick shook his head. "And I am going to rebel," was his reply. "I am +going to sit up for at least two hours, while first thing to-morrow +morning I am going to take you to a house I have in my mind." + +"What house?" + +"A house I've settled on for our future home." + +"Dick, don't be foolish. You know we must not think of that for +months--years." + +"Mustn't we?" laughed Dick. "There, read that," and he handed her Mr. +Bidlake's letter. + +"But, Dick!" she cried as she read, "this, this is----" + +"Beautiful, isn't it?" Dick replied joyously. "Will you read it, sir?" +and he placed it in old Hugh Stanmore's hands. + +After that Beatrice no longer insisted that her lover must be treated as +an invalid. Hour after hour they sat talking, while the wonder of it all +never left them. + +The next morning broke bright and clear. Spring had indeed come, +gladsome joyous spring, heralded by the song of birds, by the +resurrection of a new life everywhere. + +"Will you go with us, Granddad?" asked Beatrice, as they prepared for +their visit. + +"No," said Hugh Stanmore; "I'll come across alone in a couple of hours." +He was a wise man. + +Neither of them spoke a word as they walked up the avenue towards the +great house. Perhaps their minds were both filled by the same +thoughts--thoughts too great for utterance. Above them the sun shone in +a great dome of cloudless blue, while around them all nature was putting +on her beautiful garments. + +Presently the old house burst upon their view. There it stood on a +slight eminence, while behind it great trees rose. Away from the front +of the building stretched grassy lawns and flower gardens, while beyond +was parkland, studded by giant trees. + +And still neither spoke. Hand in hand they walked towards the entrance +door, Dick gazing at it earnestly, as if looking for something. When +they had come within a dozen yards of it both, as if by mutual consent, +stood still. + +Was it fancy or was it real? Was it because expectancy was in both their +hearts, and their imagination on fire, or did they really see? + +This is what both of them told me they saw. + +Standing in the doorway, with hands outstretched as if in the attitude +of welcoming them, was the luminous figure of a woman. Her face was lit +up with holy joy, while in her eyes was no sorrow, no doubt, but a look +of ineffable happiness. + +For a few seconds she stood gazing on them, and Dick saw the look of +love in her eyes, saw the rapture that seemed to pervade her being. It +was the same face he had seen there before, the same love-lit eyes. + +She lifted her hands as if in benediction, and then slowly the figure +faded away. + +"It is my mother," whispered Dick. He had no remembrance of his mother, +but he knew it was she. He felt no fear, there was nothing to be fearful +about, rather a great joy filled his life. God had sent his angel to +tell him that all was well. + +The door stood open, and they entered the great silent hall together. No +one was in sight. He opened his arms, and she came to him. + +"Welcome home, my wife," he said. + + +THE END + + +PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED, EDINBURGH + + * * * * * + +_JOSEPH HOCKING'S GREAT WAR STORIES_ + + ALL FOR A SCRAP OF PAPER + THE CURTAIN OF FIRE + DEARER THAN LIFE + THE PATH OF GLORY + "THE POMP OF YESTERDAY" + TOMMY + TOMMY AND THE MAID OF ATHENS + THE PRICE OF A THRONE + + +_OTHER STORIES BY JOSEPH HOCKING_ + + FACING FEARFUL ODDS + O'ER MOOR AND FEN + THE WILDERNESS + ROSALEEN O'HARA + THE SOUL OF DOMINIC WILDTHORNE + FOLLOW THE GLEAM + DAVID BARING + THE TRAMPLED CROSS + THE MAN WHO ROSE AGAIN + + + HODDER AND STOUGHTON + WARWICK SQUARE, LONDON, E.C. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EVERLASTING ARMS*** + + +******* This file should be named 39218-8.txt or 39218-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/9/2/1/39218 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Everlasting Arms</p> +<p>Author: Joseph Hocking</p> +<p>Release Date: March 20, 2012 [eBook #39218]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EVERLASTING ARMS***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by<br /> + David T. Jones, Mary Meehan, Al Haines,<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdpcanada.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>THE EVERLASTING ARMS</h1> + +<h2>BY JOSEPH HOCKING</h2> + +<h3>AUTHOR OF "All FOR A SCRAP OF PAPER," "THE TRAMPLED CROSS," ETC., ETC.</h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="center">HODDER AND STOUGHTON<br /> +LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<h3>PROLOGUE</h3> + +<table width="80%" summary="Prologue"> +<col width="100" /> +<col width="200" /> +<col width="50" /> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER I </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><span class="smcap">A Woman's Face</span> </a></td><td align="right">1</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER II </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><span class="smcap">The Marconigram</span> </a></td><td align="right">8</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER III</td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><span class="smcap">The Shipwreck</span> </a></td><td align="right">15</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER IV </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">"<span class="smcap">The Enemy of Your Soul</span>" </a></td><td align="right"> 23</td></tr> +</table> + +<h3>PART I.—THE FIRST TEMPTATION</h3> + +<table width="80%" summary="Part I"> +<col width="100" /> +<col width="200" /> +<col width="50" /> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER V </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><span class="smcap">The Only Surviving Relative</span> </a></td><td align="right">29</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER VI </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><span class="smcap">Wendover Park</span> </a></td><td align="right">39</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER VII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><span class="smcap">Lady Blanche makes her Appearance</span> </a></td><td align="right">52<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER VIII</td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><span class="smcap">Count Romanoff's Gospel</span> </a></td><td align="right">60</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER IX </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><span class="smcap">Beatrice Stanmore</span> </a></td><td align="right">69</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER X </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><span class="smcap">Uncertainty</span> </a></td><td align="right">78</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XI </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><span class="smcap">The Real Heir</span> </a></td><td align="right">86</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><span class="smcap">The Day of Destiny</span> </a></td><td align="right">94</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XIII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"><span class="smcap">The Invisible Hand</span> </a></td><td align="right">102</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XIV </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"><span class="smcap">A Scrap of Paper</span> </a></td><td align="right">113</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XV </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XV"><span class="smcap">Count Romanoff's Departure</span> </a></td><td align="right">118</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XVI </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"><span class="smcap">Riggleton's Homecoming</span> </a></td><td align="right">125</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XVII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"><span class="smcap">Faversham's Resolution</span> </a></td><td align="right">132</td></tr> +</table> + +<h3>PART II.—THE SECOND TEMPTATION</h3> + +<table width="80%" summary="Part II"> +<col width="100" /> +<col width="200" /> +<col width="50" /> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XVIII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"><span class="smcap">Mr. Brown's Prophecy</span> </a></td><td align="right">140<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XIX </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"><span class="smcap">An Amazing Proposal</span> </a></td><td align="right">151</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XX </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">"<span class="smcap">The Country for the People</span>" </a></td><td align="right">157</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXI </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"><span class="smcap">The Midnight Meeting</span> </a></td><td align="right">165</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">"<span class="smcap">You and I Together</span>" </a></td><td align="right">173</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXIII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"><span class="smcap">The So-called Dead</span> </a></td><td align="right">181</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXIV </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"><span class="smcap">Visions of Another World</span> </a></td><td align="right">190</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXV </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV"><span class="smcap">Romanoff's Philosophy</span> </a></td><td align="right">199</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXVI </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI"><span class="smcap">A Voice from Another World</span> </a></td><td align="right">209</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXVII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII"><span class="smcap">Olga makes Love</span> </a></td><td align="right">218</td></tr> +</table> + +<h3>PART III.—THE THIRD TEMPTATION</h3> + +<table width="80%" summary="Part III"> +<col width="100" /> +<col width="200" /> +<col width="50" /> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXVIII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII"><span class="smcap">The Count's Confederate</span> </a></td><td align="right">227</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXIX </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX"><span class="smcap">In Quest of a Soul</span> </a></td><td align="right">236<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXX </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX"><span class="smcap">Voices in the Night</span> </a></td><td align="right">245</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXXI </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI"><span class="smcap">Dick hears Strange News</span> </a></td><td align="right">254</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXXII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII"><span class="smcap">Beatrice Confesses</span> </a></td><td align="right">263</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXXIII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII"><span class="smcap">Sir George's Love Affair</span> </a></td><td align="right">272</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXXIV </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV"><span class="smcap">The Dawn of Love</span> </a></td><td align="right">281</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXXV </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV"><span class="smcap">The Eternal Struggle</span> </a></td><td align="right">291</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXXVI </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI"><span class="smcap">His Guardian Angel</span> </a></td><td align="right">301</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXXVII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII"><span class="smcap">At the Café Moscow</span> </a></td><td align="right">310</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXXVIII </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII"><span class="smcap">The Shadow of a Great Terror</span></a></td><td align="right"> 319</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XXXIX </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX"><span class="smcap">The Triumph of Good</span> </a></td><td align="right">327</td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER XL </td><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XL"><span class="smcap">The Ministering Angel</span> </a></td><td align="right">336</td></tr> +</table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2>PROLOGUE</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">A Woman's Face</span></h3> + + +<p>"There may be a great deal in it."</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly there is. Imagination, superstition, credulity," said Dick +Faversham a little cynically.</p> + +<p>"Well, I can't dismiss it in that fashion," replied the other. "Where +there's smoke there's fire, and you can't get men from various parts of +the world testifying that they saw the Angels at Mons unless there is +some foundation of truth in it."</p> + +<p>"Again I say imagination. Imagination can do a great deal. Imagination +can people a churchyard with ghosts; it can make dreams come true, and +it can also make clever men foolish."</p> + +<p>"Admit that. You still haven't got to the bottom of it. There's more +than mere imagination in the stories of the Angels at Mons, and at other +places. Less than three weeks ago I was at a hospital in London. I was +talking with a wounded sergeant, and this man told me in so many words +that he saw the Angels. He said there were three of them, and that they +remained visible for more than an hour. Not only did he see them, but +others saw them. He also said that what appeared like a great calamity +was averted by their appearance."</p> + +<p>There was a silence after this somewhat lengthy speech, and something +like an uncanny feeling possessed the listeners.</p> + +<p>The conversation took place in the smoke-room of a steamship bound for +Australia, and at least a dozen men were taking part in it. The subject +of the discussion was the alleged appearance of the Angels at Mons, and +at other places in France and Belgium, and although at least half of the +little party was not convinced that those who accepted the stories had a +good case, they could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> not help being affected by the numerous instances +that were adduced of the actual appearance of spiritual visitants. The +subject, as all the world knows, had been much discussed in England and +elsewhere, and so it was not unnatural that it should form the topic of +conversation in the smoke-room of the outgoing vessel.</p> + +<p>One of the strongest opponents to the supernatural theory was a young +man of perhaps twenty-seven years of age. From the first he had taken up +an antagonistic attitude, and would not admit that the cases given +proved anything.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," he urged, "but, really, it won't do. You see, the whole +thing, if it is true, is miraculous, and miracles, according to Matthew +Arnold, don't happen."</p> + +<p>"And who is Matthew Arnold, or any other man, to say that what we called +miracles don't happen?" urged Mr. Bennett, the clergyman, warmly. "In +spite of Matthew Arnold and men of his school, the world still believes +in the miracles of our Lord; why, then, should miracles happen in +Palestine and not in France?"</p> + +<p>"If they did happen," interpolated Faversham.</p> + +<p>"Either they happened, or the greatest movement, the mightiest and +noblest enthusiasms the world has ever known, were founded on a lie," +said the clergyman solemnly.</p> + +<p>"That may be," retorted Faversham, "but don't you see where you are +leading us? If, as you say, we accept the New Testament stories, there +is no reason why we may not accept the Angels at Mons and elsewhere. But +that opens up all sorts of questions. The New Testament tells of people +being possessed by devils; it tells of one at least being tempted by a +personal devil. Would you assert that a personal devil tempts men +to-day?"</p> + +<p>"I believe that either the devil or his agents tempt men to-day," +replied the clergyman.</p> + +<p>"Then you would, I suppose, also assert that the old myth of guardian +angels is also true."</p> + +<p>"Accepting the New Testament, I do," replied Mr. Bennett.</p> + +<p>Dick Faversham laughed rather uneasily.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Think," went on the clergyman; "suppose someone who loved you very +dearly in life died, and went into the great spirit world. Do you not +think it natural that that person should seek to watch over you? Is it +not natural that he or she who loved you in life should love you after +what we call death? A mother will give her life for her child in life. +Why should she not seek to guard that same child even although she has +gone to the world of spirits?"</p> + +<p>"But the whole thing seems so unreal, so unnatural," urged Faversham.</p> + +<p>"That is because we live in a materialistic age. The truth is, in giving +up the idea of guardian angels and similar beliefs we have given up some +of the greatest comforts in life. Because we have become so +materialistic, we have lost that grand triumphant conviction that there +is no death. Why—why—"—and Mr. Bennett rose to his feet +excitedly—"there is not one of those splendid lads who has fallen in +battle, who is dead. God still cares for them all, and not one is +outside His protection. I can't explain it, but I <i>know</i>."</p> + +<p>"You know?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. And I'll tell you why I know. My son Jack was killed at +Mons, but he's near me even now. Say it's unreal if you like, say it's +unnatural if you will, but it's one of the great glories of life to me."</p> + +<p>"I don't like to cast a doubt upon a sacred conviction," ventured +Faversham after a silence that was almost painful, "but is not this +clearly a case of imagination? Mr. Bennett has lost a son in the war. We +are all very sorry for him, and we are all glad that he gets comfort +from the feeling that his son is near him. But even admitting the truth +of this, admitting the doctrine that a man's spirit does not die because +of the death of the body, you have proved nothing. The appearance of the +Angels in France and Belgium means something more than this. It declares +that these spirits appear in visible, tangible forms; that they take an +interest in our mundane doings; that they take sides; that they help +some and hinder others."</p> + +<p>"Exactly," assented Mr. Bennett.</p> + +<p>"You believe that?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I believe it most fervently," was the clergyman's solemn answer. "I am +anything but a spiritualist, as the word is usually understood; but I +see no reason why my boy may not communicate with me, why he may not +help me. I, of course, do not understand the mysterious ways of the +Almighty, but I believe in the words of Holy Writ. 'Are they not all +ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs +of salvation?' says the writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews. While our +Lord Himself, when speaking of little children, said, 'I say unto you +that their angels do always behold the face of My Father who is in +heaven.'"</p> + +<p>Again there was a silence which was again broken by Dick Faversham +turning and speaking to a man who had not spoken during the whole +discussion, but who, with a sardonic, cynical smile upon his face, had +been listening intently.</p> + +<p>"What is your opinion, Count Romanoff?" asked Faversham.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I must be ruled out of court," he replied. "These stories +smack too much of the nursery."</p> + +<p>"You believe that they are worn-out superstitions?"</p> + +<p>"I should shock you all if I told you what I believe."</p> + +<p>"Shock us by all means."</p> + +<p>"No, I will spare you. I remember that we have a clergyman present."</p> + +<p>"Pray do not mind me," urged Mr. Bennett eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Then surely you do not accept the fables recorded in the New +Testament?"</p> + +<p>"I do not admit your description. What you call fables are the greatest +power for righteousness the world has ever known. They have stood the +test of ages, they have comforted and inspired millions of lives, they +stand upon eternal truth."</p> + +<p>Count Romanoff shrugged his shoulders, and a smile of derision and +contempt passed over his features.</p> + +<p>"All right," he replied, and again lapsed into silence.</p> + +<p>The man had spoken only a very few commonplace words, and yet he had +changed the atmosphere of the room. Perhaps this was because all felt +him utterly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> antagonistic to the subject of discussion. He was different +from Dick Faversham, who in a frank, schoolboy way had declared his +scepticism. He had been a marked man ever since the boat had left +England. There were several reasons for this. One was his personal +appearance. He was an exceedingly handsome man of perhaps forty years of +age, and yet there was something repellent in his features. He was +greatly admired for his fine physique and courtly bearing, and yet but +few sought his acquaintance. He looked as though he were the repository +of dark secrets. His smile was cynical, and suggested a kind of +contemptuous pity for the person to whom he spoke. His eyes were deeply +set, his mouth suggested cruelty.</p> + +<p>And yet he could be fascinating. Dick Faversham, who had struck up an +acquaintance with him, had found him vastly entertaining. He held +unconventional ideas, and was widely read in the literature of more than +one country. Moreover, he held strong views on men and movements, and +his criticisms told of a man of more than ordinary intellectual acumen.</p> + +<p>"You refuse to discuss the matter?"</p> + +<p>"There is but little use for an astronomer to discuss the stars with an +astrologer. A chemist would regard it as waste of time to discuss his +science with an alchemist. The two live in different worlds, speak a +different language, belong to different times."</p> + +<p>"Of course, you will call me a fanatic," cried the clergyman; "but I +believe. I believe in God, and in His Son Jesus Christ who died for our +sins, and who rose from the dead. On that foundation I build all the +rest."</p> + +<p>A change passed over the Count's face. It might be a spasm of pain, and +his somewhat pale face became paler; but he did not speak. For some +seconds he seemed fighting with a strong emotion; then, conquering +himself, his face resumed its former aspect, and a cynical smile again +passed over his features.</p> + +<p>"The gentleman is too earnest for me," he remarked, taking another cigar +from his case.</p> + +<p>Dick Faversham did not see the change that passed over the Count's face. +Indeed, he had ceased to take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> interest in the discussion. The truth was +that the young man was startled by what was an unusual occurrence. The +room, as may be imagined, bearing in mind that for a long time a number +of men had been burning incense to My Lady Nicotine, was in a haze of +tobacco smoke, and objects were not altogether clearly visible; but not +far from the door he saw a woman standing. This would not have been +remarkable had not the lady passengers, for some reason known to +themselves, up to the present altogether avoided the smoke-room. More +than this, Dick did not recognise her. He had met, or thought he had met +during the voyage, every lady passenger on the boat; but certainly he +had never seen this one before. He was perfectly sure of that, for her +face was so remarkable that he knew he could not have forgotten her.</p> + +<p>She was young, perhaps twenty-four. At first Dick thought of her as only +a girl in her teens, but as, through the thick smoky haze he watched her +face, he felt that she had passed her early girlhood. What struck him +most forcibly were her wonderful eyes. It seemed to him as though, while +they were large and piercing, they were at the same time melting with an +infinite tenderness and pity.</p> + +<p>Dick Faversham looked at her like a man entranced. In his interest in +her he forgot the other occupants of the room, forgot the discussion, +forgot everything. The yearning solicitude in the woman's eyes, the +infinite pity on her face, chained him and drove all other thoughts +away.</p> + +<p>"I say, Faversham."</p> + +<p>He came to himself at the mention of his name and turned to the speaker.</p> + +<p>"Are you good for a stroll on deck for half an hour before turning in?"</p> + +<p>It was the Count who spoke, and Dick noticed that nearly all the +occupants of the room seemed on the point of leaving.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he replied, "but I think I'll turn in."</p> + +<p>He looked again towards the door where he had seen the woman, but she +was gone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<p>"By the way," and he touched the sleeve of a man's coat as he spoke, +"who was that woman?"</p> + +<p>"What woman?"</p> + +<p>"The woman standing by the door."</p> + +<p>"I saw no woman. There was none there."</p> + +<p>"But there was, I tell you. I saw her plainly."</p> + +<p>"You were wool-gathering, old man. I was sitting near the door and saw +no one."</p> + +<p>Dick was puzzled. He was certain as to what he had seen.</p> + +<p>The smoke-room steward appeared at that moment, to whom he propounded +the same question.</p> + +<p>"There was no lady, sir."</p> + +<p>"But—are you sure?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, sir. I've been here all the evening, and saw everyone who +came in."</p> + +<p>Dick made his way to his berth like a man in a dream. He was puzzled, +bewildered.</p> + +<p>"I am sure I saw a woman," he said to himself.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Marconigram</span></h3> + + +<p>He had barely reached his room when he heard a knock at the door.</p> + +<p>"Yes; what is it?"</p> + +<p>"You are Mr. Faversham, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; what do you want?"</p> + +<p>"Wireless for you, sir. Just come through."</p> + +<p>A few seconds later Dick was reading a message which promised to alter +the whole course of his life:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<i>Your uncle, Charles Faversham, Wendover Park, Surrey, just died. +Your immediate return essential. Report to us on arrival. </i><span class="smcap">Bidlake +& Bilton</span>, <i>Lincoln's Inn</i>."</p></blockquote> + +<p>The words seemed to swim before his eyes. His uncle, Charles Faversham, +dead! There was nothing wonderful about that, for Dick had heard quite +recently that he was an ailing man, and not likely to live long. He was +old, too, and in the course of nature could not live long. But what had +Charles Faversham's death to do with him? It was true the deceased man +was his father's stepbrother, but the two families had no associations, +simply because no friendship existed between them.</p> + +<p>Dick knew none of the other Favershams personally. His own father, who +had died a few years before, had left him practically penniless. His +mother, whose memory his father adored, had died at his, Dick's, birth, +and thus when he was a little over twenty he found himself alone in the +world. Up to that time he had spent his life at school and at college. +His father, who was a man of scholarly instincts, had made up his mind +that his son should adopt one of the learned professions, although<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +Dick's desires did not lean in that direction. At his father's death, +therefore, he set to work to carve out a career for himself. He had good +abilities, a determined nature, and great ambitions, but his training, +which utterly unfitted him for the battle of life, handicapped him +sorely. For three years nothing went well with him. He obtained +situation after situation only to lose it. He was impatient of control, +he lacked patience, and although he had boundless energies, he never +found a true outlet for them.</p> + +<p>At length fortune favoured him. He got a post under a company who did a +large business in Austria and in the Balkan States, and he made himself +so useful to his firm that his progress was phenomenal.</p> + +<p>It was then that Dick began to think seriously of a great career. It was +true he had only climbed a few steps on fortune's ladder, but his +prospects for the future were alluring. He pictured himself becoming a +power in the commercial world, and then, with larger wealth at his +command, he saw himself entering Parliament and becoming a great figure +in the life of the nation.</p> + +<p>He had social ambitions too. Although he had had no serious love +affairs, he dreamed of himself marrying into an old family, by which +means the doors of the greatest houses in the land would be open to him.</p> + +<p>"Nothing shall stop me," he said to himself again and again; and the +heads of his firm, realising his value to them, gave him more and more +responsibility, and also pointed hints about his prospects.</p> + +<p>At the end of 1913, however, Dick had a serious disagreement with his +chiefs. He had given considerable attention to continental politics, and +he believed that Germany would force war. Because of this he advocated a +certain policy with regard to their business. To this his chiefs gave a +deaf ear, and laughed at the idea of England being embroiled in any +trouble with either Austria or the Balkan States. Of course, Dick was +powerless. He had no capital in the firm, and as his schemes were rather +revolutionary he was not in a position to press them.</p> + +<p>On the outbreak of war in 1914 Dick's firm was ruined.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> What he had +predicted had come to pass. Because they had not prepared for this +possible contingency, and because large sums of money were owing them in +Austria and Serbia, which they could not recover, all their energies +were paralysed. Thus at twenty-seven years of age, with only a few +hundreds of pounds in his possession, Dick had to begin at the bottom +again.</p> + +<p>At length a firm who knew something of his associations with his +previous employers offered to send him to Australia to attend to matters +in which they believed he could render valuable service, but payment for +which would depend entirely on his own success. Dick accepted this offer +with avidity.</p> + +<p>This in bare outline was his story up to the commencement of the history +which finds him on his way to Australia with the momentous marconigram +in his hands.</p> + +<p>Again and again he read the wireless message which had been handed to +him. It was so strange, so unexpected, so bewildering. He had never seen +or spoken to his uncle, never expected to. He was further removed from +this representative of his family than the Jews from the Samaritans. It +is true he had seen Wendover Park from the distance. He remembered +passing the lodge gates some year or two before when cycling through +Surrey. From a neighbouring hill he had caught sight of the old house +standing in its broad park-lands, and a pang of envy had shot through +his heart as he reflected that although its owner and his father were +stepbrothers he would never be admitted within its walls.</p> + +<p>But this message had altered everything: "<i>Your uncle, Charles +Faversham, Wendover Park, just died. Your immediate return essential. +Report to us on arrival.</i>"</p> + +<p>The words burnt like fire into his brain. A wireless message, sent to +him in mid-ocean, must be of more than common purport. Men of Bidlake & +Bilton's standing did not send such messages as a pastime. They would +not urge his immediate return without serious reasons.</p> + +<p>It must mean—it could only mean—one thing. He must in some way be +interested in the huge fortune which Charles Faversham had left behind +him. Perhaps,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> perhaps—and again he considered the probable outcome of +it all.</p> + +<p>Hour after hour he sat thinking. Was his future, after all, to become +great, not simply by his own energies, but because of a stroke of good +fortune? Or, better still, was his uncle's death to be the means whereby +he could climb to greatness and renown? After all he had not longed so +much for money for its own sake, but as a means whereby he could get +power, distinction, high position. With great wealth at his command he +could—and again a fascinating future spread before him.</p> + +<p>He could not sleep; of course, he couldn't! How could he sleep when his +brain was on fire with wild imaginings and unknown possibilities?</p> + +<p>He reflected on the course of his voyage, and considered where the +vessel would first stop. Yes, he knew they were to call at Bombay, which +was a great harbour from which ships were frequently returning to +England. In three days they would be there, and then——</p> + +<p>Should he take anyone into his confidence? Should he give reasons for +leaving the ship? Oh, the wonder, the excitement of it all! The +discussion about the Angels at Mons, and the talk about visitants from +the spirit world caring for the people who lived on earth, scarcely +entered his mind. What need had he for such things?</p> + +<p>But who was that woman? For he was sure he had seen her. Tyler, to whom +he had spoken, and the smoke-room steward might say that no woman was +there, but he knew better. He could believe his own eyes anyhow, and the +wonderful yearning look in her eyes still haunted him in spite of the +disturbing message.</p> + +<p>It was not until towards morning that sleep came to him, and then he was +haunted by dreams. Strange as it may seem, he did not dream of Bidlake & +Bilton's message nor of his late uncle's mansion. He dreamt of his +father and mother. He had never seen his mother; she had died at his +birth. He had never seen a picture of her, indeed. He believed that his +father possessed her portrait, but he had never shown it to him. His +father seldom spoke of his mother, but when he did it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> was in tones of +awe, almost of worship. She was like no other woman, he said—a woman +with all the possible beauty and glory of womanhood stored in her heart.</p> + +<p>And she was with his father in his dream. They stood by his bedside +watching over him. His father's face he remembered perfectly. It was +just as he had seen it when he was alive, except that there was an added +something which he could not describe. His mother's face was strange to +him. Yet not altogether so. He knew instinctively that she was his +mother—knew it by the look on her almost luminous face, by the yearning +tenderness of her eyes.</p> + +<p>Neither of them spoke to him. They simply stood side by side and watched +him. He wished they would speak; he felt as though he wanted guidance, +advice, and each looked at him with infinite love in their eyes.</p> + +<p>Where had he seen eyes like those of his mother before? Where had he +seen a face like the face in his dream? He remembered asking himself, +but could recall no one.</p> + +<p>"Mother, mother," he tried to say, but he could not speak. Then his +mother placed her hand on his forehead, and her touch was like a +benediction.</p> + +<p>When he woke he wondered where he was; but as through the porthole he +saw the sheen of the sea he remembered everything. Oh, the wonder of it +all!</p> + +<p>A knock came to the door. "Your bath is ready, sir," said a steward, and +a minute later he felt the welcome sting of the cold salt water.</p> + +<p>He scarcely spoke throughout breakfast; he did not feel like talking. He +determined to find some lonely spot and reflect on what had taken place. +When he reached the deck, however, the longing for loneliness left him. +The sky was cloudless, and the sun poured its warm rays on the spotless +boards. Under the awning, passengers had ensconced themselves in their +chairs, and smoked, or talked, or read just as their fancy led them.</p> + +<p>In spite of the heat the morning was pleasant. A fresh breeze swept +across the sea, and the air was pure and sweet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + +<p>Acquaintances spoke to him pleasantly, for he had become fairly popular +during the voyage.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if they have heard of that wireless message?" he reflected. +"Do they know I have received news of Charles Faversham's death, and +that I am probably a rich man?"</p> + +<p>"Holloa, Faversham."</p> + +<p>He turned and saw Count Romanoff.</p> + +<p>"You look rather pale this morning," went on the Count; "did you sleep +well?"</p> + +<p>"Not very well," replied Dick.</p> + +<p>"Your mind exercised about the discussion, eh?"</p> + +<p>"That and other things."</p> + +<p>"It's the 'other things' that make the great interest of life," remarked +the Count, looking at him intently.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose they do," was Dick's reply. He was thinking about the +wireless message.</p> + +<p>"Still," and the Count laughed, "the discussion got rather warm, didn't +it? I'm afraid I offended our clerical friend. His nod was very cool +just now. Of course, it's all rubbish. Years ago I was interested in +such things. I took the trouble to inform myself of the best literature +we have on the whole matter. As a youth I knew Madame Blavatsky. I have +been to seances galore, but I cease to trouble now."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" queried Dick.</p> + +<p>"I found that the bottom was knocked out of all these so-called +discoveries by the first touch of serious investigation and criticism. +Nothing stood searching tests. Everything shrivelled at the first touch +of the fire."</p> + +<p>"This talk about angels, about a hereafter, is so much empty wind," went +on the Count. "There is no hereafter. When we die there is a great black +blank. That's all."</p> + +<p>"Then life is a mockery."</p> + +<p>"Is it? It all depends how you look at it. Personally I find it all +right."</p> + +<p>Dick Faversham looked at his companion's face intently. Yes, it was a +handsome face—strong, determined, forceful. But it was not pleasant. +Every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> movement of his features suggested mockery, cynicism, cruelty. +And yet it was fascinating. Count Romanoff was not a man who could be +passed by without a thought. There was a tremendous individuality behind +his deep-set, dark eyes—a personality of great force suggested by the +masterful, mobile features.</p> + +<p>"You have nerves this morning, Faversham," went on the Count. "Something +more than ordinary has happened to you."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?"</p> + +<p>"I feel it. I see it. No, I am not asking you to make a confidant of me. +But you want a friend."</p> + +<p>"Yes," cried Dick, speaking on impulse; "I do."</p> + +<p>The other did not speak. He simply fixed his eyes on Faversham's face +and waited.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Shipwreck</span></h3> + + +<p>For a moment Dick was strongly tempted to tell his companion about the +wireless he had received. But something, he could not tell what, seemed +to forbid him. In spite of the fact that he had spent a good deal of +time with Count Romanoff he had given him no confidences. There was +something in his presence, in spite of his fascination, that did not +inspire confidence.</p> + +<p>"By the way," ventured Dick, after an awkward silence, "I have often +been on the point of asking you, but it felt like a liberty. Are you in +any way connected with the great Russian family of your name?"</p> + +<p>The Count hesitated before replying. "I do not often speak of it," he +told him presently, "but I come of a Royal Family."</p> + +<p>"The Romanoffs of Russia?"</p> + +<p>The Count smiled.</p> + +<p>"I do not imagine that they would admit me into their family circle," he +replied. "I make no claims to it, but I have the right."</p> + +<p>Dick was duly impressed.</p> + +<p>"Then, of course, you are a Russian. You were born there?"</p> + +<p>"A Russian!" sneered the other. "A vast conglomeration of savagery, +superstition, and ignorance! I do not claim to be a Russian. I have +estates there, but I am a citizen of the world. My sympathies are not +national, insular, bounded by race, paltry landmarks, languages. I live +in a bigger world, my friend. Yes, I am a Romanoff, if you like, and I +claim kinship with the greatest families of the Russian Empire—but la +la, what is it? Thistledown, my friend, thistledown."</p> + +<p>"But you were educated in Russia?" persisted Dick.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Educated! What is it to be educated? From childhood I have been a +wanderer. I have taken my degrees in the University of the world. I have +travelled in China, Japan, Egypt, America, the Antipodes. In a few days +we shall call at Bombay. If you will accompany me I will take you to +people in that city, old Indian families whose language I know, whose +so-called mysteries I have penetrated, and who call me friend. Ecco! I +owe my education to all countries, all peoples."</p> + +<p>He did not speak boastfully; there was no suggestion of the boaster, the +braggadocio, in his tones; rather he spoke quietly, thoughtfully, almost +sadly.</p> + +<p>"Tell me this," asked Dick: "you, who I judge to be a rich man, do you +find that riches bring happiness?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—and no. With wealth you can buy all that this world can give you."</p> + +<p>Dick wondered at the strange intonation of his voice.</p> + +<p>"It is the only thing that can bring happiness," added Romanoff.</p> + +<p>"I fancy our friend Mr. Bennett would not agree with you," laughed Dick. +"He would say that a clear conscience meant happiness. He would tell you +that a good life, a clean mind, and a faith in God were the secrets of +happiness."</p> + +<p>Romanoff laughed.</p> + +<p>"What makes a clear conscience? It is a feeling that you have done what +is right. But what is right? What is right in China is wrong in England. +What makes the Chinaman happy makes the Englishman miserable. But why +should the Englishman be miserable because he does the thing that makes +the Chinaman happy? No, no, it won't do. There is no right; there is no +wrong. The Germans are wise there. What the world calls morality is a +bogy to frighten foolish people. 'It is always right to do the thing you +<i>can</i> do,' says Brother Fritz. Personally I believe it to be right to do +what satisfies my desires. It is right because it brings happiness. +After all, you haven't long to live. A few years and it is all over. A +shot from a pistol and <i>voilà!</i> your brains are blown out—you are dead! +Therefore, take all that life can give you—there is nothing else."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I wonder?" said Dick.</p> + +<p>"That is why money is all-powerful. First of all, get rid of +conventional morality, rid your mind of all religious twaddle about +another life, and then suck the orange of this life dry. You, now, you +are keen, ardent, ambitious; you love beautiful things; you can enjoy to +the full all that life can give you. Nature has endowed you with a +healthy body, ardent desires, boundless ambitions—well, satisfy them +all. You can buy them all."</p> + +<p>"But I am not rich," interposed Dick.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you?" queried the other. "Who knows? Anyhow, you are young—make +money. 'Money talks,' as the Americans say."</p> + +<p>Again Dick was on the point of telling him about the wireless message, +but again he refrained.</p> + +<p>"By the way, Count Romanoff," he said, "did you see that woman in the +smoke-room last night?"</p> + +<p>"Woman! what woman?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I never saw her before. But while you were talking I saw +a woman's face through the haze of tobacco smoke. She was standing near +the door. It was a wonderful face—and her eyes were beyond description. +Great, pure, yearning, loving eyes they were, and they lit up the face +which might have been—the face of an angel."</p> + +<p>"You were dreaming, my friend. I have seen every woman on board, and not +one of them possesses a face worth looking at twice."</p> + +<p>"I asked another man," admitted Dick, "and he told me I was dreaming. He +had been sitting near the door, he assured me, and he had seen no woman, +while the smoke-room steward was just as certain."</p> + +<p>"Of course there was no woman."</p> + +<p>"And yet I saw a woman, unless——" He stopped suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Unless what, my friend?"</p> + +<p>"Unless it was a kind of rebuke to my scepticism last night; unless it +was the face of an angel."</p> + +<p>"An angel in mid-ocean!" Romanoff laughed. "An angel in the smoke-room +of a P. & O. steamer!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> Faversham, you are an example of your own +arguments. Imagination can do anything."</p> + +<p>"But it would be beautiful if it were so. Do you know, I'm only half a +sceptic after all. I only half believe in what I said in the smoke-room +last night."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I can say the same thing," said Romanoff, watching his face +keenly.</p> + +<p>"I say!" and Dick laughed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, laugh if you will; but I told you just now that the world +contained no mystery. I was wrong; it does. My residence in India has +told me that. Do you know, Faversham, what has attracted me to you?—for +I have been attracted, I can assure you."</p> + +<p>"Flattered, I'm sure," murmured Dick.</p> + +<p>"I was attracted, because the moment I saw your face I felt that your +career would be out of the ordinary. I may be wrong, but I believe that +great things are going to happen to you, that you are going to have a +wonderful career. I felt it when I saw you come on deck a little while +ago. If you are wise you are going to have a great future—a <i>great</i> +future."</p> + +<p>"Now you are laughing."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not. I'm in deadly earnest. I have something of the power of +divination in me. I feel the future. Something's going to happen to you. +I think great wealth's coming to you."</p> + +<p>Dick was silent, and a far-away look came into his eyes. He was thinking +of the wireless message, thinking whether he should tell Romanoff about +it.</p> + +<p>"I started out on this voyage—in the hope that—that I should make +money," he stammered.</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"In Australia."</p> + +<p>"You'll not go to Australia."</p> + +<p>"No? Why?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know—something's going to happen to you. I feel it."</p> + +<p>Dick was again on the point of taking him into his confidence when two +acquaintances came up and the conversation ended. But Dick felt that +Romanoff knew his secret all the time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> + +<p>The day passed away without further incident, but towards afternoon +there was a distinct change in the weather. The sky became overclouded, +and the gentle breeze which had blown in the morning strengthened into a +strong, boisterous wind. The smooth sea roughened, and the passengers no +longer sat on deck. The smoke-room was filled with bridge players, while +other public rooms became the scenes of other amusements.</p> + +<p>But Dick preferred being alone. He was still hugging his news to his +heart, still reflecting on the appearance of the strange woman's face in +the smoke-room, and all the time he was under the influence of Count +Romanoff's conversation.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the great, dark, heaving waste of waters excited his nerves and +made him feel something of the mysterious and resistless forces around +him. After all, he asked himself, how small the life of a man, or a +hundred men, appeared to be amidst what seemed infinite wastes of ocean.</p> + +<p>After dinner, in spite of the fact that the weather remained boisterous, +he again went on deck. The sky had somewhat cleared now, and although +there were still great black angry clouds, spaces of blue could be seen +between them. Here the stars appeared, and shone with great brilliancy. +Then the moon rose serene, majestic. Now it was hidden by a great storm +cloud, and again it showed its silvery face in the clear spaces.</p> + +<p>"Great heavens!" cried Dick, "how little a man knows of the world in +which he lives, and what rot we often talk. The air all around me may be +crowded with visitants from the unseen world! My dream last night may +have an objective reality. Perhaps my father and my mother were there +watching over me! Why not?"</p> + +<p>It is said that atheists are bred in slums, and amidst brick walls and +unlovely surroundings. It is also said that there are few sailors but +who are believers—that the grandeur of the seas, that the wonder of +great star spaces create a kind of spiritual atmosphere which makes it +impossible for them to be materialists. Whether that is so I will not +argue. This I know: Dick Faversham felt very near the unseen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> world as +he leaned over the deck railings that night and gazed across the +turbulent waters.</p> + +<p>But this also must be said. The unseen world seemed to him not good, but +evil. He felt as though there were dark, sinister forces around +him—forces which were inimical to what he conceived to be best in him.</p> + +<p>Before midnight he turned in, and no sooner did he lay his head on his +pillow than he felt himself falling asleep. How long he slept he did not +know. As far as he remembered afterwards, his sleep was dreamless. He +only knew that he was awakened by a tremendous noise, and that the ship +seemed to be crashing to pieces. Before he realised what had taken place +he found himself thrown on the floor, while strange grating noises +reached his ears. After that he heard wild shouts and despairing +screams. Hastily putting on a coat over his night clothes, he rushed out +to see what had happened; but all seemed darkness and confusion.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" he cried, but received no answer.</p> + +<p>Stumblingly he struggled towards the companion-way, where he saw a dark +moving object.</p> + +<p>"What's happened?" he gasped again.</p> + +<p>"God only knows, except the vessel going down!"</p> + +<p>"Vessel going down?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; struck a mine or something!"</p> + +<p>Even as the man spoke the ship seemed to be splitting asunder. Harsh, +grating, bewildering noises were heard everywhere, while above the +noises of timber and steel were to be faintly heard the cries of frantic +women and excited men.</p> + +<p>Then something struck him. He did not know what it was, but he felt a +heavy blow on his head, and after that a great darkness fell upon him.</p> + +<p>How long the darkness lasted he could not tell. It might have been +minutes, it might have been hours; but he knew that he suddenly came to +consciousness through the touch of icy-cold water. The cold seemed to +pierce his very marrow, to sting him with exquisite pain. Then he was +conscious that he was struggling in the open sea.</p> + +<p>He had been a strong swimmer from early boyhood,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> and he struck out now. +He had no idea which way to swim, but swim he did, heedless of direction +or purpose. A kind of instinct forced him to get as far away as possible +from the spot where he came to consciousness.</p> + +<p>There was still a heavy sea running. He found himself lifted on the +crest of huge waves, and again sinking in the depths. But he held on. He +had a kind of instinct that he was doing something to save his life.</p> + +<p>Presently his mind became clear. The past came vividly before him—the +talk in the smoke-room, the wireless message——</p> + +<p>Yes, he must live! Life held out so much to him. His immediate return to +England was essential. Bidlake & Bilton had told him so.</p> + +<p>Where were the other passengers? He had heard women's cries, the wild +shouts of men, the creaking of timbers, the grating of steel; he had +felt that the great steamship was being torn to pieces. But now there +was nothing of this. There was nothing but the roar of waters—great, +heaving, turbulent waters.</p> + +<p>He still struggled on, but he knew that his strength was going. It +seemed to him, too, as though some power was paralysing his limbs, +sapping his strength. He still had the desire to save himself, to live; +but his will power was not equal to his desire.</p> + +<p>Oh, the sea was cruel, cruel! Why could not the waves cease roaring and +rolling if only for five minutes? He would have time to rest then, to +rest and regain his strength.</p> + +<p>Still he struggled on. Again he felt himself carried on the crest of +waves, and again almost submerged in the great troughs which seemed to +be everywhere.</p> + +<p>"O God, help me!" he thought at length. "My strength is nearly gone. I'm +going to be drowned!"</p> + +<p>A sinister power seemed to surround him—a power which took away hope, +purpose, life. He thought of Count Romanoff, who had said there was +nothing after death—that death was just a great black blank.</p> + +<p>The thought was ghastly! To cease to be, to die there amidst the wild +waste of the sea, on that lonely night! He could not bear the thought of +it.</p> + +<p>But his strength was ebbing away; his breath came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> in panting sobs; his +heart found it difficult to beat. He was going to die.</p> + +<p>Oh, if only something, someone would drive away the hateful presence +which was following him, surrounding him! He could still struggle on +then; he could live then. But no, a great black shadow was surrounding +him, swallowing him up. Yes, and the ghastly thing was taking shape. He +saw a face, something like the face of—no, he could liken it to no one +he knew.</p> + +<p>The waves still rolled on; but now he heard what seemed like wild, +demoniacal laughter. Once, when a boy, he had seen Henry Irving in +<i>Faust</i>; he saw the devils on the haunted mountain; he heard their +hideous cries. And there was a ghastly, evil influence with him now. Did +it mean that devils were there waiting to snatch his soul directly it +left his body?</p> + +<p>Then he felt a change. Yes, it was distinct, definite. There was a +light, too—a pale, indistinct light, but still real, and as his tired +eyes lifted he saw what seemed to be a cross of light shining down upon +him from the clouds. What could it mean?</p> + +<p>It seemed to him that the sinister presence was somehow losing power, +that there was something, someone in the light which grew stronger.</p> + +<p>Then a face appeared above him. At first it was unreal, intangible, +shadowy; but it grew clearer, clearer. Where had he seen it before? +Those great, tender, yearning eyes—where had he seen them? Then the +form of a woman became outlined—a woman with arms outstretched. Her +face, her lips, her eyes seemed to bid him hope, and it felt to him as +though arms were placed beneath him—arms which bore him up.</p> + +<p>It was all unreal, as unreal as the baseless fabric of a dream; and yet +it was real, wondrously real.</p> + +<p>"Help me! Save me!" he tried to say, but whether he uttered the words he +did not know. He felt that his grip on life became weaker and +weaker—then a still, small voice seemed to whisper, "The Eternal God is +thy refuge, and underneath are the Everlasting Arms."</p> + +<p>The roar of the waves grew less, and he knew no more.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>"<span class="smcap">The Enemy of Your Soul</span>"</h3> + + +<p>When again Dick Faversham regained something like consciousness he had a +sensation of choking, of a hard struggle to breathe, which ended in +partial failure.</p> + +<p>He did not know where he was, but he had a sense of warmth, of +restfulness. He thought he heard the ripple of waves on a sunlit shore, +and of wide-spreading trees which grew close to the edge of the sea.</p> + +<p>But it was all indistinct, unreal, and he did not care very much. He was +trying to breathe, trying to overcome the awful sense of choking, and +after a while, dazed, bewildered though he was, he felt his breath come +easier and the weight on his chest grow lighter. But he was terribly +tired—so tired that he had no desire to struggle, so languid that his +very efforts to breathe were the result not of his own will, but of some +claims of nature over which he had no control. He was just a piece of +machinery, and that was all.</p> + +<p>He felt himself going to sleep, and he was glad. He had no curiosity as +to where he was, no desire to know how he came to be there, no +remembrance of the past; he only knew that warm air wrapped him like a +garment, and that he was deliciously tired and sleepy.</p> + +<p>How long he slept he did not know, but presently when he woke he saw the +sun setting in a blaze of glory. Scarcely a breath of wind stirred the +warm, fragrant air, and all was silent save the lapping of the waves and +the screaming of birds in the distance.</p> + +<p>He sat up and looked around him. Great tropical trees grew in wild +profusion, while gorgeous vegetation abounded. It was like some land of +dreams.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then suddenly memory asserted itself, and the past flashed before his +mind. Everything became clear, vivid.</p> + +<p>"I am saved! I am alive!" he exclaimed aloud.</p> + +<p>Again he saw the wild upheaving sea; he felt himself struggling in the +deep, while his strength, strength of body, of mind, and will were +failing him. He recalled the dark, fearful presence that surrounded him, +and then the coming of the light, and in the light the outline of a +woman's form. Nothing would ever destroy that memory! The face, the +lips, the eyes! No, he should never forget! And he had seen her arms +outstretched, felt her arms placed beneath him—the arms that bore him +up, brought him to safety.</p> + +<p>"I was saved," he murmured—"saved by an angel!"</p> + +<p>He was startled by the sound of a footstep, and, turning, he saw +Romanoff, and with him came back something of the feeling that some evil +presence surrounded him.</p> + +<p>"That's right, Faversham. I was afraid, hours ago, that I should never +bring you round, but at length you made good, and then, like a sensible +fellow, went to sleep."</p> + +<p>Romanoff spoke in the most matter-of-fact way possible, banishing the +mere thought of angels or devils.</p> + +<p>"Where are we? How did we get here?" gasped Faversham. Up to now he had +not given a thought to the other passengers.</p> + +<p>"Where are we? On an island in the Pacific, my dear fellow. How did we +get here? After the accident—or whatever it was—the boats were +lowered, and all hands were got away. I looked out for you, but could +not find you. There was a great commotion, and it was easy to miss +anyone in the darkness. I was among the last to leave the sinking +vessel, and the boat was pretty full. We had got perhaps half a mile +away from the scene of the wreck, when I saw someone struggling in the +sea. It was by the purest chance possible that I saw. However, I managed +to get hold of—what turned out to be you. You were nearly gone—I never +thought you'd—live."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But how did I get here?" asked Dick, "and—and where are the others?"</p> + +<p>"It was this way," and Romanoff still continued to speak in the same +matter-of-fact tones. "As I told you, the boat was jammed +full—overweighted, in fact—so full that your weight was a bit of a +danger. More than one said you were dead, and suggested that—that it +was no use endangering the safety of the others. But I felt sure you +were alive, so I held out against them."</p> + +<p>"And then?" asked Dick. He was only giving half his mind to Romanoff's +story; he was thinking of what he saw when he felt his strength leaving +him.</p> + +<p>"You see the bar out yonder?" and Romanoff pointed towards a ridge of +foam some distance out at sea. "It's mighty rough there—dangerous to +cross even when the sea is smooth; when it is rough—you can guess. I +was holding you in my arms in order to—give room. The oarsmen were +making for land, of course; you see, we had been many hours in a mere +cockleshell, and this island promised safety. But in crossing the bar we +were nearly upset, and I suddenly found myself in the sea with you in my +arms. It was fairly dark, and I could not see the boat, but I was +fortunate in getting you here. That's all."</p> + +<p>"That's all?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; what should there be else?"</p> + +<p>"But the others?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I expect they've landed somewhere else on the island—sure to, in +fact. But I've not looked them up. You see, I did not want to leave +you."</p> + +<p>"Then you—you've saved me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right, my dear fellow. You are here, and you are looking +better every minute; that's the great thing. See, I've brought you some +food—fruit. Delicious stuff. I've tried it. Lucky for us we got to this +place."</p> + +<p>Dick ate almost mechanically. He was still wondering and trying to +square Romanoff's story with his own experiences. Meanwhile, Romanoff +sat near him and watched him as he ate.</p> + +<p>"How long have we been here?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ten hours at least. Look, my clothes are quite dry. By Jove, I was +thankful for the hot sun."</p> + +<p>"You saved me!" repeated Dick. "I owe my life to you, and yet even +now——"</p> + +<p>"What, my dear fellow?"</p> + +<p>"I thought I was saved in another way."</p> + +<p>"Another way? How?"</p> + +<p>Dick hesitated a few seconds, and then told him, while Romanoff listened +with a mocking smile on his lips.</p> + +<p>"Of course, you were delirious; it was pure hallucination."</p> + +<p>"Was it? It was very real to me."</p> + +<p>"Such things don't happen, my friend. After all, it was a very +matter-of-fact, mundane affair. You were lucky, and I happened to see +you—that's all—and if there was an angel—I'm it."</p> + +<p>The laugh that followed was anything but angelic!</p> + +<p>"I suppose that's it," and with a sigh Dick assented to Romanoff's +explanation. Indeed, with this strange, matter-of-fact man by his side, +he could not believe in anything miraculous. That smile on his face made +it impossible.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how to thank you," he said fervently. "You've done me the +greatest service one man can do for another. I can't thank you enough, +and I can never repay you, but if we ever get away from here, and I have +an opportunity to serve you—all that I have shall be yours."</p> + +<p>"I'll remember that," replied Romanoff quietly, "and I accept what you +offer, my friend. Perhaps the time will come when I can take advantage +of it."</p> + +<p>"I hope you will—you must!"—Dick's mind had become excited—"and I +want to tell you something," he continued, for he was strangely drawn +towards his deliverer. "I want to live. I want to get back to England," +he went on. "I have not told you before, but I feel I must now."</p> + +<p>Whereupon he told him the story of the wireless message and what it +possibly might mean.</p> + +<p>Romanoff listened gravely, and Dick once again<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> experienced that uncanny +feeling that he was telling the other a story he already knew.</p> + +<p>"Didn't I tell you on the boat that something big was in store for you?" +he said, after many questions were asked and answered. "I shall +certainly look you up when I go to England again, and it may be I shall +be able to render you some—further service."</p> + +<p>Night came on, and Dick slept. He was calm now and hopeful for the +future. Romanoff had told him that as the island was on the great trade +route it was impossible for them to be left there long. Vessels were +always passing. And Dick trusted Romanoff. He felt he could do no other. +He was so strong, so wise, so confident.</p> + +<p>For hours he slept dreamlessly, but towards morning he had a vivid +dream, and in his dream he again saw the face of the angel, just as he +had seen on the wild, heaving sea.</p> + +<p>"Listen to me," she said to him. "That man Romanoff is your enemy—the +enemy of your soul. Do you realise it?—your soul. He is an emissary of +the Evil One, and you must fight him. You must not yield to him. You +will be tempted, but you must fight. He will be constantly near you, +tempting you. He is your enemy, working for your downfall. If you give +way to him you will be for ever lost!"</p> + +<p>Dick heard her words quite plainly. He watched her face as she spoke, +wondered at the yearning tenderness in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"How can he be my enemy?" he asked. "He risked his life to save mine; he +brought me to safety."</p> + +<p>"No," she replied; "it was the arms of another that were placed beneath +you, and bore you up. Don't you know whose arms? Don't you remember my +face?"</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>Then, as it seemed to him in his dream, Romanoff came, and there was a +battle between him and the angel, and he knew that they were fighting +for him, for the possession of his soul.</p> + +<p>He could see them plainly, and presently he saw the face of Romanoff +gloat with a look of unholy joy. His form became more and more clearly +outlined, while that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> of the angel became dimmer and dimmer. The evil +power was triumphant. Then a change came. Above their heads he saw a +luminous cross outlined, and he thought Romanoff's face and form became +less and less distinct. But he was not sure, for they were drifting away +from him farther and farther——</p> + +<p>Again he saw the angel's face, and again she spoke. "You will be +tempted—tempted," she said, "in many ways you will be tempted. But you +will not be alone, for the angel of the Lord encampeth around them that +fear Him. You will know me by the same sign. Always obey the angel."</p> + +<p>He awoke. He was lying where he had gone to sleep hours before. He +started to his feet and looked around him.</p> + +<p>Near him, passing under the shadows of the great trees, he thought he +saw a woman's face. It was the face he had seen on the outgoing vessel, +the face he had seen when he was sinking in the deep waters, the face +that had come to him in his dreams.</p> + +<p>He was about to speak to her, to follow her, when he heard someone +shouting.</p> + +<p>"Faversham! Faversham!" It was Romanoff's voice. "Come quickly. We've +hailed a vessel; our signal has been seen. Come to the other side of the +island."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> +<h2>PART I.—THE FIRST TEMPTATION</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Only Surviving Relative</span></h3> + + +<p>Dick Faversham made his way to the offices of Messrs. Bidlake & Bilton, +Solicitors, Lincoln's Inn Fields, with a fast-beating heart. He felt +like a man whose fortune depended on the turn of a die. If the lawyers +had sent him a message for the purpose he hoped, all was well; if +not——And for the hundredth time he considered the pros and cons of +the matter.</p> + +<p>His rescue from the island had turned out to be one of the prosiest +matters imaginable. The captain of an English-bound steamer had seen the +signals made from the island, and had sent boats. Thus Dick was saved +without difficulty. There were others who had a similar fortune, but +Dick had no chance to speak with them. No sooner did he reach the +steamer than he was taken ill, and remained ill during the whole of the +homeward voyage.</p> + +<p>After he reached Plymouth he began to recover rapidly, but he found on +making inquiries that all who were rescued from the island had +disembarked at the western seaport. This was very disappointing to him, +as he wanted to make inquiries concerning the manner of their escape. Of +Romanoff he neither heard nor saw anything. No one knew anything of him +on the steamer, neither was he known to board it.</p> + +<p>Dick was both glad and sorry because of this. Glad because, although +Romanoff possessed a strange fascination for him, he had never been +altogether comfortable in his presence. The man repelled him even while +he fascinated him, and he felt relieved that he was not on board. On the +other hand, he was sorry, because he had a feeling that this strange, +saturnine man might have been a great help to him in his peculiar +circumstances.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It may be all a will-o'-the-wisp fancy," he reflected as he walked +along Fleet Street towards the Law Courts, "and yet it must mean +something."</p> + +<p>His mind was in a whirl of bewilderment, for in spite of Romanoff's +explanation he could not drive from his mind the belief that his +experiences after the vessel was wrecked had been real. Indeed, there +were times when he was <i>sure</i> that he had seen an angel's form hovering +while he was struggling in the sea, sure that he felt strong arms +upholding him.</p> + +<p>"At any rate, this is real," he said to himself as he turned into +Lincoln's Inn Fields. "I am here on dry land. I wear a suit of clothes +which Captain Fraser gave me, and I have twenty-four shillings in my +pocket. Whatever happens, I will at the first opportunity pay the +captain for his kindness."</p> + +<p>He entered the office and gave his name.</p> + +<p>"Do you wish to see Mr. Bidlake or Mr. Bilton?" asked the clerk.</p> + +<p>"Either, or both," replied Dick.</p> + +<p>"Would you state your business, please?" The clerk did not seem to be +sure of him.</p> + +<p>"I will state my business to your principals," replied Dick. "Please +take in my name."</p> + +<p>When the clerk returned his demeanour was changed. He was obsequious and +anxious to serve.</p> + +<p>"Will you come this way, please, sir?" he said. "Mr. Bilton is in Mr. +Bidlake's room, and——"</p> + +<p>He did not finish the sentence, for the door of an office opened and a +man of about fifty years of age appeared.</p> + +<p>"Come in, Mr. Faversham," he invited. "Do you know, I've been on +tenterhooks for days about you."</p> + +<p>"I landed at Tilbury only a few hours ago."</p> + +<p>"Is that so? But it was this way: we, of course, heard that your boat +had been mined, and we also heard that a number of the passengers and +crew were rescued; but news about you was contradictory. In one list of +the saved your name appeared, while in another you were not mentioned. +Tell us all about it."</p> + +<p>"Another time," replied Dick. He was in a fever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> to know why this very +respectable firm of lawyers should have sent a wireless to him.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, of course," assented Mr. Bidlake, leading the way to an inner +room. "Bilton, you may as well come too. My word, Mr. Faversham, I <i>am</i> +glad to see you."</p> + +<p>Dick felt light-hearted. Mr. Bidlake would not receive him in this +fashion had there not been important reasons for doing so.</p> + +<p>"Well now, to come to business right away," said Mr. Bidlake the moment +they were seated—"you got my message?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty-four hours before I was wrecked," replied Dick.</p> + +<p>"Just so. You'll tell us all about that presently. My word, you must +have had a terrible time! But that's by the way. You got my message, and +therefore you know that your uncle, Mr. Charles Faversham, is dead?"</p> + +<p>Dick nodded. He tried to appear calm, but his heart was thumping like a +sledge-hammer.</p> + +<p>"Of course, you know that Mr. Charles Faversham was a bachelor, and—by +the way, Mr. Bilton, will you find the Faversham papers? You've had them +in hand."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my uncle was a bachelor," repeated Dick as Mr. Bidlake hesitated.</p> + +<p>"You've never had any communications with him?"</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"A peculiar man. A genius for business, but, all the same, a peculiar +man. However, I think it's all plain enough."</p> + +<p>"What is plain enough?"</p> + +<p>"Have you the papers, Bilton? That's good. Yes, I have everything here. +This is the last will of Mr. Faversham—a plain, straightforward will in +many ways, although slightly involved in others. However——"</p> + +<p>The lawyer untied some tape, and began scanning some documents.</p> + +<p>"However what?" asked Dick, who by this time was almost beside himself +with impatience.</p> + +<p>"By the way, you can easily put your hand on your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> birth certificate, as +well as the death certificate of your father, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Quite easily."</p> + +<p>"Of course you can. The fact that I have known you for some time makes +things far easier, far less—complicated. Otherwise a great many +formalities would have to be gone into before—in short, Mr. Richard +Faversham, I have great pleasure in congratulating you on being the heir +to a fine fortune—a <i>very</i> fine fortune."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bidlake smiled benignly.</p> + +<p>"My uncle's fortune?"</p> + +<p>"Your uncle's estate—yes. He was a very rich man."</p> + +<p>"But—but——" stammered Dick.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, of course, you wish for some details. This is the position. +Your uncle made a will—a rather peculiar will in some ways."</p> + +<p>"A peculiar will?" queried Dick.</p> + +<p>"Yes—as you know, I did a great deal of work for him; but there were +others. Triggs and Wilcox attended to some things, while Mortlake and +Stenson also did odd jobs; but I have made all inquiries, and this is +the last will he made. He wrote it himself, and it was duly witnessed. I +myself have interviewed the witnesses, and there is no flaw anywhere, +although, of course, this document is by no means orthodox."</p> + +<p>"Orthodox? I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"I mean that it is not in legal form. As a matter of fact, it is utterly +informal."</p> + +<p>"You mean that there is some doubt about it?"</p> + +<p>"On no, by no means. It would stand good in any court of law, but, of +course, all such documents are loosely worded. In case of a lawsuit it +would offer occasion for many wordy battles," and Mr. Bidlake smacked +his lips as though he would enjoy such an experience. "But here is the +will in a nutshell," he went on. "You see, his own brother died many +years ago, while your father, his stepbrother, died—let me see—how +long ago? But you know. I need not go into that. As you may have heard, +his sister Helen married and had children; she was left a widow, and +during her widowhood she kept house for your uncle; so far so good. This +is the will:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> all his property, excepting some small sums which are +plainly stated, was left equally to his sister Helen's children, and to +their heirs on their decease."</p> + +<p>"But where do I come in?" gasped Dick.</p> + +<p>"Here, my dear sir. There is a clause in the will, which I'll read: +'Should not my sister Helen's children be alive at the time of my +decease, all my property is to be equally divided between my nearest +surviving relatives.' Now, here," went on the lawyer, "we see the +foolishness of a man making his own will, especially a man with such +vast properties as Mr. Charles Faversham had. First of all, suppose his +sister Helen's children married and had children who were alive at the +time of Mr. Charles Faversham's death. These children might not inherit +a penny if his sister's children had been dead. Again, take the term +'equally divided.' Don't you see what a bill of costs might be run up in +settling that? What is an equal division? Who is to assess values on an +estate that consists of shipping interests, lands, mines, and a host of +other things? Still, we need not trouble about this as it happens. We +have inquired into the matter, and we find that your Aunt Helen's +children are dead, and that none of them was married."</p> + +<p>"Then—then——"</p> + +<p>"You are the nearest surviving relative, my dear sir, and not only +that—you are the only surviving relative of the late Mr. Charles +Faversham of Wendover Park, Surrey."</p> + +<p>Dick Faversham still appeared outwardly calm, although his brain was +whirling with excitement. The words, 'shipping interests, lands, mines, +and a host of other things,' were singing in his ears. And he—<i>he</i> was +heir to it all! But was there some doubt about it? Was everything so +definite as the lawyer had stated?</p> + +<p>"I believe my Aunt Helen had three children," Dick said after a +silence—"two girls and a boy, or two boys and a girl, I have forgotten +which. Do you mean to say they are all dead?"</p> + +<p>"Certain. Directly on Mr. Faversham's death I went into the matter. Two +of the children died in England. The third, a son, died in Australia. I +was very anxious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> about that, and spent quite a little fortune in +cablegrams. Still, I got everything cleared up satisfactorily."</p> + +<p>"Tell me how." Dick was very anxious about this. It seemed to him as the +crux of the whole question.</p> + +<p>"It was naturally a little difficult," and Mr. Bidlake smiled +complacently. "Australia is some little distance away, eh? But I managed +it. For one thing, an old articled clerk of mine went to Melbourne some +years ago, and succeeded in getting a practice there. He was very +anxious to oblige me, and got on the track almost immediately. +Fortunately for us, the death of Mr. Anthony Riggleton was somewhat +notorious."</p> + +<p>"And Mr. Anthony Riggleton was my Aunt Helen's son?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"Exactly. He was not a young man of high character, and I am given to +understand that Mr. Charles Faversham threatened more than once, when he +was in England, never to leave him a penny. However, he paid his debts, +gave him a sum of money, and told him to go away and never to return +again during his life. It seems, too, that Mr. Anthony Faversham +Riggleton considerably reformed himself during the time he was in +Australia, so much so that favourable reports were sent to his uncle +concerning his conduct. That, I imagine, accounts for his inclusion in +the will. Whether he went wild again, I don't know, but it is certain +that he met his death in a very suspicious way. It seems that he and +some other men met in a house of bad repute not far from Melbourne, and +in a brawl of some sort he came to an untimely end. His body was found +more than twenty-four hours after his death, in the harbour at +Melbourne. Evidently the affair was most unsavoury. His face was much +bashed. A pistol-shot had passed through his brain, and there were some +knife-stabs in his body."</p> + +<p>"And his companions?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"They had cleared out, and left no traces behind. You see, they had +plenty of time to do so before the police were able to get to work. +According to the latest reports I have heard, there is not the slightest +chance of finding them."</p> + +<p>"But the body—was it identified?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It was. Letters were found on the body addressed to Mr. Anthony +Faversham Riggleton, and there were also private papers on his person +which left no doubt. Added to this, the evidence of the cashier and of a +clerk of the Bank of Australia was most explicit. You see, he had called +at the bank on the morning of the night of the brawl, and drew what +little money he had. When the body was brought to the mortuary, both the +cashier and the clerk swore it was that of the man who had called for +the money."</p> + +<p>"That was settled definitely, then?"</p> + +<p>"Just so. Oh, you can make your mind quite easy. Directly I got news of +Mr. Charles Faversham's death I naturally took steps to deal with his +estate, and I assured myself of your interest in the matter before +seeking to communicate with you. I would not have sent you that wireless +without practical certainty. Since then I have received newspapers from +Melbourne giving details of the whole business."</p> + +<p>"And my Aunt Helen?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"She died before the will was made. I gather that her death caused him +to make the new will—the one we are discussing—in a hurry."</p> + +<p>"And my two other cousins?" Dick persisted. He wanted to assure himself +that there could be no shadow of doubt.</p> + +<p>The lawyer smiled. "Things do happen strangely sometimes," he said. "If +anyone had told me at the time this will was made that you would come in +for the whole estate, I should have laughed. There were three healthy +people in your way. And yet, so it is. They are dead. There is not a +shadow of doubt about it."</p> + +<p>"But didn't my uncle know of their decease?"</p> + +<p>"I can't tell you that. He was a strange man. As I have said, he had a +regular genius for making money, and he lived for his business. He +simply revelled in it; not because he cared about money as such, but +because the accumulation of wealth fascinated him. He was, as you know, +unmarried, and up to the time of his making this will, his sister, of +whom he seemed to have been fond, kept house for him. But he would not +have her children<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> around him. He gave them large sums of money, but he +had no personal knowledge of them. It is quite probable, therefore, that +he, being in failing health for more than a year before his death, would +have no knowledge that they died some time before he did. You would +understand if you had known him. A most eccentric man."</p> + +<p>Dick reflected a few seconds. The way seemed perfectly plain, and yet +everything seemed intangible, unreal.</p> + +<p>"In proof of that," went on the lawyer, "he did not tell either Mr. +Bilton or myself that he had made this will. He simply gave a letter to +the housekeeper he had secured after his sister's death, and told her +that this letter was to be given to me at his decease. That letter," +went on Mr. Bidlake, "contained the key of a safe and instructions to me +to deal with the contents of the safe immediately after his death. Of +course, I opened the safe, and among the first things I found was this +will. The rest I have explained to you."</p> + +<p>"And you say I am very wealthy?" asked Dick almost fearfully. Even yet +it seemed too good to be true.</p> + +<p>"Wealthy!" and the lawyer smiled. "Wealthy, my dear sir! I cannot yet +tell you <i>how</i> wealthy. But if a controlling interest in one of the most +prosperous shipping companies in the world, if the principal holding in +one of our great banks, if landed estates in more than three counties, +if important mining interests, if hundreds of houses in London and hosts +of other things mean great wealth—then I can truly say that you are a +very wealthy man. Of course, I cannot as yet estimate the value of the +whole estate, but the death duties will make a nice fortune—a <i>very</i> +nice fortune. Still, if you decide to entrust your legal business to us, +as we hope you will, we shall be able in a few weeks to give you an +approximate idea of what you are worth."</p> + +<p>"Of course I will do that," replied Dirk hastily; "naturally there is no +question about the matter. That must be settled here and now."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Mr. Bidlake. "Naturally Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> Bilton and myself +appreciate this mark of your confidence. You may depend that neither of +us will spare himself in order to serve you. Eh, Mr. Bilton?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly," replied Mr. Bilton. It was the only word he had as yet spoken +throughout the interview.</p> + +<p>"And now," said Dick, "I want your advice."</p> + +<p>"Our advice? Certainly. What about?"</p> + +<p>"Well, owing to the wreck, I am at this moment in borrowed clothes. I +have only a few shillings in my pocket——"</p> + +<p>"My dear sir," interrupted the lawyer, "that presents no difficulties. +Let me give you an open cheque for two hundred—five hundred—pounds +right away. Naturally, too, you will want to get clothes. You lost +everything in the—the wreck; naturally you did. I had almost forgotten +such things in the—the bigger matter. But that's all right. I have a +private sitting-room here, and my tailor would be only too glad to come +here right away. A most capable man. He would rig you out, temporarily, +in a few hours, and afterwards——"</p> + +<p>"That's all right," interrupted Dick; "but what next?"</p> + +<p>"Take possession at once, my dear sir—at once."</p> + +<p>"But I don't want anything to get into the papers."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not—if we can help it. And I think we can. Shall I ring up +my tailors? Yes?" And Mr. Bidlake took a telephone receiver into his +hand. "That's all right," he added two minutes later. "Hucknell will be +here in less than half an hour, and you can trust him to fix you up and +tide you over the next few days. Yes, he will be glad to do so—very +glad. Terrible business this industrial unrest, isn't it? I'm afraid +it's going to take some settling. Of course, it's world wide, but I say, +thank goodness our people have got more sense and more balance than +those poor Russians."</p> + +<p>The words were simple enough, and the expression was almost a +commonplace, but Dick Faversham felt a sudden pain at his heart. He +thought of the dark, mysterious man who claimed kinship with the great +Russian House of Romanoff, and in a way he could not understand; the +thought seemed to take away from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> joyous excitement which filled his +being at that moment. He wished he had never seen, never heard of Count +Romanoff.</p> + +<p>With an effort he shook off the cloud.</p> + +<p>"You suggest that I go to Wendover Park at once?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, say to-morrow morning. It is your right; in a way, it's your duty. +The property is undeniably yours."</p> + +<p>"Would—would you—could you go with me?" stammered Dick.</p> + +<p>"I was on the point of suggesting it myself, my dear sir. Yes, I could +go to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>"Are there any servants there, or is the house empty?" asked Dick. Again +he had a sense of unreality.</p> + +<p>"Most of the servants are there," replied the lawyer. "I thought it best +to keep them. I am not sure about a chauffeur, though. I have an idea I +discharged him. But it can easily be managed. The housekeeper whom your +uncle engaged on your aunt's death is there, and she, it appears, has a +husband. Rather a capable man. He can get a chauffeur. I'll ring up +right away, and give instructions. You don't mind, do you?"</p> + +<p>"It's awfully good of you," Dick assured him. "I shall feel lost without +you."</p> + +<p>At half-past one Dick accompanied Mr. Bidlake to his club for lunch, +attired in a not at all badly fitting ready-made suit of clothes, which +Mr. Hucknell had secured for him, and spent the afternoon with the +lawyer discussing the new situation.</p> + +<p>"Nine-thirty-five Victoria," said Mr. Bidlake to him as he left him that +night.</p> + +<p>"I'll be there."</p> + +<p>Dick went to his hotel like a man in a dream. Even yet everything was +unreal to him. He had received assurances from one of the most +trustworthy and respectable lawyers in London that his position was +absolutely safe, and yet he felt no firm foundation under his feet.</p> + +<p>"I expect it's because I've seen nothing yet," he reflected. "When I go +down to-morrow and get installed as the owner of everything, I shall see +things in a new light."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Wendover Park</span></h3> + + +<p>The end of April had now come, and a tinge of green had crept over what +in many respects is one of the loveliest counties in England. The train +in which Mr. Bidlake and Dick Faversham sat had left Redhill and was +passing through a rich, undulating countryside.</p> + +<p>"You feel a bit excited, I expect?" and Mr. Bidlake looked up from his +copy of <i>The Times</i>.</p> + +<p>"Just a bit."</p> + +<p>"You'll soon get over your excitement, although, of course, you'll find +the change very great. A rich man has many responsibilities."</p> + +<p>"If I remember aright, there are several other big houses within a few +miles of Wendover Park? Was my uncle on good terms with his neighbours?"</p> + +<p>The lawyer coughed. "He did not go much into society. As I told you, he +was a very eccentric man."</p> + +<p>Dick was quick to notice the tone in which the other spoke. "You mean +that he was not well received?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that he lived his own life. Mr. Faversham was essentially a +business man, and—and perhaps he could not understand the attitude of +the old county families. Besides, feeling against him was rather strong +when he bought Wendover Park."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"I daresay you'll learn all about it in time. Enough to say now that Sir +Guy Wendover, the previous owner, was in money difficulties, and the +feeling was that your uncle took advantage of them in order to get hold +of the place. Personally I don't pay much attention to such stories; but +undoubtedly they affected your uncle's position. Possibly they may +affect yours—for a time."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> The lawyer appeared to utter the last +sentence as an afterthought.</p> + +<p>Presently the train stopped at a wayside station, where the two +alighted. The sun was now high in the heavens, and the birds were +singing gaily. Wooded hills sloped up from the station, while westward +was a vast panorama of hill and dale.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you could find a fairer sight in all England," remarked +Mr. Bidlake. "Ah, that's right. I see a motor-car is waiting for us."</p> + +<p>Dick felt as thought a weight rolled from his shoulders the moment he +stood beneath the open sky. Yes, this was glorious! The air was laden +with the perfume of bursting life. The chorus of the birds exhilarated +him; the sight of the rich loamy meadows, where lambkins sported and +cows fed lazily, made him feel that he was not following some chimera of +the mind, but tangible realities.</p> + +<p>A chauffeur touched his cap. "Mr. Faversham and Mr. Bidlake, sir?" he +inquired.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later the car was moving swiftly along beautiful country +lanes, the like of which only a few English counties can show. Yes, Dick +had to admit it. Beautiful as he thought the whole district to be when +cycling through it years before, he had no idea it was like this. Every +corner they turned revealed new loveliness. All nature seemed bent on +giving him a great welcome to his new home.</p> + +<p>They had covered perhaps half the journey between the station and the +house when the chauffeur jammed his foot on the brake suddenly and +brought the car to a standstill. In front of them stood a small +two-seater, by the open bonnet of which stood a young lady with hand +uplifted. Evidently something had gone wrong with her machine, and the +lane at this point was not wide enough for them to pass.</p> + +<p>Dick immediately alighted.</p> + +<p>"I am awfully sorry to inconvenience you," protested the girl, "but my +engine has stopped, and, try as I may, I can't get it to start again."</p> + +<p>Her face was slightly flushed, partly with her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> endeavours to start the +engine and partly with impatience; but this did not detract from her +more than usually handsome appearance. For she was handsome; indeed, +Dick thought he had never seen such a striking girl. And this was no +wonder. It is only rare that nature produces such a perfect specimen of +young womanhood as he saw that morning—perfect, that is, in face and +form, perfect in colouring, in stature, in bearing. She was a +brunette—great black flashing eyes, full red lips, raven-black hair, +skin suffused with the glow of buoyant health. More than ordinarily +tall, she was shaped like a Juno, and moved with all the grace and +freedom of an athlete.</p> + +<p>"Help the lady, my man," said Mr. Bidlake to the chauffeur.</p> + +<p>"Sorry, sir," replied the man, "but I don't know anything about engines. +I've only just learnt to drive. You see, sir, Mrs. Winkley didn't quite +know what to do when——"</p> + +<p>"All right," interrupted Dick, with a laugh; "perhaps I can help you."</p> + +<p>"If you only could," laughed the girl. "I haven't had the thing long, +but it never went wrong until to-day. I know how to drive pretty well, +but as for understanding the engine, I'm a mere baby."</p> + +<p>She had a frank, pleasant voice, and laughed as she spoke, revealing +perfect teeth.</p> + +<p>Dick, who had quite a gift for mechanism, quickly found some tools, and +commenced testing the sparking-plugs like a man conversant with his +work.</p> + +<p>"I'll have to take off my coat if you'll excuse me," he said presently. +"I see you start the thing on a battery, and have no magneto. I'm sorry +I don't know this class of car well, but I think I can see what's the +matter."</p> + +<p>"What is it? Do tell me," she cried, with an eager laugh. "I've been +studying motor manuals and all that sort of thing ever since I commenced +to drive, but diagrams always confuse me."</p> + +<p>"The distributor seems to be wrong, and some wires have become +disconnected. Have you been held up long?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, a quarter of an hour—more."</p> + +<p>"And running the battery all the time?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid so."</p> + +<p>"You must be careful or your battery'll run out of electricity; that +would mean your being hung up for two days."</p> + +<p>"They told me that at the garage a little time ago. But what must I do?" +and she laughed at him pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"If she doesn't start at once, get someone to adjust the parts. There, I +wonder if she'll go now."</p> + +<p>He touched a switch, and the engine began to run.</p> + +<p>"She seems all right," he said, after watching the moving mass of +machinery for some seconds.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are good—and—thank you ever so much."</p> + +<p>"It's been quite a pleasure," replied Dick, putting on his coat. "It was +lucky I came by."</p> + +<p>"It was indeed; but look at your hands. They are covered with oil. I +<i>am</i> sorry."</p> + +<p>"Nothing to be sorry for. Oil breaks no bones. Besides, I shall be able +to wash them in a few minutes."</p> + +<p>"You are not going far, then?"</p> + +<p>"Only to Wendover Park. Do you know it?"</p> + +<p>"Know it! Why——" She checked herself suddenly, and Dick thought she +seemed a little confused. "But I must be going now. Thank you again."</p> + +<p>She got into the car, and in a few seconds was out of sight.</p> + +<p>"Remarkably handsome young lady, isn't she?" remarked Mr. Bidlake. "Do +you know who she is?" he asked the chauffeur.</p> + +<p>"Lady Blanche Huntingford, sir," replied the chauffeur.</p> + +<p>"Whew!" whistled Mr. Bidlake.</p> + +<p>"Anybody special?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>The lawyer smiled. "The incident is decidedly interesting," he replied. +"First, she is cousin to Sir Guy Wendover who used to own Wendover Park, +and second, she is the daughter of Lord Huntingford, the proudest and +most exclusive aristocrat in Surrey."</p> + +<p>"No? By Jove, she is handsome!"</p> + +<p>"It is said that the Huntingfords rule Social Surrey.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> If they take you +up, your social status is assured; if they boycott you——" and the +lawyer shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>Dick was silent a few seconds. Evidently he was thinking deeply. "Isn't +she glorious?" he cried presently. "I never saw such a dazzling girl. +Did you notice her eyes—her complexion? I—I wouldn't have missed it +for anything."</p> + +<p>The lawyer did not reply. Perhaps he had reasons for his silence.</p> + +<p>The car dashed on for another mile, and then Dick gave a cry of delight.</p> + +<p>"That's it, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; that's it."</p> + +<p>They were looking at a lovely old mansion which stood on the slope of a +hill. Stretching away from it were fine park-lands, and beyond these +were wide-stretching woods. Looked at on that fair spring day, it was +indeed a place to be proud of, to rejoice in.</p> + +<p>"I never dreamt it was so fine!" gasped Dick.</p> + +<p>"One of the finest places in England," was the lawyer's complacent +reply.</p> + +<p>Dick looked like one fascinated. It appealed to and satisfied him +altogether.</p> + +<p>"It's old, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Three hundred years. It is said that the gardens are a wonder."</p> + +<p>The car passed through some heavily wrought gates, and then rolled under +an avenue of old trees. Dick could not speak; the thought of possessing +such a place made him dumb. A few minutes later they drew up before the +main entrance.</p> + +<p>Dick was the first to leap out. He was eager to enter, to claim +possession, to examine every nook and corner of his new home. He put his +foot on the bottom step leading to the door, and then stopped suddenly. +He felt himself rooted to the ground, felt afraid to move.</p> + +<p>"I congratulate you again," said the lawyer. "I feel proud that I have +the privilege to——"</p> + +<p>"Don't you see? There! Don't you see?" gasped Dick.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> + +<p>"See?" repeated the lawyer. "Of course I see one of the most beautiful +houses in England."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but nothing else?" he asked excitedly.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" queried the lawyer.</p> + +<p>But Dick did not reply. Although the lawyer had seen nothing, he saw in +dim outline the face and form which had appeared to him when he was +sinking in the turbulent waters of the Indian Ocean. Was this a warning +that trouble was to overwhelm him again?</p> + +<p>Dick Faversham had no doubts. Whatever he might think later, he was at +that time certain of what he saw. The sun was shining brightly, and +there was nothing in the various objects by which he was surrounded to +suggest the supernatural, and yet he saw the face of the angel. She +seemed to be hovering over the steps which led to the main entrance of +the house, and for the moment she looked as though she would forbid his +entrance. But only for the moment. Slowly she faded away, slowly he lost +sight of her, and by the time the servant, who had evidently seen the +approach of the car, had reached the door she had gone.</p> + +<p>But he was sure he had seen her. The form he had seen hovering over him +on the wild, turbulent sea was plainly visible to him at the door of +this old Surrey mansion. The face, too, could not be mistaken. The same +calm, benign expression, the same tender mouth. Goodness, purity, +guardianship, all found their expression in those features. But there +was something more. The eyes which had riveted his attention and haunted +his memory for months seemed to convey something different to him now +from what they had then. There was still the same yearning gaze, the +same melting tenderness, but there was something more. They seemed to +suggest fear, warning. Dick Faversham felt as though she wanted to tell +him something, to warn him against some unknown danger. It is true the +feeling was indefinite and difficult to put into words; but it was +there. She might, while not forbidding him to enter the house which had +so unexpectedly come into his possession, be trying to tell him of +dangers, of possible calamity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And do you say that you can see—that—that you saw nothing?" he almost +gasped.</p> + +<p>"I can see a great deal," replied Mr. Bidlake. "I can see one of the +loveliest scenes in England. I can see you standing at the entrance +of—but what do you mean? You look pale—frightened. Aren't you well?"</p> + +<p>Dick opened his mouth to tell what he had seen, but he checked himself. +Somehow the thought of opening his heart to this matter-of-fact lawyer +seemed like sacrilege. He would not understand. He would tell him, just +as Romanoff had told him weeks before, that his mind was unbalanced by +the experiences through which he had passed, that the natural excitement +caused by the news he had heard were too much for him, and caused him to +lose his mental balance.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am quite well, thank you."</p> + +<p>"Well, what do you mean? What do you think you saw?"</p> + +<p>At that moment the door opened, and the housekeeper, who had hurried to +meet them, appeared, and the lawyer did not listen to his stammering +reply.</p> + +<p>"Good-day, Mr. Bidlake," smiled the housekeeper. "I am glad you got here +all right. Winkley had quite a difficulty in getting a chauffeur. I hope +the one provided was satisfactory?"</p> + +<p>"It's all right, Mrs. Winkley," and the lawyer was very patronising as +he spoke; "the man brought us here safely. This," and he turned towards +Dick, "is Mr. Richard Faversham, the new owner of—hem—Wendover Park, +and your new—master."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, sir," and Mrs. Winkley turned and looked nervously towards +Dick, "I hope you'll be very—happy here, sir. I bid you welcome, sir."</p> + +<p>Dick smiled with frank pleasure and shook hands—a familiarity which +pleased the housekeeper, but not the lawyer.</p> + +<p>"You got my letter, Mrs. Winkley?" Mr. Bidlake said hurriedly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, also your telephone message yesterday. Wendover Park is a +lovely place, Mr. Faversham."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is, indeed, Mrs. Winkley. This Surrey air has given me an appetite, +too."</p> + +<p>Dick was so nervous that he hardly knew what he was saying. As he +glanced around the spacious hall and tried to realise that it was his +own, and as he called to mind that for the last mile he had been passing +through his own property, it seemed to be too wonderful to be true.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the air is very good, and I am glad you are hungry. Lunch will be +ready in half an hour. I have prepared a bedroom for you, Mr. Faversham. +I have assumed you are—staying here?"</p> + +<p>"Rather!" and Dick laughed as he spoke. "You must excuse me if I'm a +little abrupt, Mrs. Winkley. You see, I imagine it will take me some +little time to settle down to the new order of things."</p> + +<p>"I think I understand; it must be a wonderful experience for you. But I +think you'll find everything all right. I have taken great care of +everything since the late Mr. Faversham died. It's all just as he left +it. No doubt you'll want to look over the house?"</p> + +<p>"Presently, Mrs. Winkley; but, first of all, I want to come to an +understanding with you. I am a bachelor, and I don't think I have a +relation in the world, so, for a time, I—shall make no changes in the +place at all. What I mean to say is, that I hope you'll continue to be +my housekeeper, and—and look after me generally. Mr. Bidlake has said +all sorts of good things about you, so much so that I shall regard +myself very fortunate if—if you'll remain in your present position."</p> + +<p>Dick didn't know at all why he said this, except that he had a feeling +that something of the sort was expected from him.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure it's very kind of you to say so, sir," and Mrs. Winkley smiled +radiantly. "Of course I've been a little bit anxious, not knowing what +kind of—of gentleman the new owner would be, or what plans he might +have. But, if you think I'll suit you, sir, I'll do my utmost to make +you comfortable and look after your interests. I was housekeeper to Dr. +Bell of Guildford when the late Mr. Faversham's sister died, and——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, I've heard about that," interrupted Dick. "I'm sure he was lucky +to get you."</p> + +<p>"I did my best for him, sir, and he never grumbled. I lived in these +parts as a girl, so I can get you plenty of references as to the +respectability of my family."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure you can," Dick assented. He was glad that Mrs. Winkley was of +the superior servant order rather than some superior person who had +pretensions to being a fine lady. "By the way, of course you know the +house well?"</p> + +<p>"Know the house well?" repeated Mrs. Winkley. She was not quite sure +that she understood him.</p> + +<p>"Yes; know all the rooms?" laughed Dick nervously.</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly, sir. I know every room from the garret to the cellar," +replied Mrs. Winkley wonderingly.</p> + +<p>"And there are no ghosts, are there?"</p> + +<p>"Ghosts, sir? Not that I ever heard of."</p> + +<p>"I was only wondering. It's an old house, and I was thinking that there +might be a family ghost."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Winkley shook her head. "Nothing of the sort, sir, to my knowledge. +Wait a minute, though; I did hear when I was a girl that the elm grove +was haunted. There's a lake down there, and there was a story years ago +that a servant who had drowned herself there used to wander up and down +the grove wringing her hands on Michaelmas Eve."</p> + +<p>"And where is the elm grove?"</p> + +<p>"It's away towards the North Lodge. You wouldn't see it the way you +came, and it's hidden from here."</p> + +<p>"But the house? There's no legend that that has ever been haunted?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. I suppose some of the Wendovers were very wild generations +ago, but I never heard that any of their spirits ever came back again."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Winkley was pleased that her new master kept talking so long, +although she came to the conclusion that he was somewhat eccentric.</p> + +<p>"Of course, it was foolish of me to ask," Dick said somewhat awkwardly; +"but the thought struck me. By the way, how long did you say it was to +lunch-time?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not quite half an hour, sir," replied Mrs. Winkley, looking at an old +eight-day clock. "I'll speak to the cook and get it pushed forward as +fast as possible. Perhaps you'd like a wash, sir? I'll show you to your +room, if you would."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. After that I—I think, Mr. Bidlake, I'd like to go into the +gardens."</p> + +<p>He was afraid he was making a bad impression upon his housekeeper, and +he was angry with himself for not acting in a more natural manner. But +he seemed to be under a strange influence. Although the thought of the +supernatural had left him, his experience of a few minutes before +doubtless coloured his mind.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later they were out in the sunlight again, and they had +scarcely reached the gardens when a man of about fifty years of age made +his way towards them.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, sir," he said, with a strong Scotch accent. "Have I the +honour to speak to the new master?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; my name is Faversham."</p> + +<p>"I'm M'Neal, your second gardener, sir. I thought when I saw you I'd +make bold to speak, sir. I've been here for thirty years, sir, and have +always borne a good character."</p> + +<p>"I've no doubt you have," laughed Dick. "You look it."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir. I gave satisfaction to the late Mr. Faversham, and to +Sir Guy Wendover before him, and I hope——"</p> + +<p>"That we shall get on well together. Of course we shall. I like the look +of you."</p> + +<p>He felt better now. The sight of the broad expanse of the park and the +smell of the sweet, pure air made him light-hearted again.</p> + +<p>"Indeed," he continued, "I may as well tell you right away that I intend +to keep everybody that was here in my uncle's days. You can tell the +others that."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir. But I'd like to remark that this war has made food +dear."</p> + +<p>"I'll bear that in mind; you'll not find me unjust. All who serve me +shall be well paid."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We've all done our best, sir," persisted M'Neal, who was somewhat of a +character, "but I'll not deny that we shall all be the better for a +master. Personally I'm not satisfied with the way things are looking."</p> + +<p>"No? I thought they looked beautiful."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but nothing to what they can look. We are, as you may say, in a +kind of between time now. We've not planted out the beds, although we've +prepared them. If you'll——"</p> + +<p>"Of course I will," Dick interrupted him, with a laugh, "but you must +give me time before making definite promises."</p> + +<p>"If I might show you around," suggested M'Neal, "I think I could +explain——"</p> + +<p>"Later, later," laughed Dick, moving away. "Mr. Bidlake, will you come +over here with me? I want to speak to you privately."</p> + +<p>"Do you know," Mr. Bidlake told him, "that your uncle discharged M'Neal +several times during the time he lived here?"</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because he followed him like a dog whenever he came into the grounds, +and insisted on talking to him. He said the fellow gave him no rest."</p> + +<p>"But why did he take him on again?"</p> + +<p>"He didn't. But M'Neal took no notice of the discharges. He always +turned up on the following morning, and went on with his work as though +nothing had happened."</p> + +<p>"And my uncle paid him his wages?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You see, the fellow is as faithful as a dog, although he's a +nuisance. My word, what a view!"</p> + +<p>The lawyer made this exclamation as a turn in the path revealed a +landscape they had not hitherto seen. It was one of those stretches of +country peculiar to that part of Surrey, and as Dick looked he did not +wonder at the lawyer's enthusiasm. Beyond the park, which was studded +with giant oaks, he saw a rich, undulating country. Here and there were +farmsteads nestling among the trees; again he saw stretches of +woodland,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> while in the distance rose fine commanding hills. The foliage +had far from reached its glory, but the tinge of green which was +creeping over every hedgerow and tree contained a promise, and a charm +that no poet could describe. And the whole scene was all bathed in +spring sunlight, which the birds, delighting in, made into a vast +concert hall.</p> + +<p>"My word, it is ripping!" cried Dick.</p> + +<p>"It's glorious! it's sublime!" cried the lawyer. "You are a fortunate +man, Mr. Richard Faversham. Do you know, sir, that all you can see is +yours?"</p> + +<p>"All mine?" Dick almost gasped.</p> + +<p>"Yes, all this and much more."</p> + +<p>For the first time Dick had a real feeling of possession, and something +to which he had hitherto been a stranger entered his life. Up to now he +had been poor. His life, ever since his father died, had been a +struggle. He had dreamed dreams and seen visions, only to be +disappointed. In spite of ambition, endeavour, determination, everything +to which he had set his hand had failed him. But now, as if some fabled +genii had come to his aid, fortune had suddenly poured her favours into +his lap.</p> + +<p>And here was the earnest of it!</p> + +<p>This glorious countryside, containing farms, houses, villages, and +wide-spreading lands, was his. All his! Gratified desire made his heart +beat wildly. At last life was smiling and joyous. What a future he would +have! With wealth like his, nothing would be impossible!</p> + +<p>"Yes, and much more," repeated the lawyer. "On what chances a man's +fortunes turn."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" asked Dick, who scarce knew what he was saying.</p> + +<p>"Only this," said Mr. Bidlake. "If that fellow had not been killed in a +drunken brawl, none of this would be yours. As it is, you are one of the +most fortunate men in England."</p> + +<p>"Yes, by Jove, I am."</p> + +<p>The lawyer looked at his watch. "Excuse me, Mr. Faversham, but it is +lunch-time, and I must leave you at five o'clock."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm sorry you can't stay a few days."</p> + +<p>"Impossible, my dear sir, much as I'd like to. But I've made a little +programme for you this afternoon, if it is quite convenient to you."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" queried Dick.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I've arranged for your steward, your head gamekeeper, and the +other principal men on the estate to call here. I thought you might like +to see them. There, I hear the lunch-gong."</p> + +<p>Dick went back to the house like a man in a dream.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Lady Blanche makes her Appearance</span></h3> + + +<p>At six o'clock that evening Dick Faversham was alone. He had had +interviews with his steward, his bailiff, his gamekeeper, his forester, +his head gardener, and his head stableman, and now he was left to +himself. Mr. Bidlake, after promising to come again in three days, had +gone back to London, while the others had each gone to their respective +homes to discuss the new master of Wendover Park and the changes which +would probably take place.</p> + +<p>Dick had also gone over the house, and had taken note of the many +features of his new dwelling-place. He had examined the library, the +billiard-room, the dancing-room, the minstrels' gallery, the banqueting +hall, and the many other apartments belonging to this fine old mansion. +Evidently many of the rooms had for years been unused, but, as Mrs. +Winkley had said, everything was "in perfect condition."</p> + +<p>His uncle belonged to that order of men who could not bear to let +anything deteriorate for lack of attention, and he had spent his money +freely. In a way, too, Charles Faversham had a sense of fitness. In all +the improvements he had made, he saw to it that the character and spirit +of the old place should in no way be disturbed. Thus, while every room +was hygienic, and every fireplace fitted according to the most modern +ideas, the true character of everything was maintained. Electric light +was installed, but not a single fitting was out of accord with the age +of the building. Modern science had in everything been perfectly blended +with the spirit of the men who had erected this grand old pile centuries +before.</p> + +<p>And Dick felt it all. He was enough of an artist to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> realise that +nothing was out of place, that it was a home to rejoice in, to be proud +of. If John Ruskin had been alive, and had accompanied him on his tour +of inspection, there was little that the author of <i>The Seven Lamps of +Architecture</i> would have found fault with.</p> + +<p>Most of the furniture, too, was old, and had belonged to the Wendovers. +When Mr. Charles Faversham had bought the estate, he had taken over +everything practically as it stood. Pictures, tapestry, antique articles +of furniture which had been in the house for centuries still remained.</p> + +<p>"Everything has such a homely, cosy feeling!" he exclaimed to himself, +again and again. "The place is not one of those great, giant, homeless +barracks; it's just an ideal home. It's perfect!"</p> + +<p>And it was all his! That was the thought that constantly came to his +mind. This fact was especially made real to him during his interview +with Mr. Boase, the steward. That worthy gentleman, a lawyer who lived +in a little town, most of which belonged to the Wendover estate, made +this abundantly plain by every word he spoke, by every intonation of his +voice.</p> + +<p>Mr. Boase unrolled maps and plans in abundance. He placed before him +lists of tenants, with nature and condition of their tenancy. He told +him how much each farmer paid in rent, how much the house property was +worth, what amount was spent each year in repairs, and finally the net +amount of his rent-roll. And this was all apart from his investments +elsewhere. It was simply fabulous. He who had always been poor, and had +often been hard put to it to pay for food and clothes, found himself +ridiculously wealthy. He had money to burn. Aladdin of romantic renown +was not so much filled with wonder when the slave of the lamp appeared, +ready to do his bidding, as was Dick as he realised his position.</p> + +<p>And he revelled in thought of it all. He was not of a miserly nature, +but he gloried in the influence of the power of wealth, and he painted +glowing pictures of his future. He saw the doors of the rich and the +great open to him; he saw himself courted by people possessing old names +and a great ancestry; he fancied himself occupying positions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> of +eminence in the life of the nation; he saw proud beauties smiling on +him.</p> + +<p>Nothing was impossible! He knew he had more than an average share of +brains; his late employers had admitted as much to him. He also had the +gift of oratory. On the few occasions he had attempted to address his +fellows this had been abundantly proved. In the past he had been +handicapped, but now——</p> + +<p>After dinner that night he walked out alone. He wanted to see his +possessions, to feel his own earth beneath his feet, to feast his eyes +on the glorious countryside.</p> + +<p>"It will take me a week," he reflected, "to get used to it all, to fully +realise that it is all mine. I want to feel my feet, to formulate my +plans, to sketch my future. Of course, I shall be alone for a time, but +in a few days the neighbours will be sure to call on me. After that I +must give a ball. Of course, it is a bad time just now, and it is a +nuisance that so many of the young fellows have been called into the +Army; but I'll be able to manage it," and then he pictured the great +ballroom filled with laughter and gaiety.</p> + +<p>Then the memory of Lady Blanche Huntingford came to him. He saw her as +she had appeared to him that morning. What a glorious creature she was! +What great flashing eyes, what a complexion, what a figure! And she +belonged to one of the oldest families in England. The Huntingfords were +a great people before half the titled nobility of the present day were +ever heard of.</p> + +<p>He called to mind what Mr. Bidlake had told him. If the Huntingfords +recognised him, his social position was assured, for Lord Huntingford +was the social magnate of the county. He was almost half in love with +her already. He remembered her silvery laugh, the gleaming whiteness of +her teeth. What a mistress she would make for Wendover Park! And he +could win her love! He was sure he could, and when he did——</p> + +<p>He blessed the failure of her car to run that morning; blessed the +knowledge he possessed whereby he had been able to render her a service. +Of course, she would find out who he was, and then—yes, he would find +the Open Sesame for every door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<p>For the next few days things happened as Dick expected. He was given +time to view his possessions, to take stock of his new position, and +then the neighbours began to call. By this time Dick knew full +particulars of all the old families in Surrey, and he was gratified at +their appearance. Evidently he suffered from none of the antipathy which +had been felt towards his uncle. He was young, he was good looking, he +had the education and appearance of a gentleman, and people accepted him +at his face value.</p> + +<p>One day his heart gave a great bound, for a servant told him that Lord +and Lady Huntingford, accompanied by Lady Blanche Huntingford, were in +the drawing-room. He knew then that his position in the society of the +county would be assured. It was true that Lord Huntingford was +poor—true, too, that his uncle had practically ejected Sir Guy Wendover +from his old home, and that Sir Guy was a relative of the Huntingfords. +But that would count for nothing, and the Huntingfords were the +Huntingfords!</p> + +<p>"This is good of you, Lord Huntingford!" he cried, as he entered the +room.</p> + +<p>"I came to give you a welcome," said Lord Huntingford somewhat +pompously. "I trust you will be very happy here."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I shall!" cried Dick, with the laugh of a boy. "Wendover Park +feels like Paradise to me."</p> + +<p>"I know the place well," said the peer. "My Cousin Guy, as you may have +heard, used to live here."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have heard of it, and I'm afraid you must feel rather bitterly +towards me as a consequence."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," replied Huntingford. "Of course, it is all ancient history +now. We <i>did</i> feel cut up about it at the time, but—but I congratulate +you on possessing such a fine old place."</p> + +<p>"But for the fact that I so love it already," said Dick, "I should wish +my uncle had secured some other place; but, for the life of me, I can't. +It's too lovely. Anyhow, I'll try to be not an unworthy successor of Sir +Guy. I hope you'll help me, Lord Huntingford, and you, Lady Huntingford +and Lady Blanche. You see,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> I'm handicapped. I'm a bachelor, and I'm +entirely ignorant of my duties. I shall look to you for help."</p> + +<p>This was sound policy on Dick's part. Lord Huntingford was a vain man, +and loved to patronise.</p> + +<p>"You began all right," laughed Lady Blanche. "You helped a poor, +forlorn, helpless motorist out of a difficulty."</p> + +<p>"You recognise me, then?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do. I positively envied the way you tackled that engine of +mine and put it right. Of course, I felt angry when I knew who you were. +No, no, there was nothing personal about it. I only hated the thought +that anyone other than a Wendover should live here. A family feeling, +you know."</p> + +<p>"All that Wendover Park has is yours to command!" and Dick looked very +earnest as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Now, that's good of you. But don't be too liberal with your promises. I +may take you at your word."</p> + +<p>"Try me!" cried Dick. "I should like to do something to atone. Not that +I can give it up," he added, with a laugh. "I simply couldn't, you know. +But—but——"</p> + +<p>"And how are you going to spend your time?" asked Lord Huntingford. "We +are living in a critical age."</p> + +<p>"I shall make something turn up!" Dick cried heartily, "as soon as I +know where I am."</p> + +<p>"And, meanwhile, I suppose you motor, ride, shoot, golf, and all the +rest of it?" asked Lady Blanche.</p> + +<p>"I have all the vices," Dick told her.</p> + +<p>"You say you golf?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a little. Would you give me a match?" he ventured.</p> + +<p>"I'd love to," and her eyes flashed into his.</p> + +<p>The next afternoon Dick met Lady Blanche on the golf links, and before +the match was over he believed that he was in love with her. Never +before had he met such a glorious specimen of physical womanhood. To him +her every movement was poetry, her lithe, graceful body a thing in which +to rejoice.</p> + +<p>After the match Dick motored her back to her home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> He was in Arcadia as +she sat by his side. The charm of her presence was to him like some +fabled elixir. On their way they caught a glimpse of Wendover Park. The +old house stood out boldly on the hillside, while the wide-stretching +park-lands were plainly to be seen.</p> + +<p>"It's a perfect place," said the girl. "It just wants nothing."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, it does," laughed Dick.</p> + +<p>"What?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Can't you think? If you were a bachelor you would," and he watched her +face closely as he spoke.</p> + +<p>He was afraid lest he might offend her, and he wondered if she saw his +meaning. He thought he saw a flush surmount her face, but he was not +sure. They were passing a cart just then, and he had to fix his +attention on the steering-wheel.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," he went on, "it's a bit lonely there. I haven't many +friends. And then, being a bachelor, I find it difficult to entertain. +Not but what I shall make a start soon," he added.</p> + +<p>"I think you are to be envied," she remarked.</p> + +<p>"Of course I am. I'm one of the luckiest fellows in the world. By the +way, I want to give a dance or something of that sort as a kind of +house-warming."</p> + +<p>"How delightful."</p> + +<p>"Is it? But then, you see, I'm so ignorant that I don't know how to +start about it."</p> + +<p>"Don't you? That's a pity. You must get help."</p> + +<p>"I must. I say, will you help me? There is no one I'd so soon have."</p> + +<p>He was sure this time. He saw the rosy tint on her face deepen. Perhaps +she heard the tremor in his voice. But she did not answer him; instead, +she looked away towards the distant landscape.</p> + +<p>"Will you?" he persisted.</p> + +<p>"What could I do?"</p> + +<p>"Everything. You know the people, know who I should invite, and what I +should do. You are accustomed to that kind of thing. I am not."</p> + +<p>Still she was silent.</p> + +<p>"Will you?" he asked again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Perhaps. If you really wish me to."</p> + +<p>She almost whispered the words, but he heard her, and to him there was +something caressing in her tone.</p> + +<p>They passed up a long avenue of trees leading to her home, and a few +seconds later the car stood at the door.</p> + +<p>"You'll come in and have some tea, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"May I?" he asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Of course you may. Mother will be expecting you."</p> + +<p>As he rode back to Wendover Park that evening Dick was in Paradise. +Nothing but the most commonplace things had been said, but the girl had +fascinated him. She had appealed to his ambition, to his pride, to his +admiration for perfect, physical womanhood. She was not very clever, but +she was handsome. She was instinct with redundant health; she was +glorious in her youth and vitality.</p> + +<p>"I'm in love," he said to himself more than once. "And she's +wonderful—simply, gloriously wonderful. What eyes, what a complexion, +what a magnificent figure! I wonder if——"</p> + +<p>I am dwelling somewhat on this part of Dick Faversham's life because I +wish the reader to understand the condition of his mind, to understand +the forces at work. Uninteresting as it may be, it is still important. +For Dick passed through some wonderful experiences soon +after—experiences which shook the foundations of his life, and which +will be more truly understood as we realise the thoughts and feelings +which possessed him.</p> + +<p>As I have said, he was in a state of bliss as he drove back to Wendover +Park that evening, but as he neared his lodge gates a curious feeling of +depression possessed him. His heart became heavy, forebodings filled his +mind. It seemed to him that he was on the edge of a dreadful calamity.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with me?" he asked himself again and again. "The sun +is shining, the world is lovely, and I have all that heart can wish +for."</p> + +<p>Still the feeling possessed him. Something was going to +happen—something awful. He could not explain it, or give any reason for +it, but it was there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then suddenly his heart stood still. As the car drew up to his own door +he again saw the face of the angel. She was hovering over the entrance +just as he had seen her on the day he came to take possession. She +seemed to dread something; there was pain almost amounting to agony in +the look she gave him.</p> + +<p>He had alighted from the car, and he had a dim idea that a man was +approaching to take it to the garage, but he paid no attention to him; +he stood like one transfixed, looking at the apparition. He was aware +that the car had gone, and that he was alone. In a vague way he supposed +that the chauffeur, like the lawyer, had seen nothing.</p> + +<p>"Who are you? What do you want?"</p> + +<p>The words escaped him almost in spite of himself.</p> + +<p>But he heard no voice in reply. He thought he saw her lips trying to +formulate words, but were not able.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," he persisted—"tell me who you are, why you appear to me. +What do you want?"</p> + +<p>Again the apparition seemed to be trying to become audible, only to +fail. Then, although he could hear no distinct voice, her answer seemed +to come to him.</p> + +<p>"Fight, fight; pray, pray," she seemed to be saying. "Beware of the +tempter. Fight, fight; pray, pray. Promise me."</p> + +<p>He was not afraid, but it seemed to him that he was face to face with +eternal realities. He knew then that there were depths of life and +experience of which he was ignorant.</p> + +<p>He heard steps in the hall, and then someone opened the door.</p> + +<p>There stood, smiling, debonair, sardonic, and—yes—wicked, Count +Romanoff.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Count Romanoff's Gospel</span></h3> + + +<p>Count Romanoff!</p> + +<p>A weight seemed to settle on Dick Faversham's heart as he saw the +sinister face of his visitor. During the excitement of the last few days +he had scarcely given him a thought. The dark, saturnine stranger had +shrunk away into the background of his life, and no longer seemed of +importance to him. It is true he had now and then wondered whether he +should ever see him again, but as there seemed no present likelihood of +his doing so, he had practically dismissed him from his mind.</p> + +<p>His sudden appearance came to him like a shock. Besides, he was nervous, +excited at what he had just experienced. Every nerve was tingling, every +sense preternaturally awake. What did this apparition mean? Why should +the same face and form appear to him again and again?—first in the +smoke-room of the ship, then on the island, then as he first put foot +into the new inheritance, and now again. What did it mean? Then during +that awful struggle in the stormy sea.</p> + +<p>"Ha, Faversham. You see, I have taken you at your word."</p> + +<p>Dick's thoughts came to earth as the Count's voice reached him.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to see you," he said cordially, and as he led the way to the +library he was all that a host should be.</p> + +<p>"You see, I was in England, and, having a little spare time, I thought I +would look you up. I hope I'm not taking too great a liberty?"</p> + +<p>"Liberty, my dear fellow! I should be annoyed beyond words if you had +not come to see me. I have hosts of things to discuss with you. +Besides," and Dick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> spoke like one deeply moved, "I cannot help +remembering that but for you it is not likely I should be here. I should +have been lying somewhere at the bottom of the Indian Ocean."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come now; let's have no more of that. Of course, I had the good +luck to be of service to you, and jolly glad I am; no decent fellow +could have done less than I did."</p> + +<p>"All the same, I cannot forget that I owe my life to you," cried Dick +fervently. "Do you know, I wondered no end what happened to you; tell me +about it."</p> + +<p>"Not until I hear about you. Of course, I can guess a great deal. The +fact that you are here tells me that the wireless you got on the ship +was not only <i>bona fide</i> but important. You are master here, eh?"</p> + +<p>Dick nodded.</p> + +<p>"I've been told that your uncle was a very rich man. Is that so?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And you are his heir?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I congratulate you. By Jove, it's a lovely place. I didn't know when +I've seen anything I like so much. And I've seen a few houses, I can +tell you. But really, now, and I hope I'm not impertinent, do you mean +to tell me that you have entered into all old Charles Faversham's +wealth?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so."</p> + +<p>"Shake hands on it. I can think of no one more fitted to own 'big +money,' as the Americans say. I'm glad of the privilege of seeing you in +possession."</p> + +<p>It seemed to Dick that it was a new Romanoff that he saw. He was no +longer pessimistic, cynical, saturnine. He looked younger, too, and no +one could help admitting that he had that grand air that denotes birth +and breeding.</p> + +<p>"I only arrived in London last night," went on Romanoff. "I got into +Tilbury late in the afternoon, and after I got fixed up at my hotel I +began to wonder about you. Presently I called to mind what you told me, +and—here I am."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Of course you'll stay with me a bit?"</p> + +<p>"May I?"</p> + +<p>"May you? Why, of course you must, if you can. That goes without +saying."</p> + +<p>"I say, you are awfully good. I should love to stay a bit. This is one +of the loveliest corners in the world at the loveliest time of the year. +Surrey in May! What can be more attractive!"</p> + +<p>"I'll have your room prepared at once, and, by the way, I'll send a man +to London for your luggage."</p> + +<p>"That is good of you, Faversham. I may as well confess it now. I did +bring a suit-case with me in the hope that you could put me up for the +night, but of course——"</p> + +<p>"You might have known that I'd want you for a long time," Dick +interrupted.</p> + +<p>A servant entered, and Dick gave his instructions. "Now tell me," he +went on; "what did you do on leaving the island? I know practically +nothing about anything. I was very ill, and got no better till the boat +landed at Plymouth."</p> + +<p>Romanoff hesitated for a few seconds, then he replied:</p> + +<p>"Oh, I caught a boat bound for Australia."</p> + +<p>"Australia, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Our signals were seen by two vessels, one returning to England, +and the other going to Australia, which, as luck would have it, stopped +at Bombay for a few hours. So I took that."</p> + +<p>"And you didn't stay long in the Antipodes?"</p> + +<p>"No, I did not like the country, and I found it necessary to return to +England."</p> + +<p>"I'm jolly glad."</p> + +<p>"Well, here I am anyhow. Isn't life a topsy-turvy business? Who would +have thought when we exchanged commonplaces on that boat a short time +ago we should forgather like this in a lovely old Surrey house? Facts +beat fiction all to bits. Fiction is commonplace, tame, prosy; but +facts—real life—are interesting. Now, tell me about your experiences."</p> + +<p>"Not yet. It's nearly dinner-time. I suppose you brought no evening +clothes?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<p>Romanoff laughed. "As a matter of fact, I did. Of course, I was not sure +you were here; but I thought you might be, so I took the liberty of——"</p> + +<p>"Splendid," interrupted Dick. "There, the dressing-bell is ringing. I'll +show you your room. My word, I'm awfully glad you've come. To tell you +the truth, I was feeling a bit depressed."</p> + +<p>"You depressed! I say! Fancy the heir of all this being depressed."</p> + +<p>"But I was. The idea of spending the evening alone dismayed me. You see, +a fellow can't be out every night, and—and there you are. But you've +come."</p> + +<p>"And no one will call to-night?"</p> + +<p>"I don't expect so. Young Clavering, who is home on leave, might come +over for a game of billiards, but I can't think of anyone else likely to +turn up."</p> + +<p>"Clavering—Clavering. I don't think I know the name."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is a good name in Surrey, I can assure you. It's a very old +family, although I suppose it is frightfully poor. I've only met young +Clavering once, but I liked him very much. Most of the young fellows +around here are in the Army, and the older men are frightful old +fossils. Here's your room. I hope you'll be comfortable."</p> + +<p>Romanoff looked around the room with evident pleasure. He walked to the +window and gazed steadily at the landscape; then he turned to Dick and +gave him a keen, searching glance.</p> + +<p>"You are a fortunate man, Faversham. Speaking as a Russian and also as +one who has travelled all over the world, I say, commend me to England +for comfort. Yes, I'll be all right, my friend."</p> + +<p>When Dick had gone Romanoff threw himself in a chair and gazed into +vacancy. A change passed over his face. He was no longer cheerful and +pleasant; the old sinister, threatening look had come into his eyes, +while his mouth was cruel. Once an expression swept over his features +which suggested a kind of mocking pity, but it was only for a moment.</p> + +<p>During dinner he was in a gay humour. Evidently he had thrown care to +the winds, and lived for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> pleasure of the moment. Dick found him +fascinating. He talked pleasantly—at times brilliantly. His +conversation scintillated with sardonic humour. He told stories about +many countries. He related anecdotes about the Imperial House of the +Romanoffs, and described the influence which Rasputin had on the Tzar +and the Tzarina.</p> + +<p>"I cannot understand it," remarked Dick after one of these stories.</p> + +<p>"Understand what?"</p> + +<p>"How a man like the Tzar could allow a dirty charlatan like Rasputin to +have such influence. After all, Nicholas was an educated man, and a +gentleman."</p> + +<p>Romanoff laughed.</p> + +<p>"As well Rasputin as the others," he replied.</p> + +<p>"What others?"</p> + +<p>"The priests of the Holy Orthodox Church. Let me give you a bit of +advice, Faversham; keep clear of all this religious rot. It's true that +you in England pretend to be more advanced than the poor Russians, but +at bottom there's no difference. Wherever religion creeps in, it's the +same story. Religion means credulity, and credulity means lies, +oppression, cant, corruption."</p> + +<p>"Did you meet Rasputin?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," replied Romanoff, with a sigh of resignation. "On the whole, I +admired him."</p> + +<p>"I say, that's a bit too thick."</p> + +<p>"Anyhow, the fellow was interesting. He had a philosophy of his own. He +recognised the fact that the world was populated by fools, and he +determined to make the most of his chances. He interpreted religion in a +way that would give the greatest possible gratification to his senses. +His policy was to suck the orange of the world dry. 'Salvation through +sin,' eh?" and Romanoff laughed as he spoke. "Well, it's about the most +sensible religion I ever heard of."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me devilish and dirty," Dick spoke warmly.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, my dear fellow. Of course, all religion is foolishness—that +is, religion as is usually understood. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> if there is to be a religion +at all, Rasputin got hold of the true one."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean that?"</p> + +<p>Romanoff looked at Dick steadily for a few seconds. He seemed to be +thinking deeply as though he were trying to understand his man.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I don't," he admitted presently. "Sometimes one exaggerates in +order to convey what is actually true. Still, there is a substratum of +truth in the dirty monk's philosophy, as you'll find out before you are +much older. By the way, the evening has turned cold, hasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Do you find it so? The air of a night is often cold in the early +summer. Have you finished? Then we'll go into my little den where I +always have a fire of an evening."</p> + +<p>A few minutes later Romanoff was sprawling in a large easy-chair with +his feet close to the fire.</p> + +<p>"How long have you been here?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Not quite a month."</p> + +<p>"Been well received by your neighbours?"</p> + +<p>"On the whole, yes."</p> + +<p>Again Romanoff looked steadily at his companion. "Will you forgive me if +I ask you a few questions?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Go ahead."</p> + +<p>"First, then, how do you like being a rich man?"</p> + +<p>Dick glanced around the room, and then gave a look towards the +wide-spreading park-lands.</p> + +<p>"How can one help liking it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Exactly. You do not find money to be the root of all evil, then?"</p> + +<p>"Heavens, no!"</p> + +<p>"You would not like to be a poor man again?"</p> + +<p>"What in the world are you driving at? Of course, the very thought of it +is horrible."</p> + +<p>"Just so. I am in my way a student of human nature, and I was a bit +curious. Now for a second question. Who is she?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say."</p> + +<p>"Of course she exists."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + +<p>"In my way I have the power of divination. When I look at a man I know +something, not much perhaps, but something of his hopes. I felt sure +before I spoke that you were in love. You've been quick about it, my +young friend."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that I am in love."</p> + +<p>"Of course you are. Who is she?"</p> + +<p>"There's no one. At least not yet. I don't suppose she's given me a +second's thought."</p> + +<p>"But you do. Is she young, beautiful? Is she rich, well connected?"</p> + +<p>"Young! beautiful!" laughed Dick.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see. Not a rustic beauty, by any chance?"</p> + +<p>"Rustic beauty, eh? There's nothing rustic about Lady Blanche +Huntingford."</p> + +<p>"Huntingford! That's one of the best known names in England."</p> + +<p>"Do you know it?"</p> + +<p>"Who doesn't? It's the biggest name in Debrett. But the Huntingfords are +as poor as church mice."</p> + +<p>"What does that matter?"</p> + +<p>"You have enough for both, eh? Of course, that's your hope."</p> + +<p>"Why?" and Dick turned rather sharply on his interlocutor.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing personal, my friend. I'm only speaking from a long +experience. The Huntingfords are poor and proud. I do not know of a more +unpleasant combination. I've heard of Lady Blanche—she is about +twenty-four, a great beauty, and so far has not succeeded in the +marriage market. She's had several seasons in London, but the rich +aristocrat has not turned up. That's why she may smile on a commoner—a +newcomer—providing he's rich enough."</p> + +<p>"If you'd seen her, spoken with her, you would not talk like that."</p> + +<p>"Shouldn't I? Who knows? But it's nothing to worry about, my dear +fellow. All talk about the love of women goes for nothing. It doesn't +exist. Of course, there is such a thing as sexual attraction, but +nothing else."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are a terrible cynic, Romanoff."</p> + +<p>"I'm a citizen of the world, and I've gone around the world with my eyes +open. But, as I said, you can have an easy mind. The ball is at your +feet, my dear fellow. Whatever you want you can have."</p> + +<p>"Do be serious." Dick spoke lightly; all the same, he felt uneasy.</p> + +<p>"I <i>am</i> serious," replied Romanoff. "With wealth like yours, you are +master of the world; you can get all the world has to give."</p> + +<p>"I wish I could."</p> + +<p>"I tell you you can. Money is all-powerful. Just think, if you were +poor, not a hope, not an ambition could be realised."</p> + +<p>"That won't do. Hosts of poor fellows have——"</p> + +<p>"Risen to position and power. Just so; but it's been a terrible +struggle, a ghastly grind. In most cases, too, men don't get money until +they are too old to enjoy it. But you are young, and the world's at your +feet. Do you want titles? You can buy them. Power? fame? Again you can +get them. Beautiful women? Love? Yes, even love of a sort you can buy, +if you have money. Poverty is hell; but what heaven there is in this +world can be bought."</p> + +<p>"Then you think the poor can't be happy?"</p> + +<p>"Let me be careful in answering that. If a man has no ambitions, if he +has no desire for power, then, in a negative way, he may be happy +although he's poor. But to you, who are ambitious through and +through—you, who see visions and dream dreams—poverty would be hell. +That's why I congratulate you on all this. And my advice to you is, make +the most of it. Live to enjoy, my dear fellow. Whatever your eyes +desire, take it."</p> + +<p>Dick realised that Romanoff was talking cheap cynicism, that, to use a +journalistic term, it was "piffle" from thread to needle, and yet he was +impressed. Again he felt the man's ascendancy over him, knew that he was +swayed and moulded by a personality stronger than his own.</p> + +<p>Dick did not try to answer him, for at that moment there was a knock at +the door and a servant entered.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mr. and Miss Stanmore have called, sir."</p> + +<p>"I do not think I know them, do I?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sir. They live not far from the South Park gates. They +are old residents, sir."</p> + +<p>Whether there was something in the tone of the man's voice, or whether +he desired company other than Romanoff's, I cannot tell. Certain it is +that, acting on impulse and scarcely realising what he was doing, he +said:</p> + +<p>"Show them in here, Jenkins, will you?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Beatrice Stanmore</span></h3> + + +<p>"You don't mind, do you?" asked Dick, turning to Romanoff when the man +had left the room.</p> + +<p>"Not at all, my dear fellow. Why should I?"</p> + +<p>Again the servant returned and ushered in an old man and a young girl. +The former was a striking-looking figure, and would be noticed in any +crowd. Although old, he stood perfectly upright, and was evidently +healthy and vigorous. His face was ruddy and almost unlined. His white +beard and moustache were allowed to grow long, while his almost massive +head was covered with a wealth of wavy white hair. Perhaps, too, his +attire helped to make his appearance attractive, and his velvet +dinner-jacket suggested the artist or the poet.</p> + +<p>"I hope you'll forgive me calling, Mr. Faversham," he said, taking +Dick's outstretched hand, "but I'm an old man, as well as a man of +moods. I've thought several times of dropping in to see you, but +refrained. I was afraid you would have no use for an old buffer such as +I. But to-night I felt I must, and here I am. This is my granddaughter, +Beatrice."</p> + +<p>"It's awfully good of you to call, Mr. Stanmore, and you, too, Miss +Stanmore."</p> + +<p>Dick looked at the girl full in the face as he spoke, and then all +further words were frozen on his lips. The sight of Beatrice Stanmore +caused his heart to beat wildly, and made him feel that a new influence +had entered the room.</p> + +<p>And yet, at first sight, there was nothing remarkable in her presence. +Picture a fair-haired, blue-eyed girl of eighteen—a girl with a sweet, +winsome, yet mischievous smile, and a perfect complexion; a girl with +well-formed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> features and an evident sense of humour—and you see +Beatrice Stanmore. And yet your picture would be incomplete. What I have +said suggests a somewhat commonplace girl, such as can be seen by the +score in any country town. But she was not commonplace. Her blue eyes +were large and haunting; sometimes they were sad, and yet there was a +world of mirth and gladness stored in their liquid depths. She was only +eighteen or nineteen years of age, and she did not look older than her +years; but, if you took a second look at her, you would know that her +thoughts were not always a child's thoughts—that she had longings too +deep for words.</p> + +<p>She was dressed very simply. I cannot describe her apparel, but to Dick +it was something light and diaphanous, which set oft a figure which was +at once girlish and yet perfect in its proportions. I do not suppose +that a connoisseur would call her beautiful, but she suggested +health—health of body, of mind, of soul. It would be impossible to +associate her with anything impure, rather a flash from her mirth-loving +eyes would destroy all thought of such a thing.</p> + +<p>"I've seen her before," thought Dick, "but where?"</p> + +<p>No, it was only fancy. She was an utter stranger to him, and yet he was +haunted with the thought that somewhere, at some time, they had met and +known each other, that she had been with him in some crisis.</p> + +<p>"Please forgive us, Mr. Faversham," she said, with a laugh; "it's not my +fault. I should never have had the courage to beard the lion in his +den."</p> + +<p>"What lion? What den?" asked Dick, as he looked into the girl's sunny +face.</p> + +<p>"Of course, you are the lion. You've been the talk of the countryside +for weeks; and—and isn't this your den?"</p> + +<p>She spoke with all the simplicity and frankness of a child, and seemed +to be perfectly unimpressed by the fact that she was talking with one +who was spoken of as one of the richest young men in England.</p> + +<p>"It's I who am the culprit, Mr. Faversham," broke in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> the old man. "The +impulse came upon me suddenly. I said to Beatrice, 'I am going to call +on young Faversham,' and she jumped at the idea of a walk through the +park, and that's why she's here with me. Please tell me if we are in the +way."</p> + +<p>"In the way? I'm just delighted. And—but let me introduce you to Count +Romanoff."</p> + +<p>Both Hugh Stanmore and his granddaughter looked towards Count Romanoff, +who had risen to his feet. The light was shining fully upon his face, +and Dick could not help feeling what a striking appearance he had. He +half held out his hand to the newcomers and then suddenly withdrew it.</p> + +<p>Old Hugh Stanmore looked at the Count steadily for a few seconds, and +then bowed in silence. It might seem as though something had frozen his +urbanity and cheerfulness. He did not appear to notice the +half-outstretched hand, and Dick felt as though there was an instinctive +antipathy between them. As for Beatrice, she gave the Count a cold nod, +and then, with a perfunctory, "How d'ye do?" turned to Dick again.</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad you've come here to live, Mr. Faversham," she said, with +girlish enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"You can't be gladder than I," replied Dick; "but, is there a special +reason for your gladness?"</p> + +<p>"Of course there is. I've wanted for years to see the inside of this +house, but I was frightfully afraid of your—your uncle. He always +looked so stern, and so—so forbidding that I hadn't the courage to ask +him. But you are different."</p> + +<p>"Then why haven't you called before?" asked Dick. "I've been here nearly +a month, and yet I've never seen you before."</p> + +<p>"Of course, you must understand," and it was old Hugh Stanmore who +replied, "that we are quite unimportant people. We live in that cottage +not far from your South Lodge, and, not knowing you, we felt rather +sensitive about calling."</p> + +<p>"But your name seems familiar. I'm sure I've heard it somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Not among the people around here, I imagine?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, I think not; but I seem to have heard of it, or seen it, years +ago."</p> + +<p>"I fancy you are mistaken, although what you say is just possible. When +I was at Cambridge I had tremendous ambitions, and, like thousands of +other callow youths, I made up my mind to win fame. I was something of a +linguist, and had a great longing to win renown as an Egyptologist and +as an Assyrian scholar. However, I had no money to indulge in such +luxuries, so on leaving Cambridge I looked to journalism for a living. I +even wrote a novel," and he laughed merrily.</p> + +<p>"Splendid!" cried Dick. "What was the title of the novel?"</p> + +<p>"I won't tell you that," replied the old man. "I've drawn a very thick +curtain over that effort. However, I might have done something if I'd +persevered; but, luckily or unluckily for me, I had some money left to +me. Not much, but enough to enable me to travel in the East."</p> + +<p>"Yes, and then?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm afraid I did not shine as an Egyptologist, although I had some +wonderful experiences and made some interesting acquaintances. I also +contributed to that phase of literature."</p> + +<p>"I never saw your name in that connection," Dick confessed.</p> + +<p>"I expect not. You see, that was many years ago. Still, although my +health would not stand the Eastern climate, I've kept up my interest in +my early love. But I've been somewhat of a butterfly. On my return to +England I conceived a passion for throwing paint in the eyes of the +public, to quote John Ruskin. I even went so far as to get a few +pictures hung in the Academy. But, in spite of that, I achieved no fame. +Since then I've contributed occasional articles to the reviews, while +such papers as <i>The Spectator</i> and <i>The Times</i> have printed some +effusions of mine which I in my vanity have called poetry. Please +forgive me for talking about myself in this way. I know it is frightful +egotism on my part, but, as I'm one of your nearest neighbours, I'm in a +way introducing myself."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's awfully good of you," replied Dick. "I hope we shall see a good +deal of each other."</p> + +<p>"I hope we shall," replied Hugh Stanmore. "I may as well confess it, Mr. +Faversham, that although I am an old man, I am a creature of impulses. I +do things without being able to give a reason for them. I talk without +knowing why. Do you know that I've never spoken so much about myself to +anyone in this district as I have to-night, and I've lived here for +eighteen years?"</p> + +<p>"What—at the cottage you spoke of?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, at the cottage. I took up my residence there when my son died. He +was an artist who would have won fame if he had lived; but it pleased +the good God to take him away. I determined that I would try to bring +what comfort I could into the life of his young wife. But I was not with +her long. She died at the birth of this little girl here, three months +later."</p> + +<p>A silence fell upon the little company.</p> + +<p>"There, there," laughed Hugh Stanmore, "there's nothing to be sad about. +This life is only a beginning. Actual life comes next, as Browning says. +Besides, I've been very happy looking after my little maid here. It's +rather hard on her, having to see so much of an old man like myself. All +the same, we've had a jolly time."</p> + +<p>"Old man!" cried Beatrice indignantly. "I assure you, Mr. Faversham, +he's the youngest man in Surrey. Sometimes I am quite ashamed of his +frivolity. I'm quite a staid, elderly person compared to him."</p> + +<p>"Anyhow," said the old man, rising, "we must be going now. But be +assured of this, Mr. Faversham: no one wishes you joy in your new home +more than I. We give you a glad welcome to the district, and if an old +man's prayer and an old man's blessing are worth anything, you have +them."</p> + +<p>"But please don't go yet," cried Dick. "It's only a little after nine +o'clock, and—and I'm so glad to have you here. You see, you've only +just come."</p> + +<p>"No, no, I know. But we'll be going now. Some other time, when you +happen to be alone, I'll be glad to come and smoke a pipe with you—if I +may?"</p> + +<p>"May! Of course. Besides, Miss Stanmore said she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> wanted to look over +the house. When will you come, Miss Stanmore?"</p> + +<p>"I think it must be when you can let Granddad know that you are alone +and have nothing to do," was the girl's reply. "I shall look forward to +it tremendously."</p> + +<p>"So shall I," cried Dick. Then, forgetful of Romanoff, he added, "And I +can assure you, you won't have long to wait."</p> + +<p>Throughout their conversation, only a part of which I have recorded, +Romanoff had not spoken a word. Had Dick been watching him he would have +seen that he was not at all pleased at the presence of the visitors. +There was a dark, lowering look in his eyes, and almost a scowl on his +face. It was evident that a strong feeling of antagonism existed.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Mr. Faversham," said old Hugh Stanmore, holding out his +hand; then, bowing gravely to Romanoff, he passed out of the room.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I'll see you to the door, if you <i>will</i> go," insisted Dick, as +for a moment he held Beatrice Stanmore's hand in his. "Allow me."</p> + +<p>He passed through the hall by her side and opened the door. As he did +so, he could barely repress an exclamation of wonder and delight, while +both the old man and the young girl stood as if spellbound.</p> + +<p>It was one of those rare nights which constantly recur to one's +remembrance in after days. It was now the end of May, and while the +summer had not reached its full glory, the fullness of spring made the +earth like a paradise. The sky was cloudless and the silver rays of a +nearly full moon lit up the scene with an unearthly beauty. All around +giant trees stood, while the flowers, which grew in rich profusion, were +plainly to be seen. Away through the leafy trees could be seen the +outline of the country. Here and there the birds, which had barely gone +to rest, were chirping, while away in the distance a cuckoo proclaimed +the advent of summer.</p> + +<p>For a few seconds they stood in silence, then Hugh Stanmore said +quietly, "One can understand Charles Kingsley's dying words on such a +night, Mr. Faversham."</p> + +<p>"What did he say?" asked Dick.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'How beautiful God must be,'" quoted Hugh Stanmore.</p> + +<p>Just then a bird burst forth into song—rich-noted, mellow, triumphant.</p> + +<p>"A nightingale!" cried the girl. "Look, Granddad, it is over on that +tree." She went down the drive under the long avenue of trees as she +spoke, leaving Hugh Stanmore and Dick together.</p> + +<p>"They can't be far away on such a night as this," murmured the old man.</p> + +<p>"Who can't be far away?"</p> + +<p>"The angels. The heavens are full of them. Ah, if we could only see!"</p> + +<p>"Do you believe in angels?"</p> + +<p>"Do I believe in them? How can I help believing? It is nearly nineteen +years ago since my boy and his wife died. But they didn't leave me +altogether. They come to me."</p> + +<p>"Have you seen them?" and Dick's eager question was uttered almost +unconsciously.</p> + +<p>"No, not with my natural eyes. Why? I wonder. But I have felt them near +me. I know they are watching over me. You see, they did not cease to +love us when God took them away for some higher service. Naturally, too, +they watch over Beatrice. They could not help it."</p> + +<p>He spoke quietly, and in an almost matter-of-fact way, yet with a +suggestion of reverence in his tones.</p> + +<p>"Who knows who is watching over us now?" continued the old man. "Ah, if +we could only see! 'Are they not all ministering spirits sent to +minister to those who are heirs of Salvation?'"</p> + +<p>Dick felt a shiver pass through him. He reflected that on that very +spot, only a few hours before, he had seen something, <i>something</i>—a +luminous figure, a pale, sad face—sad almost to agony!</p> + +<p>"Mr. Faversham," asked Hugh Stanmore suddenly, "who is Count Romanoff?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know much about him," replied Dick. "He was a fellow-passenger +on board the boat on which I was bound for Australia some time ago. Why +do you ask?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You know nothing else? Excuse me."</p> + +<p>"Only that he saved my life."</p> + +<p>"Ah!"</p> + +<p>"Why do you ask?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. Only he will have a great influence on your life."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" Dick was greatly excited.</p> + +<p>"I have no reason to give you. I only know."</p> + +<p>"Good or bad?" asked the young man eagerly.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. But did you notice that Beatrice didn't like him? And +I've never once known her wrong in her estimate of people. There, look +at her now, amongst the moon's rays under the trees. Doesn't she look +like an angel? Yes, and she <i>is</i> an angel—one of God's sweetest and +purest and best. But as human as every woman ought to be. Good-night, +Mr. Faversham. Yes, my darling, I'm coming," and the old man went down +the drive with the activity of a boy.</p> + +<p>Dick watched them until they were out of sight. He was influenced more +than he knew by their visit. Their presence, after Count Romanoff's +cynicism, was like some sweet-scented balm; like a breeze from the +mountains after the fetid atmosphere of a cavern.</p> + +<p>"Well, what did you think of them?" he asked of Romanoff on his return.</p> + +<p>The Count shrugged his shoulders. "There's not much to think, is there?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>"I think there is a great deal. I found the old man more interesting +than almost any caller I have had."</p> + +<p>"A dull, prosy, platitudinous old Polonius; as for the girl, she's just +a badly behaved, unformed, bread-and-butter miss."</p> + +<p>Dick did not speak. The Count's words grated on him.</p> + +<p>"By the way," went on Romanoff, "I should like to meet Lady Blanche +Huntingford. I think I knew the old Lord."</p> + +<p>"I promised to call to-morrow afternoon," replied Dick. "I'll take you +over." But he was not so enthusiastic as the Count expected.</p> + +<p>After they had retired to their rooms that night, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> Count sat long in +soliloquy. Of what he was thinking it would be difficult to say. His +face was like a mask.</p> + +<p>When he rose from his chair, however, there was a look of decision in +his eyes.</p> + +<p>"The time has come sooner than I thought," he said aloud. "I must bring +the matter to a head at once. Otherwise I shall lose him."</p> + +<p>And then he laughed in his grim, sardonic way, as if something had made +him merry.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Uncertainty</span></h3> + + +<p>Dick rose early the following morning, and went for a walk in the park. +When he returned he found the Count in the breakfast-room.</p> + +<p>"Quite a pattern young countryman," he laughed. "I saw you reflecting on +the beauties of your own domains. Did you sleep well?"</p> + +<p>"Like a healthy dog. And you?"</p> + +<p>"I never sleep. I dream sometimes—that's all."</p> + +<p>"Still play-acting," laughed Dick.</p> + +<p>"No, there's not a more serious man in England than I, as a rule; but +I'm not going to be serious to-day while the sun shines. When the sun +goes down I shall be tragic. There, Richard is himself again!"</p> + +<p>He threw back his shoulders as he spoke, as though he would shift a +weight from them. "I am hungry, Faversham," he laughed. "Let us eat. +After breakfast I would love a ride. Have you a horse in your stables +that you could lend me?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I have."</p> + +<p>"Good. Then we'll have a gallop till lunch. After that a-wooing we will +go. I'm feverish to see the glorious Lady Blanche, the flower of the +age, the beauty of the county. I say, Faversham, prepare to be jealous. +I can be a most dangerous rival."</p> + +<p>"I can't think of you as a marrying man, Count. Domesticity and you are +oceans apart."</p> + +<p>The Count laughed. "No, a man such as I never marries," he said. +"Marriage! What an idiotic arrangement. But such things always follow +religion. But for religion, humanity would be natural, happy."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Come, now. That won't do."</p> + +<p>"It is true, my friend. Ever and always the result of religion has been +to raise unnatural barriers, to create sin. The man who founds a +religion is an enemy to the race. The greatest enemy to the world's +happiness was the Founder of Christianity."</p> + +<p>"In Heaven's name, why?"</p> + +<p>"Because He labelled natural actions as sins, because He was for ever +emphasising a distinction between right and wrong. When there is no +right, no wrong. The evolution of religion, and of so-called morality, +is a crime, because it strikes at the root of human enjoyment. But, +there, I'm getting serious, and I won't be serious. This is a day to +laugh, to rejoice in, and I've an appetite like a hunter."</p> + +<p>Throughout the morning they carried out the programme Romanoff had +suggested. Two of the best horses in the stables were saddled, and they +rode till noon. During all this time the Count was in high spirits, and +seemed to revel in the brightness of the day and the glory of the +scenery.</p> + +<p>"After all, give me a living thing to deal with," he cried. "This craze +for motor-cars is a sign of decadence. 'Enjoyment by machinery' should +be the motto of every motorist. But a horse is different. A horse is +sentient, intelligent. He feels what his rider feels; he enters into the +spirit of whatever is going on."</p> + +<p>"But motoring can be jolly good sport," Dick rejoined.</p> + +<p>"Of course it can. But a motor is impersonal; it is a thing, not a +being. You cannot make it your slave. It is just a matter of steel, and +petrol, and oil. It never becomes afraid of you."</p> + +<p>"What of that?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"Without fear there is no real mastery," replied Romanoff.</p> + +<p>"But surely the mastery which is obtained through fear is an +unsatisfactory sort of thing."</p> + +<p>Romanoff looked at Dick as though on the point of replying, but he was +silent.</p> + +<p>"Anyhow, I love a horse," he ventured presently.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> "I love to feel his +body alive beneath me, love to feel him spurn the ground beneath his +feet."</p> + +<p>"Yes; I, too, love a horse," replied Dick, "and do you know, although +I've only been here a month, this chap loves me. He whines a welcome +when I go to the stable, and he kind of cries when I leave."</p> + +<p>"And he isn't afraid of you?" asked Romanoff.</p> + +<p>"Afraid!" cried Dick. "I hope not. I should hate to feel that a thing I +loved was afraid of me."</p> + +<p>"Wait till you are married," laughed Romanoff.</p> + +<p>"I don't see what that has to do with it."</p> + +<p>"But it has everything to do with it. A wife should obey, and no woman +obeys unless she fears. The one thing man has to do when he marries is +to demand obedience, and until he has mastered the woman he gets none."</p> + +<p>"From the little experience I have, a woman is a difficult thing to +master."</p> + +<p>"Everything can be mastered," replied Romanoff. "It sometimes requires +patience, I'll admit, but it can always be done. Besides, a woman never +respects her husband until he's mastered her. Find me a man who has not +mastered his wife, and I'll show you a man whose wife despises him. Of +course, every woman strives for mastery, but in her heart of hearts +she's sorry if she gets it. If I ever married——" He ceased speaking.</p> + +<p>"Yes; if you married?"</p> + +<p>"I'd have obedience, obedience, obedience," and Romanoff repeated the +word with increasing emphasis. "As you say, it might be difficult, but +it can always be obtained."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, if you go among the lower orders of people, the man obtains +his wife's obedience by brute force. If she opposes him he knocks her +down, thrashes her. But as you rise in the scale of humanity, the +methods are different. The educated, cultured man never loses his +temper, seldom utters an angry word. He may be a little sarcastic, +perhaps, but nothing more. But he never yields. The wife cries, pleads, +protests, goes into hysterics perhaps, threatens, but he never yields. +He is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> polite, cold, cruel if you like, but he never shows a sign of +weakness, and in the end he's master. And mastery is one of the great +joys of life."</p> + +<p>"You think so?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure of it."</p> + +<p>Dick felt slightly uncomfortable. "You said you wouldn't be serious +to-day, Romanoff," he laughed nervously, "and yet you talk as though +something tragic were in the air."</p> + +<p>"I can assure you I'm in one of my light moods," replied the Count. +"After all, of what account is a woman in a man's life? A diversion if +you like—a creature necessary to his pleasure, but nothing more. When a +man regards a woman as indispensable to his happiness, he's lost. Always +look on a woman, whoever she may be, as a diversion, my friend," and +Romanoff laughed quietly.</p> + +<p>After lunch, however, Romanoff's mood seemed changed. He spoke of his +early days, and of his experiences in St. Petersburg and Moscow.</p> + +<p>"People talk about Paris being the great centre of pleasure," he said a +little indignantly, "but it is nothing compared with St. Petersburg, or +Petrograd, as it is called now. Some day, my friend, I must take you +there; I must show you the sights; I must take you behind the scenes. +Oh, I envy you!"</p> + +<p>"Why should you?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"Because you are young, because you have the world at your feet."</p> + +<p>"And haven't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose so. But, then, you go to everything fresh. You will +drink the cup of life for the first time; you will drink deep and enjoy. +But I can never again drink for the first time—there lies the +difference."</p> + +<p>"But if the cup of life is good and sweet, why may not one drink it +again, and again, and still find enjoyment?"</p> + +<p>Romanoff did not reply. He sat for a few seconds in silence, and then +started up almost feverishly.</p> + +<p>"Let us away, my friend," he cried. "I am longing to see Lady Blanche +Huntingford. How did you describe her? Velvety black eyes, rosy lips, +hair as black as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> raven's wing, tall, stately, shaped like a Juno +and a Venus combined—was that it? Please don't let's waste any time. +I'm anxious to be off."</p> + +<p>"Even although we are going in a motor."</p> + +<p>"Motors are useful, my friend. I may not like them, but I use them. For +the matter of that, I use everything. I discard nothing."</p> + +<p>"Except religion," laughed Dick.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have my religion," replied Romanoff. "Some time I'll tell you +about it, but not now. The sunlight is the time for adventure, for love, +for happiness. Let us be off."</p> + +<p>Evidently the Count was impressed by Lady Blanche. Directly he entered +her presence he seemed to forget his cynicism, and to become +light-hearted and gay.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Lady Blanche," he said, "that I had an idea I had seen you +somewhere. Your name was familiar, and when Faversham spoke of you, I +felt I should be renewing an old acquaintance. Of course, I was +mistaken."</p> + +<p>"Why 'of course'?"</p> + +<p>"The true reply would be too obvious, wouldn't it? Besides, it would be +as trite and as clumsy as the repartee of an Oxford undergraduate."</p> + +<p>"You are beyond me," she sighed.</p> + +<p>Romanoff smiled. "Of course, you are laughing at me; all the same. I'll +say this: I shall have no doubt from this time on as to whether I've met +you. Do you know who I regard as the most favoured man in England?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>"My friend Faversham, of course," and Romanoff glanced towards Dick, who +sat listening and looking with a kind of wonder at the face of the girl.</p> + +<p>"Of course, Wendover is just lovely," she replied.</p> + +<p>"And only a very short motor-run from here," remarked Romanoff.</p> + +<p>The girl pouted as though she were vexed at his words, but it was easy +to see she was not. There could be little doubt that she loved flattery, +and although she felt slightly uncomfortable under the Count's ardent +gaze, she was pleased at his admiration.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + +<p>She was also bent on being agreeable, and Dick felt that surely no +handsomer woman ever lived than this glorious creature with whom he +chatted and laughed. More than once he felt his heart beating wildly as +her eyes caught his, and while he wished that Romanoff was not there, he +felt it to be one of the happiest days of his life.</p> + +<p>"If Romanoff were not here I'd ask her to-day," he reflected. "It's true +she's almost a stranger to me; but, after all, what does it matter? Love +does not depend on a long acquaintance."</p> + +<p>For Dick felt sure he was in love. It is true there seemed a kind of +barrier between them, a certain something that kept them apart. But that +he put down to their different upbringing. She was a patrician, the +child of long generations of aristocratic associations, while he, +although his father and mother were gentlefolk, was a commoner. All his +life, too, he had been poor, while during the last few years he had had +to struggle constantly with poverty. It was no wonder, therefore, that +there should be a kind of barrier between them. But that would break +down. Already he was feeling more as if "he belonged" to his new +surroundings, while his neighbours had received him with the utmost +kindness. It was only a matter of time before he would feel at one with +them all. Meanwhile, Lady Blanche charmed him, fascinated him. She +appealed to him as a glorious woman, regal in her carriage, wondrous in +her youth and beauty.</p> + +<p>Once during the afternoon they were alone together, and he was almost on +the point of declaring his love. But something kept him back. What it +was he could not tell. She was alluring, gracious, and seemed to offer +him opportunities for telling her what was in his heart. And yet he did +not speak. Perhaps he was afraid, although he could not have told what +he feared.</p> + +<p>"When are you going to give me another game of golf?" he asked, as they +parted.</p> + +<p>"I don't like threesomes," she laughed, looking towards Romanoff.</p> + +<p>"I share your antipathy," said Romanoff, "but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> could you not suggest +someone who might bear with me while you and Faversham break the +record?"</p> + +<p>"Please manage it," pleaded Dick.</p> + +<p>"There's a telephone at Wendover, isn't there?"</p> + +<p>"Of course there is. You'll ring me up and let me know, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps."</p> + +<p>Her smile was bewildering, and as he felt the warm pressure of her hand +he was in Arcadia.</p> + +<p>"I congratulate you, Faversham," remarked Romanoff, as they neared +Wendover Park. "She's a glorious creature, simply glorious. Cleopatra +was plain compared with her. My word, what a mistress for your new home. +Such eyes, such hair, such a complexion—and what a magnificent figure. +Yes, Faversham, you are a lucky man."</p> + +<p>"If I get her," sighed Dick.</p> + +<p>"Get her! Of course you'll get her. Unless——"</p> + +<p>"Unless what?" asked Dick as the other hesitated.</p> + +<p>Romanoff looked at him for some seconds very searchingly; then he +sighed.</p> + +<p>"Yes, what is it?" persisted Dick, who felt uncomfortable under +Romanoff's look.</p> + +<p>"I'm wondering."</p> + +<p>"Why and at what?"</p> + +<p>"If you are a wise man or a fool."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"No, but you will presently."</p> + +<p>There seemed to be something so ominous in his words that a feeling like +fear possessed Dick's heart. He had always felt somewhat uncomfortable +in Romanoff's presence, but now the feeling was so intensified that he +dreaded what he might mean.</p> + +<p>"The sun is still shining," went on the Count, "and I told you that I +should be in a festive mood until dark. In another hour the king of day +will have disappeared; then I shall have some serious things to say to +you."</p> + +<p>"Let's have no more play-acting," and Dick laughed nervously.</p> + +<p>"I can assure you, there'll be no play-acting. Everything will be +real—desperately real. But I'm going to say<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> no more now. After dinner +I am going to be serious. But not until. See! Aren't you proud of it +all? Don't you revel in it? Was there ever such a lovely old house, +standing amidst such gorgeous surroundings? Look at those giant trees, +man! See the glorious landscape! Was there ever such a lucky man! What a +mistress Lady Blanche will make!"</p> + +<p>They were now passing up the long avenue which led to the house. Away in +the distance they could see the mansion nestling amidst giant trees +centuries old. From the house stretched the gardens, which were glorious +in the beauty of early summer. And Dick saw it all, gloried in it all; +but fear haunted him, all the same.</p> + +<p>"What is the meaning of this strange mood of yours, Romanoff?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"After dinner, my friend," laughed the other. "I'll tell you after +dinner."</p> + +<p>Throughout dinner the Count was apparently light-hearted, almost to +flippancy, but directly the servants had left them to their coffee and +cigars his mood changed.</p> + +<p>"I told you I was going to be serious, didn't I?" he said slowly. "The +time for laughter has ceased, Faversham. The next hour will be critical +to you—ay, and more than critical; it will be heavy with destiny."</p> + +<p>"What in Heaven's name do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Have you ever considered," and Romanoff enunciated every word with +peculiar distinctness, "whether you are <i>really</i> the owner of all +this?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Real Heir</span></h3> + + +<p>Dick Faversham could not repress a shudder as the other spoke. The +Count's words were so ominous, so full of sinister meaning that for the +moment he felt like crying out with fear. He mastered himself after a +few seconds, however, and his reply was calm.</p> + +<p>"I see what you mean," he said quietly. "A few weeks ago I was poor, and +without great expectation. Now——Naturally you wonder whether it is +real to me, whether I can believe in my good fortune."</p> + +<p>"It goes deeper than that, Faversham," was the Count's rejoinder—"very +much deeper than that."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"You believe that you are the owner of all this. You regard yourself as +the lawful possessor of the Wendover Park estate, with all its farms, +cottages, and villages; you also think of yourself as the owner of +mining rights, shipping interests, and a host of other things, added to +a very magnificent credit balance at your bankers'. Isn't that so?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do. What have you to say against it?" Dick spoke almost +angrily. He was greatly excited, not only by the Count's words, but by +his manner of speech.</p> + +<p>"On the strength of it you have cast eyes of love on one of the most +beautiful women in England; you have dreamed of marrying Lady Blanche +Huntingford, who bears one of the oldest names in the land?"</p> + +<p>"And if I have, what then?"</p> + +<p>"Has it ever occurred to you that your fortune rests on a very slender, +a very unsafe, foundation?"</p> + +<p>"I say, Count Romanoff——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Don't be angry, my friend, and, above all, look at everything calmly."</p> + +<p>"Really, this is a trifle thick, isn't it? I'm afraid I must ask for an +explanation of this peculiar manner of speech."</p> + +<p>"I deeply regret that I shall have to give an explanation," and there +was curious vibration in Romanoff's voice. "But please, <i>please</i>, +Faversham, don't think unkindly of me because of what I have to tell +you. Perhaps I have been very clumsy, but I have been trying all day to +prepare you for—for what you will regard as bad news."</p> + +<p>"Trying to prepare me? Bad news?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my friend. I told you this morning that I was not going to be +serious while the sun shone, but that after the sun went down I was +going to be tragically in earnest. The time has come."</p> + +<p>"You spoke of my having no right here!" and a gleam of anger shot from +Dick's eyes. "Might I suggest, Count, that it is a little out of the +common for a guest to tell his host that he has no right to give him +hospitality?"</p> + +<p>"I was afraid you might take it like that," and Romanoff spoke almost +gently. "Doubtless I have been very clumsy, very gauche; all the same, I +have come only in kindness."</p> + +<p>"Am I to understand, then, that you came here for the purpose of telling +me that I am an impostor, an interloper? That, indeed, is interesting."</p> + +<p>"I came as a friend, a well-wisher—as one deeply, very deeply, +interested in your welfare. I came as one who wants you to enjoy what +you believe is your good fortune, and to marry the most beautiful woman +in England. If, after you have heard me, you wish me to leave you, I +will do so—sadly, I will admit, but I will leave you."</p> + +<p>"At least, do not deal in hints, in innuendoes. Tell me exactly what you +mean, and perhaps you will also tell me what particular interest you +have in the matter, and by what right you—you—talk in this way."</p> + +<p>"Faversham, let me first of all admit frankly that I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> took a great +liking to you during the voyage that ended so—tragically. I am no +longer a boy, and I do not take to people easily; but I felt an +unaccountable interest in you. There were traits in your character that +attracted me. I said to myself, 'I should like to know that young +fellow, to cultivate his acquaintance.' That must be my reason for +taking what interest I have in you. It would have been easy to let you +drown, to—to listen to the appeal of the other occupants of the boat, +and——"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me," interrupted Dick impulsively, "I have behaved like a cad. I +forgot that I owed my life to you. But I was excited—angry. You see, +the suggestion that I am here under false pretences naturally upsets me. +But tell me what you mean. I do not understand you—I am bewildered by +your hints."</p> + +<p>"Of course, I understand your feelings, and am not in the least +offended. I think I know you too well not to take offence easily; +besides, my desire, and my only desire, being to help you makes me +impervious to ordinary emotions."</p> + +<p>"Still," cried Dick, "tell me what you mean. You say my position as +owner of my Uncle Faversham's estates rests on a very slender, a very +unsafe foundation. That is surely a serious statement to make. How do +you know?"</p> + +<p>"Your uncle's will—yes, I will admit I went to Somerset House and paid +a shilling for the right of reading it—states that he gave his fortune +to his sister's sons, and after them to the next-of-kin."</p> + +<p>"Exactly."</p> + +<p>"Presently it came to pass that only one person stood between you and +possession."</p> + +<p>"That is so. I did not know it at the time, but such, I am informed, was +the case."</p> + +<p>"This person's name was Mr. Anthony Riggleton, at that time the only +surviving son of your uncle's sister!"</p> + +<p>"That is so."</p> + +<p>Romanoff lay back in his chair and quietly smoked his cigar.</p> + +<p>"But why these questions?" persisted Dick.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I was only thinking, my friend, on what small issues fortune or poverty +may rest."</p> + +<p>"But—but really——"</p> + +<p>"Here is the case as I understand it. Your lawyer told you that Mr. +Anthony Riggleton, the only man who stood between you and all your +uncle's possessions, was killed in a drunken brawl in Melbourne, and +that on his death you became heir. That was why he sent you that +wireless; that was why he summoned you back to England."</p> + +<p>"Exactly."</p> + +<p>"But what if Mr. Anthony Riggleton is not dead?"</p> + +<p>"There is no doubt about that," replied Dick, in tones of relief. "Mr. +Bidlake realised the importance of this, and sent to a lawyer in +Melbourne to make investigations. Every care was taken, every possible +loophole of mistake was investigated. I saw all the documents, all the +newspaper reports."</p> + +<p>"Has it ever struck you that mistakes might be made about this?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. As a consequence I questioned Bidlake closely, and he told +me that doubt was impossible."</p> + +<p>"Let me understand," and Romanoff continued to speak quietly. "Your +position is that Anthony Riggleton, the then heir to all your Uncle +Faversham's fortune, was living in Australia; that he was known in +Melbourne; that he went to a house near Melbourne with some boon +companions; that there was a night of orgy; that afterwards there was a +quarrel; and that Mr. Anthony Riggleton was killed."</p> + +<p>"Evidently you've worked up the case," and there was a sneer in Dick's +voice.</p> + +<p>"But I'm right, am I not?"</p> + +<p>"As far as you've gone, you are roughly right. Of course, his body was +afterwards identified by——"</p> + +<p>"By the cashier of the bank from which he had drawn money, and by +others," interrupted Romanoff. "But what if that cashier made a mistake? +What if it paid him to make it? What if the others who identified the +body were paid to do so? What if Mr. Anthony Riggleton is still alive?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What if a hundred things are true?" cried Dick angrily. "One can ask +such questions for ever. Of course, if Mr. Anthony Riggleton is still +alive, I have no right here. If he is alive, I clear out."</p> + +<p>"And does the prospect please you?" and the Count looked at Dick like +one anxious.</p> + +<p>"Of course, it doesn't please me. If it's true, I'm a pauper, or next +door to one. If it's true, I should have to leave everything and go out +into the world to begin again."</p> + +<p>"And give up all thought of Lady Blanche Huntingford," added the Count.</p> + +<p>"I say, Romanoff, if you've anything definite to tell me, tell it. I +tell you honestly, I don't enjoy all this."</p> + +<p>"Of course you don't. The thought of giving up all this is like thinking +of having your eyes pulled out, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"But of course it's all rubbish. Of course you are imagining an ugly +bogey man," and Dick laughed nervously.</p> + +<p>"I'm imagining nothing, Faversham."</p> + +<p>"Then you mean to tell me——"</p> + +<p>"That Mr. Anthony Riggleton is alive? Yes, I do."</p> + +<p>Dick gave the Count an angry look, then started to his feet and began to +pace the room.</p> + +<p>"Of course it's all nonsense," he cried after a few seconds. "Please +don't imagine that I'm going to accept a cock-and-bull sort of story +like that. Do you think that Bidlake would be deceived? Do you imagine +that the man he employed in Melbourne would be duped? No, no, I'm not +such a fool as to accept that. Besides, what have you to do with it? Why +did you come here in such a fashion, and with such a story? It does not +look very friendly, does it?"</p> + +<p>"Why I came here, and why I have told you the truth, will leak out +presently. You will see then that I came not as an enemy, but as a +friend."</p> + +<p>"As a friend!" and there was an angry sneer in Dick's voice.</p> + +<p>"As a friend," repeated Romanoff. "Of course," he went on quietly, "I +expected that you would take it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> in this way; but you will soon see that +my motives are—not unworthy of a friend."</p> + +<p>"Tell me then how you came to know of this. Perhaps you will also give +me some proofs that Mr. Anthony Riggleton, who was found dead, whose +body was identified by responsible witnesses, has so miraculously come +to life again. Believe me, this hearsay, this wonderful story does not +appeal to me. Do you come to me with this—this farrago of nonsense with +the belief that I am going to give up all this?" and he looked out of +the window towards the far-spreading parks as he spoke, "without the +most absolute and conclusive proof? If Mr. Anthony Riggleton is alive, +where is he? Why does he not show himself? Why does he not come here and +claim his own?"</p> + +<p>"Because I have stopped him from coming," replied Romanoff.</p> + +<p>"You have stopped him from coming?" cried Dick excitedly.</p> + +<p>"Exactly."</p> + +<p>"Then you have seen him?"</p> + +<p>"I have seen him."</p> + +<p>"But how do you know it was he? Are Mr. Bidlake's inquiries to go for +nothing? No, no, it won't do. I can't be deceived like that."</p> + +<p>"I know it was he because I have the most absolute proofs—proofs which +I am going to submit to you."</p> + +<p>"You saw him, you say?"</p> + +<p>"I saw him."</p> + +<p>"But where?"</p> + +<p>"In Australia. I told you, didn't I, that—after leaving you I went to +Australia? I told you, too, that I left Australia quickly because I did +not like the country. That was false. I came because I wanted to warn +you, to help you. You asked me just now why, if Mr. Anthony Riggleton +was alive, he did not show himself. I will tell you why. If I had +allowed him to do so, if he knew that he was heir to all you now +possess, you would be a poor man. And I did not want you to be a poor +man. I did not want your life to be ruined, your future sacrificed, your +hopes destroyed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> That's why, Faversham. That's why I left Australia and +came here without wasting an hour. That's why I examined your uncle's +will; that's why I came to warn you."</p> + +<p>"To warn me?"</p> + +<p>"To warn you."</p> + +<p>"Against what?"</p> + +<p>"Against dangers—against the dangers which might engulf you—ruin you +for ever."</p> + +<p>"You speak in a tragic tone of voice."</p> + +<p>"I speak of tragic things. I told you that this was your hour of +destiny. I told you the truth. This night will decide your future. You +are a young fellow with your life all before you. You were born for +enjoyment, for pleasure, for ease. You, unlike your uncle, who made all +the wealth we are thinking of, are not a business genius; you are not a +great master personality who can forge your way through difficult +circumstances. You are not cast in that mould. But you can enjoy. You +have barely felt your feet since you came into possession of great +wealth, but already you have dreamt dreams, and seen visions. You have +already made plans as to how you can suck the orange of the world dry. +And to-night will be the time of decision."</p> + +<p>Dick laughed uneasily. "How?" he asked, and his face was pale to the +lips.</p> + +<p>"Is there a photograph of Mr. Anthony Riggleton in the house?" asked +Romanoff.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I came across one the other day. Would you like to see it?" He +went to a drawer as he spoke and took a packet from it. "Here is the +thing," he added.</p> + +<p>"Just so," replied Romanoff; "now look at this," and he took a +photograph from his pocket. "It's the same face, isn't it? The same man. +Well, my friend, that is the photograph of a man I saw in Australia, +weeks after you got your wireless from Mr. Bidlake—months after the +news came that Mr. Anthony Riggleton was dead. I saw him; I talked with +him. He told me a good deal about himself, told me of some of his +experiences in this house. There are a number of people in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> this +neighbourhood who knew him, and who could identify him."</p> + +<p>"You are sure of this?" gasped Dick.</p> + +<p>"Absolutely."</p> + +<p>"And does he know—that—that his uncle is dead?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet. That's why I hurried here to see you. But he has made up his +mind to come to England, and of course he intends coming here."</p> + +<p>"He told you this, did he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I came across him in a little town about five hundred miles from +Melbourne, and when I found out who he was I thought of you."</p> + +<p>"But how do you explain the news of his death, the inquest, and the +other things?"</p> + +<p>"I'll come to that presently. It's easily explained. Oh, there's no +doubt about it, Faversham. I have seen the real heir to all the wealth +you thought your own."</p> + +<p>"But what do you mean by saying that you stopped him from coming here?" +and Dick's voice was husky.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to tell you why I stopped him. I'm going to tell you how you +can keep everything, enjoy everything. Yes, and how you can still marry +the woman you are dreaming of."</p> + +<p>"But if the real heir is alive—I—I can't," stammered Dick.</p> + +<p>"I'm here to show you how you can," persisted Romanoff. "Did I not tell +you that this was the hour of destiny?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Day of Destiny</span></h3> + + +<p>Dick Faversham wiped away the beads of perspiration that stood thick +upon his forehead. It seemed to him that he was surrounded by peculiar +influences, that forces were at work which he could not understand. In +one sense he did not at all believe in the story that Count Romanoff had +told him. It appeared to him chimerical, unconvincing.</p> + +<p>It did not seem at all likely that a man of Mr. Bidlake's experience and +mental acumen could have been so deceived. This subtle-minded lawyer, +who had lived in London for so many years and had been spoken of as one +of the most astute and level-headed men in the profession, would not be +likely to communicate news of such great importance to him without being +absolutely certain of his ground. He had shown him details of +everything, too, and Mr. Bidlake was absolutely certain that Mr. Anthony +Riggleton was dead, that he was murdered near Melbourne. The proofs of +this were demonstrated in a hundred ways. No, he did not believe in +Romanoff's story.</p> + +<p>Besides, it was absurd, on the face of it. Who was this Count Romanoff? +He knew little or nothing of him. Though he owed his life to him, he +knew nothing of his history or antecedents. He was afraid of him, too. +He did not like his cynical way of looking at things, nor understand his +mockery of current morality. And should he believe the bare word of such +a man?</p> + +<p>And yet he did believe him. At the back of his mind he felt sure that he +had spoken the truth.</p> + +<p>It came to him with ghastly force that he was not the owner of this fine +old house, and of all the wealth that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> during the last few weeks he had +almost gloated over. There was something in the tones of Romanoff's +voice—something in his mocking yet intense way of speaking that +convinced him in spite of himself.</p> + +<p>And the fact maddened him. To be poor now after these few brief weeks of +riches would drive him mad. He had not begun to enjoy yet. He had not +carried out the plans which had been born in his mind. He had only just +entered into possession, and had been living the life of a pattern young +man. But he had meant to enjoy, to drink the cup of pleasure to the very +dregs.</p> + +<p>His mind swept like lightning over the conversation which had taken +place, and every word of it was burnt into his brain. What did the Count +mean by telling him that he could retain everything? Why did he persist +in urging that he had hurried from Australia to England to save him from +losing everything? What did he mean by telling him that this was his +hour of destiny—that on his decision would depend the future of his +life?</p> + +<p>"You mean—to say then, that—that——" he stammered, after a long, +painful silence.</p> + +<p>"That Anthony Riggleton, the legal heir of old Charles Faversham, is +alive," interrupted Romanoff. "I myself have seen him, have talked with +him."</p> + +<p>"Does he know that he is—is the rightful heir?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet," and Romanoff smiled. "I took good care of that."</p> + +<p>"You mean——"</p> + +<p>"I mean that I did not save your life for nothing. When I had fully +convinced myself that he was—who he said he was—I of course reflected +on what it meant. I called to mind what you had told me on that island, +and I saw how his being alive would affect you."</p> + +<p>"How did you know? I did not tell you the terms of the will. I did not +know them myself."</p> + +<p>"Does it matter how I knew? Anyhow, he—Riggleton—would guess."</p> + +<p>"How did he know?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p>Romanoff shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know, my dear fellow? But +one can easily guess. He knew he was next-of-kin to old Charles +Faversham, and would naturally think he would inherit his wealth. But +that is not all. Australia, although a long way from England, is not +away from the lines of communication. Melbourne is quite a considerable +city. It has newspapers, telephones, cablegrams, and a host of other +things. But one thing Anthony Riggleton did not know: he did not know +that the terms of the will were published in the Melbourne newspapers. +He was afraid to go near Melbourne, in fact. He thought it best for the +world to think of him as dead. Indeed, he paid a man to personate him in +Melbourne, and that man paid the penalty of his deceit by his life."</p> + +<p>"It's anything but clear to me."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll make it clear. Riggleton had enemies in Melbourne whom it was +necessary for him to see, but whom he was personally afraid to meet. He +had served them very shabbily, and they had threatened him with +unpleasant things. He had as a friend a man who resembled him very +closely, and he offered this friend a sum of money if he would go to +Melbourne and personate him. This man, ignorant of his danger, accepted +the offer—now, do you see?"</p> + +<p>After he had asked many questions about this—questions which Romanoff +answered freely—Dick looked long and steadily at a picture of old +Charles Faversham which hung on the wall. He was trying to co-ordinate +the story—trying to understand it.</p> + +<p>"And where is Anthony Riggleton now?"</p> + +<p>"He is in England."</p> + +<p>"In England! Then—then——"</p> + +<p>"Exactly," interrupted Romanoff. "You see what I meant when I said that +the foundations of your position were very insecure. I do not imagine +that Lady Blanche Huntingford would think very seriously about Dick +Faversham if she knew the whole truth."</p> + +<p>"But—but—in England?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly. In England."</p> + +<p>"But you say he does not know—the truth?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No. He may guess it, though. Who knows?"</p> + +<p>"But why did you not tell me this last night? Why wait till now before +letting me know?"</p> + +<p>Again Romanoff smiled; he might be enjoying himself.</p> + +<p>"Because I like you, my friend. Because I wanted to see the state of +your mind, and to know whether it was possible to help you."</p> + +<p>"To help me?"</p> + +<p>"To help you. I saw the kind of man you were. I saw what such wealth as +you thought you possessed would mean to you. I saw, too, to what uses +you could turn the power that riches would give you. So I made my +plans."</p> + +<p>"But you say he is in England. If so, he will know—all!"</p> + +<p>"No, he does not. I took good care of that."</p> + +<p>"But he will find out."</p> + +<p>Romanoff laughed. "No, my friend, I have taken care of everything. As I +told you, I like you, and I want you to be a great figure in the life of +your country. That is why you are safe—for the present."</p> + +<p>Again Dick wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead. It seemed +to him as though he were standing on a precipice, while beneath him were +yawning depths of darkness. All he had hoped for was mocking him, and he +saw himself sinking under the stress of circumstances, just as on that +terrible night he felt himself sinking in the deep waters. But there +were no arms outstretched to save him, nor friendly help near him. He +looked around the room, noble in its proportions, and handsomely +appointed, and thought of all it suggested. He remembered his last +interview with Mr. Bidlake, when that gentleman gave him an account of +his possessions, and told him of the approximate amount of his fortune. +And now it would all go to this man who was not even aware of the truth. +It was all bewildering, maddening. Before he had properly begun to taste +of the sweets of fortune they were being dashed from his lips. He felt +as though he were losing his senses,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> that his brain was giving way +under the stress of the news he had heard.</p> + +<p>Then his innate manhood began to assert itself. If what Romanoff had +said were true, he must bear it. But, of course, he would not yield +without a struggle. He would take nothing on the bare word of a man who, +after all, was a stranger. Everything should be proved up to the hilt +before he relinquished possession.</p> + +<p>"Safe for the present!" Dick repeated, and there was a note of angry +scorn in his voice. "Of course, if—if you are not mistaken, there is no +question of safety."</p> + +<p>"No question of safety?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. If Anthony Riggleton is alive, and if he is the true +heir to old Charles Faversham, he must make his claim, as I assume he +will."</p> + +<p>"Then you will yield without a struggle?" and there was a peculiar +intonation in Romanoff's voice.</p> + +<p>"No," cried Dick, "I shall not yield without a struggle. I shall place +the whole matter in Bidlake's hands, and—and if I'm a pauper, I +am—that's all."</p> + +<p>"I know a better way than that."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand you."</p> + +<p>"No, but you will in a minute. Faversham, there's no need for you to fix +up anything, no need for anyone to know what only you and I know."</p> + +<p>"Look here," and Dick's voice trembled. "Are you sure that this fellow +you talk about is Anthony Riggleton—and that he is the lawful heir?"</p> + +<p>Romanoff gave Dick a quick, searching glance; then he gave a peculiar +laugh. "Am I sure that the man is Anthony Riggleton? Here's the +photograph he gave me of himself. I compared the photograph with the +man, and I'm not likely to be mistaken. The photograph is the exact +representation of the man. You have photographs of Riggleton in this +house; compare them. Besides, he's been here repeatedly; he's known, I +imagine, to the servants, to the neighbours. If he is allowed to make a +claim, it will not be a question of Roger Tichborne and Arthur Orton +over again, my friend. He will be able to prove his rights."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What do you mean by saying, 'if he is allowed to make his claim'?" +asked Dick hoarsely. "Of course he'll be allowed."</p> + +<p>"Why of course?</p> + +<p>"Naturally he will."</p> + +<p>"That depends on you. Did I not tell you that this was your hour of +destiny?"</p> + +<p>"Then the matter is settled. I will not usurp another man's rights. If +he's the lawful owner, he shall have his own. Of course, he will have to +prove it."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean that?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do. Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Because it would be criminal madness—the act of a fool!"</p> + +<p>"It is the only attitude for a decent fellow."</p> + +<p>Again Romanoff let his piercing eyes fall on Dick's face. He seemed to +be studying him afresh, as though he were trying to read his innermost +thoughts.</p> + +<p>"Listen, my dear fellow," and the Count calmly cut the end of a fresh +cigar. "I want to discuss this matter with you calmly, and I want our +discussion to be entirely free from sentimental rubbish. To begin with, +there is no doubt that the man Anthony Riggleton is alive, and that he +is the legal owner of all Charles Faversham's fabulous fortune. Of that +I've no doubt. If he came here everyone would recognise him, while there +is not a lawyer, not a judge or jury in the land, who would not acclaim +him the owner of all which you thought yours. But, as I said, I like +you. You were meant to be a rich man; you were meant to enjoy what +riches can give you. And of this I am sure, Faversham: poverty after +this would mean hell to you. Why, man, think what you can have—titles, +position, power, the love of beautiful women, and a thousand things +more. If you want to enter public life the door is open to you. With +wealth like yours a peerage is only a matter of arrangement. As for Lady +Blanche Huntingford——" and the Count laughed meaningly.</p> + +<p>"But what is the use of talking like that if nothing really belongs to +me?" cried Dick.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + +<p>"First of all, Faversham," went on the Count, as though Dick had not +spoken, "get rid of all nonsense."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense? I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"I mean all nonsense about right and wrong, about so-called points of +honour and that sort of thing. There is no right, and no wrong in the +conventional sense of the word. Right! wrong! Pooh, they are only bogys +invented by priests in days of darkness, in order to obtain power. It is +always right to do the thing that pays—-the thing that gives you +happiness—power. The German philosophy is right there. Do the thing you +can do. That's common sense."</p> + +<p>"It's devilish!" exclaimed Dick.</p> + +<p>"Your mind's unhinged, excited, or you wouldn't say so," replied +Romanoff. "Now, look at me," and he fastened Dick's eyes by his intense +gaze. "Do I look like a fanatic, a fool? Don't I speak with the +knowledge of the world's wisdom in my mind? I've travelled in all the +countries in the world, my friend, and I've riddled all their +philosophies, and I tell you this: there is no right, no wrong. Life is +given to us to enjoy, to drink the cup of pleasure to its depths, to +press from the winepress all its sweets, and to be happy."</p> + +<p>He spoke in low, earnest tones, and as he did so, Dick felt as though +his moral manhood were being sapped. The glitter of the Count's eyes +fascinated him, and while under their spell he saw as the Count saw, +felt as he felt.</p> + +<p>And yet he was afraid. There was something awesome in all +this—something unholy.</p> + +<p>"Look here!" and Dick started to his feet. "What do you mean by coming +to me in this way? Why should you so coolly assert that the moralities +of the centuries are nonsense? Who are you? What are you?"</p> + +<p>Again the Count laughed.</p> + +<p>"Who am I? What am I?" he repeated. "You remember Napoleon Bonaparte's +famous words: 'I am not a man. I am a thing. I am a force. Right and +wrong do not exist for me. I make my own laws, my own morals.' Perhaps I +could say the same, Faversham."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Napoleon found out his mistake, though," protested Dick.</p> + +<p>"Did he? Who knows? Besides, better taste the sweets of power, if only +for a few years, than be a drudge, a nonentity, a poor, struggling worm +all your days."</p> + +<p>"But what do you want? What have you in your mind?"</p> + +<p>"This, Faversham. If you will listen to me you will treat Anthony +Riggleton as non-existent——"</p> + +<p>"As non-existent?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you can with safety—absolute safety; and then, if you agree to my +proposal, all you hope for, all you dream of, shall be yours. You shall +remain here as absolute owner without a shadow of doubt or a shadow of +suspicion, and—enjoy. You shall have happiness, my friend—happiness. +Did I not tell you that this was your day of destiny?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Invisible Hand</span></h3> + + +<p>Again Dick felt as though he were gripped by an irresistible power, and +that this power was evil. It was true that the Count sat in the chair +near him, faultlessly dressed, urbane, smiling, with all the outward +appearance of a polished man of the world; all the same, Dick felt that +an evil influence dominated the room. The picture which Romanoff made +him see was beautiful beyond words, and he beheld a future of sensuous +ease, of satisfied ambition, of indescribable delights. And what he saw +seemed to dull his moral sense, to undermine his moral strength. +Moreover, the man had by his news undermined the foundations of life, +shattered the hopes he had nourished, and thus left him unable to fight.</p> + +<p>"Tell me that this is a—a joke on your part," Dick said at length. "Of +course it's not true."</p> + +<p>"Of course it is true."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll have it proved, anyhow. Everything shall be sifted to the +bottom."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"I'll go and see Bidlake to-morrow. I'll tell him what you've said."</p> + +<p>"You will do no such thing." The Count spoke in the most nonchalant +manner.</p> + +<p>"Why not? Indeed, I shall."</p> + +<p>"You will not. I'll tell you why. First, because it would be criminally +insane, and second, because you would be cutting your own throat."</p> + +<p>"Please explain."</p> + +<p>"Understand," replied Romanoff, "that this is really nothing to me after +all. I do not benefit by your riches, or lose by your poverty. Why, I +wonder, am I taking an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> interest in the matter?" And for the moment he +seemed to be reflecting. "I suppose it is because I like you—of course +that is it. Besides, I saved your life, and naturally one has an +interest in the life one has saved. But to explain: accept for the +moment the conventional standards of right and wrong, good and evil, and +what is the result? Suppose you give up everything to Riggleton—what +follows? You give up all this to an unclean beast. You put power in the +hands of a man who hasn't an elevated thought or desire. You, now—if +you are wise, and retain what you have—can do some good with your +money. You can bring comfort to the people on your estates; you can help +what you believe worthy causes. You, Faversham, are a gentleman at +heart, and would always act like one. Mind, I <i>don't</i> accept +conventional morality; it is no more to me than so much sawdust. But I +do respect the decencies of life. My education has thrown me among +people who have a sense of what's fit and proper. Anyhow, judging from +your own standards, you would be doing an <i>immoral</i> thing by handing +this great fortune to Riggleton."</p> + +<p>"Tell me about him," and Dick felt a tightening at the throat.</p> + +<p>"Tell you about him! An unsavoury subject, my friend. A fellow with the +mind of a pig, the tastes of a pig. What are his enjoyments? His true +place is in a low-class brothel. If he inherited Wendover Park, he would +fill these beautiful rooms with creatures of his own class—men and +women."</p> + +<p>The Count did not raise his voice, but Dick realised its intensity; and +again he felt his influence—felt that he was being dominated by a +personality stronger than his own.</p> + +<p>"No, no," he continued, and he laughed quietly as he spoke; "copy-book +morality has no weight with me. But I trust I am a gentleman. If, to use +your own term, I sin, I will sin like a gentleman; I will enjoy myself +like a gentleman. But this man is dirty. He wallows in filth—wallows in +it, and rejoices in it. That is Anthony Riggleton. Morality! I scorn it. +But decency, the behaviour of a gentleman, to act as a gentleman under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +every circumstance—that is a kind of religion with me! Now, then, +Faversham, would it not be criminal madness to place all this in the +hands of such a loathsome creature when you can so easily prevent it?"</p> + +<p>Of course, the argument was commonplace enough. It was a device by which +thousands have tried to salve their consciences, and to try to find an +excuse for wrong-doing. Had some men spoken the same words, Dick might +not have been affected, but uttered by Romanoff they seemed to undermine +the foundations of his reasoning power.</p> + +<p>"But if he is in England?" he protested weakly.</p> + +<p>"He is, but what then?"</p> + +<p>"He must know; he must. He is not an idiot, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"No; he is cunning with a low kind of cunning—the cunning of a sensual +beast. Some would say he is clever."</p> + +<p>"Then he must find out the truth."</p> + +<p>"Not if you say he must not."</p> + +<p>"What have I to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"Everything," and Romanoff's eyes seemed to be searching into Dick's +innermost soul.</p> + +<p>"But how? I do not understand," and he nervously wiped his moist hands.</p> + +<p>"Say so, and he must be got rid of."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>Romanoff laughed quietly. "These are good cigars, Faversham," he said, +like one who was vastly enjoying himself. "Oh, you can do that easily +enough," he continued.</p> + +<p>"How?" asked Dick. He felt his eyes were hot as he turned them towards +the other.</p> + +<p>"I said treat him as though he were non-existent. Well, let him <i>be</i> +non-existent."</p> + +<p>"You mean—you mean——" and Dick's voice could scarcely be recognised.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" asked the Count carelessly. "The fellow is vermin—just dirty +vermin. But he is a danger—a danger to the community, a danger to you. +Why, then, if it can be done easily, secretly, and without anyone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +having the slightest chance of knowing, should you not rid the world of +such a creature? Especially when you could save all this," and he looked +around the room, "as well as marry that divine creature, and live the +life you long to live."</p> + +<p>"Never!" cried Dick. "What?—murder! Not for all the wealth ever known. +No, no—my God, no!"</p> + +<p>"If there are good deeds in the world, that would be a good deed," +persisted Romanoff. "You would be a benefactor to your race, your +country," and there was a touch of pleading in his voice. "Why, man, +think; I have him safe—safe! No one could know, and it would be a +praiseworthy deed."</p> + +<p>"Then why not do it yourself?" cried Dick. There was a sneer as well as +anger in his voice.</p> + +<p>"I am not the next heir to the Faversham estates," replied Romanoff. +"What does it matter to me who owns all that old Charles Faversham +gained during his life?"</p> + +<p>"Then why suggest such a thing? Why, it's devilish!"</p> + +<p>"Don't—please, don't be melodramatic," the Count drawled. "Would you +not kill a rat that ate your corn? Would you not shoot any kind of +vermin that infested your house? Well, Riggleton is vermin, human vermin +if you like, but still vermin, and he is not fit to live. If I, +Romanoff, were in your position, I would have no more hesitation in +putting him out of existence than your gamekeeper would have in shooting +a dog with rabies. But, then, I am not in your position. I have nothing +to gain. I only take a friendly interest in you. I have hurried to you +with all speed the moment I knew of your danger, and I have told you how +you can rid the world of a coarse, dirty-minded animal, and at the same +time save for yourself the thing nearest your heart."</p> + +<p>"Did he come in the same vessel with you?"</p> + +<p>"Suffice to say that I know he is in England, and in safe keeping."</p> + +<p>"Where? How? England has laws to protect everyone."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That does not matter. I will tell you if you like; but you would be +none the wiser."</p> + +<p>"Then you have arranged this?"</p> + +<p>"If you like—yes."</p> + +<p>"But why?"</p> + +<p>"Still the same silly question. Have you no sense of proportion, +Faversham? Haven't I told you again and again?"</p> + +<p>Dick was almost gasping for breath, and as he buried his head in his +hands, he tried to understand, to realise. In calmer moments his mind +would doubtless have pierced the cheap sophistry of the Count, and +discarded it. But, as I have said, he was greatly excited, bewildered. +Never as now did he desire wealth. Never as now had the thought of +winning Lady Blanche seemed the great thing in life to be hoped for. And +he knew the Count was right—knew that without his money she would no +more think of marrying him than of marrying the utmost stranger. And yet +his heart craved after her. He longed to possess her—to call her his +own. He saw her as he had never seen her before, a splendid creature +whose beauty outshone that of any woman he had ever seen, as the sun +outshone the moon.</p> + +<p>And this Anthony Riggleton, whom the Count described as vermin, stood in +his way. Because of a quibble on his part this loathsome thing would +ruin his future, dash his hopes to the ground, blacken his life.</p> + +<p>But the alternative!</p> + +<p>"No, of course not!" he cried.</p> + +<p>"You refuse?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I do. I'm not a murderer."</p> + +<p>"Very well, go your own way. Go to your Mr. Bidlake, see him shrug his +shoulders and laugh, and then watch while your cousin—your +<i>cousin</i>!—turns this glorious old place into a cesspool."</p> + +<p>"Yes; rather than stain my hands in——I say, Romanoff," and the words +passed his lips almost in spite of himself, "there must be some deep +reason why you—you say and do all this. Do you expect to gain anything, +in any way, because of my—retaining possession of my uncle's wealth?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>For the first time the Count seemed to lose possession over himself. He +rose to his feet, his eyes flashing.</p> + +<p>"What!" he cried; "do you mean that I, Romanoff, would profit by your +poor little riches? What is all this to me? Why, rich as you thought you +were, I could buy up all the Faversham estates—all—all, and then not +know that my banking account was affected. I, Romanoff, seek to help a +man whom I had thought of as my friend for some paltry gain! Good-night, +Mr. Richard Faversham, you may go your own way."</p> + +<p>"Stop!" cried Dick, almost carried away by the vehemence of the other; +"of course, I did not mean——"</p> + +<p>"Enough," and the Count interrupted him by a word and a laugh. "Besides, +you do not, cannot, understand. But to rid your mind of all possible +doubt I will show you something. Here is my account with your Bank of +England. This is for pocket-money, pin-money, petty cash as your +business men call it. There was my credit yesterday. In the light of +that, do you think that I need to participate in your fortune, huge as +you regard it?"</p> + +<p>Dick was startled as he saw the amount. There could be no doubt about +it. The imprimatur of the Bank of England was plainly to be seen, and +the huge figures stood out boldly.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I apologise," stammered Dick. "I only thought that—that—you +see——"</p> + +<p>"All right," laughed the Count, "let it be forgotten. Besides, have I +not told you more than once that I am interested in you? I have shown +you my interest, and——"</p> + +<p>"Of course you have," cried Dick. "I owe you my life; but for you I +should not be alive to-day."</p> + +<p>"Just so. I want to see you happy, Faversham. I want you to enjoy life's +sweetness. I want you to be for ever free from the haunting fear that +this Anthony Riggleton shall ever cross your path. That is why——"</p> + +<p>He hesitated, as though he did not know what to say next.</p> + +<p>"Yes," asked Dick, "why what?"</p> + +<p>"That is why I want to serve you further."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Serve me further? How?"</p> + +<p>"Suppose I get rid of Riggleton for you?"</p> + +<p>"I do not understand."</p> + +<p>"Suppose I offer to get rid of Riggleton for you? Suppose without your +having anything to do with him, without knowing where he is, I offer to +remove him for ever from your path—would you consent?"</p> + +<p>"I consent?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I must have that. Would you give it?"</p> + +<p>"You—you—that is, you ask me if I will consent to—to his—his +murder?"</p> + +<p>"Just that, my friend. That must be—else why should I do it? But—but I +love you, Faversham—as if you were my son, and I would do it for your +happiness. Of course, it's an unpleasant thing to do, even although I +have no moral scruples, but I'll do it for you."</p> + +<p>Again Dick felt as though the ground were slipping from under his feet. +Never before was he tempted as he was tempted now, never did it seem so +easy to consent to wrong. And he would not be responsible. He had +suggested nothing, pleaded nothing. His part would be simply to be +blindly quiescent. His mind was confused to every issue save one. He had +only to consent, and this man Riggleton, the true owner of everything, +would be removed for ever.</p> + +<p>"And if I do not?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Then nothing more need be said. But look at me, Faversham, and tell me +if you will be such a fool. If there is any guilt, I bear it; if there +is any danger, I face it; do you refuse, Faversham? I only make the +offer for your sake."</p> + +<p>Again Dick felt the awful eyes of the Count piercing him; it was as +though all his power of judgment, all his volition were ebbing away. At +that moment he felt incapable of resistance.</p> + +<p>"And if I consent?" he asked weakly.</p> + +<p>"Of course you will, you <i>will</i>, you <span class="smcap">will</span>," and the words were repeated +with peculiar intensity, while the eyes of the two met. "I only make one +stipulation, and I must make it because you need a friend. I must make +it binding for your sake."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> + +<p>He took a piece of paper from a desk and scribbled a few words.</p> + +<p>"There, read," he said.</p> + +<p>Dick read:</p> + +<p>"I promise to put myself completely under the guidance of Count Romanoff +with regard to the future of my life."</p> + +<p>"There, sign that, Faversham," and the Count placed the pen in his hand.</p> + +<p>Without will, and almost without knowledge, Dick took the pen.</p> + +<p>"What do you want me to do?" asked Dick dully.</p> + +<p>"Sign that paper. Just put 'Richard Faversham' and the date. I will do +the rest."</p> + +<p>"But—but if I do this, I shall be signing away my liberty. I shall make +myself a slave to you."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, my dear fellow. Why should I interfere with your liberty?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know; but this paper means that." He was still able to think +consecutively, although his thoughts were cloudy and but dimly realised.</p> + +<p>"Think, Faversham. I am undertaking a dirty piece of work for your sake. +Why? I am doing it because I want you to be free from Anthony Riggleton, +and I am doing it because I take a deep interest in you."</p> + +<p>"But why should I sign this?"</p> + +<p>In spite of the Count's influence over him, he had a dull feeling that +there was no need for such a thing. Even although he had tacitly +consented to Romanoff's proposal he saw no necessity for binding +himself.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you why. It's because I know you—because I read your mind +like a book. I want to make you my protégé, and I want you to cut a +figure in the life of the world. After all, in spite of Charles +Faversham's wealth, you are a nobody. You are a commoner all compact. +But I can make you really great. I am Romanoff. You asked me once if I +were of the great Russian family, and I answered yes. Do you know what +that means? It means that no door is closed to me—that I can go where I +will, do what I will. It means that if I desire a man's aggrandisement, +it is an accomplished fact.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> Not only are the delights of this country +mine for the asking, but my name is an <i>Open Sesame</i> in every land. My +name and my influence are a key to unlock every door; my hand can draw +aside the curtain of every delight. And there are delights in the world +that you know nothing of, never dreamt of. As my protégé I want them to +be yours. A great name, great power, glorious pleasures, the smile of +beautiful women, delights such as the author of <i>The Arabian Nights</i> +only dimly dreamt of—it is my will that you shall have them all. +Charles Faversham's money and my influence shall give you all this and +more. But I am not going to have a fretful, puling boy objecting all the +time; I am not going to have my plans for your happiness frustrated by +conscience and petty quibbles about what is good and evil. That is why I +insist on your signing that paper."</p> + +<p>Romanoff spoke in low tones, but every word seemed to be laden with +meanings hitherto unknown to Dick. He saw pictures of exquisite +delights, of earthly paradises, of joys that made life an ecstasy.</p> + +<p>And still something kept his hand still. He felt rather than reasoned +that something was wrong—that all was wrong. He was in an abnormal +state of mind; he knew that the influences by which he was surrounded +were blinding him to truth, and giving him distorted fancies about +life's values.</p> + +<p>"No," he said doggedly; "I won't sign, and I won't consent to this +devilish deed."</p> + +<p>Again Romanoff laughed. "Look at me, Dick, my boy," he said. "You are +not a milksop; you were made to live your whole life. Fancy you being a +clerk in an office, a store—a poor little manikin keeping body and soul +together in order to do the will of some snivelling tradesman! Think of +it! Think of Anthony Riggleton living here, or in London, in Paris, in +India—or wherever he pleases—squandering his money, and satiated with +pleasure, while you—you——Pooh! I know you. I see you holding Lady +Blanche in your arms. I see you basking in the smiles of beautiful women +all over the world. I see the name of Faversham world-wide<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> in its +power. I see——" and the Count laughed again.</p> + +<p>All the while, too, he kept Dick's eyes riveted on his own—eyes which +told him of a world of sensuous delights, and which robbed him of his +manhood. No, he could not bear to become poor again, and he would not +give up the delights he had dreamt of. Right! Wrong! Good! Evil! They +were only words. The Count was right. It was his right to enjoy.</p> + +<p>"All right, I'll sign," he said.</p> + +<p>He dipped the pen into the ink, and prepared to inscribe his name, but +the moment he placed his hand on the paper it felt as though it were +paralysed.</p> + +<p>"There is something here!" he gasped.</p> + +<p>"Something here? Nonsense."</p> + +<p>"But there is. Look!"</p> + +<p>It seemed to him that a ray of light, brighter than that of the electric +current that burnt in the room, streamed towards him. Above him, too, he +saw the face that was now becoming familiar to him. Strange that he had +forgotten it during the long conversation, strange that no memory of the +evening before, when over the doorway he had seen an angel's face +beaming upon him and warning him, had come to him.</p> + +<p>But he remembered now. The night on the heaving sea, the vision on the +island, the luminous form over the doorway of the house, all flashed +before him, and in a way he could not understand Romanoff's influence +over him lessened—weakened.</p> + +<p>"Sign—sign there!" urged the Count, pointing towards the paper.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter with your eyes?" gasped Dick. "They burn with the +light of hell fire."</p> + +<p>"You are dreaming, boy. Sign, and let's have a bottle of wine to seal +the bargain."</p> + +<p>"I must be dreaming," thought Dick. "An angel's face! What mad, idiotic +nonsense!"</p> + +<p>He still held the pen in his hand, and it seemed to him that strength +was again returning to his fingers.</p> + +<p>"Where must I sign?" he muttered. "I can't see plainly."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There—right at the point of your pen," was the Count's reply.</p> + +<p>But Dick did not sign, for suddenly he saw a white, shadowy hand appear, +which with irresistible strength gripped his wrist.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">A Scrap of Paper</span></h3> + + +<p>Suddenly the spell, or whatever had enchained him, was broken. There was +a noise of wheels on the gravel outside, and the sound of footsteps in +the hall. He heard the Count mutter a savage oath, and a moment later +the door opened and he heard a happy, clear, girlish voice:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Faversham, forgive me for coming; but I really couldn't help +myself."</p> + +<p>It was Beatrice Stanmore who, unheralded and unaccompanied, stood by his +side.</p> + +<p>He muttered something, he knew not what, although he felt as though a +weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and strength came back to his +being.</p> + +<p>"I really couldn't," the girl went on. "Granddad left me just after a +very early dinner, and then I felt awfully miserable and depressed. I +didn't know why. It was just ghastly. Nothing had happened, and yet I +knew—why, I couldn't tell—that something was terribly wrong. Then +something told me that you were in danger, that unless I came to help +you, you would be—oh, I can't put it into words! You are not in danger, +are you?"</p> + +<p>"It was very kind of you to come," muttered Dick. "I'm no end glad to +see you."</p> + +<p>"But—but I'm afraid!" she said in her childish way. "I don't know what +Granddad will say to me. You see, you are a stranger to me, and I had no +right to come. But I couldn't help it—I really couldn't. Someone seemed +to be saying to me all the time, 'Mr. Faversham is in deadly peril; go +to him—go to him quick! quick!' And I couldn't help myself. I kept +telling myself that I was very silly, and all that sort of thing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> but +all the time I heard the voice saying, 'Quick, quick, or you'll be too +late!' But I'm afraid it's all wrong. You are all right. You are in no +danger, are you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm no end glad to see you," he repeated. "And it is awfully good of +you to come."</p> + +<p>He still seemed to be under strange influences, but he no longer felt as +though his strength was gone. His heart was strangely light, too. The +presence of the girl by his side gave him comfort.</p> + +<p>"You are not angry with me, then? I've not done wrong, have I?"</p> + +<p>"Wrong? No! You have done quite right—quite. Thank you very, very +much."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad of that. When I had left our house I wanted to run to you. +Then I thought of the car. I've learnt to drive, and Granddad thinks I'm +very clever at it. I simply flew through the park. But I'm glad you are +in no danger. I must go now."</p> + +<p>She had not once looked at Romanoff; she simply stood gazing at Dick +with wide-open, childish-looking eyes, and her words came from her +almost pantingly, as though she spoke under the stress of great +excitement. Then she looked at the paper before him.</p> + +<p>"You are not going to write your name on that, are you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No," he replied; "I'm not."</p> + +<p>"You must not," she said simply. "It would be wrong. When I heard the +words telling me to come to you I—I saw—but no, I can't recall it. But +you must not sign that. I'll go now. Good-night, and please forgive me +for coming."</p> + +<p>"Please don't go yet."</p> + +<p>"But I must. I could not stay here. There's something wrong, something +evil. I'm sure there is."</p> + +<p>She glanced nervously towards Romanoff, and shivered. "Good-night," she +said, holding out her hand. "I really must go now. I think the danger is +over—I feel sure it is; and Granddad will be anxious if he comes back +and does not find me."</p> + +<p>"I'll see you to the door," said Dick. "I shall never cease to thank you +for coming."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + +<p>Leaving the paper on the table, and without looking at Romanoff, he +opened the door to her, and passed into the hall.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I shall never cease to thank you," he repeated—"never. You have +saved me."</p> + +<p>"What from?" and she looked at him with a strangely wistful smile.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he replied—"I don't know."</p> + +<p>When they stood together on the gravel outside the door, he gave a deep +sigh. It seemed to him as though the pure, sweet air enabled him to lift +every weight from himself. He was free—wonderfully, miraculously free.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is heavenly, just heavenly here!" and she laughed gaily. "I +think this is the most beautiful place in the world, and this is the +most beautiful night that ever was. Isn't the avenue just lovely? The +trees are becoming greener and greener every day. It is just as though +the angels were here, hanging their festoons. Do you like my car? Isn't +it a little beauty?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Dick. "May—may I drive you back?"</p> + +<p>"Will you? Then you can explain to Granddad. But no, you mustn't. You +must go back to your friend."</p> + +<p>"He isn't my friend," replied Dick almost involuntarily; "he's just—but +perhaps you wouldn't understand."</p> + +<p>"He isn't a good man," she cried impulsively. "I don't like him. I know +I ought not to say this. Granddad often tells me that I let my tongue +run away with me. But he's not a good man, and—and I think he's your +enemy."</p> + +<p>Dick was silent.</p> + +<p>"Is he staying with you long?" she went on.</p> + +<p>"No, not long."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad of that. He isn't nice. He's—he's—I don't know what. I shall +tell Granddad I've been here."</p> + +<p>"He won't be angry, will he?"</p> + +<p>"No; he's never angry. Besides, I think he'll understand. You'll come +and see us soon, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I shall not be able to. I'm going away."</p> + +<p>"Going away?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes; I'm leaving Wendover Park. At least, I expect so."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean for always?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; for always. To-night has decided it."</p> + +<p>She looked at him wistfully, questioningly.</p> + +<p>"Has that man anything to do with it? Is he driving you away?"</p> + +<p>"No; he wants me to stay."</p> + +<p>She again scanned his features in a puzzled, childish way. "Of course, I +don't understand," she said.</p> + +<p>"No; I hardly understand myself," and he spoke almost involuntarily. +"Thank you very much for coming."</p> + +<p>She clasped his hand eagerly. "I shall be very sorry if you go," she +said, "but please don't do anything that man asks you. Please don't."</p> + +<p>"I won't," replied Dick.</p> + +<p>He started the car for her, and then watched her while she drove down +the avenue. Then he stood for a few seconds looking at the great +doorway. He might have been expecting to see there what had been so +plainly visible before, but there was nothing.</p> + +<p>The grey old mansion was simply bathed in the light of the dying day, +while the silvery moon, which was just rising behind the tree-tops, sent +its rays through the fast-growing leaves. But as Beatrice Stanmore had +said, it was a most wondrous night. All nature was glorying in life, +while the light breezes seemed to bring him distant messages. The birds, +too, even although the sun had set, perhaps an hour before, sent their +messages one to another, and twittered their love-songs as they settled +to their rest.</p> + +<p>He waited on the steps for perhaps five minutes, then he found his way +back to Romanoff. For some seconds neither said anything; each seemed to +have a weight upon his lips. Then Romanoff spoke.</p> + +<p>"You refuse, then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I refuse."</p> + +<p>"What do you refuse?"</p> + +<p>"Everything. I refuse to allow you to do that devilish deed. I refuse to +obey you."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<p>Romanoff laughed as his eyes rested on Dick's face.</p> + +<p>"You know what this means, of course?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know."</p> + +<p>"Then—then I interfere no further."</p> + +<p>"Thank you."</p> + +<p>Romanoff waited a few seconds before he spoke again. "Of course, you are +very silly, Faversham," he said. "Soon you'll be sorry for this, and +some time you'll need my help. Meanwhile I'm tired, and will go to bed."</p> + +<p>He passed out of the room as he spoke, and Dick noticed that the scrap +of paper was gone.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Count Romanoff's Departure</span></h3> + + +<p>The next morning when Dick came downstairs he found Romanoff evidently +prepared for a journey. His luggage had been brought into the hall, and +he was looking at a time-table.</p> + +<p>"Faversham, I am sorry that we part in this way," he said.</p> + +<p>"Are you going?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>The Count looked at him steadily, as if trying to divine his state of +mind—to know if he had changed his purposes since the previous evening.</p> + +<p>"Naturally," he replied.</p> + +<p>"You have settled on your train?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I go by the 10.43."</p> + +<p>"Then I will see that a car is in readiness."</p> + +<p>As may be imagined, Dick had spent a well-nigh sleepless flight, and he +was in a nervous condition; but upon one thing he had decided. He would +be studiously polite to the Count, and would in no way refer to the +happenings of the previous night. Even yet he had not made up his mind +about his visitor, except that he agreed with Beatrice Stanmore. The man +still fascinated him; but he repelled him also. There was something +mysterious, evil, about him; but the evil was alluring; it was made to +seem as though it were not evil.</p> + +<p>"Should you alter your mind," said the Count on leaving, "this address +will find me. After to-night at ten o'clock, it will be useless to try +to find me."</p> + +<p>Dick looked at the card he had placed in his hand, and found the name of +one of the best hotels in London.</p> + +<p>When he had gone, the young man felt strangely lonely and fearfully +depressed. The air seemed full of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> foreboding; everything seemed to tell +him of calamity. As the morning passed away, too, he, more than once, +found himself questioning his wisdom. After all, the Count had asked +nothing unreasonable. Why should he not promise to be guided by a man +who was so much older and wiser than himself? One, too, who could so +greatly help him in the future.</p> + +<p>Again and again he wandered around the house, and through the gardens. +Again and again he feasted his eyes upon the beauty of the park and the +glory of the district. And it was his no longer! Could he not even +now——</p> + +<p>No; he could not! If Anthony Riggleton were alive, and was the true heir +to old Charles Faversham's wealth, he should have it. The thought of +doing what Romanoff had proposed made him shudder.</p> + +<p>But he would not give up without a struggle. After all, he was in +possession, and he was accepted as the owner of Wendover Park as well as +heir to enormous wealth. Why, then, should he give it up? No; he would +fight for what he held.</p> + +<p>The day passed slowly away. He ate his lonely lunch in silence, and +then, taking a two-seater car, ran it in the direction of Lord +Huntingford's house. Just as he was passing the gates Lady Blanche +appeared, accompanied by a girl of about her own age.</p> + +<p>Almost unconsciously he lifted his foot from the accelerator and pressed +down the brake.</p> + +<p>"Alone, Mr. Faversham?" she asked, with a radiant smile.</p> + +<p>"Quite alone, Lady Blanche."</p> + +<p>"Your guest is gone, then?"</p> + +<p>"He left this morning."</p> + +<p>"Then—then please excuse the informality—but then we are neighbours; +won't you come to dinner <i>en famille</i> on Thursday night? Father will be +delighted to see you. And, oh, I want to introduce you to my friend +here."</p> + +<p>He did not catch the girl's name, but it did not matter. He had only +eyes and ears for this glorious woman. Her face was wreathed with +smiles, while her eyes shone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> brightly. Surely such a woman was never +known before. In a moment he had forgotten the previous night—forgotten +the great crisis in his life.</p> + +<p>"Thursday! I shall be delighted!" he cried, lifting his cap.</p> + +<p>The two passed on, and he resumed his drive. Why did he not ask them to +accompany him? Why? Why?</p> + +<p>His mind was in a turmoil. The sight of Lady Blanche had set his nerves +tingling, and caused his blood to course madly through his veins. Her +smile, her look, her attitude could only mean one thing: she thought +kindly of him—she thought more than kindly of him.</p> + +<p>Then he remembered. Wendover Park was not his—nothing was his. If +Romanoff told him truly, he was a pauper. All—all would have to be +sacrificed.</p> + +<p>Where he went that afternoon he had no recollection. He only knew that +he drove the car at its utmost speed, and that the country through which +he was passing was strange to him. He wanted to get away from himself, +from his thoughts, from everything that reminded him of the truth.</p> + +<p>He returned to Wendover Park in time for dinner, and from eight to ten +o'clock he sat alone. On his arrival he had asked whether there had been +any callers, any message, and on receiving an answer in the negative, he +had heaved a sigh of relief. In the library after dinner, however, the +whole ghastly position had to be faced, and for two hours his mind was +torn first this way and then that.</p> + +<p>But he did nothing. He could not do anything. How could he?</p> + +<p>The evening—the night passed, and there was no happening. Everything +was orderly, quiet, commonplace. He might never have seen the luminous +figure at the doorway, never felt that awesome gripping of his wrist; +indeed, the whole experience might have been a dream, so unreal was it.</p> + +<p>The next day passed, and still nothing happened. More than once he was +on the point of ringing up Mr. Bidlake, but he refrained. What could he +say to the keen old lawyer?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> + +<p>He did not leave the house during the whole day. Almost feverishly he +listened to every sound. No footstep passed unnoticed, no caller but was +anxiously scanned. Every time the telephone bell rang, he rushed to it +with fast-beating heart, only to heave a sigh of relief when he +discovered that there was no message concerning the things which haunted +his mind.</p> + +<p>Still another night passed, and still nothing happened. He was beginning +to hope that Romanoff had been playing a practical joke on him, and that +all his fears were groundless.</p> + +<p>Then just before noon the blow came.</p> + +<p>The telephone bell tinkled innocently near him, and on putting the +instrument to his ear he heard Mr. Bidlake's voice.</p> + +<p>"Is that you, Mr. Faversham?</p> + +<p>"Mr. Faversham speaking. You are Mr. Bidlake, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>This was followed by a cough; then the lawyer spoke again.</p> + +<p>"Will you be home this afternoon?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I want to see you very particularly. A strange thing has happened. +Grotesque, in fact, and I want you to be prepared for—for anything."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"I don't like telling you over the telephone. I'm tremendously upset. I +can hardly speak collectedly."</p> + +<p>"I think I know. It has to do with Anthony Riggleton and the Faversham +estates, hasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"How did you know? Yes; it has. It's terribly serious, I'm afraid. I'd +better see you at once. Some arrangement, some compromise might be +made."</p> + +<p>"You mean that Riggleton is not dead? That you've seen him?"</p> + +<p>He spoke quite calmly and naturally. Indeed, he was surprised at his +command over himself.</p> + +<p>"Yes; he's just left me. He's been here for two hours. Of course, I +tried at first to take his visit as a joke, but——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are convinced that it <i>was</i> Riggleton?"</p> + +<p>"I can have no doubt about it—no possible doubt. He's deadly in earnest +too, and his case is overwhelming—simply overwhelming. Never, outside +the realms of the wildest romance, did I ever come across a case where a +lawyer could be so completely mistaken. But I can't help it, and I'm +afraid that—that your prospects for the future are materially altered. +Of course you might——"</p> + +<p>"You are coming down here, you say. There's a good train from Victoria +at 1.45. Can you catch it?"</p> + +<p>"Ye—s. I think so."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll send a car to meet you at this end."</p> + +<p>He rang the bell, altered the time of lunch, and then sat down to think. +But not for long. Calmly as he had talked to the lawyer, his every nerve +was quivering with excitement, every faculty was in tension.</p> + +<p>He went to the window and looked out.</p> + +<p>All he saw was his no longer. He had no doubt about it, and it seemed to +him that an icy hand was placed upon his heart as he realised it.</p> + +<p>And he might have retained it!</p> + +<p>Was he glad or sorry because of what he had done? Every particle of his +being was crying out for the life he longed to live, and yet——As he +thought of the price he would have to pay, as he remembered Romanoff's +words, he did not repent.</p> + +<p>He calmly waited for the lawyer's arrival.</p> + +<p>By four o'clock Mr. Bidlake was on his way back to London again, and +Dick knew that his own fate was sealed. The lawyer had proved to him +that he had no right to be there, and while he advised him to put on a +bold face, and in the last extremity to try and compromise with Anthony +Riggleton, he held out no hope. Anthony Riggleton was beyond doubt the +true heir of old Charles Faversham, and he had undisputable proofs of +the fact.</p> + +<p>"I am more upset than I can say, Faversham," said the lawyer, when he +had described Riggleton's visit, "but we can't help ourselves. He is +perfectly sure of his ground, and he has reason to be."</p> + +<p>"He convinced you entirely, then?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Absolutely—absolutely."</p> + +<p>Dick was still calm. Perhaps the experiences of the last few days left +him almost incapable of feeling.</p> + +<p>"What sort of fellow is he?"</p> + +<p>The lawyer puckered up his face, and shook his head dismally. "He will +not be a Society favourite," was all he said.</p> + +<p>"But he has no doubts as to his plans?"</p> + +<p>"He says he's going to take possession immediately. If you offer any +opposition, he will apply for an injunction."</p> + +<p>"Has he any money?"</p> + +<p>"He appeared to be quite well off. His clothes are quite new," added the +lawyer, "and he sported some very flashy jewellery. I was impressed by +the thought that he had someone behind him."</p> + +<p>"Did he say so?"</p> + +<p>"No, not definitely, but I formed that impression. Anyhow, you can be +certain of this. He will lose no time in making his claim. Indeed, I +should not be at all surprised if the papers don't contain some notice +of his advent and his claims to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>"You said something about a compromise."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you see"—and the lawyer coughed almost nervously—"this will be +very awkward for you. You've no right here; you've been spending money +which has not been your own. Still, your case is not without its good +points. You are in possession, you have been accepted as the owner +of—all this, and even although he has the prior claim, you would have +great sympathy from a jury—should it come to that. I told him so. I +don't promise anything, but it might be that he might be disposed to—do +something considerable to persuade you to leave him in possession +quietly."</p> + +<p>"As a kind of salve for my disappointment?" and there was an angry light +in Dick's eyes.</p> + +<p>"If you like to put it that way, yes. But, bless my soul, it is close on +four o'clock, and I must be going. I can't say how sorry I am, and—and +if I can do anything——"</p> + +<p>"Is the fellow married?" interrupted Dick.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No—nothing of that sort. After all, no one but he stands in the way of +possession."</p> + +<p>"What shall I do?" Dick asked himself. "I'm worse off than I was before. +At any rate I was in the way of earning a few hundred pounds when that +wireless came. But now everything is altered, and I don't know where to +turn. Still——" and there was a grim, hard look in his eyes.</p> + +<p>Slowly he walked down the avenue towards the lodge gates. Away in the +distance, as though coming towards him, he saw a young girl. It was +Beatrice Stanmore. He took a few steps towards her, and then turned +back. Something forbade his speaking to her; somehow she seemed closely +connected with the black calamity which had fallen on him.</p> + +<p>He had barely returned to the house when he heard the tooting of a motor +horn, and, looking out, he saw a large, powerful motor-car coming +rapidly up the avenue. A minute later he heard voices in the +hall—voices which suggested recognition. Then the door opened.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Anthony Riggleton!" said the servant excitedly.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Riggleton's Homecoming</span></h3> + + +<p>A young fellow about twenty-eight years of age entered the room. He was +a round-faced, thickly built man, and he carried himself with a swagger. +Evidently it had been his desire to get himself up for the occasion. His +clothes were new, and shouted aloud of his tastes. They suggested a +bookmaker. He smoked a large cigar, and wore an aggressive buttonhole. +He did not take off his hat on entering, but, having advanced a couple +of steps, took a survey of the room.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, and his voice was somewhat thick; "I remember the old +place well. It's as natural as life." Then, coming up to where Dick was, +he continued, "Of course you know who I am?"</p> + +<p>Dick, who had difficulty in repressing his excitement, mentioned +something about never having seen him before.</p> + +<p>"Oh, stow that!" said the newcomer. "I'm Tony Riggleton, I am. You know +that well enough."</p> + +<p>"I don't see why I should," and Dick's voice was a little angry. He +instinctively disliked Tony Riggleton.</p> + +<p>"I do, though. Why, Bidlake hasn't been gone half an hour. Hopper has +just told me."</p> + +<p>Dick was silent. He did not see at the moment what there was for him to +say.</p> + +<p>"You guess why I'm here?" he went on.</p> + +<p>"I'm not good at guessing." Dick felt that Riggleton had the whip hand +of him, and while he did not intend to make any concessions to his +whilom cousin, he felt sure what the upshot of their meeting would be.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say, Faversham," and Riggleton moved farther into the room, "it's +no use taking the high hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> with me. Of course I don't blame you, and +naturally you're cut up. Anyone would be in your place. But there's +nothing green about me. All this show belongs to me, and I mean to +finger the coin. That's straight. Mind, I've come down here in a +friendly way, and I don't want to be unreasonable. See? I'm old +Faversham's heir. Old Bidlake was obliged to own it, although he +wriggled like a ferret in a hole. I can see, too, that you're a bit of a +swell, and would suit his book better than I can; but I can make the +money go. Don't you make any mistake."</p> + +<p>He laughed as he spoke, and made a pretence of re-lighting his cigar.</p> + +<p>"Come now," he went on, "let's have a bottle of champagne, and then we +can talk over things quietly."</p> + +<p>"There's nothing to talk over as far as I can see," interposed Dick.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that?" In spite of his assertive attitude, he did +not appear at ease, and was constantly casting furtive and suspicious +glances towards Dick.</p> + +<p>"I mean," replied Dick, "that if you are old Charles Faversham's heir, +and if you can prove it, there's nothing more to be said."</p> + +<p>"You mean that you'll clear out quietly?"</p> + +<p>There was evident astonishment in his voice. Apparently he had expected +bluster, and perhaps a scene.</p> + +<p>"Of course I shall clear out quietly. Naturally there are formalities +with which you'll have to comply; but, if you are the true owner, you +are, and there's no more to be said."</p> + +<p>Riggleton looked at him with open-mouthed wonder, evidently staggered +that Faversham was taking the matter so calmly.</p> + +<p>Dick was silent. The fellow was getting on his nerves, and he had +difficulty in keeping calm.</p> + +<p>"Then you don't mean to fight it out?" he continued.</p> + +<p>"Why should I?" asked Dick quietly. "You have placed your papers in Mr. +Bidlake's hands, and left everything for his examination. Your identity +will have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> to be proved, and all that sort of thing; but I hope I've too +much self-respect to try to hold anything that isn't mine."</p> + +<p>"Put it there!" cried Anthony Riggleton, holding out his hand. "That's +what I call acting like a gentleman, that is. I sort of thought you'd +get your monkey up, and—but there. It's all right. There's nothing +fishy about me. I don't pretend to be a saint, I don't. In fact, I don't +believe old Uncle Charlie ever meant me to come in for all his wad. +S'welp me bob, I don't. I was never his sort, and I don't mind telling +you that he as good as kicked me out from here. You see, I was always +fond of a bit of life, and I've gone the whole hog in my time. But +that's all over now."</p> + +<p>"You mean that you're going to reform?"</p> + +<p>"Reform! Not 'alf. No, Faversham; I'm going to have the time of my life. +I'm going to—but—I say, have you been here ever since you thought you +came in for the old man's whack?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; why?"</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> a plaster saint. By gosh, you are! But you don't see me +burying myself in this hole. Of course it's very grand, and all that +sort of thing; but, no, thank you! Tony Riggleton is going the whole +hog. What's the use of money else? Of course I shall use the place now +and then. When I feel my feet a bit I shall get some music-hall people +down here for week-ends, and all that sort of thing. But, as for living +here like Bidlake says you have!—no, thank you. London's my mark! I +tell you, I mean to paint the town red. And then, if I can get passports +and that sort of tommy-rot, I'll do Paris and Madrid and Rome. You don't +catch me burying myself like a hermit. Not a little bit. Now I've got +the money, I mean to make it fly. I <i>should</i> be a fool if I didn't!"</p> + +<p>The man was revealing himself by every word he spoke. His tastes and +desires were manifested by his sensual lips, his small, dull eyes and +throaty voice.</p> + +<p>"Now, look here, Faversham," he went on, "I'll admit you are different +from what I expected you to be. I was prepared for a bit of a shindy, +and that's straight.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> But you've taken a knock-down blow in a sporting +way, and I want to do the thing handsome. Of course I own this show just +as I own all the rest of the old man's estates; but there's nothing mean +about me. Live and let live is my motto. You can stay on here for a week +or a fortnight if you like. I don't want to be hard. For that matter, +although I'm going back to town to-night, I'll come back on Saturday and +bring some bits of fluff from the Friv, and we'll make a week-end of it. +I expect you've plenty of fizz in the house, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>Dick was silent. The conversation, only a part of which I have recorded, +so disgusted him that, although he was not a Puritan by nature, he felt +almost polluted by the man's presence. It seemed like sacrilege, too, +that this fellow should turn Wendover Park into a sty, as he evidently +meant to do, and he found himself wondering whether, after all, he would +not have been justified in accepting Romanoff's offer.</p> + +<p>"Come, what do you say?" went on Riggleton. "I tell you——" and then he +went on to give details of his programme. "There's no need for you to be +so down in the mouth," he concluded. "There's plenty of money, as you +know, and I'll not be hard on you."</p> + +<p>The fellow was so coarsely patronising that Dick with difficulty kept +himself from starting up and rushing from the room. At that moment, +however, a servant entered and brought him a telegram, and a moment +later his brain seemed on fire as he read:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Riggleton's claim undoubtedly valid, but can still save situation +if you accept my terms.—<span class="smcap">Romanoff</span>, Hotel Cosmopolitan."</p></blockquote> + +<p>The words burnt into his brain; he felt as he had felt a few nights +before when Romanoff had placed the paper before him to sign.</p> + +<p>"Any answer, sir?"</p> + +<p>He looked towards a pen which lay on the table before him. Why should he +not send back an acceptance?</p> + +<p>"I say," said Riggleton, "is that about the estate? Because if it is, I +demand to see it."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + +<p>His tone was loud and arrogant. The sight of the telegram had evidently +aroused his suspicions and his desire to assert his mastery.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I mean it," he went on. "I'm an easy chap to get on with, but I'm +master here. I tell you that straight."</p> + +<p>Dick felt as though his nerves were raw; the man's presence was +maddening. And he had to give up everything to him!</p> + +<p>"It's a purely personal telegram," he replied. "I'm only considering how +I shall answer it."</p> + +<p>He seized a telegraph form, and dipped a pen into an inkstand, but he +did not write a word. His mind again flew back to the night when +Romanoff tempted him, and when he had felt a hand grip his wrist.</p> + +<p>"Let's get out," he said, cramming the telegram into his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Yes; let's," assented Riggleton; "but let's have a drink before we go. +I say, my man," and he turned to the servant, who still waited, "bring a +bottle of fizz. Yes; do as you're told. I'm your new master. Everything +belongs to me. See?"</p> + +<p>The servant turned to Dick. Doubtless there had been a great deal of +excited conversation in the servants' quarters, and he awaited +confirmation of what he had heard.</p> + +<p>"Do as he tells you," assented Dick, and then he left the room.</p> + +<p>But he could not help hearing what took place between Riggleton and the +servant.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by looking to him?" asked Riggleton angrily. "Any of +your nonsense and it'll be right about face with you. I'm master here +and no error. It was all a mistake about Faversham. Everything belongs +to me. See? And look here, there's going to be a change here. I ain't no +milksop, I can tell you, and the whole lot of you'll have to get a move +on, or out you go. It isn't much time that I shall spend in this gloomy +hole, but when I am here there'll be something doing. I shall get the +place full of a jolly lot of girls, and Wendover Park won't be no mouldy +church, nor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> no bloomin' nunnery. You can bet your life on that. +There'll be plenty of booze, and plenty of fun. Now then, get that fizz, +and be quick about it."</p> + +<p>The man's raucous, throaty voice reached him plainly, and every word +seemed to scrape his bare nerves. He left the hall, and went out on the +lawn where the sun shone, and where the pure spring air came to him like +some healing balm.</p> + +<p>This, then, was his cousin! This was the man who was the heir of old +Charles Faversham's great wealth!</p> + +<p>The whole situation mocked him. He believed he had done the thing that +was right, and this was the result of it.</p> + +<p>Like lightning his mind swept over his experiences, and again he +wondered at all that had taken place. He tried to understand his strange +experiences, but he could not. His thoughts were too confused; his brain +refused to grasp and to co-ordinate what he could not help feeling were +wonderful events.</p> + +<p>He looked towards the great doorway, where, on the day of his coming to +Wendover Park, he had seen that luminous figure which had so startled +him. But there was nothing to be seen now. He wondered, as he had +wondered a hundred times since, whether it was an objective reality, or +only the result of a disordered imagination. There, in the bright +sunlight, with Anthony Riggleton's raucous voice still grating on his +ears, he could not believe it was the former. But if it were pure +imagination, why—why——And again his mind fastened on the things +which in spite of everything were beginning to revolutionise his life.</p> + +<p>Then a thought startled him. He realised that a change had come over +him. If he had met Tony Riggleton a few months before, neither the man's +presence nor his language would have so disgusted him. He had writhed +with anger when Riggleton had unfolded his plans to him, and yet a +little while before he himself had contemplated a future which was not, +in essence, so far removed from what his cousin had so coarsely +expressed. Yes; he could not blind himself to the fact that +since—since——But no, nothing was clear to him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I say, Faversham."</p> + +<p>He turned and saw that Riggleton had joined him.</p> + +<p>"Show me around a bit, will you? You see, the old man wouldn't have me +here much, and—I should like to talk things over."</p> + +<p>"I think, when Mr. Bidlake has got everything in order——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, hang Bidlake! Besides, it's no use your talking about Bidlake. I've +settled with him. You don't feel like talking, eh? Very well, let's go +for a walk."</p> + +<p>Almost instinctively Dick turned down the drive which led to the cottage +where Beatrice Stanmore lived.</p> + +<p>"Yes," reflected Riggleton, after they had walked some time in silence; +"I suppose this kind of thing appeals to a poetical bloke like you seem +to be. But it doesn't do for Tony R. I love a bit of life, I do. I +always did. Did you ever hear that I ran away from school, and went off +on my own when I was fifteen? Went to sea, I did, and knocked about the +world. I had a rough time, too; that's why I've no polish now. But I +know the value of money, I do, and you may bet your bottom dollar that +I'll make things hum. Ah, here we are at the lodge gates."</p> + +<p>Dick looked across a meadow, and saw old Hugh Stanmore's cottage. Even +although it was some little distance away he could see the gaily +coloured flowers in the garden and the pleasant quaintness of the +cottage. But it was no longer his. In future it would belong to this +clown by his side, and——</p> + +<p>His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a motor, and a few seconds +later he caught sight of Lady Blanche Huntingford in her two-seater car. +His heart gave a leap as he saw her put her foot on the clutch, while +the car slowed down by his side.</p> + +<p>The girl smiled into his face. "You've not forgotten your promise for +to-morrow night, Mr. Faversham?" she said, and then, stopping the +engine, she stepped lightly into the lane.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Faversham's Resolution</span></h3> + + +<p>It seemed to Dick that nothing could have happened more unfortunately. +Painfully aware as he was that Anthony Riggleton was standing by his +side, and devouring every detail of the girl's appearance, he felt +ashamed that she should see him. He wanted to run away, longed to disown +all knowledge of the vulgar creature who accompanied him.</p> + +<p>"No, I've not forgotten, Lady Blanche," he managed to say.</p> + +<p>"And we may expect you?" There was eagerness in her voice, expectancy in +the gladness of her bright eyes.</p> + +<p>"I—I'm afraid not," he stammered.</p> + +<p>The girl flashed a quick look upon him—a look partly of questioning, +partly of disappointment. "Really, Mr. Faversham——" she protested, and +then stopped. Perhaps she felt that something untoward had taken place.</p> + +<p>"You see," he went on confusedly, "while I'd just love to come, things +have happened since I saw you. I did not know——" and almost +unconsciously he glanced towards Riggleton.</p> + +<p>"I say, Faversham," and Riggleton put on his most fascinating smile, +"introduce me to your lady friend, won't you? I don't think, when I've +been in the neighbourhood before, that I've had the pleasure of meeting +the young lady."</p> + +<p>But Dick was silent. He simply could not speak of the fellow as his +cousin. Evidently, too, Riggleton felt something of what was passing in +Dick's mind; perhaps, too, he noticed the haughty glance which the girl +gave him, for an angry flush mounted his cheeks, and his small eyes +burnt with anger.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you don't feel like it!" he exclaimed aloud.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> "And no wonder. Well, +miss, I'll tell you who I am. I'm the owner of this place, that's what I +am. My name's Anthony Riggleton, and I'm what the lawyers call +next-of-kin to old Charles Faversham. That's why I'm boss here. There's +been a big mistake, that's what there's been, and Dick Faversham got +here, not under false pretences—I don't say that—but because people +thought I was dead. But I ain't dead by a long chalk. I'm jolly well +alive, and I'm the heir. That's the situation, miss. I thought I'd tell +you straight, seeing we may be neighbours. As for Dick here, of course +he's jolly well disappointed. Not that I mayn't do the handsome thing by +him, seeing he means to be reasonable. I may make him my steward, or I +might make him an allowance. See?"</p> + +<p>The girl made no response whatever. She listened in deadly silence to +Riggleton, although the flush on her cheek showed that the man's words +had excited her. Also she looked at Dick questioningly. She seemed to be +demanding from him either an affirmation or a denial of what the man +said. But Dick remained silent. Somehow he felt he could not speak.</p> + +<p>"You don't seem to take me, miss," went on Riggleton, who might have +been under the influence of the champagne he had been drinking, "but +what I'm telling you is gospel truth. And it may interest you to know +that I mean to paint this part of the country red. Oh, I'll shake things +up, never fear. Might you be fond of hunting, and that kind of thing, +miss? Because after the war I mean to go in for it strong."</p> + +<p>Still Lady Blanche did not speak to him. The only reply she made was to +get into her car and turn on the engine. "Good afternoon, Mr. +Faversham," she said. "Then must I tell my father that you'll not be +able to come to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you'd better," replied Dick, "but—I'll explain later."</p> + +<p>Almost unconsciously he lifted his hat, while the car passed out of +sight.</p> + +<p>"By gosh!" exclaimed Riggleton, "she's a stunner, she is!—a regular +stunner. Who is she?"</p> + +<p>But Dick turned and hurried up the drive towards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> the house. He felt +that he could no longer bear to be near the creature who had robbed him +of everything worth living for.</p> + +<p>"I say, you needn't be so huffy," cried Riggleton, who again joined him. +"Why didn't you introduce me? I don't know when I've seen such a +stunning bit of fluff. She looks regular top-hole stuff too! And hasn't +she got a figure? And I say, Faversham, seeing that I said I was +prepared to do the handsome by you, you might have done the correct +thing. What! Oh, I suppose you were riled because I told her how things +are. But the truth was bound to come out, man! Do you think I would be +such a ninny as not to let her know I was the bloomin' owner of this +show? Tell me, who is she?"</p> + +<p>"Lady Blanche Huntingford."</p> + +<p>He uttered the name curtly, savagely. He was angry with himself for +having spoken at all.</p> + +<p>"Whew! She's Lord Huntingford's daughter, is she?" and he gave a hoarse +laugh. "Well, she's a beauty, she is—just a beauty!"</p> + +<p>He laughed again in high good-humour, indeed, he seemed to be enjoying +himself vastly.</p> + +<p>"You are a deep one, Faversham, you are," he shouted, as he slapped Dick +on the back. "Here was I calling you a fool for staying in this hole +instead of going to London and gay Paree. But I see the reason now. +Dining with her to-morrow night, were you? And it seems that I've spoilt +your little game. Well, she's a bit of all right, that's what she is. A +regular bit of all right. I don't know but after all I shall do the +country squire touch, and make up to her. What are you looking like that +for?"</p> + +<p>For Dick's face was crimson with rage. The fellow's coarse vulgarity was +driving him mad.</p> + +<p>"Are you in love with her?" persisted Riggleton. "Is that it?"</p> + +<p>Still Dick did not speak. He was walking rapidly towards the house—so +rapidly that Riggleton had difficulty in keeping up with him.</p> + +<p>"I say, don't be huffy," went on Tony. "I'm sorry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> if I didn't do the +correct thing. I didn't mean anything wrong, and I'm not up to the ways +of the swells. As I told you, I ran away from school, and got in with a +rough set. That was why, when I came back here, Uncle Charlie cleared me +out. But I don't believe in grudges, I don't, and I'm sorry if I've put +your nose out. I can't say fairer than that, can I?"</p> + +<p>Dick felt slightly ashamed of himself. He was beginning to understand +Riggleton better now, and to appreciate his coarse kindness.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, Riggleton," he said, "and no doubt you've done the +natural thing. But—but I don't feel like talking."</p> + +<p>"Of course you don't," said Tony, "and of course my coming is a regular +knock-out blow to you. If it was me, I'd have—well, I don't know what I +wouldn't have done. But I'm not such a bad chap after all. And look +here, I meant what I said, and I'm prepared to do the handsome thing. +You play fair with me, and I'll play fair with you. See? I shall make an +unholy mess of things if I'm left alone, and if you like I'll keep you +on here. You shall be my steward, and I'll make you a good allowance. +Then you can stay here, and I'll give you my word of honour that I'll +not try to cut you out with Lady Blanche, although she takes the fancy +of yours truly more than any bit of fluff I've seen for years."</p> + +<p>"For Heaven's sake, drop it!" cried Dick, exasperated.</p> + +<p>"All right," laughed Tony. "I don't mind. There's plenty of girls to be +had. Besides, she's not my sort. She's too high and mighty for me. +Besides," and he laughed raucously, "it all comes back to me now. Once +when I was here before, I nearly got into trouble with her. I was +trespassing on her father's grounds, and she came along and saw me. She +told me to clear out or she'd set the dogs on me. Good Lord! I'd +forgotten all about it, and I never thought I'd see her again. So if +you're gone on her, I'll give you a clear field, my boy. I can't say +fairer than that, now can I?"</p> + +<p>They had reached the house, and Dick again, almost unconsciously, looked +at the great doorway. He dreaded,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> yet he almost longed to see the great +haunting eyes of the figure which, whether imaginary or real, had become +such a factor in his existence.</p> + +<p>But there was nothing. No suggestion of the luminous form appeared.</p> + +<p>Of course it was all a mad fancy—all the result of exciting and +disturbing experiences.</p> + +<p>"Riggleton," he said, when they had reached the library, "I want to be +quiet; I want to think. You don't mind, do you? I'll explain presently."</p> + +<p>"As you like, my boy. Think as much as you bloomin' well want to. I see +the servant hasn't taken away the fizz, so I'll have another drink."</p> + +<p>Dick threw himself on a chair and covered his face with his hands. He +tried to think, tried to co-ordinate events, tried to understand the +true bearings of the situation. But he could not. His mind was either a +blank or it was filled with mad, confusing thoughts.</p> + +<p>What should he do?</p> + +<p>He thought he had decided on his course of action before Riggleton's +advent, but now everything was a wild chaos; he seemed to be in a +maelstrom. Should he accept Riggleton's offer? The fellow was a fool; +there could be no doubt about that—a coarse-minded, vulgar, gullible +fool. With careful treatment, he, Dick, could still remain master of +Wendover Park; he could have all the money he wanted; he could—and a +vista of probabilities opened up before him. He was sure he could play +with his cousin as a cat plays with a mouse. He could get him in his +power, and then he could do what he liked with him.</p> + +<p>And why not?</p> + +<p>Perhaps, perhaps——He turned towards Riggleton, who was pouring out a +glass of champagne and humming a popular music-hall song. Yes; he could +mould the fellow like clay; he could make him do anything—<i>anything</i>!</p> + +<p>He was on the point of speaking, of starting a conversation which would +naturally lead to the thing he had in his mind, but no words passed his +lips. It seemed to him as though two distinct, two antagonistic forces<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +were in the room. Almost unconsciously he took Romanoff's telegram from +his pocket, and as he did so, he felt as though the sender was by his +side; but even while he thought of the man he remembered something else. +He remembered the night when he had unfolded his plans to him, and when +he had pointed to the paper which he had prepared for him.</p> + +<p>Again he felt the grip of the hand upon his wrist, again he felt a +presence which he could not explain—a presence which forbade him to +sign away his liberty—his soul.</p> + +<p>He thought, too, how immediately afterwards that guileless child +Beatrice Stanmore had rushed into the room, and had told him that she +had been impelled to come to him.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a prayer came to his lips: "O God, help me! For Christ's sake, +help me!"</p> + +<p>It was strange, bewildering. He was not a praying man. He had not prayed +for years, and yet the prayer, unbidden, almost unthought of, had come +into his heart.</p> + +<p>"Well, have you made up your mind?"</p> + +<p>It was Tony Riggleton's voice, and he felt like a man wakened out of a +trance.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Good. You take me on, eh? We'll be pals, and you'll stay on here as my +steward?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do, then?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to London."</p> + +<p>"To London, eh? But when?"</p> + +<p>"To-night."</p> + +<p>"To-night! Well, I'm——But—but, all right. I'll drive you there in my +car, and we'll make a night of it."</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. Look here, Riggleton, I'm very much obliged to you, and +I appreciate all you have said; but our paths must lie apart."</p> + +<p>"Lie apart?" Tony's mind was a little confused. "You mean to say that +you don't accept the allowance I'm willing to make you?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that. I thank you very much, but I don't accept."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But—but what are you going to do?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Have you any money?"</p> + +<p>"No. Yes, I have, though. I've a few pounds which I saved before I +thought I—I was——"</p> + +<p>"Old Uncle Charlie's heir," concluded Tony as Dick hesitated. "But what +about the estate?"</p> + +<p>"The lawyer must settle all that. I'm sorry I'm intruding here. I'll go +and pack my things right away. Some day I'll repay you for the money +I've spent while I've been here."</p> + +<p>"Look here," and Tony came to Dick's side, "don't you be a fool. You +just take things sensibly. Pay me money! Money, be blowed! You just——"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. I'll go now if you don't mind."</p> + +<p>He left the room as he spoke, and a few minutes later he had packed a +small suit-case. He returned to the room where Tony still remained.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Riggleton; I'm off."</p> + +<p>"But you—you're mad."</p> + +<p>"I think I am. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"But where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"To the station. If I make haste I shall catch the next train to +London."</p> + +<p>Riggleton looked at him in open-mouthed wonder. "Well, you <i>are</i> a +fool!" he gasped.</p> + +<p>Dick rushed out of the house without a word to the servants. He felt as +though he dared not speak to them. Something in his heart—something +which he could not explain—was telling him to fly, and to fly quickly.</p> + +<p>When he reached the doorway he turned and looked. He wanted to see +if—if——But there was nothing. The westering sun shed its bright rays +not only on the house, but on the flowers which bloomed in glorious +profusion; but there was no suggestion of anything beyond the ordinary +to be seen.</p> + +<p>"Of course I <i>am</i> a fool," he reflected; "perhaps I am mad," and then he +again tried to understand the experiences which had so bewildered him. +But he could not. All was confusion.</p> + +<p>He hurried along the drive which led to the lodge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> near which Beatrice +Stanmore lived. He had a strange longing to see once more the home of +the child who had come to him in the hour of his dire temptation.</p> + +<p>When he had gone some distance he turned to have a last look at the +house. Never had it seemed so fair; never as now did he realise what he +was leaving. What a future he was giving up! What a life he was +discarding! Yes; he had been a fool—an egregious fool! Oh, the folly of +his actions!—the mad folly!</p> + +<p>"Holloa, Mr. Faversham!"</p> + +<p>He turned and saw Beatrice Stanmore.</p> + +<p>"You are going away?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I'm going to London."</p> + +<p>"And walking to the station? Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because I've no conveyance."</p> + +<p>The girl looked at him wonderingly. Questions seemed to hang upon her +lips—questions which she dared not ask.</p> + +<p>"I'm going away," he went on, "because nothing is mine. There's been a +great mistake—and so I'm going away. Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him with childlike wonder. In years she was nearly a +woman, but she was only a child in spirit.</p> + +<p>"But surely you need not go and leave everything?" she queried.</p> + +<p>"No; I need not go." He hardly knew what he was saying. He seemed like a +man under a spell.</p> + +<p>"Then what makes you go?"</p> + +<p>"You," he replied. "Don't you remember? Good-bye."</p> + +<p>He hurried on without another word. He felt he was going mad, even if he +were not mad already. And yet he had a kind of consciousness that he was +doing right.</p> + +<p>"But I will come back some day," he said between his set teeth. "I'll +not be beaten! Somehow—somehow I'll make my way. I'll conquer—yes, +I'll conquer! At all hazards, I'll conquer!"</p> + +<p>There was a grim determination in his heart as he set his face towards +the unknown.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> +<h2>PART II.—THE SECOND TEMPTATION</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Mr. Brown's Prophecy</span></h3> + + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Faversham; I see such a future before you as was never +possible to any other Englishman."</p> + +<p>The speaker was a man about fifty years of age, short, stout, well fed, +seemingly prosperous. A smile played around his lips—-a smile which to +a casual observer suggested a kindly, almost a childlike, innocence. He +might have been interested in orphan schools, charity organisations, or +any other philanthropic movement. His voice, too, was sympathetic and +somewhat caressing, and his whole appearance spoke of a nature full of +the milk of human kindness.</p> + +<p>The two men were sitting in the corner of a smoking-room in a London +club. A most respectable club it was, whose members were in the main +comprised of financiers, prosperous merchants, and men of the upper +middle classes. Money was writ large everywhere, while comfort, solid +comfort, was proclaimed by the huge, softly cushioned chairs, the +thickly piled carpets, and the glowing fires. Any stranger entering the +club would have said that its members were composed of men who, having +plenty of this world's goods, meant to enjoy the comforts which their +gains justly entitled them to.</p> + +<p>Dick Faversham, to whom the words were spoken, smiled, and the smile was +not without incredulity and a sense of wonder.</p> + +<p>"Yes," went on the speaker, "you smile; you say in your heart that I am +a bad example of my theories;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> but one mustn't be deceived by +appearances. You think, because I am fat and prosperous, that I take no +interest in my fellow-creatures, that I do not dream dreams, see +visions, eh? Is not that so?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," replied Dick; "but your views are so out of accord with +all this," and he looked around the room as he spoke, "that I am +naturally a bit puzzled."</p> + +<p>"It is because I have accustomed myself to this, because I have seen +inside the minds of rich men, and thus understand their prejudices and +points of view, that I also see the other things. You have seen me in +places different from this, my friend."</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Dick; "I have."</p> + +<p>"Little as you have realised it," went on the other, "I have watched you +for years. I have followed you in your career; I have seen your +sympathies expand; I have been thrilled with your passion too. You did +not suspect, my friend, three years ago, that you would be where you are +to-day, eh?"</p> + +<p>"No," assented Dick; "I didn't."</p> + +<p>"You have thought much, learnt much, suffered much, seen much."</p> + +<p>"Yes; I suppose so," and a wistful look came into his eyes, while his +face suggested pain.</p> + +<p>"It is said," went on the stout man, "that there is no missioner so +ardent, so enthusiastic, as the new convert; but, as I have told you, +you do not go far enough."</p> + +<p>Dick was silent.</p> + +<p>"You are spoken of by many as a man with advanced ideas, as one who has +an intense passion for justice, as one, too, who has advanced daring +plans for the world's betterment; but I, the fat old Englishman, the +respectable millionaire, the man whom Governments have to consider—mark +that—the man whom Governments have to consider and consult, tell you +that your scheme, your plans are mere palliatives, mere surface things, +mere sticking-plasters on the great, gaping sores of our times. That if +all your ideas were carried out—yes, carried out to the full—you would +not advance the cause of humanity one iota. In a few months the old +anachronisms, the old abuses, would again prevail, while you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> would be a +back number, a byword, a fellow who played at reform because you neither +had the vision to see the world's real needs nor the courage to attempt +real reform. A back number, my dear sir, and a mere play-actor to boot."</p> + +<p>The fat man watched the flush on Dick's face as he spoke, and was +apparently gratified.</p> + +<p>"You see," he went on, still watching Dick's face closely, "I am getting +on in life, and I have shed my illusions. I have my own philosophy of +life, too. I do not believe that the reformer, that the man who lives to +relieve the woes of others must of necessity be a monk, a Peter the +Hermit, a Francis of Assisi. The labourer is worthy his hire; the great +worker should have a great reward. Why should honour, riches, fall into +the lap of kings who do nothing, of an aristocracy which is no +aristocracy? Youth is ambitious as well as altruistic. Thus ambitions +should be ministered unto, realised. Shakespeare was only a shallow +parrot, when he wrote the words, 'Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away +ambition.' The man who flings away ambition becomes a pulpy reed. He +lacks driving force, lacks elemental passions. If one opposes primitive +instincts, one is doomed to failure."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me if I fail to see what you are driving at," interposed Dick.</p> + +<p>"You'll see in a minute," asserted the other. "What I urge is this: the +man who sets up a new kingdom should be a king. It is his right. The man +who sees a new earth, a more glorious earth, an earth where justice and +right abound, and where neither poverty nor discontent is known—I say +the man who sees that new earth and brings it to pass should rule over +it as king. He should have, not the pomp and empty pageantry of a paltry +hereditary king, but the honour, the power, the riches of the true +king."</p> + +<p>The man paused as if he expected Dick to reply, but no reply was +forthcoming. Still, the stout man was evidently satisfied by his survey +of Dick's face, and he noted the flash of his eyes.</p> + +<p>"That is why, to come back to where we were a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> few minutes ago," he went +on, "I see such a future for you as was never possible to any other +Englishman. I see you, not only as the man who will revolutionise the +life of this starved and corrupt country, not only as the man who will +bring in a new era of prosperity and happiness for all who are citizens +of the British Empire, but as the man who can enjoy such a position, +such honours, such riches as no man ever enjoyed before. Do you follow +me? The people who are redeemed will make haste to heap glory and honour +upon their redeemer."</p> + +<p>"History does not bear that out," was Dick's reply.</p> + +<p>"No, and why, my friend? I will tell you. It is because the men who have +aimed to be saviours have been fools. It is because they have been blind +to the elemental facts of life. The first business of the saviour is not +self-interest—I do not say that—but to regard his own welfare as +essential to the welfare of others. The man who allows himself to be +crucified is no true saviour, because by allowing it he renders himself +powerless to save. No, no, I see you, not only as one who can be a great +reformer, and as one who can strike death-blows at the hoary head of +abuse, but as one who can lift himself into such fame and power as was +never known before. The plaudits of the multitudes, the most glorious +gifts of the world, the love of the loveliest women—all, all, and a +thousand times more, can be yours. That is your future as I see it, my +friend."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what I think of you?" asked Dick, with a nervous laugh.</p> + +<p>"It would be interesting to know," was the reply.</p> + +<p>"That your imaginative gifts are greater than your logical powers."</p> + +<p>The stout man laughed heartily. "I suppose I puzzle you," he replied. +"You think it strange that I, the financier, the millionaire if you +like, who eats well, drinks good wine, smokes good cigars, and who is a +member of the most expensive clubs in London, should talk like this, eh? +You think it strange that I, who two hours hence will be hobnobbing with +financiers and Cabinet ministers, should be talking what some would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +call rank treason with an advanced labour leader, eh? But do not judge +by outward appearances, my friend; do not be misled by the world's +opinions. It is not always the ascetic who feels most acutely or +sympathises most intensely.</p> + +<p>"As I told you, I have watched you for months—years. For a long time I +did not trust you; I did not believe you were the man who could do what +I saw needed doing. Even when I heard you talking to the masses of the +people—yes, carrying them away with the passion of your words—I did +not altogether believe in you. But at length I have come to see that you +are the man for my money, and for the money of others."</p> + +<p>Again he looked at Dick keenly.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I astonish you, don't I? You have looked upon such as I as enemies +to the race. You have not realised that there are dozens of millionaires +in this city of millionaires who almost hate the money they have made, +because they see no means whereby it can be used for the uplifting and +salvation of the oppressed and downtrodden. They do not talk about it, +yet so it is. I tell you frankly, I would at this moment give +half—two-thirds—of all I possess if thereby I could carry out the +dream of my life!"</p> + +<p>The man spoke with passion and evident conviction. There was a tremor in +his voice, and his form became almost rigid. His eyes, too, flashed with +a strange light—a light that spoke almost of fanaticism.</p> + +<p>"You already have in your mind what burns in mine like a raging +furnace," he went on. "You see from afar what has become a fixed, +settled conviction with me. You behold as a hazy vision what I have +contemplated for a long time, until it is clearly outlined, thoroughly +thought out. I will tell you what it is directly. And if that great +heart of yours, if that fine quick mind of yours does not grasp it, +assimilate it, and translate it into actuality, it will be one of the +greatest disappointments of my life. I shall for evermore put myself +down as a blind fool, and my faith in human nature will be lost for +ever."</p> + +<p>"Tell me what it is," and Dick's voice was tense with eagerness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> + +<p>Months, years had passed since Dick had left Wendover Park, and both his +life and thoughts had become revolutionised. Perhaps this was not +altogether strange. His manner of life had been altered, his outlook +altogether new.</p> + +<p>Even now as he looked back over those fateful days he could not +understand them. They seemed to him rather as some wild fantastic series +of dreams than as sane and sober realities. Yet realities they were, +even although they were a mystery to him. Often in his quiet hours he +caught himself thinking of the figure of the woman in the smoke-room of +the outward-bound ship, which no one but himself could see, while again +and again he almost shivered as he felt himself sinking in the black, +turbulent sea, while conflicting powers seemed to be struggling to +possess him. Indeed, the wonder of that night never left him. The light +which shone in the darkness, the luminous form above him, the great, +yearning, pitying eyes which shone into his, and the arms outstretched +to save.</p> + +<p>Sometimes it was all visionary and unreal—so visionary was it that he +could not believe in its reality, but at other times he could not doubt. +It was all real—tremendously real. Especially was it so as he thought +of those after days when he had fought the greatest battles of his life. +Again and again he had seen himself in the library at Wendover while +Romanoff stood beside him and told him of his plans; again and again had +he recalled the moment when he took the pen in his hand to sign the +paper, and had felt the grip on his wrist which had paralysed his hand.</p> + +<p>Was it real, or was it imaginary?</p> + +<p>"Suppose I had signed it?" he had often asked himself; "where should I +be now? I should be a rich man—the owner of old Charles Faversham's +huge fortune. Possibly I should have married Lady Blanche Huntingford +and acted the part of the rich squire. But what would Romanoff have +exacted of me? What would be my thoughts about Tony Riggleton?"</p> + +<p>Yes; those were wonderful days, whether they were a dream or a reality, +and sometimes he called himself a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> fool for not following the Count's +advice, while at others he shuddered to think of the dangers from which +he had escaped.</p> + +<p>He had never seen nor heard of Lady Blanche since. On his arrival in +London he had written an explanatory letter, and had expressed the hope +that she would not lose interest in him. But he had received no reply. +Evidently she regarded him as a kind of an impostor, with whom she could +no further associate herself.</p> + +<p>Neither had he ever seen or heard of Romanoff. This dark, sinister man +had passed away into the shadows, and only remained a strange memory, a +peculiar influence in his life.</p> + +<p>Of Tony Riggleton he had heard various stories, all of which were of the +same nature. Tony had been true to the programme he had marked out. He +had filled Wendover Park with a motley crowd of men and women, and the +orgies there were the talk of the neighbourhood. He had also a flat in +London where he had indulged in his peculiar tastes.</p> + +<p>It was on hearing these stories that Dick had felt that he had acted the +fool. He had become cynical, too, and laughed at the idea that virtue +and honour were wise.</p> + +<p>"If I had followed Romanoff's advice," he had said to himself, "I might +have——" And repeatedly he had recounted what he might have done with +the wealth which he had thought was his.</p> + +<p>For many months Dick had a hard struggle to live. His few weeks of +riches had unfitted him for the battle of life. Society was shaken to +its foundations; the world was a maddening maze. Again and again he had +offered himself for the Army—only to be rejected. He was conscious of +no illness, but the doctors persistently turned him down.</p> + +<p>Presently he drifted towards the industrial North of England and became +employed in a huge factory where thousands of people worked. It was here +that Dick's life underwent a great change. For the first time he found +himself the daily, hourly companion of grimy-handed toilers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + +<p>This gave him a new vision of life; it placed new meanings on great +problems; he was made to look at life from new angles. For the first +time he felt the squalor, the ugliness of life. He lived in a grimy +street, amidst grimy surroundings. He saw things as the working classes +saw them, saw them with all their grey unloveliness, their numbing +monotony.</p> + +<p>Still ambitious, still determined to carve out a career, he felt +oppressed by the ghastly atmosphere in which he found himself. He was +now fast approaching thirty, and he found himself unable to adapt +himself to his new conditions. He thought of all he had hoped to do and +be, and now by some sport of fate he had become engulfed in this +maelstrom of life.</p> + +<p>Little by little the inwardness of it all appealed to him. He had to do +with men and women who were drunken, foul-mouthed, depraved. What wonder +that he himself was becoming coarsened every day! Things at which he +would once have shuddered he now passed by with a shrug of his +shoulders. How could the working classes be refined, how could they have +exalted ideas amidst such surroundings?</p> + +<p>He noticed the tremendous disparity between the moneyed and the working +classes. The former were deliberately exploiting the great world +convulsion, and the peculiar conditions caused thereby, to make huge +profits. It was all wrong—utterly wrong. What was the worker, on whose +labour everything depended? Mere means for swelling the capitalists' +profits. Who cared about them? Politicians talked glibly about what they +meant to do; but they did nothing.</p> + +<p>Newspapers shrieked, and capitalists talked about the disloyalty of the +working classes. How could men go on strike while the very existence of +empire, civilisation, humanity hung in the balance? they asked. But what +of their own disloyalty? What of those who held a pistol at the head of +the Government, and threatened to disorganise the trade of the country +and paralyse output, if they could not stuff their money-bags still +fuller?</p> + +<p>And so on, and on. His new environment changed him—changed his +sympathies, his thoughts, his outlook.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> He thought of Tony Riggleton +spending the money these people were making for him in wild orgies among +loose men and women, and he became angry and bitter.</p> + +<p>Little by little his superior education asserted itself. He found, too, +that he had a remarkable aptitude for public speech. He discovered that +he could sway huge multitudes by the burning fervour of his words. He +was able to put into language what the people felt, and before long +became a popular hero.</p> + +<p>The world was in a state of flux; old ideas, old conceptions were swept +aside as worn-out fallacies. What ten years before were regarded as +madmen's dreams no longer appeared either unreasonable or quixotic. The +forces of life had become fluid, and it was the toiler of the nation who +was to decide into what channels the new movements were to flow.</p> + +<p>And Dick became a doctrinaire, as well as a dreamer of a new heaven and +a new earth. He became an ardent reader, too. He was surprised at the +ease with which his mind grasped theories hitherto unknown to him, how +he absorbed the spirit of unrest, and how he flung himself into the +world's great fray.</p> + +<p>"Faversham's our man," people said on every side. "He's got eddication, +he's got a fair grip on things, and he can knock the masters to +smithereens when it comes to argument and the gilt o' th' gab."</p> + +<p>"But who is he?" asked others. "He's noan our sort. He was noan brought +up a workin' man."</p> + +<p>"Nay, but he's a workin' man naa. He's worked side by side with the best +on us, and he knows how to put things. I tell thee, he mun go into +Parlyment. He'll mak 'em sit up. He mun be our member."</p> + +<p>This feeling became so strong that Dick was on two occasions selected to +be one of deputations to the Prime Minister, and more than that, he was +chosen to be the chief spokesman to state the workers' claims.</p> + +<p>In all this, not only were his sympathies aroused, but his vanity was +appealed to. It was very pleasant to feel himself emerging from +obscurity; the roar of cheering which the mention of his name elicited +became as sweet as the nectar of the gods to him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> + +<p>Again he saw visions, and dreamt dreams. They were different from those +of the old days, but they did a great deal to satisfy him. They told him +of position, of power, of a place among the great ones of the world. +Sometimes he was almost glad that Tony Riggleton inherited Charles +Faversham's huge fortune. If he had retained it, and gained high +position, that position would have been through the toil and brain of +another. Now he would do everything by himself—unaided and alone.</p> + +<p>More than once during the many stormy and excited meetings Dick had +attended, he had seen a kindly, benevolent-looking man, whose face +suggested the milk of human kindness. Dick rather wondered how he came +there, and on asking his name was told that he was called John Brown, +and that, although he did not directly belong to the working classes, he +was in deep sympathy with them, and had more than once subscribed to +their funds. Presently Dick became acquainted with Mr. Brown, and +something like intimacy sprang up between them.</p> + +<p>He found that Mr. Brown was a great admirer of his speeches, and more +than once that gentleman had hinted that if he found any money +difficulty in entering Parliament, he, John Brown, would see that the +difficulty should be removed.</p> + +<p>"I am almost ashamed of being something of a capitalist," he confided to +Dick, "but, at any rate, I can use what money I have for the advance of +the cause which is so dear to me."</p> + +<p>Just before Dick was going to London the next time, he received a letter +from Mr. Brown asking him to meet him at a well-known club. "I have +certain things to say to you," he said, "certain propositions to make +which I think will be worthy of your consideration."</p> + +<p>On Dick's arrival in London he made certain inquiries about Mr. Brown, +which, however, did not help him much. He was by no means a prominent +character, he learnt, but he was believed by many to be a man of +enormous wealth. He was told, moreover, that he was somewhat eccentric, +and loved doing good by stealth.</p> + +<p>It was therefore with aroused curiosity that Dick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> made his way to the +club in question. He was not yet quite sure of his man, and so he +determined to listen carefully to what Mr. Brown had to say without +committing himself. Before long he found himself deeply interested. The +stout, benevolent-looking man was revealing himself in a new light, and +Dick found himself listening with fast-beating heart.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I will tell you what it is," said Mr. Brown. "I will make plain to +you what I meant when I said that I see such a future before you as was +never possible to any other Englishman."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">An Amazing Proposal</span></h3> + + +<p>Dick unconsciously drew his chair nearer the fire, while every nerve in +his body became tense. He felt that the millionaire had not brought him +here for mere pastime.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," said Mr. Brown, "what your plans for the future are."</p> + +<p>"Too hazy to outline," was Dick's reply.</p> + +<p>"That's truer than you think, my friend—far truer than you think; +that's why your position is so absurd. And yet you answer me falsely."</p> + +<p>Dick gave the other a look that was almost angry.</p> + +<p>"No, no, my friend," went on Mr. Brown; "do not mistake me. I do not +accuse you of falsehood. You think you are speaking the truth. But you +are not. In a way, your plans are defined. You mean to be Member of +Parliament for Eastroyd. You mean to be the first Labour Member for that +great working-class constituency. Already you have been approached by +the various unions of the town, and you have been assured that you will +be returned by a triumphant majority. And you've practically accepted, +although you have persuaded yourself that you've not yet made up your +mind. So far so good—or bad; but you are unsettled. There is something +at the back of your mind that you can't explain. It doesn't satisfy you. +Am I not speaking the truth?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," assented Dick.</p> + +<p>"And naturally, too. Oh, my young friend, I know—I know. I have been +through it all. What is a Labour Member after all? Just one of a few +others, who is submerged by the great so-called Liberal and Conservative +Parties. What can he do? Speak now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> and then when he's allowed to, beat +the air, be listened to by a handful of his own supporters, and then +forgotten. Consider the history of the Labour Party. What influence has +it really had on the life of the nation? My friend, the government of +the country is still in the hands of the upper and middle classes in +spite of all you do and say."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me," interrupted Dick, "but what are you driving at? What you +say may be partly true, but at least the hope of the working classes, +politically speaking, lies in the Labour Party."</p> + +<p>"Moonshine, my friend—mere moonshine. The atmosphere of the British +House of Commons stifles the aspiration of the Labour Members. One by +one they are absorbed into the old orthodox parties, and nothing is +done. You know it, too. That's why the thought of becoming a Labour +Member is unsatisfying to you. You would never be a real power, and you +would always be regarded as an outsider, and you would never touch the +helm of affairs."</p> + +<p>Dick was silent. After all, he was not a working man. He had social +ambitions. He desired not only to be a prominent figure among the +working classes; he wanted to be an equal of, a peer amongst the +dominant forces of the world. He still remembered Lady Blanche +Huntingford—as a Labour Member he would be outside her sphere.</p> + +<p>"You see it, don't you?" persisted Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>"And if I do? What then?"</p> + +<p>"Everything then, my friend. Your present plans would end in nothing. +Not only would you fail to do anything real for the people, but you +yourself would be stultified. A Labour Member! What is he?—a man who, +socially, is patronised; who is recognised only on sufferance; who, if +he marries, must marry a commoner, a woman of the people, with all her +limitations. Oh, I know, I know. And meanwhile the working people still +continue to be trodden underfoot, and who toil for what they can squeeze +out of their employers—their social superiors. Yes, yes, you are +impatient with me. You say I am a long time in getting to my point. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +be patient, my friend; I will get there. I only want you to realise the +truth."</p> + +<p>"Then please get to your point," urged Dick a little impatiently.</p> + +<p>"I will," replied Mr. John Brown, and he placed his chubby hand on +Dick's knee. "Here is the fact, my friend: we live in a time when +nothing is impossible. The world is in travail, in wild convulsions. The +new channels of life are not made. All the forces of life are in a state +of flux. Now is the time for the real leader, the strong man. The great +proletariat is waiting for that leader, longing for him. The people are +tired of the old worn pathways; they are waiting for the new kingdom, +the new deliverer."</p> + +<p>"You are still in the clouds," cried Dick. "Come down to the solid +earth."</p> + +<p>"I will, my friend. England is ripe for real reform, ripe for the new +order. The open sores of the country cannot be healed by +sticking-plasters. They must be cauterised; the cancers must be cut out. +In one word—Revolution!"</p> + +<p>Dick started to his feet, and took a hasty glance around the room. For a +wonder, it was empty. They were alone.</p> + +<p>"You are mad!" he cried.</p> + +<p>"Of course I am," laughed Mr. Brown. "Every man is called mad who sees a +new heaven and a new earth. But, my friend, I speak as an Englishman, as +one who loves his country. I am a patriot, and I want to see a greater, +grander England. I want to see a Britain that shall be happy, +prosperous, contented. I want to destroy poverty, to smash up the old +order of things—an order which has dragged squalor, misery, poverty, +injustice, inequality at its heels. I am tired—<i>tired</i> of seeing +criminal wealth and mad luxury and waste on the one hand, and abject +grinding poverty on the other. And to cure it all you must go to the +roots of things; there must be great upheavals, revolutions. The land +must be the people's, the mineral must be the people's, the water, the +food, the wealth, the Army, the Navy, the <i>everything</i> must belong to +the people."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Bolshevism!" The word came from him abruptly—angrily.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Bolshevism," replied the other; "and what then?"</p> + +<p>"Russia!" and there was a sneer in Dick's voice as he uttered the word.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Russia if you like. And still, what then? Would you have Russia go +on century by century as it had been going? Would you have scores upon +scores of millions of men and women go on existing as they were +existing? You know the history of Russia for ten centuries past. What +has it been?—a criminal, bloated, corrupt, cruel, overbearing, +persecuting aristocracy and bureaucracy on the one hand, and a welter of +poor, suffering, starving, outraged, diseased, dying people on the +other. That was Russia. And desperate diseases need desperate remedies, +my friend. Of course, the very name of Russia is being shuddered at just +now. But think, my friend. Birth is always a matter of travail, and +Russia is being re-born. But wait. In ten years Russia will be regarded +as the pioneer of civilisation—as the herald of a new age. Russia is +taking the only step possible that will lead to justice, and to peace, +and prosperity for all."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean that!" Dick scarcely knew that he spoke.</p> + +<p>"I am as certain of it as that I sit here. I swear it by whatever gods +there be!"</p> + +<p>Plain, stout Mr. John Brown was changed. Dick forgot his fat, chubby +hands, his round, benevolent, kindly, but commonplace face. It was a new +Mr. John Brown that he saw. A new light shone in his eyes, a new tone +had come to his voice, a seemingly new spirit inspired him.</p> + +<p>"I go further," cried Mr. Brown, "and I say this: England—the British +Isles need the same remedy. All that you have been thinking about are +sticking-plasters—palliatives, and not cures. What England needs is a +Revolution. All the old corrupt, crushing forces must be destroyed, the +old gods overthrown, and a new evangelist must proclaim a new gospel."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A madman's dream," protested Dick. "Let's talk of something else."</p> + +<p>"Not yet," replied Mr. John Brown. "Tell me this, you who long for a new +heaven and a new earth—you who plead for justice, for fraternity, for +brotherhood: do you believe that the programme—I mean the organised +programme—of the Labour Party or the Socialist Party will ever bring +about what you desire?"</p> + +<p>Dick was silent.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you are honest. You know it will not. In your heart of hearts you +know, too, that nothing but a thorough upheaval, a complete Revolution +of the bad old order of things can bring about what you desire. Patching +up an old building whose walls are cracked, whose drains are corrupt, +whose foundations are insecure, is waste of time and energy. If you want +a new sanitary house the old place has to be demolished and the rubbish +<i>cleared away</i>! That's it, my friend. That's what's needed in this +country. The rubbish must be cleared away. That's what the people want. +For the moment they are crying out for something, they hardly know what, +but they will have a Revolution, and they are longing for a leader to +lead them, a prophet to interpret their needs."</p> + +<p>"But for England to become another Russia!" Dick's response was that of +a man who had not yet grasped all that was in the other's mind.</p> + +<p>"There is no need of that. Because England has not sunk to the depths of +Russia, her revolution would be less violent. There would be no need for +excesses, for violence. But here is the fact, my friend: three-fourths +of our population belong to the wage-earning classes; they are the +toilers and the moilers; let the true gospel be preached to them, let +the true prophet and leader appear, and they would follow him."</p> + +<p>"And who is to be the prophet, the leader?"</p> + +<p>"You, my friend."</p> + +<p>"I!" gasped Dick.</p> + +<p>"You. Richard Faversham. You who have tasted the sweets of wealth. You +who have toiled and sweated with the workers. You who have eyes to see, +ears to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> hear. You who have the power to interpret the people's +longings. You who have the qualities of the leader, who can take them to +the Promised Land. You!"</p> + +<p>"Madness!"</p> + +<p>"You say that now. You will not say it in a few hours from now. You can +understand now what I meant when I startled you an hour ago by saying +that I see such a future before you as was never possible to any +Englishman. You are young; you are ambitious. It is right you should be. +No man who is not ambitious is worth a rotten stick to his age. Here is +such a career as was never known before. Never, I say! Man, it's +glorious! You can become the greatest man of the age—of all the ages!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown looked at Dick intently for a few seconds, and then went on, +speaking every word distinctly.</p> + +<p>"A Labour Member, indeed! A voting machine at four hundred a year! The +hack of his party organisation! Is that a career for a man like you? +Heavens, such a thought is sacrilege! But this, my friend, is the +opportunity of a life—of all time."</p> + +<p>"Stop!" cried Dick. "I want to grasp it—to think!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>"<span class="smcap">The Country for the People</span>"</h3> + + +<p>"But you <i>are</i> mad," said the young man at length. "Even if you are +right in your diagnosis of the disease from which the country is +suffering, if the remedy you suggest is the only one, I am not the man +you need. And even if I were, the remedy is impossible. England is not +where France was a hundred years ago; she is not where Russia is +to-day."</p> + +<p>"And you are not a Lenin, a Trotsky, eh?" and Mr. John Brown laughed +like a man who had made a joke.</p> + +<p>"No, thank Heaven, I am not," and Dick spoke quickly. "I do not believe +in the nationalisation of women, neither do I believe in the destruction +of the most sacred institutions of life."</p> + +<p>"Of course you don't," replied Mr. John Brown, "and I am glad of it. +Russia has gone to many excesses which we must avoid. But what can you +expect, my friend? After centuries of oppression and persecution, is it +any wonder that there has been a swing of the pendulum? The same thing +was true of France a hundred years ago. France went wild, France lost +her head, and neither Danton nor Robespierre checked the extravagances +of the people. But, answer me this. Is not France a thousand times +better to-day than when under the Bourbons and the Church? Is not such a +Republic as France has, infinitely better than the reign of a corrupt +throne, a rotten aristocracy, and a rottener Church? Besides, did not a +great part of those who were guillotined deserve their doom?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they did; but—but the thing is impossible, all the same."</p> + +<p>"Why impossible?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"For one thing, Lenin and Trotsky are in a country without order and +law. They murdered the Tzar and his family, and they seized the money of +the Government and of the banks. Such a thing as you suggest would need +millions, and you could not get any body of Englishmen to follow on the +Russian lines. Besides—no, the thing is impossible!"</p> + +<p>"Money!" repeated Mr. John Brown, like a man reflecting. "I myself would +place in your hands all the money you need for organisation and +propaganda."</p> + +<p>"In <i>my</i> hands!"</p> + +<p>"In your hands, my friend. Yes, in your hands. But we have talked enough +now. You want time to think over what has been said. But will you do +something, my friend?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I suspect not."</p> + +<p>"I think you will. To-night I want you to accompany me to a place where +your eyes will be opened. I want you to see how deep are the feelings of +millions, how strong is the longing for a leader, a guide. You, who have +felt the pulses of the millions who live and act in the open, have no +idea of what is felt by the millions who act in the dark."</p> + +<p>"I do not understand."</p> + +<p>"Of course you don't. You and other so-called Labour leaders, because +you mingle with a class which you call the people, think you know +everything. You believe you know the thought, the spirit of the age. +Come with me to-night and I will show you a phase of life hitherto +unknown to you. You will come? Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I will come," replied Dick, with a laugh. The conversation had +excited him beyond measure, and he was eager for adventure.</p> + +<p>"Good. Be at the entrance to the Blackfriars Underground Station +to-night at eleven o'clock."</p> + +<p>"At eleven; all right."</p> + +<p>Mr. John Brown looked at his watch, and then gave a hasty glance round +the room. He saw two portly looking men coming in their direction.</p> + +<p>"I am sure you will excuse me, Mr. Faversham. It is later than I +thought, and I find I have appointments.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> But it has been very +interesting to know your point of view. Good evening. Ah, Sir Felix, I +thought you might drop in to-night," and leaving Dick as though their +talk had been of the most commonplace nature, he shook hands with the +newcomers.</p> + +<p>Dick, feeling himself dismissed, left the club, and a minute later found +himself in the thronging crowd of Piccadilly. Taxicabs, buses, richly +upholstered motor-cars were passing, but he did not heed them. People +jostled him as he made his way towards Hyde Park gates, but he was +unaware of it. His head was in a whirl; he was living in a maze of +conflicting thoughts.</p> + +<p>Of course old John Brown was a madman! Nothing but a madman would +advance such a quixotic programme! He pictured the club he had just +left—quiet, orderly, circumspect—the natural rendezvous for City and +West End magnates, the very genius of social order and moneyed +respectability. How, then, could a respected member of such a place +advance such a mad-brained scheme?</p> + +<p>But he had.</p> + +<p>Not that he—Dick Faversham—could regard it seriously. Of course he had +during the last two years been drawn into a new world, and had been led +to accept socialistic ideas. Some, even among the Socialists, called +them advanced. But this!</p> + +<p>Of course it was impossible.</p> + +<p>All the same, there was a great deal in what John Brown had said. A +Labour Member. A paid voting machine at £400 a year! The words rankled +in his mind.</p> + +<p>And this scheme was alluring. The country for the people!...</p> + +<p>He made his way along the causeway, thinking of it.</p> + +<p>A Revolution! The old bad, mad order of things ended by one mighty +upheaval! A new England, with a new outlook, a new Government!... A +mighty movement which might grip the world. A new earth....</p> + +<p>And he—Dick Faversham?</p> + +<p>Here was scope for new enterprises! Here was a career! On the one hand, +a paid working man member at £400 a year, regarded with a supercilious +smile by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> class to which he really belonged; and, on the other, a +force which shook Society to its foundations—a leader whose name would +be on all lips....</p> + +<p>Of course it was all nonsense, and he would drive it from his mind.</p> + +<p>And he would not meet Mr. John Brown that night. What a madcap idea to +go to some midnight gathering—where, Heaven only knew! And for what?</p> + +<p>He had reached Park Lane, and almost unconsciously he turned eastward.</p> + +<p>He could not remember a single thing that had happened during his walk +from Park Lane to Piccadilly Circus. The great tide of human life surged +to and fro, but he was oblivious of the fact.</p> + +<p>He was thinking—wildly thinking.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly he gave a start. Just as he reached the Circus he saw a +face which set his heart beating wildly.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Faversham, is that you?"</p> + +<p>"Count Romanoff!" Dick almost gasped.</p> + +<p>"Yes; who would have thought of seeing you? Still, the world is small."</p> + +<p>The Count was not changed. He still carried himself proudly, and was +dressed to perfection. Also, he still seemed to regard others with a +degree of indifference. He was the same contemptuous, cynical man of the +world.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing, eh? Still living at Wendover Park?"</p> + +<p>"No. You know I am not."</p> + +<p>"No? Ah, I remember now. I have been knocking around the world ever +since, and had almost forgotten. But your quondam cousin entered +possession, didn't he? But you, what did you do?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I—I drifted."</p> + +<p>"Drifted—where?—to what? You look changed. Things are not going well +with you, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—quite well, thank you."</p> + +<p>"Yes? You married Lady Blanche? But no, I should have heard of it."</p> + +<p>"No; I did not marry. I am living in Eastroyd."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Eastroyd! Where's that?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you know?"</p> + +<p>"Never heard of it before. Is it in England?"</p> + +<p>Dick was growing angry; there was a sneer in every tone of the man's +voice. He felt a mad desire to make the Count see that he had become a +man of importance.</p> + +<p>"Yes; it's in the North," he replied. "It's a huge town of a quarter of +a million people. A great industrial centre."</p> + +<p>"And what are you doing there?"</p> + +<p>"I'm contemplating an invitation to become a Member of Parliament for +the town. I'm assured that, if I accept, my return to the House of +Commons is certain."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's interesting. And which side will you take—Conservative or +Liberal? Conservative, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"No; I should stand as a Labour candidate."</p> + +<p>"As a——Surely I didn't hear you aright?"</p> + +<p>"Quite right. My sympathies have come to lie in that direction."</p> + +<p>"But—but—a Labour Member! I thought you had some pretensions to be a +gentleman."</p> + +<p>Dick felt as though he had received the lash of a whip. He wanted to +lash back, to make Romanoff feel what he felt. But no words came.</p> + +<p>"You have no sympathy with the working classes?" he asked feebly.</p> + +<p>"Sympathy! What gentleman could? See what they've done in my own +country. I had little sympathy with Nicky; but great heavens, think! Of +course I'm angry. I had estates in Russia; they had been in the families +for centuries—and now! But the thing is a nightmare! Working classes, +eh! I'd take every mal-content in Europe and shoot him. What are the +working classes but lazy, drunken swine that should be bludgeoned into +obedience?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think you understand the British working classes," was Dick's +response.</p> + +<p>"No? I'm sure I don't want to. I prefer my own class. But pray don't let +me keep you from them. Good evening."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + +<p>Without another word, without holding out his hand, the Count turned on +his heel and walked away.</p> + +<p>The incident affected Dick in two ways. First of all, it made his +experiences three years before in the Wendover Park very shadowy and +unreal. In spite of everything, he had not been able to think of the +Count save as an evil influence in his life, as one who desired to get +him into his power for his own undoing. He had had a vague belief that +in some way unknown to him, Romanoff desired to hold him in his grip for +sinister purposes, and that he had been saved by an opposing power. Had +he been asked to assert this he would have hesitated, and perhaps been +silent. Still, at the back of his doubt the feeling existed. But now, +with the memory of the Count's contemptuous words and looks in his mind, +it all appeared as groundless and as unreal as the fabric of a dream. If +he had been right, he would not have treated him in such a fashion.</p> + +<p>The other way in which the incident affected him was to arouse an angry +determination to win a position equal to and superior to that which +would be his as Charles Faversham's heir. He would by his own endeavours +rise to such heights that even the Count's own position would pale into +insignificance. After all, what were kings and princes? Their day was +over. Soon, soon thrones all over the world would topple like ninepins; +soon the power of the world would be in new hands.</p> + +<p>A Labour Member, indeed! Working people swine, were they? Soon the +working people of the world would be masters! Then woe be to a useless, +corrupt aristocracy! As for the leaders of the toilers...</p> + +<p>"I'll meet Mr. John Brown again to-night," he reflected. "I'll go to +this, this!... I wonder what he has in his mind?"</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Count Romanoff wandered along Piccadilly till he came to St. +James's Street. He was smiling as though something pleasant had happened +to him. His eyes, too, shone with a strange light, and he walked like a +victor.</p> + +<p>He walked past the Devonshire Club, and then turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> into a street +almost opposite St. James's Square. Here he looked at his watch and +walked more slowly. Evidently he knew his way well, for he took several +turnings without the slightest hesitation, till at length he reached a +house at the corner of a street. He selected a key from a bunch, opened +the door of the house, and entered. For a moment he stood still and +listened; then, walking noiselessly along a thick carpet, he opened the +door of a room and entered.</p> + +<p>"Sitting in the dark, eh? Reflecting on the destiny of nations, I +suppose?"</p> + +<p>The Count's manner was light and pleasant. He was in a good humour. He +switched on the light and saw Mr. John Brown. It would seem that they +had met by appointment.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Mr. Brown; "I was reflecting on the destiny of +nations—reflecting, too, on the fact that the greatest victories of the +world are won not by armies who fight in the open, but by brains that +act in the dark."</p> + +<p>"You have seen him. I know that."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?"</p> + +<p>"I know everything, my friend. You met him about an hour ago. You had a +long talk with him. You have baited your hook, and thrown it. Before you +could tell whether the fish would rise, you thought it better to wait. +You decided to make further preparations."</p> + +<p>"Romanoff, I believe you are the devil."</p> + +<p>"Many a true word is spoken in jest, my friend. But, devil or not, am I +not right?"</p> + +<p>"You have seen him? He has told you?"</p> + +<p>"He has told me nothing. Yes, he has, though. He has told me he had +ambitions to be a Labour Member of Parliament."</p> + +<p>"But nothing more?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing more. I was passing along the street and spoke to him."</p> + +<p>The two were looking at each other eagerly, questioningly. Mr. John +Brown's face had become flabby; the flesh around his eyes was baggy. The +eyes had a furtive look, as though he stood in awe of his companion.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +Romanoff, too, in spite of his claim to omniscience, might be a little +anxious.</p> + +<p>"The fellow's career is a miracle," remarked Mr. John Brown at length. +"A millionaire one day, a pauper the next. And then to settle down as a +toiler among toilers—to become the popular hero, the socialist leader, +the rebel, the seer of visions, the daring reformer! A miracle, I say! +But with proper guidance, he is the man we need. He can do much!"</p> + +<p>Count Romanoff laughed like one amused.</p> + +<p>"Germany is in a bad way, eh? Poor Wilhelm, what a fool! Oh, what a +fool!"</p> + +<p>"Be quiet!" cried the other hoarsely. "Even here the walls may have +ears, and if it were suspected that——"</p> + +<p>"Exactly, my friend," sneered the Count. "But tell me how you stand."</p> + +<p>For some time they talked quietly, earnestly, the Count asking questions +and raising objections, while Mr. John Brown explained what he had in +his mind.</p> + +<p>"Germany is never beaten," he said—"never. When arms fail, brains come +in. Russia has become what Russia is, not by force of arms, but by +brains. Whose? And Germany will triumph. This fellow is only one of many +who are being used. A network of agencies are constantly at work."</p> + +<p>"And to-night you are going to introduce him to Olga?" and the Count +laughed.</p> + +<p>"The most fascinating woman in Europe, my friend. Yes; to-night I am +going to open his eyes. To-night he will fall in love. To-night will be +the beginning of the end of Britain's greatness!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Midnight Meeting</span></h3> + + +<p>Dick Faversham stood at the entrance of the underground station at +Blackfriars Bridge. It was now five minutes before eleven, and the +traffic along the Embankment was beginning to thin. New Bridge Street +was almost deserted, for the tide of theatre-goers did not go that way. +Dick was keenly on the look out for Mr. John Brown, and wondered what +kind of a place he was going to visit that night.</p> + +<p>He felt a slight touch upon his shoulder, and, turning, he saw Mr. Brown +go to the ticket office.</p> + +<p>"Third single for Mark Lane," he said, carelessly throwing down two +coppers, yet so clearly that Dick could not help hearing him.</p> + +<p>Without hesitation Dick also went to the office and booked for the same +place. Mr. Brown took no apparent notice of him, and when the train came +in squeezed himself into a third-class compartment. Having secured a +seat, he lit a cheap black cigar.</p> + +<p>Dick noticed that he wore a somewhat shabby over-coat and a hat to +match. Apparently Mr. Brown had not a thought in his mind beyond that of +smoking his cigar and reading a soiled copy of an evening paper.</p> + +<p>Arrived at Mark Lane, Mr. Brown alighted and, still without taking +notice of Dick, found his way to the street. For some time he walked +eastward, and then, having reached a dark alley, turned suddenly and +waited for Dick to come up.</p> + +<p>"Keep me in sight for the next half-mile," he said quickly. "When I stop +next, you will come close to me, and I will give you necessary +instructions."</p> + +<p>They were now in a part of London which was wholly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> strange to the young +man. There were only few passers-by. It was now nearly midnight, and +that part of London was going to sleep. Now and then a belated traveller +shuffled furtively along as though anxious not to be seen. They were in +a neighbourhood where dark things happen.</p> + +<p>Evidently Mr. John Brown knew his way well. He threaded narrow streets +and dark alleys without the slightest hesitation; neither did he seem to +have any apprehension of danger. When stragglers stopped and gave him +suspicious glances, he went straight on, unheeding.</p> + +<p>Dick on the other hand, was far from happy. He did not like his midnight +journey; he did not like the grim, forbidding neighbourhood through +which they were passing. He reflected that he was utterly ignorant where +he was, and, but for a hazy idea that he was somewhere near the river, +would not know which way to turn if by any chance he missed his guide.</p> + +<p>Presently, however, Mr. Brown stopped and gave a hasty look around. +Everywhere were dark, forbidding-looking buildings which looked like +warehouses. Not a ray of light was to be seen anywhere. Even although +vast hordes of people were all around the spot where he stood, the very +genius of loneliness reigned.</p> + +<p>He beckoned Dick to him, and spoke in low tones.</p> + +<p>"Be surprised at nothing you see or hear," he advised in a whisper. +"There is no danger for either you or me. This is London, eh? And yet +those who love England, and are thinking and working for her welfare, +are obliged to meet in secret."</p> + +<p>"Still, I'd like to know where we are going," protested Dick. "I don't +like this."</p> + +<p>"Wait, my young friend. Wait just five minutes. Now, follow me in +silence."</p> + +<p>Had not the spirit of adventure been strong upon the young fellow, he +would have refused. There was something sinister in the adventure. He +could not at all reconcile Mr. John Brown's membership of the club he +had visited that afternoon with this Egyptian darkness in a London slum.</p> + +<p>"Follow without remark, and without noise,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> commanded the older man, +and then, having led the way a few yards farther, he flashed a light +upon some narrow stone steps.</p> + +<p>Dick was sure he heard the movement of a large body of water. He was +more than ever convinced that they were close to the Thames.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown descended the steps, while Dick followed. His heart was +beating rapidly, but he had no fear. A sense of curiosity had mastered +every other feeling. At the bottom of the steps Mr. Brown stopped and +listened, but although Dick strained his powers of hearing, he could +detect no sound. The place might have been exactly what it appeared in +the darkness—a deserted warehouse.</p> + +<p>"Now, then," whispered Mr. Brown, and there was excitement in his voice.</p> + +<p>A second later he tapped with his stick on what appeared to be the door +of the warehouse. Dick, whose senses were keenly alert, counted the +taps. Three soft, two loud, and again two soft ones.</p> + +<p>The door opened as if by magic. There was no noise, and Dick would not +have known it was opened save for the dim light which was revealed. A +second later he had entered, and the door closed.</p> + +<p>In the dim light Dick saw that he was following two dark forms. +Evidently the person who had opened the door was leading the way. But he +could discern nothing clearly; he thought they were passing through some +kind of lumber room, but he could have sworn to nothing. After that +there was a passage of some sort, and again they descended some more +steps, at the bottom of which Dick heard what seemed the confused murmur +of voices....</p> + +<p>Dick found himself standing in a kind of vestibule, and there was a +sudden glare of light. Both he and Mr. John Brown were in a well-lit +room, in which some two hundred people had gathered.</p> + +<p>When Dick's eyes had become accustomed to the light, he saw that he was +in the midst of one of the most curious crowds he had ever seen. The +people seemed of many nationalities, and the sexes appeared equally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +divided. Very few old people were present. In the main they were well +dressed, and might have been comfortably situated. Nevertheless, it was +a motley crowd—motley not so much because of any peculiarity in their +attire as because of their personalities. What impressed Dick more than +anything else was the look of fierce intelligence on their faces, and +the nervous eagerness which characterised their every movement. Every +look, every action spoke of intensity, and as Dick swept a hasty glance +around the room, he felt that he was breathing an atmosphere which was +altogether new to him—an atmosphere which was electric.</p> + +<p>The room was evidently arranged for a meeting. At one end was a platform +on which was placed a table and half a dozen chairs, while the people +who formed the audience were waiting for the speakers to appear.</p> + +<p>Then Dick realised that all eyes were turned towards himself and that a +sudden silence prevailed. This was followed by what Dick judged to be a +question of some sort, although he could not tell what it was, as it was +asked in a language unknown to him.</p> + +<p>"It is all right. I, John Brown, vouch for everything."</p> + +<p>"But who is he?" This time the question was in English, and Dick +understood that it referred to himself.</p> + +<p>"It is all right, I repeat," replied Mr. Brown. "My companion is a +comrade, a friend, whom you will be glad to hear. Who is he? He is a +Labour leader, and is chosen by the working people of Eastroyd to +represent them in the British Parliament."</p> + +<p>A great deal of scornful laughter followed this. It might have been that +Mr. Brown were trying to play a practical joke upon them.</p> + +<p>"Listen," said Mr. Brown. "I am not unknown to you, and I think I have +proved to you more than once that I am in sympathy with your aims. Let +me ask you this: have I ever introduced anyone who was not worthy and +whose help you have not gladly welcomed?"</p> + +<p>There was some slight cheering at this, and Mr. Brown went on:</p> + +<p>"I need not assure you that I have taken every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> precaution—<i>every</i> +precaution—or tell you that, if good does not come of my being here, +harm will surely not come of it. This, my friends, is Mr. Richard +Faversham of Eastroyd, whose fiery zeal on behalf of the world's toilers +cannot be unknown to you."</p> + +<p>Again there was some cheering, and Dick noted that the glances cast +towards him were less hostile, less suspicious.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown seemed on the point of speaking further, but did not. At that +moment a curtain at the back of the platform was drawn aside, and three +men accompanied by two women appeared. It would seem that the time for +the commencement of the meeting had come.</p> + +<p>Dick had some remembrance afterwards that one of the men addressed the +meeting, and that he spoke about the opportunities which the times +offered to the struggling millions who had been crushed through the +centuries, but nothing distinct remained in his mind. Every faculty he +possessed was devoted to one of the two women who sat on the platform. +He did not know who she was; he had never seen her before, and yet his +eyes never left her face.</p> + +<p>Never before had he seen such a woman; never had he dreamed that there +could be anyone like her.</p> + +<p>Years before he had seen, and fancied himself in love with, Lady Blanche +Huntingford. He had been captivated by her glorious young womanhood, her +abundant vitality, her queenly beauty. But, compared with the woman on +the platform, Blanche Huntingford was as firelight to sunlight.</p> + +<p>Even as he sat there he compared them—contrasted them. He remembered +what he had thought of the proud Surrey beauty; how he had raved about +her eyes, her hair, her figure; but here was a beauty of another and a +higher order. Even in his most enthusiastic moments, Lady Blanche's +intellectuality, her spirituality, had never appealed to him. But this +woman's beauty was glorified by eyes that spoke of exalted thoughts, +passionate longings, lofty emotions.</p> + +<p>Her face, too, was constantly changing. Poetry, humour, passion, pity, +tenderness, scorn were expressed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> on her features as she looked at the +speaker. This woman was poetry incarnate! She was pity incarnate! She +was passion incarnate!</p> + +<p>Dick forgot where he was. He was altogether unconscious of the fact that +he was in a meeting somewhere in the East End of London, and that things +were being said which, if known to the police, would place the speaker, +and perhaps the listeners, in prison. All that seemed as nothing; he was +chained, fascinated by the almost unearthly beauty of the woman who sat +on the little shabby-looking platform.</p> + +<p>Then slowly the incongruity of the situation came to him. The audience, +although warmly dressed and apparently comfortably conditioned, belonged +in the main to the working classes. They were toilers. Most of them were +malcontents—people who under almost any conditions would be opposed to +law and order. But this woman was an aristocrat of aristocrats. No one +could doubt it any more than he could doubt the sunlight. Her dress, +too, was rich and beautiful. On her fingers costly rings sparkled; +around her neck diamonds hung. And yet she was here in a cellar +warehouse, in a district where squalor abounded.</p> + +<p>The speaker finished; evidently he was the chairman of the meeting, and +after having finished his harangue turned to the others on the platform.</p> + +<p>Dick heard the word "Olga," and immediately after the room was full of +deafening cheers.</p> + +<p>The woman he had been watching rose to her feet and waited while the +people continued to cheer. Fascinated, he gazed at her as her eyes swept +over the gathering. Then his heart stood still. She looked towards him, +and their eyes met. There might have been recognition, so brightly did +her eyes flash, and so tender was the smile which came to her lips. She +seemed to be saying to him, "Wait, we shall have much to say to each +other presently." The air of mystery, which seemed to envelop her, +enveloped him also. The hard barriers of materialism seemed to melt +away, and he had somehow entered the realm of romance and wonder.</p> + +<p>Then her voice rang out over the audience—a voice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> that was rich in +music. He did not understand a word she said, for she spoke in a +language unknown to him. And yet her message reached him. Indeed, she +seemed to be speaking only to him, only for him. And her every word +thrilled him. As she spoke, he saw oppressed peoples. He saw men in +chains, women crushed, trodden on, little children diseased, neglected, +cursed. The picture of gay throngs, revelling in all the world could +give them in pleasure, in music, in song, and wine, passed before his +mind side by side with harrowing, numbing want and misery.</p> + +<p>Then she struck a new note—vibrant and triumphant. It thrilled him, +made his heart beat madly, caused a riot of blood in his veins.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he realised that she was speaking in English, that she was +calling to him in his own language. She was telling of a new age, a new +era. She described how old things had passed away, and that all things +had become new; that old barriers had been broken down; that old +precedents, old prejudices which for centuries had crushed the world, +were no longer potent. New thoughts had entered men's minds; new hopes +stirred the world's heart. In the great cataclysm through which we had +passed, nations had been re-born, and the old bad, mad world had passed +away in the convulsions of the world's upheaval.</p> + +<p>"And now," she concluded, "what wait we for? We await the prophet, the +leader, the Messiah. Who is he? How shall he come? Is he here? Is the +man who is able to do what the world needs brave enough, great enough to +say, like the old Hebrew prophet, 'Here am I, send me'?"</p> + +<p>And even as she spoke Dick felt that her eyes were fastened upon him, +even as her words thrilled his heart. Something, he knew not what it +was, formed a link between them—gave this woman power over him.</p> + +<p>There was no applause as she sat down. The feeling of the people was too +intense, the magnetic charm of the speaker too great.</p> + +<p>Still with her eyes fixed upon Dick, she made her way towards him. He +saw her coming towards him, saw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> her dark, flashing eyes, her white, +gleaming teeth, felt the increasing charm of her wondrous face.</p> + +<p>Then there was a change in the atmosphere—a change indefinable, +indescribable. Just above the woman's head Dick saw in dim outline what +years before had become such a potent factor in his life. It was the +face of the angel he had seen when he was sinking in the deep waters, +and which appeared to him at Wendover Park.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Richard Faversham," said the woman who had so thrilled him that +night, "I have long been waiting for this hour."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>"<span class="smcap">You and I Together</span>"</h3> + + +<p>For some time Dick Faversham was oblivious to the fact that the woman +who had so fascinated him a few minutes before stood near him with hands +outstretched and a smile of gladness in her eyes. Again he was under the +spell of what, in his heart of hearts, he called "The Angel." Even yet +he had no definite idea as to who or what this angel was, but there was +a dim consciousness at the back of his mind that she had again visited +him for an important reason. He was certain that her purposes towards +him were beneficent, that in some way she had crossed the pathway of his +life to help him and to save him.</p> + +<p>Like lightning the memory of that fearful night when he was sinking in +the stormy sea came surging back into his mind. He remembered how he had +felt his strength leaving him, while the cold, black waters were +dragging him into their horrible depths. Then he had seen a ray of light +streaming to him across the raging sea; he had seen the shadowy figure +above him with outstretched arms, and even while he had felt himself +up-borne by some power other than his own, the words had come to +him—"Underneath are the Everlasting Arms."</p> + +<p>It was all shadowy and unreal—so much so that in later days he had +doubted its objective reality, and yet there had been times when it had +been the most potent force in his life. It had become such a great and +glorious fact that everything else had sunk into insignificance.</p> + +<p>Then there was that scene in the library at Wendover. He had been on the +point of signing the paper which Count Romanoff had prepared for him. +Under<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> this man's influence, right and wrong had appeared to him but a +chimera of the imagination. The alternative which had appeared before +him stood out in ghastly clearness. He had only to sign the paper, and +all the riches which he thought were his would remain in his possession. +But he had not signed it. Again that luminous form had appeared, while a +hand, light as a feather, but irresistible in its power, had been laid +upon his wrist, and the pen had dropped from his fingers.</p> + +<p>And now the angel had come to him again. Even as he looked, he could see +her plainly, while the same yearning eyes looked into his.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Faversham!"</p> + +<p>He started, like a man suddenly wakened from a dream, and again he saw +the woman who had been spoken of as Olga, and who had thrilled him by +her presence and by the magic of her voice, standing by his side.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me," he said, "but tell me, do you see anyone on the platform?"</p> + +<p>The girl, for she appeared to be only two or three and twenty, looked at +him in a puzzled kind of way.</p> + +<p>"No," she replied, casting her eyes in that direction; "I see no one. +There is no one there."</p> + +<p>"Not a beautiful woman? She is rather shadowy, but she has wonderful +eyes."</p> + +<p>"No," she replied wonderingly.</p> + +<p>"Then I suppose I was mistaken. You are Olga, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I am Olga."</p> + +<p>"And you made that wonderful speech?"</p> + +<p>"Was it wonderful?" and she laughed half sadly, half gaily.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the spell, or whatever it was, left him. He was Dick Faversham +again—keen, alert, critical. He realised where he was, too. He had +accompanied Mr. John Brown to this place, and he had listened to words +which were revolutionary. If they were translated into action, all law +and order as he now understood them would cease to be.</p> + +<p>Around him, too, chattering incessantly, was a number<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> of long-haired, +wild-eyed men. They were discussing the speech to which they had just +listened; they were debating the new opportunities which the times had +created.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you two have met!" It was Mr. John Brown who spoke. "I am glad of +that. This is Olga. She is a Princess in Russia, but because she loved +the poor, and sought to help them, she was seized by the Russian +officials and sent to Siberia. That was two years ago. She escaped and +came to England. Since then she has lived and worked for a new Russia, +for a new and better life in the world. You heard her speak to-night. +Did you understand her?"</p> + +<p>"Only in part," replied Dick. "She spoke in a language that was strange +to me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I know. But, as you see, she speaks English perfectly. We +must get away from here. We must go to a place where we can talk +quietly, and where, you two can compare ideas. But meanwhile I want you +to understand, Mr. Faversham, that the people you see here are typical +of millions all over Europe who are hoping and praying for the dawn of a +new day. Of course there are only a few thousands here in London, but +they represent ideas that are seething in the minds of hundreds of +millions."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Brown has told me about you," said Olga. "I recognised you from his +description the moment I saw you. I felt instinctively what you had +thought, what you had suffered, what you had seen in visions, and what +you had dreamed. I knew then that you were the prophet—the leader that +we needed."</p> + +<p>Dick gave her a quick glance, and again felt the spell of her beauty. +She was like no woman he had ever seen before. Her eyes shone like +stars, and they told him that this was a woman in a million. The quickly +changing expressions on her face, the wondrous quality of her presence, +fascinated him.</p> + +<p>"I shall be delighted to discuss matters with you," replied Dick. "That +part of your speech which I understood made me realise that we are one +in aim and sympathy. If you will come to my hotel to-morrow, we can +speak freely."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + +<p>Olga laughed merrily. "I am afraid you do not understand, Mr. +Faversham," she said. "I am a suspect; I am proscribed by your +Government. A price has been placed on my head."</p> + +<p>Dick looked at her questioningly.</p> + +<p>"No; I am afraid I don't understand," was his reply.</p> + +<p>"Don't you see?" and again she laughed merrily. "I am looked upon as a +dangerous person. News has come to your authorities that I am a menace +to society, that I am a creator of strife. First of all, I am an alien, +and as an alien I am supposed to subscribe to certain regulations and +laws. But I do not subscribe to them. As a consequence I am wanted by +the police. If you did your duty, you would try to hand me over to the +authorities; you would place me under arrest."</p> + +<p>"Are—are you a spy, then?" Dick asked.</p> + +<p>"Of a sort, yes."</p> + +<p>"A German?"</p> + +<p>A look of mad passion swept over her face.</p> + +<p>"A German!" she cried. "Heaven forbid. No, no. I hate Germany. I hate +the accursed war that Germany caused. And yet, no. The war was a +necessity. The destruction of the old bad past was a necessity. And we +must use the mad chaos the war has created to build a new heaven and +create a new earth. What are nationalities, peoples, country boundaries, +man-made laws, but the instruments of the devil to perpetuate crime, +brutality, misery, devilry?"</p> + +<p>Dick shook his head. "You go beyond me," he said. "What you say has no +appeal for me."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but it has," she cried; "that is why I want to talk with you. That +is why I hail you as a comrade—yes, and more than a comrade. I have +followed your career; I have read your speeches. Ah, you did not think, +did you, when you spoke to the people in the grimy north of this country +about better laws, better conditions—ay, and when you made them feel +that all the people of <i>every</i> country should be one vast +brotherhood—that your words were followed, eagerly followed, by a +Russian girl whose heart thrilled as she read, and who longed to meet +you face to face?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You read my speeches? You longed to see me?" gasped Dick.</p> + +<p>"Every word I read, Mr. Faversham; but I saw, too, that you were chained +by cruel tradition, that you were afraid of the natural and logical +outcome of your own words. But see, we cannot talk here!" and she +glanced towards the people who had come up to them, and were listening +eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Come, my friend," whispered Mr. Brown, "you are honoured beyond all +other men. I never knew her speak to any man as she speaks to you. Let +us go to a place where I will take you, where we can be alone. Is she +not a magnificent creature, eh? Did you ever see such a divine woman?"</p> + +<p>"I'm perfectly willing," was Dick's reply, as he watched Olga move +towards the man who had acted as chairman. Truly he had never seen such +a woman. Hitherto he had been struck by her intellectual powers, and by +what had seemed to him the spiritual qualities of her presence. But now +he felt the charm of her womanhood. She was shaped like a goddess, and +carried herself with queenly grace. Every curve of her body was perfect; +her every movement was instinct with a glowing, abundant life. Her +complexion, too, was simply dazzling, and every feature was perfect. A +sculptor would have raved about her; an artist would have given years of +his life to paint her. Her eyes, too, shone like stars, and her smile +was bewildering.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later they were in the street, Dick almost like a man in a +dream, Mr. John Brown plodding stolidly and steadily along, while Olga, +her face almost covered, moved by his side. Dick was too excited to heed +whither they were going; neither did he notice that they were being +followed.</p> + +<p>They had just turned into a narrow alley when there was a quick step +behind them, and a man in a police officer's uniform laid his hand on +Olga's arm and said:</p> + +<p>"You go with me, please, miss."</p> + +<p>The girl turned towards him with flashing eyes.</p> + +<p>"Take your hand from me," she said; "I have nothing to do with you."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But I have something to do with you. Come, now, it's no use putting on +airs. You come with me. I've been on the look out for you for a long +while."</p> + +<p>"Help her! Get rid of the man!" whispered Mr. Brown to Dick. "For God's +sake do something. I've a weak heart and can do nothing."</p> + +<p>"Now, then," persisted the policeman. "It's no use resisting, you know. +If you won't come quiet, I may have to be a bit rough. And I <i>can</i> be +rough, I can assure you!"</p> + +<p>"Help! help!" she said hoarsely.</p> + +<p>She did not speak aloud, but the word appealed to Dick strongly. It was +sacrilege for the police officer to place his hands on her; he +remembered what she had told him, and dreaded the idea of her being +arrested and thrown into prison.</p> + +<p>"You won't, eh?" grumbled the policeman. "We'll soon settle that."</p> + +<p>Dick saw him put his whistle to his lips, but before a sound was made, +the young fellow rushed forward and instantly there was a hand-to-hand +struggle. A minute later the police constable lay on the pavement, +evidently stunned and unconscious, while Dick stood over him.</p> + +<p>"Now is our chance! Come!" cried Mr. Brown, and with a speed of which +Dick thought him incapable, he led the way through a network of narrow +streets and alleys, while he and the girl followed. A little later they +had entered a house by a back way, and the door closed behind them.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Faversham," panted Mr. Brown. "That was a narrow squeak, +eh?"</p> + +<p>He switched on a light as he spoke, and Dick, as soon as his eyes had +become accustomed to the light, found himself in a handsomely, even +luxuriously, appointed room.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, won't you?" said Olga. "Oh, you need not fear. You are safe +here. I will defy all the police officers in London to trace me now. Ah! +thank you, Mr. Faversham! But for you I might have been in an awkward +position. It would have been horrible to have been arrested—more +horrible still to be tried in one of your law courts."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That was nothing," protested Dick. "Of course I could not stand by and +see the fellow——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, but don't you see?" she interrupted merrily. "You have placed +yourself in opposition to the law? I am afraid you would be found +equally guilty with me, if we were tried together. Did I not tell you? +There is a price on my head. I am spoken of as the most dangerous person +in London. And you have helped me to escape; you have defeated the ends +of justice."</p> + +<p>"But that is nothing," cried Mr. John Brown. "Of course, Mr. Faversham +is with us now. It could not be otherwise."</p> + +<p>Every event of the night had been somewhat unreal to Dick, but the +reality of his position was by no means obscure at that moment. He, Dick +Faversham, who, when he had advocated his most advanced theories, had +still prided himself on being guided by constitutional methods, knew +that he had placed himself in a most awkward position by what he had +done. Doubtless, efforts would be made to find him, and if he were +discovered and recognised, he would have a very lame defence. In spite +of the honeyed way in which Mr. Brown had spoken, too, he felt there was +something like a threat in his words.</p> + +<p>But he cast everything like fear from his mind, and turned to the young +girl, who had thrown off her cloak, and stood there in the brilliant +light like the very incarnation of splendid beauty.</p> + +<p>"I would risk more than that for this opportunity of talking with you," +he could not help saying.</p> + +<p>"Would you?" and her glorious eyes flashed into his. "I am so glad of +that. Do you know why? Directly I saw you to-night, I felt that we +should be together in the greatest cause the world has ever known. Do +you think you will like me as a co-worker? Do you believe our hearts +will beat in unison?"</p> + +<p>Again she had cast a spell upon him. He felt that with such a woman he +could do anything—dare anything.</p> + +<p>Still, he kept a cool head. His experiences of the last few years had +made him wary, critical, suspicious.</p> + +<p>"I am going to be frank," she went on. "I am going<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> to lay bare my heart +to you. The cause I have at heart is the world's redemption; that, too, +is the cause I believe you, too, have at heart. I want to destroy +poverty, crime, misery; I want a new earth. So do you. But the way is +dangerous, stormy, and hard. There will be bleeding footsteps all along +the track. But you and I together!—ah, don't you see?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I don't," replied Dick. "Tell me, will you?"</p> + +<p>She drew her chair closer to him. "Yes; I will tell you," she said in a +whisper.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The So-called Dead</span></h3> + + +<p>"Don't be frightened at a word," she laughed. "I shall explain that word +in a few minutes. But it will not need much explanation. At heart you +and I are one."</p> + +<p>Dick waited in silence.</p> + +<p>"You do not help me," and her laugh was almost nervous. "And yet—oh, I +mean so much. But I am afraid to put it into a word, because that word +has been so misunderstood, so maligned. It is the greatest word in the +world. It sweeps down unnatural barriers, petty creeds, distinctions, +man-made laws, criminal usages. It is the dawn of a new day. It is the +sunrise. It is universal liberty, universal right. It is the divine +right of the People!"</p> + +<p>Still Dick was silent, and as she watched him she started to her feet.</p> + +<p>"Who have held the destinies of the great unnumbered millions in the +hollow of their hands?" she cried passionately. "The few. The Emperors, +the Kings, the Bureaucrats. And they have sucked the life blood of these +dumb, suffering millions. They have crushed them, persecuted them, made +them hewers of wood and drawers of water. Why have the poor lived? That +they might minister to the rich. Just that and nothing more. Whether the +millions have been called slaves, serfs, working classes—whatever you +like—the result has been the same. They have existed that the few might +have what they desired. But at last the world has revolted. The Great +War has made everything possible. The world is fluid, and the events of +life will be turned into new channels. Now is the opportunity of the +People. Whatever God there is, He made the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> world and all that is in it +for the People. In the past it has been robbed from them, but now it is +going to be theirs! Don't you see?"</p> + +<p>Dick nodded his head slowly. This, making allowance for the extravagance +of her words, was what he had been feeling for a long time.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said presently; "but how are they to get it?"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" she laughed. "I brought you here to-night to tell you. You are +going to give it them, my friend. With me to help you, perhaps, if you +will have me. Will you? Look into my eyes and tell me that you see—that +you understand?"</p> + +<p>Her eyes were as the eyes of a siren, but still Dick did not lose his +head.</p> + +<p>"I see no other way of giving the people justice than by working on the +lines I have been trying to work for years," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you do," she cried triumphantly. "You are a Labour man—a +Socialist if you like. You have a vision of better conditions for the +working classes in England—the British Isles. But what is that? What +does it all amount to? Sticking-plasters, <i>mon ami</i>—sticking-plasters."</p> + +<p>"Still, I do not understand," replied Dick.</p> + +<p>"But you do," she persisted, still with her great, lustrous eyes +laughing into his, in spite of a certain seriousness shining from them. +"Think a minute. Here we are at a crisis in the world's history. Unless +a mighty effort is made now, power, property, everything will drift back +to the old ruling classes, and that will mean what it has always meant. +Still the same accursed anomalies; still the same blinding, numbing, +crushing poverty on the one hand; still the same pampered luxury and +criminal waste on the other. All things must be new, my friend—new!"</p> + +<p>"But how?"</p> + +<p>"In one word—Bolshevism. No; don't be startled. Not the miserable +caricature, the horrible nightmare which has frightened the dull-minded +British but a glorious thing! Justice for humanity, the world for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +people! That's what it means. Not for one country, but for all the +countries—for the wide world. Don't you see? The world must become one, +because humanity is one. It must be. Disease in any part of the organism +hurts the whole body. If wrong is done in Russia, England has to pay; +therefore, all reform must be world wide; right must be done +everywhere."</p> + +<p>"Words, words, words," quoted Dick.</p> + +<p>"And more than words, my friend. The most glorious ideal the world has +ever known. And every ideal is an unborn event."</p> + +<p>"Beautiful as a dream, but, still, words," persisted Dick.</p> + +<p>"And why, my friend?"</p> + +<p>"Because power cannot be wrested from the hands in which it is now +vested——"</p> + +<p>"That is where you are mistaken. Think of Russia."</p> + +<p>"Yes; think of Russia," replied Dick—"a nightmare, a ghastly crime, +hell upon earth."</p> + +<p>"And I reply in your own language, 'Words, words, words.' My friend, you +cannot wash away abuses hoary with age with rose water. Stern work needs +stern methods. Our Russian comrades are taking the only way which will +lead to the Promised Land. Do not judge Russia by what it seems to-day, +but by what it will be when you and I are old. Already there are patches +of blue in the sky. In a few years from now things will have settled +down, and Russia, with all its wealth and all its possibilities, will +belong to the people—the great people of Russia. That is what must be +true of every nation. You talk of the great wealth of European +countries, and of America. Who holds that wealth? Just a few +thousands—whereas it should be in the hands of all—all."</p> + +<p>"And how will you do this mighty thing?" laughed Dick.</p> + +<p>"By the people not simply demanding, but taking their rights—taking it, +my friend."</p> + +<p>"By force?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly by force. It is their right."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But how?"</p> + +<p>"Think, my friend. Do you believe the people will ever get their rights +by what is called constitutional means? Do you think the landed +proprietors will give up their lands? That the Capitalists will disgorge +their millions? That the bourgeoisie will let go what they have squeezed +from the sweat and toil of the millions? You know they will not. There +is but one way all over the world. It is for the people everywhere to +claim, to <i>force</i>, their rights."</p> + +<p>"Revolution!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Revolution. Do not be afraid of the word."</p> + +<p>"Crime, anarchy, blood, ruin, the abolition of all law and order!"</p> + +<p>"What is called crime and anarchy to-day will be hailed a few years +hence as the gospel which has saved the world."</p> + +<p>Dick could not help being influenced by her words. There was an +intellectual quality in her presence which broke down his prejudices, a +spiritual dynamic in her beauty and her earnestness which half convinced +him.</p> + +<p>"Admitting what you say," he replied presently, "you only proclaim a +will-o'-the-wisp. Before such a movement could be set on foot, you must +have the whole people with you. You must have a great consensus of +opinion. To do this you must educate the people. Then you must have a +tremendous organisation. You would have to arm the people. And you would +need leaders."</p> + +<p>She laughed gaily. "Now we are getting near it," she cried. "You've seen +the vision. You've been seeing it, proclaiming it, unknowingly, for +years, but you've not dared to be obedient to your vision. But you will, +my friend. You will."</p> + +<p>She placed her hand on his arm, and looked half beseechingly, half +coyly, into his face.</p> + +<p>"Do you not see with me?" she cried. "Could you not join with me in a +great crusade for the salvation of the world? For I can be a faithful +comrade—faithful to death. Look into my eyes and tell me."</p> + +<p>Again he looked into her eyes, and he saw as she saw,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> felt as she felt. +His past life, his past work, seemed but as a mockery, while the vision +she caused him to see was like a glimpse of Paradise. Even yet, however, +a kind of hard, Saxon, common sense remained with him; and she appeared +to realise it, for, still keeping her hand upon his arm, she continued +her appeal. She told him what she had seen and heard, and tried to prove +to him how impossible it was for the poor to have their rights save by +rising in their millions, seizing the helm of power, and claiming, +taking, their own. Still he was not altogether convinced.</p> + +<p>"You describe a beautiful dream," he said, "but, like all beautiful +dreams, it vanishes when brought into contact with hard realities. What +you speak of is only mob rule, and mob rule is chaos. To achieve +anything you must have leaders, and when you get your leaders, you +simply replace one set of rulers by another."</p> + +<p>"Of course we do," was her answer. "But with this difference. The +present leaders are the result of an old bad system of selfish greed. +They think and act for themselves instead of for the good of the people. +But, with you as a leader, we should have a man who thinks only of +leading the children of the world into Light."</p> + +<p>"I?—I?" stammered Dick.</p> + +<p>"Of course, you, my friend. Else why should I long to see you, speak +with you, know you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course it's madness," he protested.</p> + +<p>"All great enterprises are madness," was her reply; "but it is Divine +madness. You were born from the foundation of the world for this work. +You have vision, you have daring, you have the essential qualities of +the leader, for you have the master mind."</p> + +<p>It is easy for a young man to be flattered by a beautiful woman, +especially when that woman is endowed with all charms, physical, +intellectual, personal. Her hand was still on his arm; her eyes were +still burning into his.</p> + +<p>"Of course it is impossible," he still persisted.</p> + +<p>"Why?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"A huge organisation which is international requires the most careful +arrangement—secret but potent."</p> + +<p>"The organisation exists in outline."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Propaganda work."</p> + +<p>"It has been going on for years. Even such work as you have been doing +has been preparing the way for greater things."</p> + +<p>"Money—millions of money!" he cried. "Don't you see? It's easy to talk +of leading the people, but difficult to accomplish—impossible, in fact, +in a highly organised country like this."</p> + +<p>"Give me your consent—tell me you will consent to lead us, and I will +show you that this is already done. Even now a million British soldiers +are ready—ready with arms and accoutrements!"</p> + +<p>Again she pleaded, again she fired his imagination! Fact after fact she +related of what had been done, and of what could be done. It needed, she +said, but the strong man to appear, and the poor, the suffering from +every byway, would flock to his standard.</p> + +<p>"But don't you see?" cried Dick, half bewildered and altogether dazzled +by the witchery of her words. "If I were to respond to your call, you +would be placing not only an awful responsibility upon me, but a +terrible power in my hands?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do see!" she cried; "and I glory in the thought. Look here, my +friend, I have been pleading with you not for your own sake, but for the +sake of others—for the redemption of the world. But all along I have +thought of you—<i>you</i>. It is right that you should think of yourself. +Every man should be anxious about his own career. This is right. We +cannot go against the elementary truths of life. There must be the +leaders as well as the led. And leadership means power, fame! Every +strong man longs for power, fame, position. You do, my friend. For years +you have been craving after it, and it is your right, your eternal +right. And here is the other ground of my appeal, my friend. Such a +position, such fame, such power is offered you as was never offered to +any man before. To be a leader of the world! To focus, to make real the +visions, longings, hopes of unnumbered millions. To make vocal, to +translate into reality all the world has been sighing for—striving +after. Great God! What a career! What a position!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ah—h!" and Mr. John Brown, who had been silent during the whole +conversation, almost sobbed out the exclamation, "that is it! that is +it! What a career! What a position to struggle after, to fight for! +Power! Power! The Kings and Emperors of the world become as nothing +compared with what you may be, my friend."</p> + +<p>Dick's heart gave a wild leap. Power! place! greatness! Yes; this was +what he had always longed for. As the thought gripped him, mastered him, +impossibilities became easy, difficulties but as thistledown.</p> + +<p>And yet he was afraid. Something, he knew not what, rose up and forbade +him to do things he longed to do. He felt that every weakness of his +life had been appealed to—his vanity, his selfishness, his desire for +greatness, as well as his natural longing for the betterment of the +world. And all the time the beautiful woman kept her hand on his arm. +And her touch was caressing, alluring, bewildering. Her eyes, wondrous +in their brilliance, fascinating, suggesting all the heart of man could +long for, were burning into his.</p> + +<p>He rose to his feet. "I must go," he said. "I will consider what you +have said."</p> + +<p>The woman rose too. She was nearly as tall as he, and she stood by his +side, a queen among women.</p> + +<p>"And you will think kindly, won't you?" she pleaded. "You will remember +that it is the dearest hope of my life to stand by your side, to share +your greatness."</p> + +<p>Dick was silent as he made his way through the dark and silent streets +with Mr. Brown by his side. He was still under the influences of the +night through which he had passed; his mind was still bewildered.</p> + +<p>Just before he reached his hotel, he and Mr. Brown parted—the latter to +turn down Piccadilly, Dick to make his way towards Bloomsbury. When Mr. +Brown had gone, Dick stood and watched him. Was he mistaken, or did he +see the figure of a man like Count Romanoff move from the doorstep of a +large building and join him? Was it Count Romanoff's voice he heard? He +was not sure.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + +<p>The night porter of his hotel spoke to him sleepily as he entered.</p> + +<p>"No Zepps to-night, sir," he said.</p> + +<p>"No; I think not. I fancy the Huns have given up that game."</p> + +<p>"Think so, sir? Well, there's no devilish thing they won't think of. I +hear they're going to try a new dodge on us."</p> + +<p>"Oh, what?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. But if it isn't one thing it's another. Nothing's too +dirty for 'em. Good night—or, rather, good morning, sir."</p> + +<p>"Good morning."</p> + +<p>Dick went to bed, but not to sleep. Again and again his mind rehearsed +the scenes through which he had passed. It all seemed like a dream, a +phantasmagoria, and yet it was very wonderful.</p> + +<p>When daylight came he plunged into a bath, and as he felt the sting of +the cold water on his body, he felt his own man again. His mind was +clear; his senses were alert.</p> + +<p>After breakfast he went for a walk towards Hyde Park. The air was clear +and exhilarating; the great tide of human life stirred his pulses and +caused his blood to course freely through his veins. His mind was saner, +more composed. He turned into the Park at the Marble Arch, and he +watched the crowds of gaily dressed women and swiftly moving motor-cars.</p> + +<p>Presently his heart gave a wild leap. Coming towards him he saw Lady +Blanche Huntingford. He thought he saw her smile at his approach, and +with eager footsteps he moved towards her. He held out his hand. "This +is indeed a pleasure, Lady Blanche," he said.</p> + +<p>She gave him a quick, haughty stare, and passed on. He was sure she +recognised him, but she acted as though he did not exist. She had cut +him dead; she had refused to know him. The woman's action maddened him. +Yet why should she not refuse to recognise him? He was a nobody, whom +she remembered as a kind of Roger Tichborne—an impostor.</p> + +<p>But she should know him! Again the memory of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> his recent experiences +came surging back into his mind. He could reach a position where such as +she would be as nothing, and like lightning his mind fastened upon +Olga's proposal.</p> + +<p>Yes; he would accept. He would throw himself heart and soul into this +great work. He would become great—yes, the greatest man in England—in +the world! He would go back to his hotel and write to her.</p> + +<p>A little later he sat at a table in the writing-room of the hotel, but +just as he commenced to write the pen dropped from his hand. Again he +thought he felt that light yet irresistible hand upon his wrist—the +same hand that he had felt in the library at Wendover Park.</p> + +<p>He gave a quick, searching glance around the room, and he saw that he +was alone.</p> + +<p>"Who are you? What do you want?" he asked aloud.</p> + +<p>Again he looked around him. Did he see that luminous form, those +yearning, searching eyes, the memory of which had been haunting him for +years? He was not sure. But of this he was sure. The place seemed filled +with a holy influence, and he thought he heard the words, "Watch and +pray, that ye enter not into temptation."</p> + +<p>"Speak, speak, tell me who you are," he again spoke aloud. But no +further answer came to him.</p> + +<p>Bewildered, wondering, he rose to his feet and sauntered around the +room. His attention was drawn to a number of papers that were scattered +on a table. A minute later he was reading an article entitled</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Do the So-called Dead speak to Us?</span>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>The paper containing the article was a periodical which existed for the +purpose of advocating spiritualism. It announced that a renowned medium +would take part in a séance that very afternoon in a building not far +away, and that all earnest and reverent seekers after truth were invited +to be present.</p> + +<p>"I'll go," determined Dick as he read.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Visions of Another World</span></h3> + + +<p>After Dick had decided to attend the séance he read the article more +carefully. It purported to be written by a man who had given up all +faith in religion and all forms of spiritual life. He had tried to find +satisfaction in the pleasures and occupations of his daily existence, +and had treated everything else as a played-out fallacy. Then two of his +sons had been killed in the war, and life had become a painful, hollow +mockery. By and by he became impressed by the thought that his sons were +alive and wanted to speak to him. Sometimes, too, he had felt as though +presences were near him, but who they were or what they meant he could +not tell. After this he had by pure accident heard two people talking +about their experiences at a séance, and one had distinctly stated that +he had seen and spoken to a dear dead friend. This caused the writer to +turn his attention to spiritualism. The result was that he remained no +longer a materialist, but was an ardent believer in the spiritual world. +He distinctly stated that he had had irrefutable assurance that his sons +were alive, that they had spoken to him, and had brought him messages +from the spirit world. Things which before had been bewildering and +cruel now became plain and full of comfort. Life was larger, grander, +and full of a great hope.</p> + +<p>Dick's heart warmed as he read. Surely here was light. Surely, too, he +would be able to find an explanation to what for years had been a +mystery to him.</p> + +<p>He thought of the conversations he had heard in Eastroyd, in relation to +this, to which he had paid but little attention because his mind had +been too full of other matters, but which were now full of +significance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> His mind again reverted to the discussion on the Angels +at Mons. If there were no truth in the stories, how could so many have +believed in them? How could there be such clear and definite testimonies +from men who had actually seen?</p> + +<p>And had not he, Dick Faversham, both seen and heard? What was the +meaning of the repeated appearances of that beautiful, luminous figure +with great, yearning eyes and arms outstretched to save?</p> + +<p>Yes; he would go to this séance. He would inquire, and he would learn.</p> + +<p>He felt he had need of guidance. He knew he had come to another crisis +in his life. The proposal which had been made to him was alluring; it +appealed to the very depths of his being.</p> + +<p>Power, position, fame! That was what it meant. To take a leading part in +the great drama of life, to be a principal factor in the emancipation of +the world! But there was another side. If this movement was spreading +with such gigantic strides—were to spread to England and dominate the +thoughts and actions of the toiling millions of the country—what might +it not mean?</p> + +<p>He was sure of nothing. He could not grasp the issues clearly; he could +not see his way to the end. But it was grand; it was stupendous! +Besides, to come into daily, hourly, contact with that sublime woman—to +constantly feel the magnetic charm of her presence! The thought stirred +his pulses, fired his imagination! How great she was, too. How she had +swept aside the world's conventions and man-made moralities. She seemed +like a warm breath from the lands of sunshine and song. And yet he was +not sure.</p> + +<p>For hours he sat thinking, weighing pros and cons, trying to mark out +the course of his life. Yes; he had done well. Since he had left +Wendover Park he had become an influence in the industrial life of the +North; he had become proclaimed a leader among the working classes; in +all probability he would soon be able to voice their cause in the Mother +of Parliaments.</p> + +<p>But what did it all amount to after all? A Labour Member of Parliament! +The tool of the unwashed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> uneducated masses! A voting machine at £400 a +year! Besides, what could he do? What could the Labour Party do? When +their programme was realised, if ever it was realised, what did it all +amount to? The wealth, the power, would still be in the hands of the +ruling, educated classes, while he would be a mere nobody.</p> + +<p>"Sticking-plasters."</p> + +<p>The term stuck to him—mocked him. He was only playing at reform. But +the dream of Olga—the emancipation of the race! the dethronement of the +parasites—the bloodsuckers of the world!—a new heaven and a new +earth!—while he, Dick Faversham, would be hailed as the prophet, the +leader of this mighty movement, with infinite wealth at his command and +power unlimited. Power!</p> + +<p>Men professed to sneer at Trotsky; they called him a criminal, an +outrage to humanity. But what a position he held! He was more feared, +more discussed, than any man in the world—he who a few months before +was unknown, unheard of. And he defied kings and potentates, for kings +and potentates were powerless before him. While behind him was a new +Russia, a new world.</p> + +<p>To be such a man in England! To make vocal and real the longings of the +greatest Democracy in the world, and to lead it. That would mean the +premier place in the world, and——</p> + +<p>So he weighed the position, so he thought of this call which had come to +him.</p> + +<p>During the afternoon he left his hotel and made his way towards the +house where the spiritualistic séance was to be held. In spite of all +his dreams of social reforms, and the appeal made to his own ambitions, +his mind constantly reverted to the vision which had again come to +him—to the influences he could not understand.</p> + +<p>He found the house, and was admitted without difficulty. It was in a +commonplace, shabby-looking street not far from Tottenham Court Road. On +his arrival he was admitted into a room, where an absurd attempt had +been made to give it an Oriental appearance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> An old woman occupied the +only arm-chair in the room. She looked up at his entrance, stared at him +for a few seconds, and then muttered indistinctly. He was followed by +half a dozen others who might have been habitués of the place.</p> + +<p>Presently a man entered, who glanced inquiringly around the room. He +appeared to be about fifty years of age, and had light watery-looking +eyes. He made his way to Dick.</p> + +<p>"You desire to be present at the séance?" he asked of Dick.</p> + +<p>"If I may?" was Dick's reply.</p> + +<p>"You come as a sincere, earnest, reverent inquirer?"</p> + +<p>"I hope so."</p> + +<p>"Is there any friend you have lost, any message you want to receive?" +and he scrutinised Dick closely.</p> + +<p>"At a time like this, we have all lost friends," Dick replied.</p> + +<p>"Ah, then you come as an inquirer?"</p> + +<p>"That is true. I have come to learn."</p> + +<p>"Certainly. But of course there are certain expenses. Would it be +convenient for you to give me ten shillings?"</p> + +<p>Dick gave him a ten-shilling note, whereupon the man turned to another +visitor.</p> + +<p>"A great medium, but keen on business," Dick heard someone say.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but why not? Mediums must live the same as other people."</p> + +<p>Another man entered. He was much younger than the other. He looked very +unhealthy, and his hands twitched nervously.</p> + +<p>"The room is ready," he said, and his voice was toneless. "Perhaps you +would like to see it and examine it before the light is excluded, so +that you may be sure there is no deception."</p> + +<p>Dick with two others accepted the man's invitation. The room into which +he was led was carpetless and completely unfurnished save for a number +of uncushioned chairs and a plain deal table. Nothing else was visible. +There was not a picture on the walls, not a sign of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> decoration. Dick +and the others professed satisfaction with what they had seen.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later the others joined them, accompanied by the man who +had been spoken of as a "great medium," also the man with the nervous, +twitching hands, who Dick afterwards learned was the leader of the two +mediums.</p> + +<p>"My friends," he said, "will you seat yourselves around the table? We +promise you nothing. The spirits may come, and they may not. I, +personally, am a medium of the old order. I do not pretend to tell you +what spirits say; I make no claim to be a clairvoyant. If the spirits +come they will speak for themselves—if they wish to speak. If there are +persons here who desire a message from the spirit world they will, if +they receive such a message at all, receive it direct from the spirits. +I pretend to explain nothing, just as I promise nothing. But in the past +spirits have come to such gatherings as this, and many comforting +messages have been given. That is all."</p> + +<p>The party then sat down at the table, placed their hands upon it in such +a way that the fingers of one person joined those of the persons sitting +next, and thus formed a circle. All light was excluded.</p> + +<p>For three minutes there was silence. No sound was heard; no light was +seen. All was darkness and silence.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly there was a faint voice—a child's voice. It sounded as +though it came from the ceiling.</p> + +<p>"I am come," wailed the voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I am come." This time the voice seemed to come from the +direction of the window. It was hoarse, and coarse.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?</p> + +<p>"I am Jim Barkum. I was killed at Mons."</p> + +<p>"Anything to tell us?"</p> + +<p>"No; nothin' except I'm all right. I come fro' Sheffield. If you could +tell my mother, Emily Barkum, that I'm very happy I'd be very thankful."</p> + +<p>"What's your mother's address?"</p> + +<p>"Number 14 Tinkers Street."</p> + +<p>After this a number of other spirits purported to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> come, one of whom +said he was the son of a sitter in the circle, and that he had been +killed in the war.</p> + +<p>"Will you reveal yourself?" said the medium.</p> + +<p>Some phosphorous light shone in the darkness, in the radiance of which +was the outline of a face.</p> + +<p>"Do you recognise it?" asked the medium.</p> + +<p>"It might be Jack," Dick heard a voice say.</p> + +<p>After this there seemed to be a quarrel among the spirits. There was a +good deal of confused talk and a certain amount of anger expressed. Also +a number of feeble jokes were passed and far-away laughter heard. +Evidently the spirits were in a frolicsome humour.</p> + +<p>Dick, whose purpose in coming to the séance was not to take part in a +fiasco, grew impatient. In his state of mind he felt he had wasted both +money and time. It was true he had seen and heard what he could not +explain, but it amounted to nothing. Everything seemed silly beyond +words. There was nothing convincing in anything, and it was all +artificial.</p> + +<p>"I should like to ask a question," he ventured at length.</p> + +<p>"Go ahead," said a voice, which seemed to come from the ceiling.</p> + +<p>"I should like to ask this: why is it that you, who have solved the +great secret of death, should, now you are permitted to come back and +speak to those of us who haven't, talk such horrible drivel?"</p> + +<p>"Hear! hear!" assented a member of the circle.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's this way," answered the spirit: "every one of you sitting here +have your attendant spirits. If you are intellectual, intellectual +spirits attend you and come to talk to you, but as you are not they just +crack silly jokes."</p> + +<p>There was laughter at this, not only from the sitters, but among the +spirits, of which the room, by this time, seemed to be full.</p> + +<p>"That's not bad," replied Dick. "One might think you'd said that before, +but as it happens we are not all fools, and I personally would like +something more sensible. This is a time when thousands of hearts are +breaking," he added.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What would you like to know?"</p> + +<p>It was another voice that spoke now—a sweeter and more refined voice, +and might have belonged to a woman.</p> + +<p>"I would like to know if it is true that each of us have attendant +spirits, as one of you said just now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; that is true."</p> + +<p>"You mean guardian angels?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; if you like to call them that. But they are not all guardian +angels. There are spirits who try to do harm, as well as those who try +to guard and to save."</p> + +<p>"Are they here now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; they are here now. I can see one behind you at this moment."</p> + +<p>The atmosphere of the room had suddenly changed. It seemed as though +something solemn and elevating had entered and driven away the +frivolous, chattering presences which had filled the room. A hush had +fallen upon the sitters too, and all ears seemed to be listening +eagerly.</p> + +<p>"You say you can see a spirit behind me now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Tell me, is it a good spirit or a bad one?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know. The face is hidden."</p> + +<p>"But surely you can cause the face to be seen. I am anxious to learn—to +know."</p> + +<p>"I think I can tell directly. Wait."</p> + +<p>There was a silence for perhaps ten seconds; then the voice spoke again.</p> + +<p>"The spirit will not show its face," it said, "but it is always with +you. It never leaves you night nor day."</p> + +<p>"Why does it not leave me?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell; I do not know."</p> + +<p>"Tell me," persisted Dick, "you do not seem like the other spirits who +have been here—if they are spirits," he added in an undertone. "Can you +not find out if I am watched over for any particular purpose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I can. I can see now. It is a guardian angel, and she loves +you."</p> + +<p>"She loves me—why does she love me?"</p> + +<p>"When she was alive she loved you. I think you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> were engaged. But she +died, and you never married her. But she is always watching over +you—trying to help you. Were you ever engaged to anyone who died?"</p> + +<p>"That is surely a leading question," was Dick's retort. "Is that all you +can tell me?"</p> + +<p>"That is all, except that you have enemies, one in particular, who is +trying to do you harm, and your guardian angel is always near you, +seeking to protect you. Have you an enemy?"</p> + +<p>"Possibly—I don't know. Is that enemy a man or a woman?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell. Everything is becoming hazy and dim. I am not a spirit +of the highest order. There, everything is blank to me now."</p> + +<p>After this the séance continued for some time, but as far as Dick was +concerned, it had but little definite interest. Many things took place +which he could not explain, but to him they meant nothing. They might +have been caused by spirits, but then again they might have been the +result of trickery. Nothing was clear to him except the one outstanding +fact that no light had been thrown on the problem of his life. He wanted +some explanation of the wonderful apparition which had so affected his +life, and he found none. For that matter, although the spirit world had +been demonstrated to him, he had no more conviction about the spirit +world after the séance than he had before. All the same, he could not +help believing, not because of the séance, but almost in spite of it, +that a presence was constantly near him, and that this presence had a +beneficent purpose in his life.</p> + +<p>"You were not convinced?" asked a man of him as presently he left the +house.</p> + +<p>Dick was silent.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes I think I am, and sometimes I think I am not," went on the +man. "It's all a mystery. But I know one thing."</p> + +<p>"What?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"My old mother, who held fast to the old simple faith in Christ, had no +doubts nor fears," was the man's reply. "I was with her when she was +dying, and she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> told me that angels were beckoning to her. She said she +saw the face of her Lord, and that He was waiting to welcome her on the +other side. I wish I could see as she saw."</p> + +<p>"Did she believe in angels?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"She had no doubt," replied the man. "She said that God sent His angels +to guard those they loved, and that those angels helped them to fight +evil spirits."</p> + +<p>"Accepting the idea of a spirit world, it seems reasonable," and Dick +spoke like one thinking aloud rather than to be answering the man.</p> + +<p>"Did not angels minister to Christ after He was tempted of the Devil?" +persisted the man. "Did not angels help the Apostles? I don't think I'll +bother about spiritualism any more. There may be truth in it; there may +not; but I'd rather get hold of the faith my mother had."</p> + +<p>"I wonder?" mused Dick, as he went away alone. "I wonder? But I'll have +to send an answer to Olga. My word, what a glorious woman, and what a +career! But I don't see my way clear."</p> + +<p>He made his way back to his hotel, thinking and wondering. He felt he +had come to a crisis in his life, but his way was not plain, and he did +not know where to look for light.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Romanoff's Philosophy</span></h3> + + +<p>Count Romanoff sat in a handsomely furnished room. It formed a part of a +suite he had taken in a fashionable London hotel. He was smoking a +cigar, while at his side was a tray with several decanters containing +spirits.</p> + +<p>He seemed to be puzzled, and often there was an angry gleam in his eyes, +a cruel smile on his lips.</p> + +<p>"I am not sure of him," he muttered, "and so far I've failed altogether. +More than once I was certain that I had him—certain that he was bound +to me hand and foot, and then——"</p> + +<p>He started to his feet and strode impatiently across the room. He +appeared angry. Looking out of the window, he could see the tide of +human beings which swept hither and thither in the London street.</p> + +<p>"Good and evil," he said aloud—"good and evil. Those people are all the +time tempted, and yet—and yet——But I'll have him. It's only a matter +of time now."</p> + +<p>He heard a knock at the door, and started violently. For a +self-contained, strong man, he seemed at times to be peculiarly +apprehensive.</p> + +<p>"Yes; come in. Ah, it's you, is it? I was expecting you."</p> + +<p>"Count Romanoff, are you ever surprised?" It was Mr. John Brown who +spoke, and who quietly came into the room.</p> + +<p>"Rarely," replied the Count. "Why should I? After all, the events of +life are a matter of calculation. Certain forces, certain powers of +resistance—and there you are."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It takes a clever man to calculate the forces or the powers of +resistance," replied Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>"Just so. Well, I am clever."</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown looked at him curiously, and there was an expression almost of +fear in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Count Romanoff," he said, "I wonder sometimes if you are not the +Devil—if there is a devil," he added as if in afterthought.</p> + +<p>"Why, do you doubt it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. It would be difficult to explain some things and some +people unless you postulate a devil."</p> + +<p>The Count laughed almost merrily. "Then why not accept the fact?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"Do you?" asked Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt of it. I—but wait. You must clear the ground. The +existence of a devil presupposes evil—and good. If what the world calls +evil is evil—there is a devil."</p> + +<p>"You speak like one who knows."</p> + +<p>"I do know."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?"</p> + +<p>"Because——But look here, my friend, you did not come here to discuss +<i>that</i> problem."</p> + +<p>"No; I did not. I came because I wanted to discuss——"</p> + +<p>"A young man called Richard Faversham. Very well, let's discuss him," +and the Count took a fresh cigar and lit it.</p> + +<p>"I've been thinking a good deal since I saw you last," said Mr. +Brown—"thinking pretty deeply."</p> + +<p>The Count for reply looked at Mr. Brown steadily, but spoke no word.</p> + +<p>"I have been wondering at your interest in him," said Mr. Brown. "He's +not your sort."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps that's a reason," he suggested.</p> + +<p>"Still I do not understand you."</p> + +<p>"But I understand you. I know you through and through. You, although you +are a member of the best London clubs, although you pass as a Britisher +of Britishers, and although you bear a good old commonplace<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> English +name, hate Britain, and especially do you hate England. Shall I tell you +why?"</p> + +<p>"Not aloud, my friend—not aloud; there may be servants outside—people +listening," and Mr. Brown spoke in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"I <i>shall</i> speak aloud," replied the Count, "and there is no one +listening. I feel in a communicative, garrulous mood to-night, and it's +no use mincing words. You hate England, because you are German at heart, +and a German by birth, although no one knows it—but me. I also hate +England."</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>"Because it stands for those things I abominate. Because, in spite of +its so-called materialism, it still holds fast to the old standards of +religion, and all that religion means. It stands for what the world +calls progress, for civilisation, and Democracy. And I hate Democracy."</p> + +<p>"You are a Russian," commented Mr. Brown—"a Russian aristocrat, +therefore you would naturally hate Democracy."</p> + +<p>"Am I?" and the Count laughed. "Well, call me that if you like."</p> + +<p>"You told me so when we first met."</p> + +<p>"Did I? I know you came to me in a sad way. You began to doubt your +country, and your country's victory. You saw that it would never gain +what it desired and hoped on the battlefield. You realised that this +England—this Britain that you had scorned—was mightier than you +thought. You saw that John Bull, whom I hate as much as you, was +practically invincible."</p> + +<p>"Yes; I could not help realising that. I admitted it to you, and you +told me to——"</p> + +<p>"Take special note of Faversham. I told you his story."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you did, and I accepted your advice. I went to Eastroyd; I made +his acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"And were impressed by the power he had obtained over the working +classes, the Democracy, that we hear so much about. As you told me, he +had taken up their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> cause, and that he had developed the gift of public +oratory so assiduously that his power over working-class audiences was +almost magnetic."</p> + +<p>"But look here, Count, I——"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me a moment. I had studied Faversham for years. For reasons of +my own, I wanted him to do certain things."</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown sat quietly, watching the Count, who ceased speaking suddenly, +and seemed to be staring into vacancy.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever read a book by a man named John Bunyan, called <i>The Holy +War</i>?" he asked, with seeming irrelevance.</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown laughed. "Years ago, when I was a boy," he replied.</p> + +<p>"A wonderful book, my friend. I have read it many times."</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> read it many times! Why, what interest could such a book have for +you?"</p> + +<p>"A very deep interest," and there was a curious intonation in his voice.</p> + +<p>"What interest?" asked Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>The Count rose to his feet and knocked some ash from the end of his +cigar. "Corpo di Bacco!" he cried. "Did not the man get deep? The city +of Mansoul! And the Devil wanted to get it. So he studied the +fortifications. Eyegate, nosegate, touchgate, eargate he saw, he +understood!"</p> + +<p>"What on earth are you talking about?" asked Mr. Brown in astonishment.</p> + +<p>"There is one passage which goes deep," went on the Count as though Mr. +Brown had not spoken. "It contained some of the deepest philosophy of +life; it went to the roots of the whole situation. I had it in my mind +when I advised you to make Faversham's acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"What passage?" asked Mr. Brown, still failing to catch the drift of the +other's words.</p> + +<p>"It is this," and the Count spoke very quietly. "<i>For here lay the +excellent wisdom of Him who built Mansoul, that the walls could never be +broken down, nor hurt by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> the most mighty adverse potentate, unless the +townsmen gave consent thereto.</i>"</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown looked puzzled. "I don't follow you," he said.</p> + +<p>"Don't you? Bunyan wrote in parable, but his meaning is plain. He said +that Diabolus could never conquer Mansoul except by the consent of +Mansoul. Well, I saw this: England—Britain—could never be conquered +except by the consent of the people of England. United, Britain is +unconquerable."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Therefore, I made you see that if your country, which stands for force, +and militarism, and barbarism, was to conquer England you must get +England divided; you must get her own forces in a state of disunity. A +country at war with itself is powerless. Set class against class, +interest against interest, party against party, and you produce chaos. +That is the only hope of your country, my friend. The thing was to get a +man who could do this for you."</p> + +<p>"And you thought of Faversham?"</p> + +<p>"I told you to make his acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"Which I have done. The results you know."</p> + +<p>"Are you satisfied with the results?"</p> + +<p>Mr. John Brown was silent a few seconds. Evidently he was thinking +deeply.</p> + +<p>"He is no Bolshevist at heart," he said.</p> + +<p>"Are you?"</p> + +<p>"I? Great heavens, no! I hate it, except for my enemies. But it has +served our purpose so far. Russia is in a state of chaos; it is +powerless—bleeding at our feet. If Russia had remained united, we, the +Germans, would have been crushed, beaten, ruined. As it is——"</p> + +<p>"I love the condition of Russia," and Romanoff spoke almost exultantly. +"I love it! It is what I hoped for, strove for, prayed for!"</p> + +<p>"You—a Russian—say that! And <i>you</i> pray?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I pray. What then?"</p> + +<p>"But you did not pray to God?" and there was a note of fear in Mr. +Brown's voice.</p> + +<p>"I prayed to my own god," replied Romanoff, "who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> is a very good +counterpart of the god of your Kaiser. The good old German god, eh?" and +he laughed ruthlessly. "And what is he, my friend? A god of force, a god +of cruelty. Ruthlessness, mercilessness, anything to win. That's the +German god. I prayed to that."</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown almost shuddered.</p> + +<p>"Yes; the condition of Russia is one of the great joys of my life. It +means victory—victory for me, for you—if we can only get England to +follow Russia's example."</p> + +<p>"If we only could," assented Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>"And there are elements at work which, properly used, will bring this +about," went on the Count. "I, Romanoff, tell you so. And Faversham is +your man."</p> + +<p>"He is no Bolshevist," again urged Mr. Brown. "At heart he knows what it +means. That's why I am nearly hopeless about him. Give him time to +think, and he will see that it will mean chaos—ruin to the things he +has been taught to love."</p> + +<p>"Before Adam ate the forbidden fruit two things happened," remarked +Romanoff.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"First the serpent worked. Then the woman."</p> + +<p>"The woman! Yes; the woman!"</p> + +<p>"Human nature is a curious business," went on the Count. "There are +several points at which it is vulnerable. I have made a special point of +studying human nature, and this I have seen."</p> + +<p>"I don't quite follow you."</p> + +<p>"I don't speak in riddles, my friend. Take a strong character like +Faversham, and consider it. What is likely to appeal to it? As I +understand the case, there are three main channels of appeal. First, +money, and all that money means. Next there is ambition, greed for +power, place, position, dominance. Then there is the eternal thing—the +Senses. Drink, gluttony, drugs, women. Generally any one of these things +will master a man, but bring them altogether and it is certain he will +succumb."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I see."</p> + +<p>"Money, and all that money brings, is not enough in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> Faversham's case. +That I know. But he is intensely ambitious—and—and he is young."</p> + +<p>"That is why you told me to introduce him to Olga?"</p> + +<p>"A woman can make a man do what, under ordinary circumstances, he would +scorn to do. If you advocated Bolshevism to him, even although you +convinced him that he could be Lenin and Trotsky rolled into one, and +that he could carry the Democracy of Britain with him, he would laugh at +you. I saw that yesterday after your conversation with him. He was +attracted for an hour, but I saw that he laughed at your proposals. That +was why I told you to let him see and hear Olga. Now, tell me of their +meeting."</p> + +<p>Mr. Brown described in correct detail Dick's experiences in the East of +London.</p> + +<p>"Never did I believe a woman could be such a siren," Mr. Brown +concluded. "She charmed, she magnetised, she fascinated."</p> + +<p>"Is he in love with her?" asked the Count.</p> + +<p>"If he is not he must be a stone," said Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but is he? I told you to watch him—to report to me."</p> + +<p>"I do not know. He did not consent readily; he must have time to think, +he said. But, man, he cannot resist her!"</p> + +<p>"I do not know."</p> + +<p>"But have you ever heard of any man who could resist her blandishments? +Has she not been called a sorceress?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I know—but he promised her nothing?"</p> + +<p>"He said he would let her know later."</p> + +<p>"Then he has resisted. My friend, I do not understand him. But—but—let +me think."</p> + +<p>"He was greatly impressed not only by her, but by her arguments," went +on Mr. Brown presently. "I tell you, the woman is a sibyl, a witch. She +was wonderful—wonderful. While I listened, I—even I—almost believed +in her description of Bolshevism. A new heaven, and a new earth! I tell +you, I almost believed in it. She pictured a paradise, an El Dorado, an +Elysium,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> and she made Faversham see, understand. I tell you, he cannot +resist her, and if he promises her, as he will, I can see England in a +state of chaos in six months. Then—then——"</p> + +<p>But the Count did not seem to be listening. His eyes were turned towards +the streets, but he saw nothing.</p> + +<p>"He went to a spiritualistic séance this afternoon," he said presently.</p> + +<p>"What?—Faversham?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Faversham. What do you think it means?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot think. He has never struck me as that sort of fellow."</p> + +<p>"Look here, Brown, have you had many intimate talks with him?"</p> + +<p>"Intimate? Yes, I think so."</p> + +<p>"What have you talked about?"</p> + +<p>"Always about the condition of the people, politics, and things of that +nature."</p> + +<p>"Have you ever discussed religion with him?"</p> + +<p>"I don't believe he has any religion."</p> + +<p>"I wonder?"</p> + +<p>"What do you wonder?"</p> + +<p>"I say, during your conversations with him—during your visits to +Eastroyd—have you ever heard, have you ever discovered, that he is in +love with anyone?"</p> + +<p>"Never. He has taken no notice of women since I have known him. He seems +to have been engrossed in his socialistic work. Mind, I doubt whether, +at heart, he is even a socialist, much less a Bolshevist."</p> + +<p>"That does not matter if we can get him to enlist in Olga's crusade. He +has enough influence among, not only the working classes of the country, +but among the leaders of the working classes all over the land, to +create disturbances. He can inspire strikes; he can cause anarchy among +the people. He can imbue them with Bolshevist ideals; he can make great +promises. That done, the British Army is powerless. Without coals, and +without the means of transport—don't you see?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I see. That's what I've had in my mind from the first. If +that can be done, Germany will be master of the world!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And more than that," and the Count spoke exultantly, "I shall have him, +body and soul."</p> + +<p>"But we must be very careful. If our plans leak out, my life will not be +worth a row of pins."</p> + +<p>Again the Count paced the room. He did not seem to be heeding Mr. Brown. +His face worked convulsively, his eyes burned red, his hands clenched +and unclenched themselves.</p> + +<p>"I vowed I'd have him," he reflected—"vowed he should be mine. Left by +himself he will do great things for what is called the good of the +world. He will work for sobriety, purity, British national life. The man +has powers, qualities which mean great things for what pietists call the +world's betterment. But he is an aristocrat at heart; he loves money, +and, more, he loves position, fame. He is as ambitious as Napoleon. He +longs for power. But he has a conscience; he has a strong sense of what +he calls right and wrong. I thought I had him down at Wendover. But I +failed. Why, I wonder? But I will not fail this time. Olga will dull his +conscience. She has charmed, fascinated him. She will make him her +slave. Then—then——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," broke in Mr. Brown, who had only half understood the Count's +monologue; "then he will cause a revolution here in England, and Britain +as a fighting power will be paralysed. But I am not sure of him. He +loves his country, and unless Olga gets hold of him, and that soon, he +will see what our plans mean, and he will refuse to move hand or foot. +You see, we've got no hold on him."</p> + +<p>"We've every hold on him," almost snapped the Count. "We've appealed to +his every weakness, and Olga will do the rest. I select my tools +carefully, my friend."</p> + +<p>A knock was heard at the door, and the Count impatiently opened it. "I +am engaged; I cannot be disturbed," he said.</p> + +<p>"The lady said she must see you," protested the servant, "so I—I +thought I'd better come."</p> + +<p>The Count looked beyond the man, and saw a woman closely veiled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Show the lady in," and a few seconds later she threw off her wraps and +revealed her face.</p> + +<p>"Olga?" cried both men together.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I thought I'd better brave all danger. I've heard from him."</p> + +<p>"From Faversham?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; a long telegram."</p> + +<p>"What does he say?" gasped Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>"I have it here," replied Olga breathlessly.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">A Voice from Another World</span></h3> + + +<p>Dick Faversham walked along Oxford Street thinking deeply. Although he +had been by no means convinced by what he had seen and heard, he could +not help being impressed. The whole of the proceedings might be +accounted for by jugglery and clever trickery, or, on the other +hand, influences might have been at work which he could not +understand—influences which came from the unseen world. But nothing +satisfied him. Everything he had experienced lacked dignity. It was +poor; it was sordid. He could not help comparing the outstanding +features of the séance with the events which had so affected him. The +face of the woman in the smoking-room of the steamer, the sublime figure +which had upheld him when he was sinking in the wild, stormy sea, was +utterly removed from the so-called spirits who had obeyed the summons of +the mediums, and acted through them. How tawdry, too, were the so-called +messages compared with the sublime words which had come to him almost +like a whisper, and yet so plainly that he could hear it above the roar +of the ocean:</p> + +<p>"The Eternal God is thy Refuge, and underneath are the Everlasting +Arms."</p> + +<p>This was sublime—sublime in the great comfort it gave him, sublimer +still in what it signified to the life of the world.</p> + +<p>"It's true, too!" he exclaimed aloud, as he threaded his way along the +crowded thoroughfare. "True!"</p> + +<p>He stopped as the meaning of the words came to him:</p> + +<p>"The Eternal God is thy Refuge, and underneath are the Everlasting +Arms."</p> + +<p>And because that was true, everything was possible!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> + +<p>As he thought of it, his materialism melted like snow in a tropical sun, +and he realised how superficial and how silly his past scepticism had +been.</p> + +<p>God was behind all, underneath all, in all, through all. And if that was +true, He had a thousand agents working to do His will, an infinite +variety of means whereby His purposes were carried out. He, Dick +Faversham, could not understand them; but what of that? God was greater +than the thoughts of the creatures He had made.</p> + +<p>But what of his own immediate actions? He had promised Olga that he +would that very day send her a telegram where and when he could meet +her, and that this telegram would signify his intention to fall in with +her plans. She had given him directions where this telegram was to be +sent, and he had to confess that he had looked forward to meeting her +again with no ordinary pleasure.</p> + +<p>The memory of their strange conversation on the previous night, and the +picture of her glorious womanhood came to him with a strange vividness. +Well, why should he not send the telegram?</p> + +<p>He passed a post office just then, and turned as though he would enter. +But he did not pass through the doorway. Something, he could not tell +what, seemed to hold him back. He thought little of it, however, and +still made his way along Oxford Street, towards High Holborn.</p> + +<p>Again the problem of the future faced him, and he wondered what to do. +Somehow, he could not tell why, but the thought of meeting the beautiful +Russian did not seem to be in accord with the sublime words which were +surging through his brain:</p> + +<p>"The Eternal God is thy Refuge."</p> + +<p>He found himself thinking of the wondrous face which had appeared to him +as he stood at the door of Wendover Park, and he remembered the words +that came to him.</p> + +<p>"Pray, pray!" the voice had said. "Watch and pray!"</p> + +<p>"God help me!" he cried almost involuntarily. "Great God help me!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> + +<p>He still threaded his way through the crowd in the great thoroughfare, +almost unconscious of what he did. He was scarcely aware that he had +uttered a cry to Heaven for help. He passed the end of Chancery Lane and +then came to the old timbered houses which stand opposite Gray's Inn +Road. But this ancient part of London did not appeal to him. He did not +notice that the houses were different from others. He was almost like a +man in a dream.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly he found himself in Staple Inn. How he had come there he +did not know. He had no remembrance of passing through the old doorway, +but he was there, and the change from the roar of the great thoroughfare +outside and the silence of this little sequestered nook impressed him.</p> + +<p>There was not a soul visible in the little square. As all Londoners +know, Staple Inn is one of the smallest and quietest in the metropolis. +The houses which form it are mostly occupied by professional men, and +there is scarcely ever anything like traffic there. But this afternoon +there was no one to be seen, and the change from the crowded highway was +pleasant.</p> + +<p>"What in the world am I doing here?" he asked himself.</p> + +<p>But before he had time to answer the question he had propounded he +realised a strange sensation. Although he could see nothing, he felt +that some presence was near him.</p> + +<p>"Listen."</p> + +<p>The word was scarcely above a whisper, but he heard it plainly. He +looked around him, his senses alert, but nothing was to be seen.</p> + +<p>"Can you hear me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." He spoke the word almost involuntarily, and his voice seemed +strange to his own ears.</p> + +<p>"Do you know Drury Lane?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," and he looked around wonderingly, trying to locate the voice.</p> + +<p>"To-night, at nine o'clock, you must go to Drury Lane. You must walk +westward until you come to Blot Street. Turn up at Blot Street, and keep +along the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> right side. You must turn at the third street. You are sure +you are following my instructions?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," he answered excitedly. "Who are you? Where are you?"</p> + +<p>"You must walk along the third street for about twenty steps, stopping +at the door marked 13<span class="smcap">a</span>. You will knock five times in quick succession. +You will wait five seconds, then you will give two more knocks louder +than the first. The door will be opened, and you will be asked your +business. Your reply will be two words, 'Victory,' 'Dominion.' You will +be admitted without further questions. After that use your own +judgment."</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a change as if in the whole atmosphere. He had, as it +seemed to him, been in a kind of trance, but now he was more than +ordinarily awake. And he was alone. Whatever had been near him was gone. +The voice had ceased speaking.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<p>For some time Dick Faversham stood alone in the square without moving +hand or foot. He was in a state of astonishment which was beyond the +power of words to describe. But he had no doubt that he had heard the +voice; he was as certain that some presence which he could not see had +been near him as that he was certain he stood there at that moment.</p> + +<p>Outside the square in Holborn the tide of traffic rolled on. Conveyances +filled with human life rushed eastward and westward; men and women, +oblivious to the fact of any world save their own, made their way to +their destinations; but inside the square a man felt he had been in +touch with mystery, eternity.</p> + +<p>He moved into High Holborn like a man in a dream, and stood for a few +seconds watching the faces of the passers-by.</p> + +<p>"And not one of them seems to realise that the spirit world is all +around them," he reflected.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<p>He never thought of disobeying the commands he had received. The voice +had come to him with a note of authority; the message was one which must +be obeyed.</p> + +<p>Slowly he made his way westward again, and presently came to a post +office. He entered without hesitation, wrote a telegram, gave it to the +clerk, and, having paid for its dispatch, again made his way along the +street.</p> + +<p>"There, that's done with," he said, with a sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>At nine o'clock that night he found himself in Drury Lane following the +instructions he had received. He was quite calm, although his heart +throbbed with expectancy. He had little or no thought of what he was +going to see or hear; enough for him that he was obeying instructions, +that he was acting upon the commands which had come to him for his good. +For he had no doubt that these commands were somehow for his benefit. +Almost unconsciously he associated the presence near him with the one +who had hovered over him with arms outstretched when he had been sinking +in the stormy sea.</p> + +<p>He had no difficulty in finding Blot Street, and quickly found himself +at the third turning of that shabby-looking thoroughfare.</p> + +<p>"Chainley Alley," he read in the dim light of the darkened street lamp +at the corner.</p> + +<p>The place was very quiet. He was now away from the traffic of the broad +streets, and ordinary business had ceased for the day. There was nothing +to mark Chainley Alley from a hundred others which may still be found in +the centre of London. It was simply a dark, grimy little opening which, +to the ordinary passer-by, presented no interest whatever. A minute +later he stood at 13<span class="smcap">a</span>. All was dark here, and it was with difficulty +that he discerned the number. He listened intently, but heard no sound, +and then, with a fast-beating heart, he knocked five times in quick +succession. Then, waiting five seconds, he knocked again according to +instructions.</p> + +<p>The door opened as if by magic. It might seem that he was expected. But +the passage into which he looked was as black as ink; neither could he +hear anything.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then suddenly the silence was broken. "Who are you? What do you want?" +asked someone unseen.</p> + +<p>"'Victory,' 'Dominion,'" he whispered.</p> + +<p>A dim light shone, and he saw what looked like a woman of the caretaker +order. Evidently the house was bigger than he imagined, for the woman +led him down a long corridor which suggested that it was a way to +another and a larger block of buildings in the rear.</p> + +<p>She opened a door and told him to go in. "You will wait there till I +call you," she whispered, and then closed the door behind him.</p> + +<p>There was a thick rug on the floor, which muffled the sound of his +footsteps, but there was no furniture in the room save a deal table and +one straight-backed chair. A tiny gas-jet burnt on the wall, which, +however, was extinguished a few seconds after the door had closed.</p> + +<p>"This is darkness with a vengeance," reflected Dick, but the fact did +not trouble him so much because he had brought a small electric lamp +with him. He switched on this light and saw that the room had no outlet +at all, save the door. There was neither window nor fireplace, and, in +fact, was little more than a large cupboard.</p> + +<p>Before he had time to realise what this might mean, he heard the sound +of footsteps, which seemed to be close by; this was followed by +murmuring voices. Then there were more footsteps, and the voices became +clearer.</p> + +<p>"Is he come?" he heard one man say.</p> + +<p>"Not yet. But he'll soon be here. He did not promise to get here till +half-past nine."</p> + +<p>From that time there was a general hum of conversation, which was +intermingled by the clinking of glasses. It might be that he was close +to a kind of club-room, and that the members were arriving and ordering +refreshments. The conversation continued, now indistinct, and again more +clear. Dick caught snatches of it, but it was not connected, and +conveyed but little meaning to him.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he heard everything plainly, and a sentence struck him. "I hope +he'll be careful," he heard someone say. "The whole lot of us would +swing if we were found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> here together." The man spoke in German, and +Dick's interest became tense.</p> + +<p>"More likely be shot," someone retorted, with a laugh.</p> + +<p>"But we're safe enough. This is the first time we've been here, and +every care has been taken."</p> + +<p>"I know," said someone, who appeared doubtful, "but if the British +Secret Service people have been fools in the past, they are sharp enough +now. Schleswig thought he was as safe as houses, but he was cleverly +nabbed, and now he's cold meat."</p> + +<p>"Never mind," said another voice, "our turn is coming. Gott in Himmel, +won't we let them know when we are masters of London! Even now the +English don't know that their country is a powder magazine. They little +think that, in spite of their Alien Acts and the rest of it, the country +is still riddled with friends of the Fatherland. Hark, he's coming!"</p> + +<p>This was followed by a general shuffling of feet, and Dick instinctively +felt that something of importance was about to happen. He wondered at +the ease with which he could now hear. Evidently the partition which hid +him from the room in which the conspirators had met (for evidently they +were conspirators) was thin, or else there must have been some secret +channel by which the sounds reached him. He realised, too, that these +people had not entered by way of Chainley Alley, but that their room +must have an outlet somewhere else. Possibly, probably too, as they had +used this meeting-place for the first time that night, these people +would be ignorant of the closet where he was hidden.</p> + +<p>Dick heard a new voice, and he detected in a moment that it was a voice +of authority. I will not attempt to relate all he heard, or attempt to +give a detailed description of all that took place. I will only briefly +indicate what took place.</p> + +<p>The newcomer, who was evidently the person for whom the others had +waited, seemed to regard those to whom he spoke as his subordinates. He +was apparently the leader of a movement, who reported to his workers +what progress had been made, and who gave them instructions as to the +future.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p> + +<p>He began by telling them that things were not going altogether well for +the Fatherland, although he had no doubt of final victory.</p> + +<p>But England—Great Britain—was their great enemy, and, unless she were +conquered, Germany could never again attempt to be master of the world. +But this could never be done altogether by force of arms.</p> + +<p>"Russia is conquered!" he declared; "it lies bleeding, helpless, at our +feet, but it was not conquered on the battlefield. By means of a +thousand secret agencies, by careful and skilful propaganda, by huge +bribes, and by playing on the ignorance of the foolish, we set the +Bolshevist movement on foot, and it has done our work. Of course it has +meant hell in Russia, but what of that? It was necessary for the +Fatherland, and we did our work. What, although the ghastliest outrages +are committed, and millions killed, if Germany gains her ends!"</p> + +<p>What was done in Russia was also being done in Great Britain, he assured +them. Of course, our task was harder because the people had, on the +whole, been well conditioned and had the justest Government in the +world. But he had not been dismayed. Thousands of agencies existed, and +even among the English the Germans had many friends. The seeds which had +been sown were bringing forth their harvest.</p> + +<p>They had fermented strikes, and the English people hadn't known that +they had done it. If some of the key industries, such as coal and +transport, could be captured, England was doomed. This could be done by +Bolshevism; and it was being done.</p> + +<p>"But what real progress has been made?" someone dared to ask presently.</p> + +<p>"We have workers, agents in all these industries," replied the man, "and +I'm glad to tell you that we have won a new recruit, who, although he is +a patriotic Englishman, will help our cause mightily. Our trusted +friend, Mr. John Brown, has got hold of a man who has a tremendous +influence among not only the working-class people in various unions, but +among the leaders of those unions, and who will be of vast help in our +cause,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> and of making Great Britain another Russia; that done, victory +is ours."</p> + +<p>"Who is he?"</p> + +<p>"A young man named Faversham. John Brown has had him in hand for months, +and has now fairly made him his tool. Even to-night, comrades, we shall +get him into our net."</p> + +<p>"Tell us more about him," cried someone; but before the speaker could +reply, some sort of signal was evidently given, for there was a general +stampede, and in an incredibly short time silence reigned.</p> + +<p>Almost unconsciously Dick switched on his electric lamp and looked at +his watch. It was eleven o'clock. Although he had not realised it, he +had been in the little cupboard of a room more than an hour and a half, +while these men had been plotting the ruin and the destruction of the +country he loved.</p> + +<p>For some time he could not grasp all he had heard, but the meaning of it +was presently clear to him. The thought almost overwhelmed him. He had +unwittingly been again and again playing into the hands of the enemy.</p> + +<p>"I must get out of this," he reflected after a few seconds. "I must get +back to the hotel and think it all out."</p> + +<p>"You can go now." It was the woman who showed him there who spoke.</p> + +<p>A few seconds later he was in the open air, making his way towards Drury +Lane.</p> + +<p>"Thank God!"</p> + +<p>The words passed his lips involuntarily. It seemed the natural +expression of his heart.</p> + +<p>Almost unconsciously he found his way back to his hotel. He had no +remembrance afterwards of the streets he had traversed, or of the +turnings he had taken. His mind was too full of the thought that but for +his wonderful experience in Staple Inn the facts he had learnt that +night would not have been made known to him.</p> + +<p>On reaching his hotel he made his way to his sitting-room, and on +opening the door he saw a letter lying on the table, which on +examination he found to be signed "Olga."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Olga makes Love</span></h3> + + +<p>In order to relate this story in a connected manner it is necessary to +return to Count Romanoff's rooms, where, a few hours earlier, both the +Count and Mr. John Brown were startled by the sudden entrance of Olga.</p> + +<p>"Let me see the telegram," the Count said, holding out his hand. His +voice was somewhat hoarse, and his eyes had a peculiar glitter in them.</p> + +<p>The girl handed it to him without a word.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<i>Impossible for me to come. Am leaving London almost +immediately.</i>—<span class="smcap">Faversham.</span>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>"What time did you get this?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I scarcely know. Almost directly I got it I came to you. I thought it +best. Do you think it is true? Do you believe he will leave London?"</p> + +<p>The Count was silent for a few seconds. "It would seem so, wouldn't it?" +he answered grimly. "But he must <i>not</i> leave London. At all hazards, he +must be kept here."</p> + +<p>"But it means that Olga has failed," cried Mr. John Brown. "It means +that we have lost him!"</p> + +<p>"We have not lost him. I'll see to that," and there was a snarl in +Romanoff's voice. "Olga Petrovic, all now depends on you. At your peril +you must keep him here; you must win him over. If you fail, so much the +worse for you."</p> + +<p>Evidently the girl was angered. "Do you threaten me?" she said, with +flashing eyes.</p> + +<p>"And if I do, what then?"</p> + +<p>"Simply that I will not be threatened. If you speak to me in that +fashion, I refuse to move another finger."</p> + +<p>"I am not in the habit of having my plans destroyed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> by the whims of a +petulant woman," said the Count very quietly. "I tell you that if you +fail to keep him in London, and if you fail to make him your slave, +ready to obey your every bidding, you pay the penalty."</p> + +<p>"What penalty?"</p> + +<p>"What penalty?" and the Count laughed. "Need you ask that? You are in my +power, Countess Olga Petrovic. I know every detail of your +history—every detail, mind you—from the time you were waiting-maid to +the Czarina. Yours is a curious history, Countess. How much would your +life be worth if it were known to the British authorities that you were +in London? What would our German friends do to you if they knew the part +you played at Warsaw?"</p> + +<p>"You know of that?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"I know everything, Countess. But I wish you no harm. All I demand is +that you gain and keep Faversham in your power."</p> + +<p>"Why are you so anxious for him to be in my power?"</p> + +<p>"Because then he will be in my power."</p> + +<p>"Your power? Why do you wish him in your power? Do you want to do him +harm?"</p> + +<p>"Harm!" Then Romanoff laughed. "And if I do, what then?"</p> + +<p>"That I refuse to serve you. Carry out your threats; tell the British +authorities who I am. Tell the Germans what I did at Warsaw. I do not +care. I defy you. Unless you promise me that you will not do Faversham +harm, I will do nothing."</p> + +<p>"Why are you interested as to whether I will do Faversham harm?"</p> + +<p>"I am—that's all."</p> + +<p>The Count was silent for a few seconds. Evidently his mind was working +rapidly. "Look at me!" he cried suddenly, and, as if by some power she +could not resist, she raised her eyes to his.</p> + +<p>The Count laughed like one amused.</p> + +<p>"You have fallen in love with him, eh?"</p> + +<p>The girl was silent, but a flush mounted her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"This is interesting," he sneered. "I did not think<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> that Olga Petrovic, +who has regarded men as so many dogs of the fetch-and-carry order, and +who has scorned the thought of love, should have fallen a victim to the +malady. And to a thick-headed Englishman, too! Surely it is very +sudden."</p> + +<p>"You sneer," she cried, "but if I want to be a good woman; what then?"</p> + +<p>The Count waved his hand airily. "Set's the wind in that quarter, eh? +Well, well. But it is very interesting. I see; you love him—you, Olga +Petrovic."</p> + +<p>"And if I do," she cried defiantly, "what then?"</p> + +<p>"Only that you will obey me the more implicitly."</p> + +<p>"I will not obey you," she cried passionately. "And remember this, I am +not a woman to be played with. There have been many who have tried to +get the better of Olga Petrovic, and—and you know the result."</p> + +<p>"La, la!" laughed the Count, "and so my lady threatens, does she? And do +you know, if I were susceptible to a woman's beauty, I should rejoice to +see you angry. Anger makes you even more beautiful than ever. For you +are beautiful, Olga."</p> + +<p>"Leave my beauty alone," she said sullenly. "It is not for you anyhow."</p> + +<p>"I see, I see. Now listen to me. If you do not obey me in everything, I +go to Richard Faversham, and I tell him who and what you are. I give him +your history for the last ten years. Yes, for the last ten years. You +began your career at eighteen and now you are twenty-eight. Yes, you +look a young girl of twenty-two, and pride yourself upon it. Now then, +Countess, which is it to be? Am I to help you to win the love of +Faversham—yes and I can promise you that you shall win his love if you +obey my bidding—or am I to go to him and tell him who Olga Petrovic +really is?"</p> + +<p>The girl looked at him angrily, yet piteously. For the first time she +seemed afraid of him. Her eyes burnt with fury, and yet were full of +pleading at the same time. Haughty defiance was on her face, while her +lips trembled.</p> + +<p>"But if you tell him, you destroy my plans. You cannot do that, Count!" +It was Mr. John Brown who spoke, and there was a note of terror in his +voice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> + +<p>"<i>Your</i> plans! What do I care for your plans?" cried the Count. "It is +of my own plans I am thinking."</p> + +<p>"But I thought, and as you know we agreed——"</p> + +<p>"It is not for you to think, or to question my thoughts," interrupted +the Count. "I allow no man to interpret my plans, or to criticise the +way in which I work them out. But rest contented, my dear friend, John +Brown," he added banteringly, "the success of your plans rests upon the +success of my own."</p> + +<p>While they were speaking Olga Petrovic gazed towards the window with +unseeing eyes. She looked quite her age now: all suggestion of the young +girl had gone, she was a stern, hard-featured woman. Beautiful she was, +it is true, but with a beauty marked by bitter experience, and not the +beauty of blushing girlhood.</p> + +<p>"Well, Countess Olga, which is it to be?" asked Romanoff, who had been +watching her while he had been speaking to Mr. Brown.</p> + +<p>"What do you want me to do?"</p> + +<p>"Do! Keep him in London. Enlist his sympathies. Make him your slave as +you have made other men your slaves. Bind him to you hand and foot. Make +him love you."</p> + +<p>A strange light burned in the girl's eyes, for at the Count's last words +she had seemingly thrown off years of her life. She had become young and +eager again.</p> + +<p>"Swear to me that you mean him no harm, and I will do it," was her +reply. "If I can," she added, as an afterthought.</p> + +<p>"Do you doubt it?" asked Romanoff. "Have you ever failed when you have +made up your mind?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I do not feel certain of him. He is not like those others. +Besides, I failed last night. In his heart he has refused me already. He +said he was leaving London almost immediately, which means that he does +not intend to see me again."</p> + +<p>"And you want to see him again?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replied defiantly; "I do."</p> + +<p>"Good." He seized a telephone receiver as he spoke and asked for a +certain number. Shortly after he was connected with Dick's hotel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mr. Richard Faversham of Eastroyd is staying with you, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Richard Faversham? Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Is he in?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, he went out a few minutes ago."</p> + +<p>"Did he say when he was likely to return?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, he said nothing."</p> + +<p>"But you expect him back to-night?"</p> + +<p>"As far as I know, sir."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. Either I, or a lady friend, will call to see him to-morrow +morning at ten o'clock on a very important matter. Tell him that, will +you?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, sir. What name?"</p> + +<p>But the Count did not reply. He hung up the telephone receiver instead.</p> + +<p>"Why did you say that?" asked Olga. "How dare I go to his hotel in broad +daylight?"</p> + +<p>"You dare do anything, Countess," replied the Count. "Besides, you need +not fear. Although you are wanted by the British authorities, you are so +clever at disguise that no detective in Scotland Yard would be able to +see through it." He hesitated a moment, and then went on: "If we were in +Paris I would insist on your going to see him to-night, but Mrs. Grundy +is so much in evidence in England that we must not risk it."</p> + +<p>"But if they fail to give him your message?" she asked. "Suppose he +leaves to-morrow morning before I can get there?" Evidently she was +eager to carry out this part of his plans.</p> + +<p>"He will not leave," replied Romanoff; "still, we must be on the safe +side. You must write and tell him you are coming. There is ink and paper +on yonder desk."</p> + +<p>"What shall I write?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Fancy Olga Petrovic asking such a question," laughed the Count. "Word +your letter as only you can word it, and he will spend a sleepless night +in anticipation of the joy of seeing you."</p> + +<p>She hesitated for a few seconds, and then rushing to the desk began to +write rapidly.</p> + +<p>"And now," said Romanoff, when she had finished,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> "to avoid all danger +we must send this by a special messenger."</p> + +<p>Thus it was, when Dick Faversham returned from Chainley Alley that night +that he found the letter signed "Olga" awaiting him.</p> + +<p>It was no ordinary letter that he read. A stranger on perusing it would +have said that it was simply a request for an interview, but to Dick it +was couched in such a fashion that it was impossible for him to leave +London before seeing her. For this is what he had intended to do. When +he had sent the telegram a few hours earlier his mind was fully made up +never to see her again. Why he could not tell, but the effect of his +strange experience in Staple Inn was to make him believe that it would +be best for him to wipe this fascinating woman from the book of his +life. Her influence over him was so great that he felt afraid. While in +her presence, even while she fascinated him, he could not help thinking +of the fateful hours in Wendover Park, when Romanoff stood by his side, +and paralysed his manhood.</p> + +<p>But as he read her letter, he felt he could do no other than remain. +Indeed he found himself anticipating the hour of her arrival, and +wondering why she wished to see him.</p> + +<p>He had come to London ostensibly on business connected with his probable +candidature in Eastroyd, and as he had to see many people, he had +engaged a private sitting-room in the hotel. To this room he hurried +eagerly after breakfast the following morning, and although he made +pretensions of reading the morning newspaper, scarcely a line of news +fixed itself on his memory. On every page he saw the glorious face of +this woman, and as he saw, he almost forgot what he had determined as he +left Chainley Alley.</p> + +<p>Precisely at ten o'clock she was shown into the room, and Dick almost +gave a gasp as he saw her. She was like no woman he had ever seen +before. If he had thought her beautiful amidst the sordid surroundings +of the warehouse in the East End of London, she seemed ten-fold more so +now, as slightly flushed with exercise, and arrayed in such a fashion +that her glorious figure was set<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> off to perfection, she appeared before +him. She was different too. Then she was, in spite of her pleading +tones, somewhat masterful, and assertive. Now she seemed timid and +shrinking, as though she would throw herself on his protection.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure you are safe in coming here?" he asked awkwardly. "You +remember what you told me?"</p> + +<p>"You care then?" she flashed back. Then she added quickly, "Yes, I do +not think anyone here will recognise me. Besides, I had to take the +risk."</p> + +<p>"Why?" he questioned.</p> + +<p>"Because your telegram frightened me."</p> + +<p>"Frightened you? How?"</p> + +<p>"Because—oh, you will not fail me, will you? I have been building on +you—and you said you were leaving London. Surely that does not mean +that all my hopes are dashed to the ground? Tell me they are not."</p> + +<p>Her great dark eyes flashed dangerously into his as she spoke, while her +presence almost intoxicated him. But he mastered himself. What he had +heard the previous night came surging back to his memory.</p> + +<p>"If your hopes in any way depend on me, I am afraid you had better +forget them," he said.</p> + +<p>"No, no, I can never forget them. Did you not inspire them? When I saw +you did I not feel that you were the leader we needed? Ah no, you cannot +fail me."</p> + +<p>"I cannot do what you ask."</p> + +<p>"But why? Only the night before last you were convinced. You saw the +vision, and you had made up your mind to be faithful to it. And oh, you +could become so great, so glorious!"</p> + +<p>He felt the woman's magnetic power over him; but he shook his head +stubbornly.</p> + +<p>"But why?" she pleaded.</p> + +<p>"Because I have learned what your proposal really means," he replied, +steeling himself against her. "I was carried away by your pleading, but +I have since seen that by doing what you ask I should be playing into +the hands of the enemies of my country, the enemies of everything worth +living for."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You mean the Germans; but I hate Germany. I want to destroy all +militarism, all force. I want the world to live in peace, in prosperity, +and love."</p> + +<p>"I cannot argue with you," replied Dick; "but my determination is fixed. +I have learnt that Mr. John Brown is a German, and that he wants to do +in England what has been done in Russia, so that Germany may rule the +world."</p> + +<p>"Mr. John Brown a German!" she cried like one horror-stricken. "You +cannot mean that?"</p> + +<p>"Did you not know it?"</p> + +<p>"I? Oh no, no, no! you cannot mean it! It would be terrible!"</p> + +<p>She spoke with such passion that he could not doubt her, but he still +persisted in his refusal.</p> + +<p>"I have seen that what you dream of doing would turn Europe, the world, +into a hell. If I were to try to persuade the people of this country to +follow in the lines of Russia, I should be acting the part of a criminal +madman. Not that I could have a tithe of the influence you suggested, +but even to use what influence I have towards such a purpose would be to +sell my soul, and to curse thousands of people."</p> + +<p>She protested against his statement, declaring that her purposes were +only beneficent. She was shocked at the idea that Mr. John Brown was a +German, but if it were true, then it only showed how evil men would +pervert the noblest things to the basest uses. She pleaded for poor +humanity; she begged him to reconsider his position, and to remember +what he could do for the betterment of the life of the world. But +although she fascinated him by the magic of her words, and the witchery +of her presence, Dick was obdurate. What she advocated he declared meant +the destruction of law and order, and the destruction of law and order +meant the end of everything sacred and holy.</p> + +<p>Then she changed her ground. She was no longer a reformer, pleading for +the good of humanity, but a weak woman seeking his strength and +guidance, yet glorious in her matchless beauty.</p> + +<p>"If I am wrong," she pleaded, "stay with me, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> teach me. I am lonely +too, so lonely in this strange land, and I do so need a friend like you, +strong, and brave, and wise. And oh, I will be such an obedient pupil! +Ah, you will not leave London, will you? Say you will not—not yet."</p> + +<p>Again she almost mastered him, but still he remained obdurate.</p> + +<p>"I must return to my work, Miss——You did not tell me your name." And +she thought she detected weakness in his tones.</p> + +<p>"My name is Olga Petrovic," she replied. "In my own country, when I had +a country, I was Countess Olga Petrovic, and I suppose that I have still +large estates there; but please do not call me by your cold English term +'Miss.' Let me be Olga to you, and you will be Dick to me, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't understand," he stammered.</p> + +<p>"But you do, surely you do. Can you look into my eyes, and say you do +not? There, look at me. Yes, let me tell you I believe in the sacredness +of love, the sacredness of marriage. Now you understand, don't you? You +will stay in London, won't you, and will teach a poor, ignorant girl +wherein she is in error."</p> + +<p>He understood her now. Understood that she was making love to him, +asking him to marry her, but still he shook his head. "I must return to +my work," he said.</p> + +<p>"But not yet—tell me not yet. Forgive me if I do not understand English +ways and customs. When I love, and I never loved before, I cannot help +declaring it. Now promise me."</p> + +<p>A knock came to the door, and a servant came bearing cards on a tray.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Hugh Edgeware," "Miss Beatrice Edgeware," he read. He held the +cards in his hands for a second, then turned to the woman, "I must ask +you to excuse me," he said. "I have friends who have come to see me."</p> + +<p>Olga Petrovic gave him a look which he could not understand, then +without a word left the room, while he stood still like a man +bewildered.</p> + +<p>"Show them up," he said to the servant.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> +<h2>PART III.—THE THIRD TEMPTATION</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Count's Confederate</span></h3> + + +<p>Count Romanoff sat alone in his room. On one side the window of his room +faced Piccadilly with its great seething tide of human traffic, from +another St. James's Park was visible. But the Count was not looking at +either; he was evidently deep in his own thoughts, and it would appear +that those thoughts were not agreeable.</p> + +<p>He was not a pleasant-looking man as he sat there that day. He was +carefully dressed, and had the appearance of a polished man of the +world. No stranger would have passed him by without being impressed by +his personality—a dark and sinister personality possibly, but still +striking, and distinguished. No one doubted his claim to the title of +Count, no one imagined him to be other than a great personage. But he +was not pleasant to look at. His eyes burnt with a savage glare, his +mouth, his whole expression, was cruel. It might seem as though he had +been balked in his desire, as though some cruel disappointment had made +him angry.</p> + +<p>More than once his hands clenched and unclenched themselves as he +muttered angrily, savagely, while again and again a laugh of vindictive +triumph passed his lips. And yet even in his laugh of triumph there was +something of doubt. He was perturbed, he was furious.</p> + +<p>"But he shall be mine," he said at length, "mine! and then——"</p> + +<p>But his tone lacked certainty; his eyes burnt with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> anger because he had +not been able to accomplish his designs.</p> + +<p>"It might be that he was especially watched over," he reflected, as +though some beneficent Providence were fighting for him. "Providence! +Providence! As though——!"</p> + +<p>He started to his feet and began to pace the room. His stride was angry, +his whole appearance suggested defeat—a defeat which he had determined +to transform to triumph.</p> + +<p>"Good! Evil!" he cried. "Yes, that is it. Good! Evil! And I have given +myself over to evil, and I have sworn that evil could be made stronger +than good! I have sworn to exemplify it, in the case of that young fool, +Dick Faversham. I thought I should have accomplished it long ago but I +have so far failed, failed!"</p> + +<p>He still continued to pace the room, although apparently he was +unconscious of the fact. There was a far-off look in his eyes, a look +that almost suggested despair.</p> + +<p>"Does it mean after all that right is stronger than wrong, that right is +more eternally established in the world than wrong? That in the sweep of +events the power of right is slowly but surely conquering and crushing +the evil, that the story of what is called evolution is the story of the +angel in man overcoming the beast?"</p> + +<p>Again he laughed, and the laugh had a cruel ring in it.</p> + +<p>"No, no; evil is triumphant. Nearly two thousand years have passed since +the Man of Nazareth was crucified, and yet for years the devil has been +triumphant. Europe has been deluged in blood, world hatreds have been +created, murder has been the order of the day, and the earth has been +soaked in blood. No, no; evil is triumphant. The Cross has been a +failure, and Him who died on it defeated!"</p> + +<p>He paused in his angry march around the room, and again he looked +doubtful.</p> + +<p>"No, no," he cried; "cruelty, lies, treason, have not triumphed. Germany +is beaten; her doctrine that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> might was right—a doctrine born in +hell—has been made false. After all this sword-clanging, all the +vauntings about an invincible army, materialism, devilry, have failed. +Germany is being humbled to the dust, and her militarism defeated and +disgraced."</p> + +<p>The thought was evidently wormwood to him, for his features worked +convulsively, his eyes were bloodshot. It might seem that the triumph of +right filled him with torture.</p> + +<p>Presently he shrugged his shoulders impatiently, and lifted his hands +above his head as though he would throw a burden from him.</p> + +<p>"But that is not my affair," he cried. "It was for me to conquer that +man, to make him my slave. I swore to do it. I had every chance, and I +thought that he, young, ambitious, and subject to all human passions, +would be an easy victim. He was no dreamer, he had none of the makings +of an ascetic, much less a saint, and yet so far he has beaten me. He +still lives what is called the clean, healthy life. He still mocks me. +It might be that he is specially guarded, that some angel of good were +constantly fighting against me, constantly defeating me."</p> + +<p>The thought seemed to disconcert Romanoff. A look almost like fear swept +over his features, and again something like despair came into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"But no, I have other weapons in my armoury yet," he reflected. "He is +no religious fanatic, no pious prig with ideals, he is still ambitious, +still craves for all the things that humanity longs for."</p> + +<p>A clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour of six.</p> + +<p>"He should soon be here," he reflected. "I told him not to waste a +second."</p> + +<p>At that moment there was a knock at the door, and a second later a man +entered who gave the appearance of having come from a distance.</p> + +<p>He was a mild, placid-looking creature whose very walk suggested that he +was constantly making an apology for his existence. A creature not of +highways, but of byways, a humble Uriah Heep sort of fellow who could +act like a whipped cur in his desire to curry favour, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> who in his +hour of triumph would show his fangs, and rend his victim without mercy.</p> + +<p>"You are back to time, Slyme. Well, what news?"</p> + +<p>By this time Romanoff was the great gentleman again—haughty, +patronising, calm, and collected.</p> + +<p>"Of course your honour has heard that he's in? I wired the moment I +knew."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I knew that before I got your wire. A servant in the hotel here +told me the moment it was ticked off on the tape. Of course I expected +that. Naturally it was uncertain, as all such things are. One can +calculate on the actions of the few; but not on those of the many. Human +nature is a funny business."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it, your Excellency? It's a remark I've often dared to make; one +can never tell what'll happen. But he's in; he's the Member for +Eastroyd."</p> + +<p>"With over a thousand majority."</p> + +<p>"I've discovered that he's coming up to town by the midnight train from +Eastroyd."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" The Count's eyes flashed with interest.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he seemed very much delighted at his victory, and is coming up I +suppose to consult with other Members of his party."</p> + +<p>"Of course he's delighted with his victory. For heaven's sake refrain +from remarking on the obvious. Tell me about the election."</p> + +<p>"What does your honour, that is, your lordship, want to hear about? What +phase of the election, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"You had your instructions. Report on them."</p> + +<p>"Well, if I may say so," remarked Slyme apologetically, "although he has +over a thousand majority, he has very much disappointed the people."</p> + +<p>"Why? In what way?"</p> + +<p>"He isn't so much of a firebrand as he was. The people complain that he +is too mealy-mouthed."</p> + +<p>"Less of a people's man, do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I don't say that quite. But he's more moderate. He talks like a man +trying to see all sides of a question."</p> + +<p>The Count reflected a few seconds, and then snapped his fingers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And his private life?" the Count questioned.</p> + +<p>"As far as I could find out, blameless."</p> + +<p>"Have the wealthier classes taken up with him at all?"</p> + +<p>"No, not actively. But they are far less bitter towards him. They are +saying that he's an honest man. I do not say that for myself. I'm only +quoting," added the little man.</p> + +<p>Romanoff asked many questions on this head, which the little man +answered apologetically, as if with a desire to know his employer's +views before making direct statements.</p> + +<p>"There are generally a lot of scandals at a political election," went on +the Count. "I suppose that of Eastroyd was no exception?" He said this +meaningly, as though there were an understanding between them.</p> + +<p>Little Polonius Slyme laughed in a sniggering way. "Polonius" was the +name by which he was known among his friends, and more than once the +Count used it when addressing him.</p> + +<p>"I made many inquiries in that direction," he replied; "I even went so +far as to insinuate certain things," he added with a covert look towards +the Count. "I had some success, but not much."</p> + +<p>But the Count's face was like a mask. Polonius Slyme could tell nothing +of his thoughts.</p> + +<p>"I did not think your lordship would be offended?" he queried with a +cunning look in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Go on."</p> + +<p>"I had some success, but not much."</p> + +<p>"What were your insinuations about? Drink, drug-taking, debt, +unfaithfulness to his class?—what?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, there was no possibility of doing anything on those lines, +although, as I said, there was some disappointment on the last head. But +that's nothing. I reflected that he was a young man, and a bachelor—a +good-looking bachelor." He added the last words with a suggestive +giggle.</p> + +<p>"I see. Well?"</p> + +<p>"Of course he is a great favourite with the fair sex. By dint of very +careful but persistent investigation I discovered that two ladies are +deeply in love with him."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> + +<p>Romanoff waited in silence.</p> + +<p>"One is the daughter of a wealthy manufacturer, quite the belle of the +town among the moneyed classes. I inquired about her. There is no doubt +that she's greatly interested in him."</p> + +<p>"And he?"</p> + +<p>"He's been seen in her company."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing. She would be a good match for him, that's all. There was a +rumour that she had visited his lodgings late at night."</p> + +<p>"Which rumour you started?"</p> + +<p>"I thought it might be useful some day. As for the other woman, she's a +mill girl. A girl who could be made very useful, I should think."</p> + +<p>"Yes, how?"</p> + +<p>"She's undoubtedly very much in love with him—after her own fashion. +She possesses a kind of gipsy beauty, has boundless ambitions, is of a +jealous disposition, and would stop at nothing to gain her desires."</p> + +<p>"And is Faversham friendly with her?"</p> + +<p>"Just friendly enough for one to start a scandal in case of necessity. +And the girl, as you may say, not being overburdened with conscientious +scruples, could be made very useful."</p> + +<p>Romanoff reflected for some time, then he turned to Slyme again.</p> + +<p>"Slyme," he said, "I don't think you need go any further in that +direction. Faversham is scarcely the man to deal with in the way you +suggest. Still you can keep them in mind. One never knows what may +happen."</p> + +<p>Polonius Slyme was evidently puzzled. He looked cautiously, +suspiciously, at the face of the other, as if trying to understand him.</p> + +<p>"I have tried to do your lordship's will," he ventured.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and on the whole I'm satisfied with what you've done. Yes, what is +it?"</p> + +<p>"If your lordship would deign to trust me," he said.</p> + +<p>"Trust you? In what way?"</p> + +<p>"If you would tell me what is in your mind, I could serve you better," +he asserted, with a nervous laugh.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> "All the time I have been acting in +the dark. I don't understand your lordship."</p> + +<p>The Count smiled as though he were pleased.</p> + +<p>"What do you want to know?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I am very bold, I know, and doubtless I am not worthy to have the +confidence of one so great and so wise as your lordship. But I have +tried to be worthy, I have worked night and day for you—not for the +wages, liberal though they are, but solely for the purpose of being +useful to you. And I could, I am sure, be more useful if I knew your +mind, if I knew exactly what you wanted. I am sure of this: if I knew +your purposes in relation to Faversham, if I knew what you wanted to do +with him, I could serve you better."</p> + +<p>The Count looked at Slyme steadily for some seconds.</p> + +<p>"I allow no man to understand my mind, my purposes," the Count answered.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, your lordship," assented the little man meekly; "only your +lordship doubtless sees that—that I am handicapped. I don't think I'm a +fool," he added; "I am as faithful as a dog, and as secret as the +grave."</p> + +<p>"You want to know more than that," replied Romanoff harshly.</p> + +<p>Polonius Slyme was silent.</p> + +<p>"You want to know who I am," continued the Count. "You have been puzzled +because I, who am known as a Russian, should interest myself in this man +Faversham, and up to now you, in spite of the fact that you've hunted +like a ferret, have found out nothing. More than that, you cannot think +why I fastened on you to help me, and, cunning little vermin that you +are, you stopped at nothing to discover it."</p> + +<p>"But only in your interest," assented the little man eagerly; "only +because I wanted to deserve the honour you have bestowed upon me."</p> + +<p>"I am disposed to be communicative," went on the Count; "disposed to +make something of a confidante of you. Of my secret mind, you, nor no +man, shall know anything, but I will let you know something."</p> + +<p>Polonius Slyme drew nearer his master and listened like a fox. "Yes, +your lordship," he whispered.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Look here, Polonius, you have just told me that you are a man of +brains: suppose that you wanted to get a strong man in your power, to +make him your slave, body and soul, what would you do? Suppose also that +you had great, but still limited power, that your knowledge was wide, +but with marked boundaries, how would you set to work?"</p> + +<p>"Every man has his weaknesses," replied Polonius. "I should discover +them, fasten upon them, and make my plans accordingly."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's right. Now we'll suppose that Faversham is the man, what +would you regard as his weaknesses?"</p> + +<p>"Pride, ambition, a love, almost amounting to a passion, for power," +answered the little man quickly. "That would mean a longing for wealth, +a craving for fame."</p> + +<p>"And conscience?" queried the Count.</p> + +<p>"He has a conscience," replied the little man; "a conscience which may +be called healthily normal."</p> + +<p>"Just so. Now I'll tell you something. I've placed wealth in his way, +and he has rejected it for conscience sake. I've tempted him with power +and fame, almost unlimited power and fame, and although he's seen the +bait, he has not risen to it."</p> + +<p>Polonius was silent for some time. Evidently he was thinking deeply; +evidently, too, he saw something of what lay behind the Count's words, +for he nodded his head sagely, and into his cunning eyes came a look of +understanding.</p> + +<p>"Of course you do not care to tell me why you want to make him your +slave, body and soul?" he whispered.</p> + +<p>"No!" the Count almost snarled. "No man may know that."</p> + +<p>"You ask what I would do next?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I ask that."</p> + +<p>"No man is invulnerable," said the little man, as though he were talking +to himself. "No man ever was, no man ever will be. Every man has his +price, and if one can pay it——"</p> + +<p>"There is no question of price," said the Count<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> eagerly; "nothing need +stand in the way, any price can be paid."</p> + +<p>"I see, I see," and the little man's foxy eyes flashed. "You want to +work the man's moral downfall," he added. "You want to make him a slave +to your will—<i>not</i> to make him a saint?"</p> + +<p>The Count was silent.</p> + +<p>"If I wanted to make such a man a slave to my will, and I had such means +as you suggest, I should find a woman to help me. A woman beautiful, +fascinating, unscrupulous. I would instruct her to be an angel of light. +I would make her be the medium whereby he could obtain all that such as +he desires, and I would make him believe that in getting her he would +find the greatest and best gift in life, a gift whereby all that was +highest and best in this life, and in the life to come, could be got. At +the same time she must be a <i>woman</i>, a woman that should appeal to his +desires, and make his pulses throb at the thought of possessing her."</p> + +<p>For some time they spoke eagerly together, the Count raising point after +point, which the little man was not slow to answer.</p> + +<p>"Polonius, did I not know otherwise, I should say you were the devil," +laughed Romanoff.</p> + +<p>"I know you are," replied the little man in great glee.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" and there was a kind of fear in the Russian's voice.</p> + +<p>"Only that your cleverness is beyond that of ordinary mankind. You have +thought of all this long before you asked me."</p> + +<p>"Have I? Perhaps I have; but I wanted your opinion."</p> + +<p>"The difficulty is to find the woman."</p> + +<p>"In two minutes she will be here. Go into the next room and watch, and +listen. After she has gone, you shall tell me what you think of her."</p> + +<p>A minute later the door opened, and Olga Petrovic entered the room.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">In Quest of a Soul</span></h3> + + +<p>"Good evening, Countess. Thank you for coming so promptly. Be seated, +won't you?"</p> + +<p>Olga Petrovic looked at the Count eagerly, and accepted the chair he +indicated. She looked older than when she left Dick Faversham after the +interview I have described, and there were indications on her face that +she had suffered anxious thoughts, and perhaps keen disappointment. But +she was a strikingly beautiful woman still. Tall, magnificently +proportioned; and almost regal in her carriage. She was fast approaching +thirty, but to a casual observer she appeared only two- or +three-and-twenty. She had the air of a grand lady, too, proud and +haughty, but a woman still. A woman in a million, somewhat captivating, +seductive; a woman to turn the head of any ordinary man, and make him +her slave. One felt instinctively that she could play on a man's heart +and senses as a skilful musician plays on an instrument.</p> + +<p>But not a good woman. She had a world of experience in her eyes. She +suggested mystery, mystery which would appear to the unwary as Romance. +Because of this she could impress youth and inexperience by her +loveliness, she could appear as an angel of light.</p> + +<p>She was magnificently dressed, too. Every detail of her glorious figure +was set off to the full by her <i>costumier</i>, and her attire spoke of +wealth, even while this fact was not ostentatious or even intended. In +short, her <i>costumier</i> was an artist who knew her business.</p> + +<p>Evidently, if ever she had been in danger by appearing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> in public, that +danger was over. There was no suggestion of fear or apprehension in her +demeanour.</p> + +<p>"Why do you wish to see me?" she asked abruptly.</p> + +<p>"I am quite aware," said Romanoff, without taking any apparent notice of +her question, "that I took a liberty in asking you to come here. I +should have asked you when it would have been convenient for you to +graciously receive me at your flat. For this I must crave your pardon."</p> + +<p>There was something mocking in his voice, a subtle insinuation of power +which the woman was not slow to see.</p> + +<p>"You asked me to come here because you wanted me, and because you knew I +should come," she replied. "You knew, too, that I could not afford to +disobey you."</p> + +<p>"We will let that drop," replied the Count suavely. "I count myself +honoured by your visit. How could it be otherwise?" and he cast an +admiring glance towards her.</p> + +<p>The woman watched him closely. It seemed as though, in spite of their +acquaintance, she did not understand him.</p> + +<p>"You see," went on Romanoff, "our Bolshevism is a thing of the past. The +proletariat of England will have none of it. A few malcontents may have +a hankering after it; but as a class the people of England see through +it. They see what it has done for Russia, and they know that under a +Bolshevist régime all liberty, all safety, all prosperity would be gone +for ever."</p> + +<p>The woman nodded.</p> + +<p>"Besides," went on the Count, "you are in a far more becoming position +as the Countess Petrovic, with estates in Russia and elsewhere, than as +Olga, the high priestess of a wild and irresponsible set of fanatics."</p> + +<p>"You have changed your views about those same fanatics," responded the +woman rather sullenly.</p> + +<p>"Have I? Who knows?" was the Count's smiling and enigmatical reply. "But +I did think they might have served my purpose."</p> + +<p>"What purpose?"</p> + +<p>"Dear lady, even to you I cannot disclose that. Besides, what does it +matter?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Because I would like to know. Because—because——" There she broke off +suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Because through it the man Faversham crossed your path, eh?" and the +smile did not leave his face.</p> + +<p>"You knew that Bolshevism would fail in England," cried the woman. "You +knew that the whole genius of the race was against it. Why then did you +try to drag—Faversham into it? Why did you tell me to dazzle him with +its possibilities, to get him involved in it to such a degree that he +would be compromised?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, why?"</p> + +<p>"But he would have none of it," retorted the woman. "He saw through it +all, saw that it was an impossible dream, because in reality it was, and +is, a wild delusion and a nightmare."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps that was your fault," replied Romanoff. "Perhaps your powers of +fascination were not as great as I thought. Anyhow——"</p> + +<p>"Have you seen him lately?" she interrupted. "You know where he is? What +he is doing?"</p> + +<p>Her voice vibrated with eagerness; she looked towards Romanoff with a +flash of pleading in her great lustrous eyes.</p> + +<p>"Don't you read the newspapers?"</p> + +<p>"Not the English. Why should I? What is there in them for me? Of course +I get the Polish and the Russian news."</p> + +<p>"If you read the English newspapers you would have no need to ask where +he is," replied Romanoff.</p> + +<p>"Why, has he become famous?"</p> + +<p>As if in answer to her question there was a knock at the door, and a +servant entered bringing three London evening papers.</p> + +<p>"There," said the Count, pointing to some bold headlines—"there is the +answer to your question."</p> + +<p>"Great Labour Victory in Eastroyd," she read. "Triumphant Return of Mr. +Richard Faversham."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were riveted on the paper, and almost unheeding the Count's +presence she read an article devoted to the election. Especially was her +attention drawn to the Career of the Successful Candidate.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Although Mr. Faversham, because of his deep sympathy with the aims of +the working classes, has been returned to Parliament by them," she read, +"he is not a typical Labour Member. As the son of a scholar, and the +product of one of our best public schools, he has naturally been +associated with a class different from that which has just given him its +confidence. Years ago he was regarded as the heir of one of our great +commercial magnates, and for some time was in possession of a great +country house. His association with the middle classes, however, has not +lessened his passionate interest in the welfare of the poor, and +although he has of late become less advanced in his views, there can be +no doubt that he will be a strong tower to the party with which he has +identified himself."</p> + +<p>"He will be in London to-morrow," remarked Romanoff, when presently the +woman lifted her head.</p> + +<p>"In London? To-morrow!"</p> + +<p>The Count noted the eagerness with which she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said; "to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"And he will be a great man?"</p> + +<p>"Not necessarily so," answered Romanoff. "He will be a Labour Member at +four hundred pounds a year. He will have to be obedient to the orders of +his party."</p> + +<p>"He never will! He is not a man of that sort!"</p> + +<p>Her voice was almost passionate. Evidently her interest in him was deep.</p> + +<p>"Won't he? We shall see. But he will find it hard to live in London on +four hundred pounds a year. London is not a cheap city in these days. +You see he has all the instincts of his class."</p> + +<p>"Will he be one of the working men? Will he live as they live? Will he +be of their order?" asked Olga.</p> + +<p>"You seem greatly interested, Countess."</p> + +<p>"Naturally. I—I——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I remember your last interview."</p> + +<p>The woman's eyes flashed with anger. She suggested the "woman scorned."</p> + +<p>"You made love to him, didn't you, Countess? And he—he politely +declined your advances?" Romanoff laughed as he spoke.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p> + +<p>The woman started to her feet. "Did you get me here to taunt me with +that?" she cried. "Besides, did I not obey your bidding? Was it not at +your command that I——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but not against your will, Countess. You had what our French +neighbours call the <i>grand passion</i> for Faversham, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Why do you taunt me with that?"</p> + +<p>"Because the game is not played out. I do not break my promise, and I +promised you that he should be yours—yours. Well, the time has come +when my promise may be fulfilled."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Countess, are you still in love with Faversham?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Sometimes I think I hate him. Tell me, why have you +brought me here to-day?"</p> + +<p>"To give you your opportunity. To tell you how, if you still love +Faversham, you can win him; and how, if you hate him, you can have your +revenge. Surely, Olga Petrovic, you are not the kind of woman who sits +down meekly to a snub. To offer your love to a man, and then accept a +cold rebuff. I thought I knew you better."</p> + +<p>Deeply as his words wounded her, she did not forget her caution.</p> + +<p>"What interest have you in him?" she asked. "I have never been able to +understand you."</p> + +<p>"No, I am not easily understood, and I do not make my motives public +property. But Faversham will in future live in London. He, although he +is a Labour Member, will have but little sympathy, little in common with +his confrères. He will be lonely; he will long for the society of women, +especially for those who are educated, fascinating, beautiful. Olga, are +you the woman to be beaten? Listen, he with his tastes, will need money. +You can give it to him. He will be lonely; he will need companionship. +You have a beautiful flat in Mayfair, and you can be as fascinating as +an angel."</p> + +<p>She listened to every word he said, but her mind might be far away.</p> + +<p>"Why do I care for him?" she cried passionately.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> "What is he to me? A +middle-class Englishman, with an Englishman's tastes and desires, an +Englishman with the morality of his class. Just a plain, stupid, +uninteresting bourgeois, a specimen of the self-satisfied Puritan."</p> + +<p>"You found him vastly interesting though."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but why should I? Why do I care what becomes of him? He is nothing +to me."</p> + +<p>"He can be something to you though, Countess; you are a beautiful, +fascinating woman. You can appeal to every man's weaknesses, no matter +what they are. With time and opportunity no man can resist you. Say the +word, and I will give you these opportunities."</p> + +<p>"You mean——?"</p> + +<p>"That I want him to be yours. You want him, and I owe you at least +this."</p> + +<p>"You have some other purpose."</p> + +<p>"And if I have, what then? He will be yours, body and soul. Tell me, are +you still in love with him?"</p> + +<p>The woman walked to the window, and looked out on the tide of human +traffic in Piccadilly. For some time she seemed to be lost in thought, +then she burst out passionately.</p> + +<p>"I am angry whenever I think of him. He was as cold as an icicle; I was +like a woman pleading with a stone. Something seemed to stand between +us—something—I don't know what."</p> + +<p>"What, you?" and there was a taunt in the Count's voice. "You, Olga +Petrovic, said to be the most beautiful, the most dangerous woman in +Europe, you whom no man has been able to resist, but who have fascinated +them as serpents fascinate birds? Are you going to be beaten by this +middle-class Englishman, this Labour Member of Parliament with £400 a +year? Will you have him boast that Countess Olga Petrovic threw herself +at him, and that he declined her without thanks?"</p> + +<p>"Has he boasted that?" she cried hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"What do you think?" laughed the Count. "Is he not that kind of man?"</p> + +<p>"No," the word came from her involuntarily. "Only——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Only he is much in favour with the ladies at Eastroyd. I have just been +told that."</p> + +<p>"I hate him!" she said, and her voice was hoarse.</p> + +<p>"I wonder?" queried the Count mockingly.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, have you found out who his visitors were that day, that +morning when I saw him last?"</p> + +<p>"An old man and a chit of a girl."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know that; I saw them as I left the room. The man might have +been a poet, an artist, and the girl was an unformed, commonplace miss. +But he did not regard them as commonplace. His eyes burnt with a new +light as he read their cards. I saw it. I believe I should have had him +but for that. I had conquered him; he was ready to fall at my feet; but +when he read their names, I knew I had lost. Who were they?"</p> + +<p>"I have not discovered. They could have been only casual acquaintances. +I have had him watched ever since he left London that day, and he has +never seen them since. Of course he may be in love with her. It may be +that he prefers an English wayside flower to such a tropical plant as +yourself. That he would rather have youth and innocence than a woman +twenty-eight years of age, who—who has had a past."</p> + +<p>"He never shall! Never!"</p> + +<p>Her eyes flashed dangerously. She had evidently decided on her course.</p> + +<p>"You may have to play a bold, daring game," insinuated the Count.</p> + +<p>"I will play any game. I'll not be beaten."</p> + +<p>"You love him still—you who never loved any man for more than a month! +And Faversham——"</p> + +<p>"You must find out where he lives, you must let me know."</p> + +<p>"And then?"</p> + +<p>"You may leave everything to me."</p> + +<p>"Mind, Olga, you may have to appear an Angel of Light in order to win +him. In fact I think that will have to be your plan. He has all the +old-fashioned morality of the middle-classes."</p> + +<p>"We shall see!" cried the woman triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"I may trust you then?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Tell me why you wish this? Suppose I—I love him really, suppose I am +willing to become his slave? Suppose I want to settle down to—to quiet +domestic happiness, to loving motherhood? Suppose I want to be good—and +to pray?"</p> + +<p>The Count's eyes burnt red with anger as she spoke, while his features +were contorted as if with pain.</p> + +<p>"Stop that," he almost snarled. "I know you, Olga Petrovic, I know too +much about you. Besides, the Bolshevists have taken your estates, +and—but why argue? You love luxury, don't you? Love beautiful dresses, +love your life of ease, love what money can buy, money that you can't +get without me?"</p> + +<p>"You must tell me all I need to know," she answered with sullen +submissiveness.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Then I will go."</p> + +<p>"And you will not fail?"</p> + +<p>"No, I will not fail."</p> + +<p>She left the room without another word, while Romanoff returned to his +chair, and sat for some time immovable. His face was like a mask. His +deep impenetrable eyes were fixed on vacancy.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Polonius, you can come in. I can see that you are almost tired of +watching me. But my face tells you nothing, my little man."</p> + +<p>Polonius Slyme slinked into the room like a whipped cur.</p> + +<p>"Look here, little man," went on the Count, "I pay you to watch others, +not me. The moment you begin to spy on me, that moment you cease to be +my servant. Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>"But, indeed, your lordship——"</p> + +<p>"Do not try to deny. I know everything. I forgive you for this once; but +never again. Obey me blindly, unquestioningly, and all will be well with +you, but try to spy upon me, to discover anything about me, and the lost +souls in hell may pity you. Ah, I see yow understand."</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, my lord. I will obey you like a slave."</p> + +<p>"What do you think of her?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She is magnificent, glorious! She can turn any man's brain. She is a +Circe, a Sybil, a Venus—no man with blood in his veins can resist her!"</p> + +<p>"That is your opinion, eh?"</p> + +<p>"I never saw such a creature before. And—and she has no conscience!"</p> + +<p>The Count laughed. "Now, Slyme, I have some more work for you."</p> + +<p>"To watch her!" he cried eagerly, rubbing his hands.</p> + +<p>"No, not yet. That may be necessary some time, but not now. I have other +work for you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lord."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow morning you will go to Surrey. I will give you all +particulars about the trains and the stations presently. You will go to +a place known as Wendover Park. Near one of the lodge gates of this +house is a pretty cottage. It was occupied, and probably still is, by a +man called Hugh Stanmore and his granddaughter. You must find out +whether he is still there, and learn all you can about them. Report all +to me. You understand?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly, your Highness," replied Polonius, whose terminology in +relation to the Count was uncertain.</p> + +<p>"You will report to me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, certainly, my lord, everything."</p> + +<p>"Very well, now go."</p> + +<p>The night came on, and the room grew dark, but Count Romanoff did not +switch on the light. He sat alone in the dark thinking, thinking.</p> + +<p>"I have him now," he muttered presently. "Master, you shall have Richard +Faversham's soul."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Voices in the Night</span></h3> + + +<p>Dick Faversham was on his way to London. He was going there as the +Member for Eastroyd, and he was somewhat excited. He was excited for +several reasons. Naturally he was elated at being a Member of +Parliament, and he looked forward with pleasant anticipation to his +political life in the Metropolis, and to his experiences in the House of +Commons. But that was not all. This was his first visit to London since +he had experienced those strange happenings which we described some time +ago. As the train rushed on through the night he became oblivious to the +presence of his fellow-passengers in the recollection of the events +which were a mystery to him then, even as they were a mystery now.</p> + +<p>Especially did his mind revert to that wonderful experience in Staple +Inn. He had heard a voice although he saw nothing, and that voice had +meant a great deal to him. More than once he had wondered if he had done +right in being silent about what had taken place afterwards. Ought he +not to have gone to the police and told them what he had heard? But he +had not been able to make up his mind to do this. Somehow everything had +been associated with what had come to him in Staple Inn, and of that he +could not speak. It would be sacrilege to do so. Besides, it might not +have been necessary. From the fact that the traitors had left the house +so suddenly, he concluded that the police were cognizant of their +existence.</p> + +<p>But his eyes had been opened. That was why, when Olga Petrovic visited +him, he was unresponsive. And yet he was not sure.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p> + +<p>Should he ever see this beautiful woman again, he wondered?</p> + +<p>He was afraid of her even while he longed to see her. Even then he +recalled the tones of her voice, and the look in her eyes as she had +pleaded with him. He had felt himself yielding to her pleading, all the +barriers of his being seemed to be breaking down before the power of her +glorious womanhood.</p> + +<p>Then there was the coming of Hugh Stanmore and his granddaughter. They +were the last persons he had expected to see, and yet the sight of their +names seemed to break the spell which Olga Petrovic had cast over him.</p> + +<p>There seemed no reason why they should come, and their interview, +considering the circumstances under which he had seen them last was of a +very prosy nature. Hugh Stanmore had happened to meet with a man who was +a Government official, and who had told him of one Richard Faversham who +was one of a deputation to his department, and who had pleaded +passionately for certain things which the working-classes desired. This +led to his learning the name of his hotel, and to the visit which had +followed.</p> + +<p>Hugh Stanmore had scarcely referred to his life at Wendover, and seemed +to be in ignorance of Tony Riggleton's whereabouts. Dick wondered at +this after the interview, and reproached himself with not asking many +questions. At the time, however, he seemed to be indifferent.</p> + +<p>To Beatrice he spoke only a few words. She appeared to be shy and +diffident. If the truth must be told, she seemed ill at ease, and not at +all pleased that her grandfather had brought her there. She was far less +a child than when he had seen her at Wendover, and he had reflected that +she was neither so interesting nor so good-looking as she had been two +or three years before. Still, he was glad to see her, and he remembered +the pleasant smile she had given him when she had left the room. His +conversation with Hugh Stanmore had been almost entirely about his life +at Eastroyd, and the conditions which obtained there.</p> + +<p>He realised, too, that a subtle change had come over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> his opinions on +his return to Eastroyd. Not that he had less interest in the class whose +cause he had espoused; but he knew that he had been led to take larger +views.</p> + +<p>That was why some discontent had been felt among his most ardent +supporters. Even those who had worked hardest for him during the +election felt it incumbent upon them to raise a note of warning as they +accompanied him to the station that night.</p> + +<p>"It's all very well, Dick, lad," said one advanced Socialist, "but we +mun make a bold front. I don't hold with Bolshevism, or owt of that +sort; but the Capitalist is the enemy of the working man, and we mun put +those money-bags in their right place."</p> + +<p>It was a cold, dark, wintry morning when he arrived in London. The +station and the streets were almost empty, the vehicles were few, and he +felt cold and lonely. He had made no arrangements for his stay in the +Metropolis, but he felt sure that the manager of the hotel where he had +previously made his home would find him temporary accommodation. As it +was impossible to get a taxi, he left his luggage at the station, and +determined to walk. He knew the way well, and as the distance was only +about a mile, he started with comparative cheerfulness.</p> + +<p>As I have said, the streets were well-nigh deserted, and not a single +soul passed him as he made his way up Euston Road. Nevertheless he had +the feeling that he was being followed. More than once he looked around, +but could see no one. Several times, too, he felt sure he heard +following footsteps, but when he stopped there was silence.</p> + +<p>When he turned at St. Pancras Church he looked up and down the street, +but nothing suspicious met his gaze. A milkman's cart, a drayman's +waggon, and that was all. The street lamps threw a sickly light on the +cold wet road, and the houses were dark. London looked asleep.</p> + +<p>For some time after he had passed St. Pancras Church he heard nothing; +but, as he neared Woburn Square, he again heard footsteps. It seemed to +him, too, that he was surrounded by dark influences. Something sinister +and evil seemed to be surrounding him. He was not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> afraid, and his +nerves were steady, but his brain was filled with strange fancies.</p> + +<p>Almost unconsciously his mind reverted to Count Romanoff. He had seen +him only once since he had left Wendover Park, and the man was still an +enigma to him. He had a thousand times reflected on the strange +happening in the library there, but although he felt he had been saved +from something terrible, he had not definitely associated the Count with +anything supernatural. For Dick was not cast in a superstitious mould.</p> + +<p>The footsteps drew nearer, and again he looked around. Was it a fact, or +was it fancy that he saw a dark form which hurriedly passed from his +sight?</p> + +<p>He was aware a few seconds later that he was walking more rapidly, and +that something like fear was in his heart.</p> + +<p>"Listen."</p> + +<p>He heard the word plainly, and stopped. All was silent here. He saw that +he was in one of the several squares which exist in the neighbourhood, +but he was not sure which. He did not think it was Woburn Square, but it +might be Taviton Square. He was not intimately acquainted with that part +of London.</p> + +<p>"Yes, what is it? Who are you?"</p> + +<p>He spoke aloud, spoke almost unconsciously, but there were no answering +words. He was the only person there. He moved to a lamp and looked at +his watch; he had a vague idea that he wanted to know the time. The +watch pointed to half-past one. Evidently he had forgotten to wind it, +for he knew his train was due to arrive something after three, and that +it was late.</p> + +<p>He was about to start again when he thought he heard the words:</p> + +<p>"Go to Wendover."</p> + +<p>But there was nothing distinct. No voice reached him, and no one was in +sight. At that moment the wind wailed across the open space, and moaned +as it passed through the leafless branches of the trees. The wind seemed +to formulate the same words.</p> + +<p>"Go to Wendover."</p> + +<p>"Of course it's all fancy," he reflected. "I expect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> my nerves are +playing me tricks. I never knew I had any nerves; but I've been through +an exciting time. I've been making speeches, meeting committees, and +replying to deputations for the last fortnight, and I expect I'm about +done up. After all, fighting an election is no make-believe."</p> + +<p>A shiver passed through him. To say the least of it, even although it +might be pure fancy, there was something uncanny about it all, and he +could not help reflecting on his past experience.</p> + +<p>He did not move, but stood like one spellbound, listening to the wind as +it soughed its way through the shrubs and trees which grew in the centre +of the Square.</p> + +<p>"Who are you?" he asked again. "What do you want?"</p> + +<p>He was sure there was a voice this time. It rose above the wailing wind, +but he could see no one.</p> + +<p>"You are in danger—great danger!"</p> + +<p>"What danger? Who are you?"</p> + +<p>"'Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation.'"</p> + +<p>He recognised the words. They were spoken by One Whose Name he always +held in reverence, spoken to His disciples in a far back age, before the +knowledge of science and critical investigation had emerged from its +swaddling clothes. But they were spoken in a woman's voice, spoken in +almost wailing accents.</p> + +<p>His whole being was filled with a great awe. The voice, the words coming +to him, at such a time and in such a way, filled him with a great +wonder, solemnised him to the centre of his being.</p> + +<p>"If it were not a woman's voice, I might think it was He Himself who +spoke," he said in a hoarse whisper.</p> + +<p>Then he thought of the footsteps, thought of the ominous, sinister +influences which had surrounded him a few minutes before.</p> + +<p>"Lord, Lord Jesus Christ, help me!"</p> + +<p>He said the words involuntarily. They had passed his lips before he knew +he had spoken.</p> + +<p>Was there any answer to his prayer? He only knew that he did not feel +any fear, that a great peace came into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> his heart. He felt as he had +never felt before, that God was a great reality. Perhaps that was why he +was no longer lonely. There in the heart of the greatest city of the +world, there in the darkness of a winter night, he was filled with a +kind of consciousness that God was, that God cared, that he was not an +orphan for whom no one cared, but a child of the Universal Father.</p> + +<p>He looked up and saw the clouds swept across the sky. Here and there was +a break through which a star shone. Eyes of heaven, they seemed to him. +Yes, the spirit world was very near to him. Perhaps, perhaps—who +knew?—there were messengers of the Unseen all around him.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Earth is crammed with heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every common bush afire with God."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Where had he heard those words? Ah yes, was it not Elizabeth Barrett +Browning who wrote them, wrote them while in Italy, where she sojourned +with her husband, the greatest poet of his time?</p> + +<p>Again he looked around him, but nothing could be seen by his natural +eyes. The houses, the trees, the gardens all lay wrapped in the gloom of +the cold and darkness of that wintry morning, there in the heart of +London. All the same it seemed that something had been born within him, +something which he could not define, and again he seemed to hear, as he +had heard years before, the glorious words which turned to naught the +ribald and trifling scepticism of men:</p> + +<p>"The Eternal God is thy Refuge, and underneath are the Everlasting +Arms."</p> + +<p>The sublimity of the message appealed to him. Surely no greater words +were ever spoken. They peopled the dark wintry heavens with angels, they +made everything possible.</p> + +<p>"Lord, tell me what to do."</p> + +<p>The prayer came naturally to his lips. It seemed to him that there was +nothing else for him to say. But there were no answering words. All was +silent, save for the soughing of the wind across the square. And yet I +am wrong. He did hear words; they might be born of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> his own +consciousness, and have no objective reality whatever, but again the +wind seemed to speak to him.</p> + +<p>"Go to Wendover."</p> + +<p>Why should he go to Wendover? He had no right to be there, and from the +rumours that he had heard, Tony Riggleton had turned the old house into +a scene of drunken and sensual orgies. But in answer to his question the +wailing wind seemed to reiterate, as if in a kind of dreary monotony, +the same words, "Go to Wendover, go to Wendover."</p> + +<p>Then suddenly everything became mundane.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, or good morning rather."</p> + +<p>It was a policeman who spoke, and who looked rather suspiciously at the +lonely looking young man.</p> + +<p>"Good morning," replied Dick; "it's not long to daylight is it?"</p> + +<p>"Another hour or two yet. Lost your way?"</p> + +<p>"I've come from King's Cross. I travelled by the midnight train, and +there were no conveyances to be got."</p> + +<p>"Ah, petrol's a bit scarce yet; but I hear we shall have more soon. +Anywhere you want to get?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm going to Jones' Hotel."</p> + +<p>"That's close to the British Museum; and only a few minutes away. I +suppose your room's booked all right. The hotels are very crowded in +London just now."</p> + +<p>"That'll be all right. Good morning, and thank you!"</p> + +<p>"That's all right, sir. Go to the end of the square, turn to the right, +then take the second street to the left and you are there."</p> + +<p>A few minutes later Dick was at the hotel. The night porter knew him +well, and showed him into the smoke-room, where there was a good fire, +and comfortable arm-chairs.</p> + +<p>"You'll be all right here till breakfast, sir, won't you? After that you +can see the manager."</p> + +<p>Five minutes later Dick was asleep.</p> + +<p>A few hours later he met some of his political confrères, two of whom +begged him to lodge with them.</p> + +<p>It was not much of a place they assured him, but the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> best their money +would run to. "Four hundred a year's very little in London, and that +you'll find out before long," one of them assured him.</p> + +<p>"Every penny has to be looked after, and by living two or three together +we can do things cheaper."</p> + +<p>After seeing their lodgings, however, Dick determined to look around for +himself. He did not relish the idea of sharing apartments with others. +He wanted privacy, and he felt, although, like himself, these men were +"Labour Members," that he had little in common with them.</p> + +<p>"I thought of trying to get a small, cheap flat," he said.</p> + +<p>"Not to be thought of with our pay," was the laughing response. "Of +course you being a bachelor may have saved up a bit, or it may be that +you think you'll be able to make a few pounds by journalism."</p> + +<p>"Some do it, don't they?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"They all want to do it, that's why there's so little chance. But I hear +you are a bit of a swell, been to a public school and all that kind of +thing, so you may have friends at court. Done anything that way?"</p> + +<p>Dick shook his head. "Never," he replied; "but no one knows what he can +do till he tries."</p> + +<p>After considerable difficulty Dick happened upon a service flat which, +although it cost more than he had calculated upon, was so convenient, +and appealed to him so strongly, that he took it there and then.</p> + +<p>Indeed he felt a pleasant sense of proprietorship, as he sat alone in +his new home that night. The room was very small, but it was cosy. A +cheerful fire burnt in the grate, and the reading-lamp threw a grateful +light upon the paper he held in his hand.</p> + +<p>"I must get a writing-desk and some book-cases, and I shall be as right +as rain," he reflected. "This is princely as a sitting-room, and +although the bedroom is only a box, it's quite big enough for me."</p> + +<p>He closed his eyes with lazy contentment, and then began to dream of his +future. Yes, ambition was still strong within him, and the longing to +make a material, yes, an international, reputation was never so +insistent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span> as now. He wondered if he could do it, wondered whether being +a Labour Member would ever lead to anything.</p> + +<p>"A voting machine at four hundred a year."</p> + +<p>He started up as though something had strung him. He remembered who had +said those words to him, remembered how they had wounded him at the time +they were spoken. Was that all he was after his hopes and dreams? He had +been a big man at Eastroyd. People had stopped in the streets to point +him out; but in London he was nobody.</p> + +<p>"A voting machine at four hundred a year!"</p> + +<p>Yes, but he would be more. He had proved that he had brains, and that he +could appeal to the multitude. He had his feet on the ladder now, +and——</p> + +<p>His mind suddenly switched off. He was no longer in his newly acquired +flat, he was walking from King's Cross to Jones' Hotel, he was passing +through a lonely square.</p> + +<p>"Go to Wendover."</p> + +<p>How the words haunted him. Every time the wind blew he had heard them, +and——</p> + +<p>He started to his feet. "Well, why not? I have nothing to do to-morrow, +and I can get there in a couple of hours."</p> + +<p>The next morning he eagerly made his way to Victoria Station.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Dick hears Strange News</span></h3> + + +<p>"Good mornin', sir."</p> + +<p>The porter touched his cap and looked at Dick curiously.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Wheelright. You are here still?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. They took the other chap, and left no one in his place, so to +speak. So me and the stationmaster have had to do everything. I was sort +of superannuated, so to speak, when you was 'ere, so I had to take on my +old job when Ritter went. However, I'd 'ear that he'll soon be back."</p> + +<p>"Yes, the boys are coming home now."</p> + +<p>"And a good job, too. Not but what me and the stationmaster have carried +on, so to speak, and I'm as good a man as ever I was."</p> + +<p>Dick remembered old Wheelright well. He did odd jobs at the station +during his short stay at Wendover Park, and was known among the people +in the neighbourhood as "Old So-to-speak." He was also noted as an +inveterate gossip.</p> + +<p>"Comin' down to live 'ere again, so to speak?" he queried, looking at +Dick curiously.</p> + +<p>"No," replied Dick. "Just paying a short visit. I shall be returning by +the 4.20 at the latest."</p> + +<p>Wheelright shuffled on at Dick's side. He was much tempted to ask him +further questions, but seemed afraid.</p> + +<p>"You don't know where—where Squire Riggleton is, I suppose, sir?</p> + +<p>"Why do you ask that?"</p> + +<p>"I was wondering, that's all. There's been a good deal of talk about +him, so to speak. Some say he was took for the army just the same as if +he hadn't sixpence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> I have heard he was took prisoner by the Germans, +too. But some people <i>will</i> talk. Have you heard 'bout his being killed, +sir?"</p> + +<p>"No, I never heard that."</p> + +<p>"Ah." He looked at Dick questioningly, and then ventured further. "He +didn't do hisself much credit as a squire," he added.</p> + +<p>"Indeed."</p> + +<p>"No, there was nice carryings on, so I've heard. But then some people +will talk. However, there's no doubt that Mrs. Lawson, who had her two +daughters as servants there in your day, took them both away. It was no +place for respectable Christians to live, she said."</p> + +<p>Dick made no reply. He had just come by train, and was the only +passenger who alighted. Old Wheelright immediately recognised him. He +did not feel altogether at ease in listening to him while he discussed +his cousin, but was so interested that he let him go on talking. The +truth was that Dick did not know why he was there, except that he had +obeyed the command he had heard when walking from King's Cross. As he +stood there that day he was not sure whether he had heard a voice or +whether it was only an impression. But the words haunted him, and he +felt he could do no other than obey. Now he was here, however, he did +not know where to go, or what to do. He felt sensitive about going to +the house which he had thought was his, and asking for admission. The +action would call up too many painful memories. And yet he did not like +going back without once again seeing the home that had meant so much to +him.</p> + +<p>"You know that people have talked a lot about <i>you</i>, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I dare say."</p> + +<p>"And everybody was sorry when you left. It was all so funny. Young +Riggleton he came to the Hare and Hounds, and told the landlord all +about it."</p> + +<p>"Indeed."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I did hear that the London lawyers called him over the coals for +talking so much, so to speak. But some people will talk. However, as I'd +say, 'twasn't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> the lawyer's business. If Riggleton liked to talk, that's +his business. Still I s'pose he had a drop of drink in him, or p'r'aps +he mightn't a' done it. He told the landlord that he'd offered you a +good job if you'd stay, but as the landlord said, 'How could you expect +a gentleman like Mr. Faversham to stay as a servant where he'd been +master?' I suppose he did make the offer, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Is the same housekeeper at Wendover?" asked Dick, not noticing +Wheelright's questions.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, bless you, sir, yes. I've been told she gave notice to leave +like the other servants; but Riggleton went away instead. He said he +couldn't stand living in a cemetery. That's what he called Wendover, +sir. He came back a few times, but only for a day or two. From what I +hear he hasn't showed his face there for years. All the same, it's kept +in good repair. I suppose the London lawyer do see to that."</p> + +<p>The old man went on retailing the gossip of the neighbourhood, but +beyond what I have recorded he said little that interested Dick. After +all, why should he care about stories concerning Anthony Riggleton, or +pay attention to the scandalous tales which had been afloat? He had no +doubt but that Mr. Bidlake would have given him all information about +his cousin, if he had called and asked him; but he had not gone.</p> + +<p>He made his way along the country lanes, scarcely seeing a single soul. +He was angry with himself for coming, and yet he knew that he had not +been able to help himself. He was there because he had been drawn there +by an irresistible impulse, or because he was under the power of +something, or someone whom he dared not disobey.</p> + +<p>The day was dark and cloudy, and the air was dank and cold. The trees +were leafless, not a flower appeared, and the whole countryside, which +had once appeared to him so glorious, now seemed grim and depressing.</p> + +<p>"Of course, I'm a fool," he muttered savagely, but still he trudged +along until he came to the lodge gates. How proud he had been when he +had first seen them! How his heart had thrilled at the thought that all +he saw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> was his own, his very own! But now he had no right there. He +might have been the veriest stranger.</p> + +<p>He had carefully avoided the entrance near which old Hugh Stanmore +lived. He did not want the old man to know of his visit.</p> + +<p>He was altogether unnoticed by the people who lived in the lodge, and a +few seconds later was hurrying up the drive. Yes, in spite of the +winter, in spite of the leafless trees, the place was very beautiful. +The noble avenue under which he was walking was very imposing, the +rhododendron, and a dozen other kinds of shrubs relieved the wintry +aspect. Besides, the woods were so restful, the fine park lands were the +finest he had ever seen.</p> + +<p>And he had thought they were all his. He for a short time had been +master of everything!</p> + +<p>Suddenly the house burst on his view, and with a cry, almost like a cry +of pain, he stood still, and looked long and yearningly. No wonder he +had loved it. It was all a country home should be.</p> + +<p>And it might have been his! If he had obeyed Romanoff; but no; even then +he felt thankful that he had not yielded to the man who tempted him.</p> + +<p>For a moment he thought of turning back. It would be too painful to go +and ask for permission to go in. But he did not turn back. As if urged +on by some unseen power he made his way towards the entrance.</p> + +<p>He had an eerie feeling in his heart as he approached the steps. He +called to mind his first visit there, when he had asked the lawyer if he +saw anything. For a moment he fancied he saw the outline of a shadowy +form as he saw it then. But there was nothing. The grey stone walls, +half hidden by ivy, stood before him as they stood then, but that +wondrous face, with pitiful pleading eyes, was not to be seen.</p> + +<p>He felt half disappointed at this. He could understand nothing, but he +had a feeling that it was the form of someone who loved him, someone +sent to protect him.</p> + +<p>At first he had fought the idea. He had told himself that he was too +matter-of-fact, that he had too much common sense to think of an optical +illusion as something supernatural; but as event after event took place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> +he could not help being possessed by the thought that he was under the +guardianship of something, someone who watched over him, helped him. He +never spoke about it to anyone; it was too sacred for discussion.</p> + +<p>But there was nothing. He heard no voice, saw no form, and a feeling +like disappointment crept into his heart. Dick Faversham was not a +morbid fellow, and he had a feeling of dislike for anything like +occultism. As for spiritualism, in the ordinary sense of the word, it +made no appeal to him. But this was different. Somehow he had a kind of +consciousness that the spirit world was all around him, and that the +Almighty Beneficence used the inhabitants of that spirit world to help +His children.</p> + +<p>No, there was nothing. His visit had been purposeless and vain, and he +would find his way back to the station. Then suddenly the door opened, +and the old housekeeper appeared.</p> + +<p>"It is, it <i>is</i> Mr. Faversham!"</p> + +<p>But he did not speak. A weight seemed on his lips.</p> + +<p>"Come in, sir, come in."</p> + +<p>Before he realised what had taken place he stood in the entrance hall, +and the door closed behind him.</p> + +<p>"Are you come for good?"</p> + +<p>The housekeeper's voice was tremulous with excitement, and her eyes were +eagerly fastened on his face.</p> + +<p>Dick shook his head. "No, I'm only here for a few minutes."</p> + +<p>"But he's dead."</p> + +<p>"Who's dead?"</p> + +<p>"That man. The man Riggleton. Haven't you heard about it?"</p> + +<p>"No, I've not heard."</p> + +<p>"But there were rumours, and I thought you'd come to tell me they were +true. Oh, I am sorry, so sorry. I should love to have you here as master +again. It was such a joy to serve you. And that man, he nearly drove me +mad. He brought bad people here. He filled the house with a lot of low +men and women. And there were such goings on. I stood it as long as I +could, and then I told him I must leave the house at once.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> So did +several of the servants. He begged me to stop, he offered to double my +wages, but I told him I must go, that I was a respectable woman, and had +served only gentry who knew how to behave themselves. Then he said he +would leave himself, and he persuaded me to stay on. Didn't you hear, +sir?"</p> + +<p>"No, I did not hear. I went away to the North of England."</p> + +<p>"Oh, there were such stories. I suppose he threw away a fortune in +London."</p> + +<p>"Is he there now?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I asked Mr. Bidlake, but he would tell me nothing. The +last I heard was that he was forced into the army, and was killed."</p> + +<p>"How long was that ago?"</p> + +<p>"Several months now."</p> + +<p>"And you've heard nothing since?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir; nothing."</p> + +<p>"Well, I will go now."</p> + +<p>"But you'll stay for lunch? I'm not stinted in any way, and Mr. Bidlake +sends me a liberal allowance for the expenses of the house. I can easily +manage lunch, sir, and it would be such a joy to me."</p> + +<p>"You are very kind, and I appreciate it very much; but I really +couldn't—after what took place. I'll go to the Hare and Hounds and have +some bread and cheese."</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you, sir? I'm so sorry, and it's a long way to Lord +Huntingford's."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course, that's out of the question."</p> + +<p>"But you must have lunch somewhere, and you couldn't go to the Hare and +Hounds."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I could. I dare say Blacketter would give me some bread and +cheese. That will be all I shall need."</p> + +<p>The housekeeper began to rub her eyes. "It's just awful," she sobbed. +"To think that you who were master here, and whom we all liked so much, +should have to go to a place like that. But I know. Mr. Stanmore is at +home; he'll be glad to welcome you there."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Stanmore is at home, is he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. He called here yesterday, and Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> Beatrice is at home too. +They were both here. Mr. Stanmore brought Sir George Weston over to see +the house."</p> + +<p>"Sir George Weston?" and Dick felt a strange sinking at his heart as he +heard the words. "I don't seem to remember the name."</p> + +<p>"He's from the west, sir, from Devonshire, I think. It has been said +that he came to see Miss Beatrice," and the housekeeper smiled +significantly.</p> + +<p>"You mean——"</p> + +<p>"I don't know anything, sir; it may be only servants' gossip. He's said +to be a very rich man, and has been serving in Egypt. Some say that he +came to discuss something about Egypt with Mr. Stanmore; but it was +noticed that he was very attentive to Miss Beatrice."</p> + +<p>"He's been staying at the cottage, then?"</p> + +<p>"For nearly a week, sir."</p> + +<p>"Is he there now?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sir. All I know is that he was here with them yesterday. +Mr. Stanmore brought a letter from Mr. Bidlake authorising me to show +them over the house."</p> + +<p>"Is Sir George a young man? You said he was in the army, didn't you?" +Dick could not understand why his heart was so heavy.</p> + +<p>"About thirty, I should think, sir. Yes, I believe he had a high command +in our Egyptian army. He's a great scholar too, and Mr. Stanmore said +that this house was the finest specimen of an Elizabethan house that he +knew of. A very pleasant gentleman too. It's not my business, but he'd +be a good match for Miss Beatrice, wouldn't he? Of course Mr. Stanmore +belongs to a very good family, but I suppose he's very poor, and Miss +Beatrice has hardly a chance of meeting anyone. You remember her, sir, +don't you? She was little more than a child when you were here, but +she's a very beautiful young lady now."</p> + +<p>The housekeeper was fairly launched now, and was prepared to discuss the +Stanmores at length, but Dick hurried away. He would have loved to have +gone over the house, but he dared not; besides, in a way he could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> not +understand, he longed to get into the open air, longed to be alone.</p> + +<p>"I hope, oh, I do hope that something'll happen," said the housekeeper +as he left the house; but what she did not tell him.</p> + +<p>A little later Dick found himself on the drive leading to Hugh +Stanmore's cottage. He had not intended to take this road, but when he +realised that he was in it, he did not turn back. Rather he hurried on +with almost feverish footsteps.</p> + +<p>Sir George Weston had been spending a week at the cottage, had he? Why? +Was it because he was an Egyptologist, and interested in Hugh Stanmore's +previous researches, or was he there because of Beatrice, as the +servants' gossip said? It was nothing to him, but he had an overwhelming +desire to know. Was Beatrice Stanmore a beautiful girl? She had not +appealed to him in this light when her grandfather brought her to see +him months before; but girls often blossomed into beauty suddenly. +Still, wasn't it strange that Weston should stay at the cottage a week?</p> + +<p>Of course he would not call. He was simply taking the longer road to the +station. Yes, he could plainly see the house through the trees, and——</p> + +<p>"Is that Mr. Faversham? Well, this is a surprise; but I <i>am</i> glad to see +you."</p> + +<p>It was old Hugh Stanmore who spoke, while Dick in a strangely nervous +way took the proffered hand.</p> + +<p>"Come to look at your old house, eh? I see you've come from that +direction."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have been—talking with my old housekeeper," he stammered.</p> + +<p>"And you've never been here before since—you left?"</p> + +<p>Dick shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, life's a strange business, isn't it? But come in, my dear +fellow. You're just in time for lunch."</p> + +<p>Dick began to make excuses, but the other refused to listen, and they +entered the cottage together.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I couldn't presume upon your kindness so far."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Kindness! Nonsense. Of course you must. Besides, I see that you are a +Member of Parliament, and a Labour Member too. I must talk with you +about it. Lunch will be on the table in five minutes."</p> + +<p>"You are sure I shouldn't be bothering you?" He had an overwhelming +desire to stay.</p> + +<p>"Bother! What bother can there be? I'm only too delighted to see you. +Come in."</p> + +<p>They entered the cottage together.</p> + +<p>"Oh, by the way," went on Hugh Stanmore, as they entered a cosy +sitting-room, "let me introduce you to Sir George Weston."</p> + +<p>A strikingly handsome man of about thirty rose from an arm-chair and +held out his hand. He was in mufti; but it was impossible to mistake him +for anything but a soldier. Head erect, shoulders squared, and a +military bearing proclaimed him to be what he was.</p> + +<p>"Glad to see you, Mr. Faversham," said Sir George heartily "I suppose +you've come down to see——" He stopped abruptly. He felt he had made a +<i>faux pas</i>.</p> + +<p>"It's all right," said Dick with a laugh. He felt perfectly at ease now. +"Yes, I came to see the old place which years ago I thought was mine. +You've heard all about it, I've no doubt?"</p> + +<p>"Jolly hard luck," sympathised Sir George. "But anyhow you——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, here's Beatrice," broke in Hugh Stanmore. "Beatrice, my dear, +here's an old friend dropped in to lunch with us. You remember Mr. +Faversham, don't you?"</p> + +<p>The eyes of the two met, and then as their hands met Dick's friendly +feeling towards Sir George Weston left him. He could not tell why.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Beatrice Confesses</span></h3> + + +<p>Dick Faversham saw at a glance that Beatrice Stanmore had ceased being a +child. She was barely twenty. She was girlish in appearance, and her +grandfather seemed to still regard her as a child. But her childhood had +gone, and her womanhood had come. Rather tall, and with a lissom form, +she had all a girl's movements, all a girl's sweetness, but the flash of +her eyes, the compression of her lips, the tones of her voice, all told +that she had left her childhood behind. But the first blush of her +womanhood still remained. She retained her child's naturalness and +winsomeness, even while she looked at the world through the eyes of a +woman.</p> + +<p>Dick was struck by her beauty too. When years before she had rushed into +the library at Wendover, almost breathless in her excitement, she had +something of the angularity, almost awkwardness, of half-development. +That had all gone. Every movement was graceful, natural. Perfect health, +health of body, health of mind had stamped itself upon her. She had no +suggestion of the cigarette-smoking, slang-talking miss who boasts of +her freedom from old-time conventions. You could not think of Beatrice +Stanmore sitting with men, smoking, sipping liqueurs, and laughing at +their jokes. She retained the virginal simplicity of childlikeness. All +the same she was a woman. But not a woman old beyond her years. Not a +woman who makes men give up their thoughts of the sacredness of +womanhood.</p> + +<p>No one could any more think of Beatrice Stanmore being advanced, or +"fast," than one could think of a rosebud just opening its petals to the +sun being "fast."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> + +<p>She had none of the ripe beauty of Lady Blanche Huntingford, much less +the bold splendour of Olga Petrovic. She was too much the child of +nature for that. She was too sensitive, too maidenly in her thoughts and +actions. And yet she was a woman, with all a woman's charm.</p> + +<p>Here lay her power. She was neither insipid nor a prude. She dared to +think for herself, she loved beautiful dresses, she enjoyed pleasure and +gaiety; but all without losing the essential quality of +womanhood—purity and modesty. She reminded one of Russell Lowell's +lines:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A dog rose blushing to a brook<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ain't modester, nor sweeter."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>That was why no man, however blasé, however cynical about women, could +ever associate her with anything loud or vulgar. She was not neurotic; +her healthy mind revolted against prurient suggestion either in +conversation or in novels. She was not the kind of girl who ogled men, +or practised unwomanly arts to attract their attention. No man, however +bold, would dream of taking liberties with her. But she was as gay as a +lark, her laughter was infectious, the flash of her eyes suggested all +kinds of innocent mischief and fun. She could hold her own at golf, was +one of the best tennis players in the district, and could ride with +gracefulness and fearlessness.</p> + +<p>Does someone say I am describing an impossible prodigy? No, I am trying +to describe a sweet, healthy, natural girl. I am trying to tell of her +as she appeared to me when I saw her first, a woman such as I believe +God intended all women to be, womanly, pure, modest.</p> + +<p>She was fair to look on too; fair with health and youth and purity. A +girl with laughing eyes, light brown hair, inclined to curl. A sweet +face she had, a face which glowed with health, and was unspoilt by +cosmetics. A tender, sensitive mouth, but which told of character, of +resolution and daring. A chin firm and determined, and yet delicate in +outline. This was Beatrice Stanmore, who, reared among the sweet Surrey +hills and valleys, was unsmirched by the world's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> traffic, and who +recoiled from the pollution of life which she knew existed. A girl +modern in many respects, but not too modern to love old-fashioned +courtesies, not too modern to keep holy the Sabbath Day, and love God +with simple faith. A religious girl, who never paraded religion, and +whose religion never made her monkish and unlovely, but was the joy and +inspiration of her life.</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad to see you, Mr. Faversham," she said. "I've often wondered +why you never came to Wendover."</p> + +<p>"In a way it was very hard to keep away," was Dick's reply. "On the +other hand, I had a kind of dread of seeing it again. You see, I had +learnt to love it."</p> + +<p>"I don't wonder. It's the dearest old house in the world. I should have +gone mad, I think, if I'd been in your place. It was just splendid of +you to take your reverse so bravely."</p> + +<p>"I had only one course before me, hadn't I?"</p> + +<p>"Hadn't you? I've often wondered." She gave him a quick, searching +glance as she spoke. "Are you staying here long?"</p> + +<p>"No, only a few hours. I return to London this afternoon. I came down +to-day just on impulse. I had no reason for coming."</p> + +<p>"Hadn't you? I'm glad you came."</p> + +<p>"So am I."</p> + +<p>There was a strange intensity in his tones, but he did not know why he +spoke with so much feeling.</p> + +<p>"Of course Granddad and I have often talked of you," she went on. "Do +you know when we called on you that day in London, I was disappointed in +you. I don't know why. You had altered so much. You did not seem at all +like you were when we saw you down here. I told Granddad so. But I'm so +glad you are Member of Parliament for Eastroyd, and so glad you've +called. There, the lunch is ready. Please remember, Mr. Faversham, that +I'm housekeeper, and am responsible for lunch. If you don't like it, I +shall be offended."</p> + +<p>She spoke with all the freedom and frankness of a child, but Dick was +not slow to recognise the fact that the child who had come to Wendover +when Romanoff<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> was weaving a web of temptation around him, had become a +woman who could no longer be treated as a child.</p> + +<p>"Are you hungry, Sir George?" she went on, turning to her other visitor. +"Do you know, Mr. Faversham, that these two men have neglected me +shamefully? They have been so interested in rubbings of ancient +inscriptions, and writings on the tombs of Egyptian kings, that they've +forgotten that I've had to cudgel my poor little brains about what they +should eat. Housekeeping's no easy matter in these days."</p> + +<p>"That's not fair," replied Sir George. "It was Mr. Stanmore here, who +was so interested that he forgot all about meal-times."</p> + +<p>The soldier was so earnest that he angered Dick. "Why couldn't the fool +take what she said in the spirit of raillery?" he asked himself.</p> + +<p>"Adam over again," laughed Beatrice. "'The woman tempted me and I did +eat.' It's always somebody else's fault. Now then, Granddad, serve the +fish."</p> + +<p>It was a merry little party that sat down to lunch, even although Dick +did not seem inclined for much talk. Old Hugh Stanmore was in great +good-humour, while Beatrice had all the high spirits of a happy, healthy +girl.</p> + +<p>"You must stay a few hours now you are here, Mr. Faversham," urged the +old man presently. "There's not the slightest reason why you should go +back to town by that four something train. It's true, Sir George and I +are going over to Pitlock Rectory for a couple of hours, but we shall be +back for tea, and you and Beatrice can get on all right while we are +away."</p> + +<p>Sir George did not look at all delighted at the suggestion, but Beatrice +was warm in her support of it.</p> + +<p>"You really must, Mr. Faversham," she said. "I shall be alone all the +afternoon otherwise, for really I can't bear the idea of listening to +Mr. Stanhope, the Rector of Pitlock, prose about mummies and fossils and +inscriptions."</p> + +<p>"You know I offered to stay here," pleaded Sir George.</p> + +<p>"As though I would have kept you and Granddad away from your fossils," +she laughed. "Mr. Stanhope<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> is a great scholar, a great Egyptologist, +and a great antiquary, and you said it would be your only chance of +seeing him, as you had to go to the War Office to-morrow. So you see, +Mr. Faversham, that you'll be doing a real act of charity by staying +with me. Besides, there's something I want to talk with you about. There +is really."</p> + +<p>Sir George did not look at all happy as, after coffee, he took his seat +beside old Hugh Stanmore, in the little motor-car, but Dick Faversham's +every nerve tingled with pleasure at the thought of spending two or +three hours alone with Beatrice. Her transparent frankness and +naturalness charmed him, the whole atmosphere of the cottage was so +different from that to which for years he had been accustomed.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Faversham," she said, when they had gone, "I want you to walk with +me to the great house, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly," he said, wondering all the time why she wanted to go there.</p> + +<p>"You don't mind, do you? I know it must be painful to you, but—but I +want you to."</p> + +<p>"Of course I will. It's no longer mine—it never was mine, but it +attracts me like a magnet."</p> + +<p>Five minutes later they were walking up the drive together. Dick was +supremely happy, yet not knowing why he was happy. Everything he saw was +laden with poignant memories, while the thought of returning to the +house cut him like a knife. Yet he longed to go. For some little +distance they walked in silence, then she burst out suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Faversham, do you believe in premonitions?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"So do I. It is that I wanted to talk with you about."</p> + +<p>He did not reply, but his mind flashed back to the night when he had sat +alone with Count Romanoff, and Beatrice Stanmore had suddenly and +without warning rushed into the room.</p> + +<p>"Do you believe in angels?" she went on.</p> + +<p>"I—I think so."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I do. Granddad is not sure about it. That is, he isn't sure that they +appear. Sir George is altogether sceptical. He pooh-poohs the whole +idea. He says there was a mistake about the Angels at Mons. He says it +was imagination, and all that sort of thing; but he isn't a bit +convincing. But I believe."</p> + +<p>"Yes." He spoke almost unconsciously. He had never uttered a word about +his own experiences to anyone, and he wondered if he should tell her +what he had seen and heard.</p> + +<p>"It was a kind of premonition which made me go to see you years ago," +she said quietly. "Do you remember?"</p> + +<p>"I shall never forget, and I'm very glad."</p> + +<p>"Why are you very glad?"</p> + +<p>"Because—because I'm sure your coming helped me!"</p> + +<p>"How did it help you?"</p> + +<p>"It helped me to see, to feel; I—I can't quite explain."</p> + +<p>"That man—Count Romanoff—is evil," and she shuddered as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Why do you say so?"</p> + +<p>"I felt it. I feel it now. He was your enemy. Have you seen him since?"</p> + +<p>"Only once. I was walking through Oxford Circus. I only spoke a few +words to him; I have not seen him since."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Faversham, did anything important happen that night?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that night—and the next."</p> + +<p>"Did that man, Count Romanoff, want you to do something which—which was +wrong? Forgive me for asking, won't you? But I have felt ever since that +it was so."</p> + +<p>"Yes." He said the word slowly, doubtfully. At that moment the old house +burst upon his view, and he longed with a great longing to possess it. +He felt hard and bitter that a man like Tony Riggleton should first have +made it a scene of obscene debauchery and then have left it. It seemed +like sacrilege that such a man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> should be associated with it. At that +moment, too, it seemed such a little thing that Romanoff had asked him +to do.</p> + +<p>"If I had done what he asked me, I might have been the owner of Wendover +Park now," he added.</p> + +<p>"But how could that be, if that man Riggleton was the true heir?" she +asked.</p> + +<p>"At that time there seemed—doubt. He made me feel that Riggleton had no +right to be there, and if I had promised the Count something, I might +have kept it."</p> + +<p>"And that something was wrong?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it was wrong. Of course I am speaking to you in absolute +confidence," he added. "When you came you made me see things as they +really were."</p> + +<p>"I was sent," she said simply.</p> + +<p>"By whom?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. And do you remember when I came the second time?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I remember. I shall never forget."</p> + +<p>"I never felt like it before or since. Something seemed to compel me to +hasten to you. I got out the car in a few seconds, and I simply flew to +you. I have thought since that you must have been angry, that you must +have looked upon me as a mad girl to rush in on you the way I did. But I +could not help myself. That evil man, Romanoff, was angry with me too; +he would have killed me if he had dared. Do you remember that we talked +about angels afterwards?"</p> + +<p>"I remember."</p> + +<p>"They were all around us. I felt sure of it. I seemed to see them. +Afterwards, while I was sorry for you, I felt glad you had left +Wendover, glad that you were no longer its owner. I had a kind of +impression that while you were losing the world, you were saving your +soul."</p> + +<p>She spoke with all a child's simplicity, yet with a woman's earnestness. +She asked no questions as to what Romanoff had asked him to do in order +to keep his wealth; that did not seem to come within her scope of +things. Her thought was that Romanoff was evil, and she felt glad that +Dick had resisted the evil.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you believe in angels?" she asked again.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes," replied Dick. "Do you?"</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt about them. I know my mother often came to me."</p> + +<p>"How? I don't quite understand. You never saw her—in this world I +mean—did you?"</p> + +<p>"No. But she has come to me. For years I saw her in dreams. More than +once, years ago, when I woke up in the night, I saw her hovering over +me."</p> + +<p>"That must have been fancy."</p> + +<p>"No, it was not." She spoke with calm assurance, and with no suggestion +of morbidness or fear. "Why should I not see her?" she went on. "I am +her child, and if she had lived she would have cared for me, fended for +me, because she loved me. Why should what we call death keep her from +doing that still, only in a different way?"</p> + +<p>Dick was silent a few seconds. It did not seem at all strange.</p> + +<p>"No; there seems no real reason why, always assuming that there are +angels, and that they have the power to speak to us. But there is +something I would like to ask you. You said just now, 'I know that my +mother often came to me.' Has she ceased coming?"</p> + +<p>Beatrice Stanmore's eyes seemed filled with a great wonder, but she +still spoke in the same calm assured tones.</p> + +<p>"I have not seen her for three years," she said; "not since the day +after you left Wendover. She told me then that she was going farther +away for a time, and would not be able to speak to me, although she +would allow no harm to happen to me. Since that time I have never seen +her. But I know she loves me still. It may be that I shall not see her +again in this life, but sometime, in God's own good time, we shall +meet."</p> + +<p>"Are you a Spiritualist?" asked Dick, and even as he spoke he felt that +he had struck a false note.</p> + +<p>She shook her head decidedly. "No, I should hate the thought of using +mediums and that sort of thing to talk to my mother. There may be truth +in it, or there may not; but to me it seems tawdry, sordid. But I've<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> no +doubt about the angels. I think there are angels watching over you. It's +a beautiful thought, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't it rather morbid?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"Why should it be morbid? Is the thought that God is all around us +morbid? Why then should it be morbid to think of the spirits of those He +has called home being near to help us, to watch over us?"</p> + +<p>"No," replied Dick; "but if there are good angels why may there not be +evil ones?"</p> + +<p>"I believe there are," replied the girl. "I am very ignorant and simple, +but I believe there are. Did not Satan tempt our Lord in the wilderness? +And after the temptation was over, did not angels minister to Him?"</p> + +<p>"So the New Testament says."</p> + +<p>"Do you not believe it to be true?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Sir George's Love Affair</span></h3> + + +<p>The great house stood out boldly against the wintry sky, and Dick +Faversham could plainly see the window of the room where, years before, +he had taken the pen to sign the paper which would have placed him in +Count Romanoff's power. Like lightning his mind flashed back to the +fateful hour. He saw himself holding the pen, saw the words which +Romanoff had written standing clearly out on the white surface, saw +himself trying to trace the letters of his name, and then he felt the +hand on his wrist. It was only a light touch, but he no longer had the +power to write.</p> + +<p>Was it a moral impulse which had come to him, or was it some force which +paralysed his senses, and made him incapable of holding the pen? It +seemed to be both. He remembered having a loathing for the thing +Romanoff wanted him to do. Even then he felt like shuddering at the dark +influences which sapped his will-power, and made wrong seem like right. +But there was more than that. Some force <i>outside</i> himself kept him from +writing.</p> + +<p>And he was glad. True, he was a poor man, and instead of owning the +stately mansion before him, he would presently return to his tiny flat, +where he would have to calculate about every sixpence he spent. But he +was free; he was master of his soul. He was a man of some importance +too. He was the Labour Member for Eastroyd; he had secured the +confidence of many thousands of working people, and his voice was +listened to with much respect by Labour leaders, and in Labour +conferences.</p> + +<p>But he was not quite satisfied. He did not want to be the representative +of one class only, but of all classes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> He remembered that he had been +lately spoken of as being "too mealy-mouthed," and as "having too much +sympathy with the employers."</p> + +<p>"A voting machine at four hundred a year!"</p> + +<p>Romanoff's words still stung him, wounded him. He longed for a larger +life, longed to speak for all classes, longed to mingle with those of +his own upbringing and education.</p> + +<p>"What are you thinking of?"</p> + +<p>For the moment he had forgotten the girl at his side, almost forgotten +the subject they had been discussing.</p> + +<p>"Of many things," he replied.</p> + +<p>"You were thinking of that man, Count Romanoff."</p> + +<p>"Was I? Yes, I suppose I was. How did you know?"</p> + +<p>"Telepathy," she replied. "Shall we go back?"</p> + +<p>"If you will. Did you not say you wanted to go to the house?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think I do now. I'm afraid it would be painful to you. But, Mr. +Faversham, I'm glad I helped you; glad you do not own Wendover Park."</p> + +<p>"So am I," he replied; "the price would have been too terrible."</p> + +<p>She looked at him questioningly. She did not quite understand his words.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if you would think it an impertinence if I asked you to +promise me something," she said.</p> + +<p>"Nothing you could ask would be an impertinence," he responded eagerly; +"nothing."</p> + +<p>"That Count Romanoff is evil," she said, "evil; I am sure he is. I know +nothing about him, but I am sure of what I say. Will you promise to have +nothing to do with him? I think you will meet him again. I don't know +why, but I have a feeling that you will. That is why I wanted to say +this, and I wanted to say it in sight of the house which you love."</p> + +<p>"I promise," replied Dick. "It is very good of you to have so much +interest in me."</p> + +<p>"In a way, I don't know that I have very much interest," she said +simply; "and I'm afraid I'm acting on impulse. Granddad says that that +is my weakness."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't think it is a weakness. I'm not likely to see Count Romanoff +again; but I promise, gladly promise, that if I do I'll yield to him in +nothing. Is that what you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's what I mean."</p> + +<p>Her humour suddenly changed. She seemed to have no further interest in +Wendover Park, or its possessor, whoever it might be, and their +conversation became of the most commonplace nature. They chatted about +the possibilities of peace, the future of Germany, and the tremendous +problems Britain would have to face, but all interest in the question +which had engrossed her mind seemed to have left her. Dick was to her +only an ordinary acquaintance who had casually crossed the pathway of +her life, and who might never do so again. Indeed, as presently they +reached the highroad, he thought she became cold and reserved, it might +seem, too, that he somewhat bored her.</p> + +<p>Presently they heard the sound of horses' hoofs coming toward them, and +they saw a lady on horseback.</p> + +<p>"That's Lady Blanche Huntingford," she said; "do you know her?"</p> + +<p>"I did know her slightly," replied Dick, who felt no excitement whatever +on seeing her.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, of course you did. She's a great beauty, isn't she?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so." Dick remembered how, in London months before, she had +refused to recognise him.</p> + +<p>For a moment Lady Blanche seemed surprised at seeing Dick. She +scrutinised him closely, as if she was not quite sure it was he. Then +her colour heightened somewhat, and with a nod which might have embraced +them both, she passed on.</p> + +<p>"We must get back to the house," Beatrice said; "Granddad and Sir George +will have returned by this time, and they will want their tea."</p> + +<p>"Sir George is leaving you to-morrow, isn't he?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replied, and Dick's heart grew heavy as he saw the look in +her eyes. He did not know why.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He's a great soldier, I suppose? I think I've been told so."</p> + +<p>"The greatest and bravest man in the army," she replied eagerly. "He's +simply splendid. It's not often that a soldier is a scholar, but +Granddad says there are few men alive who are greater authorities on +Egyptian questions."</p> + +<p>A feeling of antagonism rose in Dick's heart against Sir George Weston, +he felt angry that Beatrice should think so highly of him.</p> + +<p>"He's a Devonshire man, isn't he?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes; he has a lovely old place down there. The house is built of grey +granite. It is very, very old, and it looks as though it would last for +hundreds and hundreds of years. It is situated on a wooded hillside, and +at the back, above the woods, is a vast stretch of moorland. In front is +a lovely park studded with old oaks."</p> + +<p>"You describe the place with great enthusiasm." There was envy in his +tones, and something more than envy.</p> + +<p>"Do I? I love Devonshire. Love its granite tors, its glorious hills and +valleys. No wonder it is called 'Glorious Devon.'"</p> + +<p>By the time they reached the cottage Sir George Weston and Hugh Stanmore +had returned, and tea was on the table. Sir George seemed somewhat +excited, while old Hugh Stanmore was anything but talkative. It might +seem as though, during the afternoon, the two had talked on matters of +greater interest than the tombs of Egyptian kings.</p> + +<p>When the time came for Dick to depart, Hugh Stanmore said he would walk +a little way with him. For a happy, and singularly contented man, he +appeared much disturbed.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad you came, Mr. Faversham," said Beatrice as she bade him +good-bye. "We had a lovely walk, hadn't we?"</p> + +<p>"Wonderful," replied Dick. "I shall never forget it."</p> + +<p>"And you'll not forget your promise, will you?"</p> + +<p>"No, I shall not forget it."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You will let us know, won't you, when you are going to speak in the +House of Commons? I shall insist on Granddad taking me to hear you."</p> + +<p>Sir George Weston looked from one to the other suspiciously. He could +not understand her interest in him.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of Weston?" asked Hugh Stanmore, when they had walked +some distance together.</p> + +<p>"I suppose he's a very fine soldier," evaded Dick.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, there's no doubt about that. But how did he strike +you—personally?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I didn't pay much attention to him. He seemed a pleasant +kind of man." Dick felt very non-committal. "Do you know him well?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; fairly well. I met him before the war. He and I were interested in +the same subjects. He has travelled a great deal in the East. Of course +I've known of his family all my life. A very old family which has lived +in the same house for generations. I think he is the eighth baronet. But +I was not thinking of that. I was thinking of him as a man. You'll +forgive my asking you, won't you, but do you think he could make my +little girl happy?"</p> + +<p>Dick felt a strange weight on his heart. He felt bitter too.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid my opinion would be of little value," he replied. "You see +I know nothing of him, neither for that matter am I well acquainted with +Miss Stanmore."</p> + +<p>"No, I suppose that's true, and perhaps I ought not to have asked you. I +often scold Beatrice for acting so much on impulse, while I am +constantly guilty of the same offence. But I don't look on you as a +stranger. Somehow I seem to know you well, and I wanted your opinion. I +can speak freely to you, can't I?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"He has asked me this afternoon if I'll consent to Beatrice becoming his +wife."</p> + +<p>Dick was silent. He felt he could not speak.</p> + +<p>"Of course, from a worldly standpoint it would be a good match," went on +Hugh Stanmore. "Sir George is a rich man, and has a fine reputation, not +only as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> scholar and a soldier, but as a man. There has never been a +blemish on his reputation. He stands high in the county, and could give +my little girl a fine position."</p> + +<p>"Doubtless," and Dick hardly knew that he spoke.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I am a snob," went on the old man; "but such things must +weigh somewhat. I am not a pauper, but, as wealth is counted to-day, I +am a poor man. I am also old, and in the course of nature can't be here +long. That is why I am naturally anxious about my little Beatrice's +future. And yet I am in doubt."</p> + +<p>"About what?"</p> + +<p>"Whether he could make her happy. And that is everything as far as I am +concerned. Beatrice, as you must have seen, is just a happy child of +nature, and is as sensitive as a lily. To be wedded to a man who is +not—how shall I put it?—her affinity, her soul comrade, would be +lifelong misery to her. And unless I were sure that Sir George is that, +I would not think of giving my consent."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you forgetful of a very important factor?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"What is that?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Stanmore herself. In these days girls seem to take such matters +largely into their own hands. The consent of relations is regarded as a +very formal thing."</p> + +<p>"I don't think you understand, Faversham. Beatrice is not like the +common run of girls, and she and I are so much to each other that I +don't think for a moment that she would marry any man if I did not give +my sanction. In fact, I'm sure she wouldn't. She's only my +granddaughter, but she's all the world to me, while—yes, I am +everything to her. No father loved a child more than I love her. I've +had her since she was a little mite, and I've been father, mother, and +grandfather all combined. And I'd do anything, everything in my power +for her welfare. I know her—know her, Faversham; she's as pure and +unsullied as a flower."</p> + +<p>"But, of course, Sir George Weston has spoken to her?"</p> + +<p>"No, he hasn't. For one thing, he has very strict<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> ideas about +old-fashioned courtesies, and, for another, he knows our relations to +each other."</p> + +<p>"Do you know her mind?—know whether she cares for him—in that way?" +asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"No, I don't. I do know that, a week ago, she had no thought of love for +any man. But, of course, I couldn't help seeing that during the past +week he has paid her marked attention. Whether she's been aware of it, I +haven't troubled to ascertain."</p> + +<p>In some ways this old man was almost as much a child as his +granddaughter, in spite of his long life, and Dick could hardly help +smiling at his simplicity.</p> + +<p>"Of course, I imagine she'll marry sometime," and Dick's voice was a +trifle hoarse as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Hugh Stanmore. "That is natural and right. God intended +men and women to marry, I know that. But if they do not find their true +mate, then it's either sacrilege or hell—especially to the woman. +Marriage is a ghastly thing unless it's a sacrament—unless the man and +the woman feel that their unity is of God. Marriage ceremonies, and the +blessing of the Church, or whatever it is called, is so much mockery +unless they feel that their souls are as one. Don't you agree with me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do. I suppose," he added, "you stipulate that whoever marries +her—shall—shall be a man of wealth?"</p> + +<p>"No, I shouldn't, except in this way. No man should marry a woman unless +he has the wherewithal to keep her. He would be a mean sort of fellow +who would drag a woman into want and poverty. But, of course, that does +not obtain in this case."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I can't help, or advise you," said Dick. "I'm afraid I'm a +bit of an outsider," and he spoke bitterly. "Neither do I think you will +need advice. Miss Stanmore has such a fine intuition that——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, you feel that!" broke in Hugh Stanmore almost excitedly. "Yes, yes, +you are right! I can trust her judgment rather than my own. Young as she +is, she'll choose right. Yes, she'll choose right! I think I'll go back +now. Yes, I'll go back at once. Our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> conversation has done me good, and +cleared my way, although I've done most of the talking. Good-night, +Faversham. I wish you well. I think you can do big things as a +politician; but I don't agree with you."</p> + +<p>"Don't agree with me? Why?"</p> + +<p>"I don't believe in these party labels. You are a party man, a Labour +man. I have the deepest sympathy with the toilers of the world. I have +been working for them for fifty years. Perhaps, too, the Labour Party is +the outcome of the injustice of the past. But all such parties have a +tendency to put class against class, to see things in a one-sided way, +to foster bitterness and strife. Take my advice and give up being a +politician."</p> + +<p>"Give up being a politician! I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"A politician in the ordinary sense is a party man; too often a party +hack, a party voting machine. Be more than a politician, be a statesman. +All classes of society are interdependent. We can none of us do without +the other. Capital and labour, the employer and the employee, all depend +on each other. All men should be brothers and work for the common +interest. Don't seek to represent a class, or to legislate for a class, +Faversham. Work for all the classes, work for the community as a whole. +And remember that Utopia is not created in a day. Good-night. Come and +see us again soon."</p> + +<p>Hugh Stanmore turned back, and left Dick alone. The young man felt +strangely depressed, strangely lonely. He pictured Hugh Stanmore going +back to the brightness and refinement of his little house, to be met +with the bright smiles and loving words of his grandchild, while he +plodded his way through the darkness. He thought, too, of Sir George +Weston, who, even then, was with Beatrice Stanmore. Perhaps, most likely +too, he was telling her that he loved her.</p> + +<p>He stopped suddenly in the road, his brain on fire, his heart beating +madly. A thousand wild fancies flashed through his brain, a thousand +undefinable hopes filled his heart.</p> + +<p>"No, it's impossible, blankly impossible!" he cried at length. "A +will-o'-the-wisp, the dream of a madman—a madman! Why, even now she may +be in his arms!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> + +<p>The thought was agony to him. Even yet he did not know the whole secret +of his heart, but he knew that he hated Sir George Weston, that he +wished he had urged upon old Hugh Stanmore the utter unfitness of the +great soldier as a husband for his grandchild.</p> + +<p>But how could he? What right had he? Besides, according to all +common-sense standards nothing could be more suitable. She was his equal +in social status, and every way fitted to be his wife, while he would be +regarded as the most eligible suitor possible.</p> + +<p>"A voting machine at four hundred a year!"</p> + +<p>Again those stinging words of Count Romanoff. And old Hugh Stanmore had +spoken in the same vein. "A party hack, a party voting machine!"</p> + +<p>And he could not help himself. He was dependent on that four hundred a +year. He dared ask no woman to be his wife. He had no right. He would +only drag her into poverty and want.</p> + +<p>All the way back to town his mind was filled with the hopelessness of +his situation. The fact that he had won a great victory at Eastroyd and +was a newly returned Member of Parliament brought him no pleasure. He +was a party hack, and he saw no brightness in the future.</p> + +<p>Presently Parliament assembled, and Dick threw himself with eagerness +into the excitement which followed. Every day brought new experiences, +every day brought new interests.</p> + +<p>But he felt himself hampered. If he only had a few hundreds a year of +his own. If only he could be free to live his own life, think his own +thoughts. Not that he did not agree with many of the ideas of his party. +He did. But he wanted a broader world, a greater freedom. He wanted to +love, and to be loved.</p> + +<p>Then a change came. On returning to his flat late one night he found a +letter awaiting him. On the envelope was a coroneted crest, and on +opening it he saw the name of Olga Petrovic.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Dawn of Love</span></h3> + + +<p>The letter from Olga ran as follows:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Faversham</span>,—I have just discovered your address, and I am +writing to congratulate you on the fine position you have won. It +must be glorious to be a Member of the Mother of Parliaments, to be +a legislator in this great free country. I rejoice, too, that you +have espoused the cause of the toilers, the poor. It is just what I +hoped and expected of you. You will become great, my friend; my +heart tells me so. Your country will be proud of you.</p> + +<p>"I wonder whether, if in spite of your many interests and duties, +you will have time to visit a lonely woman? There are so many +things I would like to discuss with you. Do come if you can. I +shall be home to-morrow afternoon, and again on Friday. Will you +not have pity on me?—Yours,</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Olga Petrovic</span>."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Dick saw that her address was a fashionable street in Mayfair, and +almost unconsciously he pictured her in her new surroundings. She was no +longer among a wild-eyed, long-haired crew in the East End, but in the +centre of fashion and wealth. He wondered what it meant. He read the +letter a second time, and in a way he could not understand, he was +fascinated. There was subtle flattery in every line, a kind of clinging +tenderness in every sentence.</p> + +<p>No mention was made of their last meeting, but Dick remembered. She had +come to him after that wonderful experience in Staple Inn—on the +morning after his eyes had been opened to the facts about what a number +of Bolshevists wanted to do in England. His mind had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> been bewildered, +and he was altogether unsettled. He was afraid he had acted rudely to +her. He had thought of her as being associated with these people. If he +had yielded to her entreaties, and thrown himself into the plans she had +made, might he not have become an enemy to his country, to humanity?</p> + +<p>But what a glorious creature she was! What eyes, what hair, what a +complexion! He had never seen any woman so physically perfect. And, +added to all this, she possessed a kind of charm that held him, +fascinated him, made him think of her whether he would or not.</p> + +<p>And yet her letter did not bring him unmixed pleasure. In a way he could +not understand he was slightly afraid of her, afraid of the influence +she had over him. He could not mistake the meaning of her words at their +last meeting. She had made love to him, she had asked him to marry her. +It is true he had acted as though he misunderstood her, but what would +have happened if old Hugh Stanmore and Beatrice had not come? The very +mystery which surrounded her added to her charm. Who <i>was</i> she? Why did +she go to the East End to live, and how did she possess the means to +live in Mayfair?</p> + +<p>He walked around his little room, thinking hard. For the last few days +his parliamentary duties had excited him, kept him from brooding; but +now in the quietness of the night he felt his loneliness, realised his +longing for society. His position as a Labour Member was perfectly +plain. His confrères were good fellows. Most of them were hard-headed, +thoughtful men who took a real interest in their work. But socially they +were not of his class. They had few interests in common, and he realised +it, even as they did. That was why they looked on him with a certain +amount of suspicion. What was to be his future then? A social gulf was +fixed between him and others whose equal he was, and whatever he did he +would be outside the circle of men and women whose tastes were similar +to his own.</p> + +<p>No, that was not altogether true. Hugh Stanmore and Beatrice treated him +as a friend. Beatrice!</p> + +<p>The very thought of her conjured up all sorts of fancies. He had not +heard from her, or of her since his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> visit to Wendover. Was she engaged +to Sir George Weston, he wondered?</p> + +<p>He knew now that he had never loved Lady Blanche Huntingford. He had +been attracted to her simply because of her looks, and her social +position. At the time she had appealed to him strongly, but that was +because he had regarded her as a means whereby he could attain to his +social ambitions. But a change had come over him since then—a subtle, +almost indescribable change. The strange events of his life had led him +to see deeper. And he knew he had no love for this patrician woman. When +he had seen her last she had not caused one heart-throb, he was almost +indifferent to her.</p> + +<p>But Beatrice! Why did the thought of her haunt him? Why was he angry +with Sir George Weston, and bitter at the idea of his marrying this +simple country girl? As for himself he could never marry.</p> + +<p>The following morning he wrote to Countess Olga Petrovic. It was a +courteous note saying that at present he was too engaged to call on her, +but he hoped that later he might have that pleasure. Then he plunged +into his work again.</p> + +<p>About a fortnight after his visit to Hugh Stanmore, a letter came to him +from the housekeeper at Wendover. He had told her his London address, +and she had taken advantage of her knowledge by writing.</p> + +<p>"There are all sorts of rumours here about Mr. Anthony Riggleton," she +wrote; "and we have all been greatly excited. Some soldiers have been in +the neighbourhood who declare that they know of a certainty that he is +dead. I thought it my duty to tell you this, sir, and that is my excuse +for the liberty I take in writing.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, sir, you may also be interested to learn that Sir George +Weston and Miss Beatrice Stanmore are engaged to be married. As you may +remember, I told you when you were here that I thought they would make a +match of it. Of course she has done very well, for although the +Stanmores are a great family, Mr. Stanmore is a poor man, and Miss +Beatrice has nothing but what he can give her. It is said that the +wedding will take place in June."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p> + +<p>The letter made him angry. Of course he understood the old lady's +purpose in writing. She thought that if Anthony Riggleton died, the +estate might again revert to him, and she hoped he would find out and +let her know. She had grown very fond of him during his short sojourn +there, and longed to see him there as master again. But the letter made +him angry nevertheless. Then as he read it a second time he knew that +his anger was not caused by her interest in his future, but because of +her news about Beatrice Stanmore. The knowledge that she had accepted +this Devonshire squire made his heart sink like lead. It seemed to him +that the sky of his life had suddenly become black.</p> + +<p>Then he knew his secret; knew that he loved this simple country girl +with a consuming but hopeless love. He realised, too, that no one save +she had ever really touched his heart. That this was why Lady Blanche +Huntingford had passed out of his life without leaving even a ripple of +disappointment or sorrow.</p> + +<p>Oh, if he had only known before! For he had loved her as he had walked +by her side through Wendover Park; loved her when he had almost calmly +discussed her possible marriage with Sir George Weston. Even then he had +hated the thought of it, now he knew why His own heart was aching for +her all the time.</p> + +<p>But what would have been the use even if he had known? He was a +homeless, penniless man. He could have done nothing. He was not in a +position to ask any woman to be his wife.</p> + +<p>His mood became reckless, desperate. What mattered whatever he did? Were +not all his dreams and hopes so much madness? Had he not been altogether +silly about questions of right and wrong? Had he not been Quixotic in +not fighting for Wendover? Supposing he had signed that paper, what +could Romanoff have done? He almost wished—no, he didn't; but after +all, who could pass a final judgment as to what was right and wrong?</p> + +<p>While he was in this state of mind another letter came from Olga +Petrovic.</p> + +<p>"Why have you not visited me, my friend?" she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> wrote. "I have been +expecting you. Surely you could have found time to drop in for half an +hour. Besides, I think I could help you. Lord Knerdon was here yesterday +with one or two other Members of the Government. He expressed great +interest in you, and said he would like to meet you. Has he not great +influence? I shall be here between half-past three and six to-morrow, +and some people are calling whom I think you would like to know."</p> + +<p>Lord Knerdon, eh? Lord Knerdon was one of the most respected peers in +the country, and a man of far-reaching power. He would never call at the +house of an adventuress. Yes, he would go.</p> + +<p>The street in which Olga Petrovic had taken up her abode was made up of +great houses. Only a person of considerable wealth could live there. +This he saw at a glance. Also three handsome motor-cars stood at her +door. He almost felt nervous as his finger touched the bell.</p> + +<p>She received him with a smile of welcome, and yet there was a suggestion +of aloofness in her demeanour. She was not the woman he had seen at +Jones' Hotel long months before, when she had almost knelt suppliant at +his feet.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Mr. Faversham," she cried, and there was a suggestion of a foreign +accent in her tones, "I am pleased to see you. It is good of such a busy +man to spare a few minutes."</p> + +<p>A little later she had introduced him to her other visitors—men and +women about whose position there could not be a suggestion of doubt. At +least, such was his impression. She made a perfect hostess, too, and +seemed to be a part of her surroundings. She was a great lady, who met +on equal terms some of the best-known people in London. And she was +queen of them all. Even as she reigned over the motley crew in that +queer gathering in the East of London, so she reigned here in the +fashionable West.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes he found himself talking with people of whom he had +hitherto known nothing except their names, while Olga Petrovic watched +him curiously. Her demeanour to him was perfectly friendly, and yet he +had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> the feeling that she regarded him as a social inferior. He was +there, not because he stood on the same footing as these people, but on +sufferance. After all, he was a Labour Member. Socially he was an +outsider, while she was the grand lady.</p> + +<p>People condoled with her because her Russian estates had been stolen +from her by the Bolshevists, but she was still the Countess Olga +Petrovic, bearing one of the greatest names in Europe. She was still +rich enough to maintain her position in the wealthiest city in the +world. She was still a mystery.</p> + +<p>Dick remained for more than an hour. Although he would not admit it to +himself, he hoped that he might be able to have a few minutes alone with +her. But as some visitors went, others came. She still remained kind to +him; indeed, he thought she conveyed an interest in him which she did +not show to others. But he was not sure. There was a suggestion of +reserve in her friendliness; sometimes, indeed, he thought she was cold +and aloof. There were people there who were a hundred times more +important than he—people with historic names; and he was a nobody. +Perhaps that was why a barrier stood between them.</p> + +<p>And yet there were times when she dazzled him by a smile, or the turn of +a sentence. In spite of himself, she made him feel that it was a +privilege of no ordinary nature to be the friend of the Countess Olga +Petrovic.</p> + +<p>When at length he rose to go she made not the slightest effort to detain +him. She was courteously polite, and that was all. He might have been +the most casual stranger, to whom she used the most commonplace forms of +speech. Any onlooker must have felt that this Polish or Russian +Countess, whatever she might be, had simply a passing interest in this +Labour Member, that she had invited him to tea out of pure whim or +fancy, and that she would forget him directly he had passed the +doorstep. And yet there was a subtle something in her manner as she held +out her hand to him. Her words said nothing, but her eyes told him to +come again.</p> + +<p>"Must you go, Mr. Faversham? So pleased you were able to call. I am +nearly always home on Thursdays."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p> + +<p>That was all she said. But the pressure of her hand, the pleading of her +eyes, the smile that made her face radiant—these somehow atoned for the +coldness of her words.</p> + +<p>"Well, I've called," thought Dick as he left the house, "and I don't +intend to call again. I don't understand her; she's out of my world, and +we have nothing in common."</p> + +<p>But these were only his surface thoughts. At the back of his mind was +the conviction that Olga Petrovic had an interest in him beyond the +ordinary, that she thought of him as she thought of no other man. Else +why that confession months before? Why did she ask him to call?</p> + +<p>She was a wonderful creature, too. How tame and uninteresting the other +women were compared with her! Her personality dominated everything, made +everyone else seem commonplace.</p> + +<p>She captivated him and fascinated him even while something told him that +it was best for him that he should see nothing more of her. The mystery +that surrounded her had a twofold effect on him: it made him long to +know more about her even while he felt that such knowledge could bring +him no joy.</p> + +<p>But this she did. She kept him from brooding about Beatrice Stanmore, +for the vision of this unsophisticated English girl was constantly +haunting him, and the knowledge that his love for her was hopeless made +him almost desperate. He was a young man, only just over thirty, with +life all before him. Must he for ever and ever be denied of love, and +the joys it might bring to his life? If she had not promised herself to +Sir George Weston, all might be different. Yes, with her to help him and +inspire him, he would make a position for her; he would earn enough to +make a home for her. But she was not for him. She would soon be the wife +of another. Why, then, should he not crush all thoughts of her, and +think of this glorious woman, compared with whom Beatrice Stanmore was +only as a June rosebud to a tropical flower?</p> + +<p>A few days later he called on Olga Petrovic again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> This time he spent a +few minutes alone with her. Only the most commonplace things were said, +and yet she puzzled him, bewildered him. One minute she was all smiles +and full of subtle charm, another he felt that an unfathomable gulf lay +between them.</p> + +<p>In their conversation, while he did not speak in so many words of the +time she had visited him at his hotel, he let her know that he +remembered it, and he quickly realised that the passionate woman who had +pleaded with him then was not the stately lady who spoke to him now.</p> + +<p>"Every woman is foolish at times," she said. "In hours of loneliness and +memory we are the creatures of passing fancies; but they are only +passing. I have always to remember that, in spite of the tragic +condition of my country, I have my duty to my race and my position."</p> + +<p>Later she said: "I wonder if I shall ever wed? Wonder whether duty will +clash with my heart to such a degree that I shall go back to my own +sphere, or stay here and only remember that I am a woman?"</p> + +<p>He wondered what she meant, wondered whether she wished to convey to him +that it might be possible for her to forsake all for love.</p> + +<p>But something, he could not tell what, made him keep a strong hold upon +himself. It had become a settled thought in his mind by this time that +at all hazards he must fight against his love for Beatrice Stanmore. To +love her would be disloyal to her; it would be wrong. He had no right to +think thoughts of love about one who had promised to be the wife of +another man.</p> + +<p>Yet his heart ached for her. All that was best in him longed for her. +Whenever his love for her was strongest, he longed only for the highest +in life, even while his conscience condemned him for thinking of her.</p> + +<p>Dick paid Olga Petrovic several visits. Nearly always others were there, +but he generally managed to be alone with her for a few minutes, and at +every visit he knew that she was filling a larger place in his life.</p> + +<p>His fear of her was passing away, too, for she was not long in showing +an interest in things that lay dear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> to his heart. She evidenced a great +desire to help him in his work; she spoke sympathetically about the +conditions under which the toilers of the world laboured. She revealed +fine intuitions, too.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes," she said on one occasion, "I love your country. It is +home—home! I am mad, too, when I think of my insane fancies of a year +ago. I can see that I was wrong, wrong, all wrong! Lawlessness, force, +anarchy can never bring in the new day of life and love. That can only +come by mutual forbearance, by just order, and by righteous discipline. +I was mad for a time, I think; but I was mad with a desire to help. Do +you know who opened my eyes, Mr. Faversham?"</p> + +<p>"Your own heart—your own keen mind," replied Dick.</p> + +<p>"No, my friend—no. It was you. You did not say much, but you made me +see. I believe in telepathy, and I saw with your eyes, thought with your +mind. Your eyes pierced the darkness, you saw the foolishness of my +dreams. And yet I would give my last penny to help the poor."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure you would," assented Dick.</p> + +<p>"Still, we must be governed by reason. And that makes me think, my +friend. Do you ever contemplate your own future?"</p> + +<p>"Naturally."</p> + +<p>"And are you always going to remain what you are now?"</p> + +<p>"I do not follow you."</p> + +<p>"I have thought much about you, and I have been puzzled. You are a man +with great ambitions—high, holy ambitions—but if you are not careful, +your life will be fruitless."</p> + +<p>Dick was silent.</p> + +<p>"Don't mistake me. I only mean fruitless comparatively. But you are +handicapped, my friend."</p> + +<p>"Sadly handicapped," confessed Dick.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you feel it. You are like a bird with one wing trying to fly. +Forgive me, but the best houses in London are closed to you; you are a +paid Labour Member of Parliament, and thus you represent only a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> +class—the least influential class. You are shut out from many of the +delights of life. Channels of usefulness and power are closed to you. +Oh, I know it is great to be a Labour Member, but it is greater to be +independent of all classes—to live for your ideals, to have enough +money to be independent of the world, to hold up your head as an equal +among the greatest and highest."</p> + +<p>"You diagnose a disease," said Dick sadly, "but you do not tell me the +remedy."</p> + +<p>"Don't I?" and Dick felt the glamour of her presence. "Doesn't your own +heart tell you that, my friend?"</p> + +<p>Dick felt a wild beating of his heart, but he did not reply. There was a +weight upon his tongue.</p> + +<p>A minute later she was the great lady again—far removed from him.</p> + +<p>He left the house dazzled, almost in love with her in spite of Beatrice +Stanmore, and largely under her influence. He had been gone only a few +minutes when a servant brought a card.</p> + +<p>"Count Romanoff," she read. "Show him here," she added, and there was a +look in her eyes that was difficult to understand.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Eternal Struggle</span></h3> + + +<p>Count Romanoff was faultlessly dressed, and looked calm and smiling.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Countess," he said, "I am fortunate in finding you alone. But you +have had visitors, or, to be more exact, a visitor."</p> + +<p>"Yes; I have had visitors. I often have of an afternoon."</p> + +<p>"But he has been here."</p> + +<p>"Well, and what then?"</p> + +<p>The Count gazed at her steadily, and his eyes had a sinister gleam in +them.</p> + +<p>"I have come to have a quiet chat with you," he said—"come to know how +matters stand."</p> + +<p>"You want to know more than I can tell you."</p> + +<p>Again the Count scrutinised her closely. He seemed to be trying to read +her mind.</p> + +<p>"Olga," he said, "you don't mean to say that you have failed? He has +been in London some time now, and as I happen to know, he has been here +often. Has not the fish leaped to the bait? If not, what is amiss? +What?—Olga Petrovic, who has turned the heads of men in half the +capitals of Europe, and who has never failed to make them her slaves, +fail to captivate this yokel! I can't believe it."</p> + +<p>There was sullen anger in her eyes, and at that moment years seemed to +have been added to her life.</p> + +<p>"Beaten!" went on the Count, with a laugh—"Olga Petrovic beaten! That +is news indeed."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," said the woman. "Something always seems to stand +between us. He seems to fear me—seems to be fighting against me."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And you have tried all your wiles?"</p> + +<p>"Listen, Count Romanoff, or whatever your name may be," and Olga +Petrovic's voice was hoarse. "Tell me what you want me to do with that +man."</p> + +<p>"Do? Make him your slave. Make him grovel at your feet as you have made +others. Make him willing to sell his soul to possess you. Weave your net +around him. Glamour him with your fiendish beauty. Play upon his hopes +and desires until he is yours."</p> + +<p>"Why should I?"</p> + +<p>"Because it is my will—because I command you."</p> + +<p>"And what if I have done all that and failed?"</p> + +<p>"You fail! I can't believe it. You have not tried. You have not +practised all your arts."</p> + +<p>"You do not understand," replied the woman. "You think you understand +that man; you don't."</p> + +<p>The Count laughed. "There was never a man yet, but who had his price," +he said. "With some it is one thing, with some it is another, but +all—all can be bought. There is no man but whose soul is for sale; that +I know."</p> + +<p>"And you have tried to buy Faversham's soul, and failed."</p> + +<p>"Because I mistook the thing he wanted most."</p> + +<p>"You thought he could be bought by wealth, position, and you arranged +your plans. But he was not to be bought. Why? You dangled riches, +position, and a beautiful woman before his eyes; but he would not pay +the price."</p> + +<p>"I chose the wrong woman," said the Count, looking steadily at Olga, +"and I did not reckon sufficiently on his old-fashioned ideas of +morality. Besides, I had no control over the woman."</p> + +<p>"And you think you have control over me, eh? Well, let that pass. I have +asked you to tell me why you wish to get this man in your power, and you +will not tell me. But let me tell you this: there is a strange power +overshadowing him. You say I must practise my arts. What if I tell you +that I can't?"</p> + +<p>"I should say you lie," replied the Count coolly.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," she said, as if talking to herself. "All the time +when he is with me, I seem to be dealing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> with unseen forces—forces +which make me afraid, which sap my power."</p> + +<p>The Count looked thoughtful.</p> + +<p>"I thought I had captivated him when that German man brought him to the +East End of London," she went on. "I saw that I bewildered him—dazzled +him. He seemed fascinated by my picture of what he could become. His +imagination was on fire, and I could see that he was almost held in +thrall by the thought that he could be a kind of uncrowned king, while I +would be his queen. He promised to come to me again, but he didn't. Then +I went to see him at his hotel, and if ever a woman tempted a man, I +tempted him. I know I am beautiful—know that men are willing to become +slaves to me. And I pleaded with him. I offered to be his wife, and I +almost got him. I saw him yielding to me. Then suddenly he turned from +me. A servant brought him a card, and he almost told me to go."</p> + +<p>"You saw who these visitors were?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; an old man and a slip of a girl. I do not know who they were. +Since he has been living in London, I have watched my opportunities, and +he has been here. I have flattered him; I have piqued his curiosity. I +have been coy and reserved, and I have tried to dazzle him by smiles, by +hand pressures, and by shy suggestions of love. But I cannot pierce his +armour."</p> + +<p>"And you will give up? You will confess defeat?"</p> + +<p>The woman's eyes flashed with a new light. "You little know me if you +think that," she cried angrily. "At one time I—yes, I, Olga +Petrovic—thought I loved him. I confessed it to you, but now—now——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, now?" questioned the Count eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Now that thought is not to be considered. I will conquer him; I will +make him my slave. He shall be willing to sacrifice name, position, +future, anything, everything for me—<i>everything</i>."</p> + +<p>"Only, up to now, you've failed."</p> + +<p>"Because, because—oh, Romanoff, I don't understand. What is he? Only +just a commonplace sort of man—a man vulnerable at a hundred +points—and yet I cannot reach him."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Shall I tell you why?" asked the Count.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, tell me!" she cried. "Oh, I've thought, and thought. I've +tried in a hundred ways. I've been the grand lady with a great position. +I've been an angel of light who cares only for the beautiful and the +pure. I've appealed to his ambition—to his love for beautiful things. +I've tried to make him jealous, and I've nearly succeeded; but never +altogether. Yes; he is just a clever man, and very little more; but I +can't reach him. He baffles me. He does not drink, and so I cannot +appeal to that weakness. Neither is he the fast man about town that can +be caught in my toils. He honours, almost venerates, pure womanhood, +and——"</p> + +<p>"Tah!" interrupted the Count scornfully.</p> + +<p>"You do not believe it?"</p> + +<p>"Woman is always man's weak point—always!"</p> + +<p>"But not his—not in the way you think. I tell you, he venerates ideal +womanhood. He scorns the loud-talking, free-spoken women. He told me his +thought of woman was like what Wordsworth painted. At heart I think he +is a religious man."</p> + +<p>"Listen," said the Count, "I want to tell you something before I go. Sit +here; that's it," and he drew a chair close to his side.</p> + +<p>He spoke to her half earnestly, half cynically, watching her steadily +all the time. He noted the heaving of her bosom, the tremor of her lips, +the almost haunted look in her eyes, the smile of satisfied desire on +her face.</p> + +<p>"That is your plan of action," he concluded. "Remember, you play for +great stakes, and you must play boldly. You must play to win. There are +times when right and wrong are nothing to a man, and you must be willing +to risk everything. As for the rest, I will do it."</p> + +<p>Her face was suffused half with the flush of shame, half with excited +determination.</p> + +<p>"Very well," she said; "you shall be obeyed."</p> + +<p>"And I will keep my compact," said the Count.</p> + +<p>He left her without another word, and no sign of friendship passed +between them.</p> + +<p>When he reached the street, however, there was a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> look of doubt in his +eyes. He might have been afraid, for there was a kind of baffled rage on +his face.</p> + +<p>He stopped a passing taxi, and drove straight to his hotel.</p> + +<p>"Is he here?" he asked his valet as he entered his own room.</p> + +<p>"He is waiting, my lord."</p> + +<p>A minute later the little man who had visited him on the day after Dick +Faversham's return to Parliament appeared.</p> + +<p>"What report, Polonius?" asked Romanoff.</p> + +<p>"Nothing of great importance, I am afraid, my lord, but something."</p> + +<p>"Yes, what?"</p> + +<p>"He went to Wendover on the day I was unable to account for his +whereabouts."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you have discovered that, have you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I regret I missed him that day, but I trust I have gained your +lordship's confidence again."</p> + +<p>The Count reflected a few seconds. "Tell me what you know," he said +peremptorily.</p> + +<p>"He went down early, and had a talk with an old man at the station. Then +he walked to the house, and had a conversation with his old +housekeeper."</p> + +<p>"Do you know what was said?"</p> + +<p>"There was not much said. She told him there were rumours that Anthony +Riggleton was dead."</p> + +<p>The Count started as though a new thought had entered his mind; then he +turned towards his spy again.</p> + +<p>"He did not pay much attention to it," added Polonius, "neither did he +pay much attention to what she told him about Riggleton's doings at +Wendover."</p> + +<p>"Did he go through the house?"</p> + +<p>"No; he only stayed a few minutes, but he was seen looking very hard at +the front door, as though something attracted him. Then he returned by +another route, and had lunch with that old man who has a cottage near +one of the lodge gates."</p> + +<p>"Hugh Stanmore—yes, I remember."</p> + +<p>"After lunch he went through the park with the old man's granddaughter. +They were talking very earnestly."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Count leapt to his feet.</p> + +<p>"You saw this girl?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes. A girl about twenty, I should think. Very pretty in a simple, +countrified way. She is very much loved among the cottage people. I +should say she's a very religious girl. I'm told that she has since +become engaged to be married to a Sir George Weston, who was a soldier +in Egypt."</p> + +<p>"Sir George Weston. Let me think. Yes; I remember. Ah, she is engaged to +be married to him, is she?"</p> + +<p>"That is the rumour. Sir George was staying at Stanmore's cottage at the +time of Faversham's visit. He left the day after."</p> + +<p>"And Faversham has not been there since?"</p> + +<p>"No, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Well, go on."</p> + +<p>"That is all I know."</p> + +<p>"Then you can go; you know my instructions. Remember, they must be +obeyed to the very letter."</p> + +<p>"They shall be—to the very letter."</p> + +<p>The Count entered another room, and opened a safe. From it he took some +papers, and read carefully. Then he sat thinking for a long time. +Presently he looked at his watch.</p> + +<p>Daylight had now gone, early as it was, for winter still gripped the +land. Some days there were suggestions of spring in the air, but they +were very few. The night was cold.</p> + +<p>The Count went to the window, and looked out over St. James's Park. +Great, black ominous-looking clouds rolled across the sky, but here and +there were patches of blue where stars could plainly be seen. He had +evidently made up his mind about something.</p> + +<p>His servant knocked at the door.</p> + +<p>"What time will your lordship dine?"</p> + +<p>"I shall not dine."</p> + +<p>"Very good, my lord."</p> + +<p>Count Romanoff passed into the street. For some time he walked, and +then, hailing a taxi-cab, drove to London Bridge. He did not drive +across the bridge, but stopped at the Cannon Street end. Having paid +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> driver, he walked slowly towards the southern bank of the river. +Once he stood for more than a minute watching while the dark waters +rolled towards the sea.</p> + +<p>"What secrets the old river could tell if it could speak," he muttered; +"but all dark secrets—all dark."</p> + +<p>He found his way to the station, and mingled with the crowd there.</p> + +<p>Hours later he was nearly twenty miles from London, and he was alone on +a wide heath. Here and there dotted around the outskirts of the heath he +saw lights twinkling.</p> + +<p>The sky was brighter here; the clouds did not hang so heavily as in the +city, while between them he occasionally saw the pale crescent of a +waxing moon. All around him was the heath.</p> + +<p>He paid no heed to the biting cold, but walked rapidly along one of the +straight-cut roads through the heather and bushes. It was now getting +late, and no one was to be seen. There were only a few houses in the +district, and the inhabitants of these were doubtless ensconced before +cosy fires or playing games with their families. It was not a night to +be out.</p> + +<p>"What a mockery, what a miserable, dirty little mockery life is!" he +said aloud as he tramped along. "And what pigmies men are; what paltry, +useless things make up their lives! This is Walton Heath, and here I +suppose the legislators of the British Empire come to find their +amusement in knocking a golf-ball around. And men are applauded because +they can knock that ball a little straighter and a little farther than +someone else. But—but—and there comes the rub—these same men can +think—think right and wrong, do right and wrong. That fellow +Faversham—yes; what is it that makes him beat me?"</p> + +<p>Mile after mile he tramped, sometimes stopping to look at the sullen, +angry-looking clouds that swept across the sky, and again looking around +the heath as if trying to locate some object in which he was interested.</p> + +<p>Presently he reached a spot where the road cut through some woodland. +Dark pine trees waved their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> branches to the skies. In the near distance +the heath stretched away for miles, and although it was piercingly cold, +the scene was almost attractive. But here it was dark, gloomy, +forbidding. For some time he stood looking at the waving pine trees; it +might have been that he saw more than was plainly visible.</p> + +<p>"What fools, what blind fools men are!" he said aloud. "Their lives are +bounded by what they see, and they laugh at the spiritual world; they +scorn the suggestion that belting the earth are untold millions of +spirits of the dead. Here they are all around me. I can see them. I can +see them!"</p> + +<p>His eyes burnt red; his features were contorted as if by pain.</p> + +<p>"An eternal struggle," he cried—"just an eternal struggle between right +and wrong, good and evil—yes, good and evil!</p> + +<p>"And the good is slowly gaining the victory! Out of all the wild, mad +convulsions of the world, right is slowly emerging triumphant, the +savage is being subdued, and the human, the Divine, is triumphing."</p> + +<p>He lifted his right hand, and shook his fist to the heavens as if +defiantly.</p> + +<p>"I had great hopes of the War," he went on. "I saw hell let loose; I saw +the world mad for blood. Everywhere was the lust for blood; everywhere +men cried, 'Kill! kill!' And now it is over, and wrong is being +defeated—defeated!"</p> + +<p>He seemed to be in a mad frenzy, his voice shook with rage.</p> + +<p>"Dark spirits of hell!" he cried. "You have been beaten, beaten! Why, +even in this ghastly war, the Cross has been triumphant! Those +thousands, those millions of men who went out from this land, went out +for an ideal. They did not understand it, but it was so. They felt dimly +and indistinctly that they were fighting, dying, that others might live! +And some of the most heroic deeds ever known in the history of the world +were done. Men died for others, died for comradeship, died for duty, +died for country. Everywhere the Cross was seen!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And those fellows are not dead! They are alive! they have entered into +a greater life!</p> + +<p>"Why, even the ghastly tragedy of Russia, on which we built so much, +will only be the birth-pains which precede a new life!</p> + +<p>"Everywhere, everywhere the right, the good, is emerging triumphant!"</p> + +<p>He laughed aloud, a laugh of almost insane mockery.</p> + +<p>"But men are blind, blind! They do not realise the world of spirits that +is all around them, struggling, struggling. But through the ages the +spirits of the good are prevailing!</p> + +<p>"That is my punishment, my punishment spirits of hell, my punishment! +Day by day I see the final destruction of evil!"</p> + +<p>His voice was hoarse with agony. He might have been mad—mad with the +torture of despair.</p> + +<p>"All around me, all around me they live," he went on. "But I am not +powerless. I can still work my will. And Faversham shall be mine. I +swore it on the day he was born, swore it when his mother passed into +the world of spirits, swore it when his father joined her. What though +all creation is moving upwards, I can still drag him down, down into +hell! Yes, and she shall see him going down, she shall know, and then +she shall suffer as I have suffered. Her very heaven shall be made hell +to her, because she shall see her son become even what I have become!"</p> + +<p>He left the main road, and followed a disused drive through the wood. +Before long he came to a lonely house, almost hidden by the trees. A +dark gloomy place it was, dilapidated and desolate. Years before it had +perchance been the dwelling-place of some inoffensive respectable +householder who loved the quietness of the country. For years it was for +sale, and then it was bought by a stranger who never lived in it, but +let it fall into decay.</p> + +<p>Romanoff found his way to the main entrance of the house, and entered. +He ascended a stairway, and at length found his way to a room which was +furnished. Here he lit a curiously-shaped lamp. In half an hour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> the +place was warm, and suggested comfort. Romanoff sat like one deep in +thought.</p> + +<p>Presently he began to pace the room, uttering strange words as he +walked. He might have been repeating incantations, or weaving some +mystic charms. Then he turned out the lamp, and only the fire threw a +flickering light around the room.</p> + +<p>"My vital forces seem to fail me," he muttered; "even here it seems as +though there is good."</p> + +<p>Perspiration oozed from his forehead, and his face was as pale as death.</p> + +<p>Again he uttered wild cries; he might have been summoning unseen powers +to his aid.</p> + +<p>"They are here!" he shouted, and there was an evil joy in his face. Then +there was a change, fear came into his eyes. Looking across the room, he +saw two streaks of light in the form of a cross, while out of the +silence a voice came.</p> + +<p>"Cease!" said the Voice.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">His Guardian Angel</span></h3> + + +<p>Romanoff ceased speaking, and his eyes were fixed on the two streaks of +light.</p> + +<p>"Who are you? What do you want?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I am here to bid you desist."</p> + +<p>"And who are you?"</p> + +<p>Slowly, between him and the light, a shadowy figure emerged. Second +after second its shape became more clearly outlined, until the form of a +woman appeared. But the face was obscure; it was dim and shadowy.</p> + +<p>Romanoff's eyes were fixed on the figure; but he uttered no sound. His +tongue was dry, and cleaved to the roof of his mouth. His lips were +parched.</p> + +<p>The face became plainer. Its lineaments were more clearly outlined. He +could see waves of light brown hair, eyes that were large and yearning +with a great tenderness and pity, yet lit up with joy and holy resolve. +A mouth tender as that of a child, but with all the firmness of mature +years. A haunting face it was, haunting because of its spiritual beauty, +its tenderness, its ineffable joy; and yet it was stern and strong.</p> + +<p>It was the face of the woman whom Dick Faversham had seen in the +smoke-room of the outward-bound vessel years before, the face that had +appeared to him at the doorway of the great house at Wendover.</p> + +<p>"You, you!" cried Romanoff at length. "You! Madaline?"</p> + +<p>"Yes!"</p> + +<p>"Why are you here?"</p> + +<p>"To plead with you, to beseech you to let my son alone."</p> + +<p>A change came over Romanoff's face as he heard the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> words. A new +strength seemed to have come to him. Confidence shone in his eyes, his +every feature spoke of triumph.</p> + +<p>"Your son! His son!" he cried harshly. "The son of the man for whom you +cast me into the outer darkness. But for him you might have been the +mother of <i>my</i> son, and I—I should not have been what I am."</p> + +<p>"You are what you are because you have always yielded to the promptings +of evil," replied the woman. "That was why I never loved you—never +could love you."</p> + +<p>"But you looked at me with eyes of love until he came."</p> + +<p>"As you know, I was but a child, and when you came with your great name, +your great riches, you for a time fascinated me; but I never loved you. +I told you so before he came."</p> + +<p>"But I loved you," said Romanoff hoarsely. "You, the simple country +girl, fascinated me, the Russian noble. And I would have withheld +nothing from you. Houses, lands, position, a great name, all—all were +yours if you would have been my wife. But you rejected me."</p> + +<p>"I did not love you. I felt you were evil. I told you so."</p> + +<p>"What of that? I loved you. I swore I would win you. But you—you—a +simple country girl, poor, ignorant of the world's ways, resisted me, +me—Romanoff. And you married that insipid scholar fellow, leaving me +scorned, rejected. And I swore I would be revenged, living or dead. Then +your child was born and you died. I could not harm you, you were beyond +me, but your son lived. And I swore again. If I could not harm you, I +could harm him, I could destroy him. I gave myself over to evil for +that. I, too, have passed through the doorway which the world calls +death; but powers have been given me, powers to carry out my oath. While +his father was alive, I could do nothing, but since then my work has +been going forward. And I shall conquer, I shall triumph."</p> + +<p>"And I have come here to-night to plead with you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> on my son's behalf. He +has resisted wrong for a long time. Leave him in peace."</p> + +<p>"Never," cried Romanoff. "You passed into heaven, but your heaven shall +be hell, for your son shall go there. He shall become even as I am. His +joy shall be in evil."</p> + +<p>"Have you no pity, no mercy?"</p> + +<p>"None," replied Romanoff. "Neither pity nor mercy have a place in me. +You drove me to hell, and it is my punishment that the only joy which +may be mine is the joy of what you call evil."</p> + +<p>"Then have pity, have mercy on yourself."</p> + +<p>"Pity on myself? Mercy on myself? You talk in black ignorance."</p> + +<p>"No, I speak in light. Every evil you do only sinks you deeper in mire, +deeper in hell."</p> + +<p>"I cannot help that. It is my doom."</p> + +<p>"It is not your doom if you repent. If you turn your face, your spirit +to the light."</p> + +<p>"I cannot repent. I am of those who love evil. I hate mercy. I despise +pity."</p> + +<p>"Then I must seek to save him in spite of you."</p> + +<p>"You cannot," and a laugh of savage triumph accompanied his words. "I +have made my plans. Nothing which you can do will save him. He has been +given to me."</p> + +<p>For a few seconds there was tense unnatural silence. The room was full +of strange influences, as though conflicting forces were in opposition, +as though light and darkness, good and evil, were struggling together.</p> + +<p>"No, no, Madaline," went on Romanoff. "Now is my hour of triumph. The +son you love shall be mine."</p> + +<p>"Love is stronger than hate, good is stronger than evil," she replied. +"You are fighting against the Eternal Spirit of Good; you are fighting +against the Supreme Manifestation of that Goodness, which was seen two +thousand years ago on the Cross of Calvary."</p> + +<p>"The Cross of Calvary!" replied Romanoff, and his voice was hoarse; "it +is the symbol of defeat, of degradation, of despair. For two thousand +years it has been uplifted, but always to fail."</p> + +<p>"Always to conquer," was the calm reply. "Slowly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> but surely, age after +age, it has been subduing kingdoms, working righteousness, lifting man +up to the Eternal Goodness. It has through all the ages been overcoming +evil with good, and bringing the harmonies of holiness out of the +discord of sin."</p> + +<p>"Think of this war!" snarled Romanoff. "Think of Germany, think of +Russia! What is the world but a mad hell?"</p> + +<p>"Out of it all will Goodness shine. I cannot understand all, for full +understanding only belongs to the Supreme Father of Lights. But I am +sure of the end. Already the morning is breaking, already light is +shining out of the darkness. Men's eyes are being opened, they are +seeing visions and dreaming dreams. They are seeing the end of war, and +talking of Leagues of Nations, of the Brotherhood of the world."</p> + +<p>"But that does not do away with the millions who have died in battle. It +does not atone for blighted and ruined homes, and the darkness of the +world."</p> + +<p>"Not one of those who fell in battle is dead. They are all alive. I have +seen them, spoken to them. And the Eternal Goodness is ever with them, +ever bearing them up. They have done what they knew to be their duty, +and they have entered into their reward."</p> + +<p>"What, the Evil and the Good together?" sneered Romanoff. "That were +strange justice surely."</p> + +<p>"Shall not the Judge of all the Earth do Right? They are all in His +care, and His pity and His love are Infinite. That is why I plead with +you."</p> + +<p>"What, to spare your son? If what you say is true I am powerless. But I +am not. Wrong is stronger than right. I defy you."</p> + +<p>"Then is it to be a fight between us?"</p> + +<p>"If you will. He must be mine."</p> + +<p>"And what then?" There was ineffable sorrow in the woman's voice. "Would +you drag him into æons of pain and anguish to satisfy your revenge?"</p> + +<p>"I would, and I will. What if right is stronger than wrong, as you say? +What if in the end right shall drag him through hell to heaven? I shall +still know that he has lived in hell, and thus shall I have my +revenge."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And I, who am his mother, am also his ministering angel, and it is my +work to save him from you."</p> + +<p>"And you are powerless—powerless, I tell you?"</p> + +<p>"All power is not given to us, but God has given His angels power to +help and save."</p> + +<p>"If you have such power, why am I not vanquished?"</p> + +<p>"Have you not been vanquished many times?"</p> + +<p>"Not once!" cried Romanoff. "Little by little I have been enveloping him +in my toils."</p> + +<p>"Think," replied the other. "When he was tossing on the angry sea, whose +arms bore him up? Think again, why was it when you and he were in the +library together at Wendover, and you tempted him to sell his soul for +gain;—whose hand was placed on his, and stopped him from signing the +paper which would have made him your slave?"</p> + +<p>"Was it you?" gasped Romanoff.</p> + +<p>"Think again. When the woman you selected sought to dazzle him with wild +dreams of power and ambition, and who almost blinded him to the truth, +what led him to discard the picture that came to him as inventions of +evil? Who helped to open his eyes?"</p> + +<p>"Then you—you," gasped Romanoff—"you have been fighting against me all +the time! It was you, was it?"</p> + +<p>"I was his mother, I am his mother; and I, who never intentionally did +you harm, plead with you again. I love him, even as all true mothers, +whether on earth or in the land of spirits, love their children. And I +am allowed to watch over him, to protect him, to help him. It is my joy +to be his guardian angel, and I plead with you to let him be free from +your designs."</p> + +<p>"And if I will—what reward will you give me?"</p> + +<p>"I will seek to help you from your doom—the doom which must be the lot +of those who persist in evil."</p> + +<p>"That is not enough. No, I will carry out my plans; I will drag him to +hell."</p> + +<p>"And I, if need be, will descend into hell to save him."</p> + +<p>"You cannot, you cannot!" and triumph rang in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> voice. "I swore to +drag him to hell, swore that his soul should be given over to evil."</p> + +<p>The woman's face seemed to be drawn with pain, her eyes were filled with +infinite yearning and tenderness. She moved her lips as if in speech, +but Romanoff could distinguish no words. Then her form grew dimmer and +dimmer until there was only a shadowy outline of what had been clear and +distinct.</p> + +<p>"What do you say? I cannot hear!" and his voice was mocking.</p> + +<p>The man continued to look at the place where he had seen her, but, as +her form disappeared, the two shafts of light grew more and more +luminous. He saw the bright shining Cross distinctly outlined, and his +eyes burnt with a great terror. Then out of the silence, out of the wide +spaces which surrounded the house, out of the broad expanse of the +heavens, words came to him:</p> + +<p>"Underneath, <i>underneath</i>, <span class="smcap">Underneath</span> are the Everlasting Arms."</p> + +<p>Fascinated, Romanoff gazed, seeing nothing but the shining outline of +the Cross, while the air seemed to pulsate with the great words I have +set down.</p> + +<p>Then slowly the Cross became more and more dim, until at length it +became invisible. The corner of the room which had been illumined by its +radiance became full of dark shadows. Silence became profound.</p> + +<p>"What does it mean?" he gasped. "She left me foiled, defeated, in +despair. But the Cross shone. The words filled everything."</p> + +<p>For more than a minute he stood like one transfixed, thinking, thinking.</p> + +<p>"It means this," he said presently, and the words came from him in +hoarse gasps, "it means that I am to have my way; it means that I shall +conquer him—drag him to hell; but that underneath hell are the +Everlasting Arms. Well, let it be so. I shall have had my revenge. The +son shall suffer what the mother made me suffer, and she shall suffer +hell, too, because she shall see her son in hell."</p> + +<p>He turned and placed more wood on the fire, then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> throwing himself in an +arm-chair he sat for hours, brooding, thinking.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Olga will do it," he concluded after a long silence. "The story of +the Garden of Eden is an eternal principle. 'The woman tempted me and I +did eat,' is the story of the world's sin. He is a man, with all a man's +passions, and she is a Venus, a Circe—a woman—and all men fall when a +woman tempts."</p> + +<p>All through the night he kept his dark vigils; there in the dark house, +with only flickering lights from the fire, he worked out his plans, and +schemed for the destruction of a man's soul.</p> + +<p>In the grey dawn of the wintry morning he was back in London again; but +although the servants looked at him questioningly when he entered his +hotel, as if wondering where he had been, he told no man of his doings. +All his experiences were secret to himself.</p> + +<p>During the next few days the little man Polonius seemed exceptionally +busy; three times he went to Wendover, where there seemed to be many +matters that interested him. Several times he made his way to the War +Office, where he appeared to have acquaintances, and where he asked many +questions. He also found his way to the block of buildings where Dick +Faversham's flat was situated, and although Dick never saw him, he +appeared to be greatly interested in the young man's goings out and his +comings in. He also went to the House of Commons, and made the +acquaintance of many Labour Members. Altogether Polonius's time was much +engaged. He went to Count Romanoff's hotel, too, but always late at +night, and he had several interviews with that personage, whom he +evidently held in great awe.</p> + +<p>More than a week after Romanoff's experiences at Walton Heath, Olga +Petrovic received a letter which made her very thoughtful. There was a +look of fear in her eyes as she read, as though it contained disturbing +news.</p> + +<p>And yet it appeared commonplace and innocent enough, and it contained +only a few lines. Perhaps it was the signature which caused her cheeks +to blanch, and her lips to quiver.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p> + +<p>This was how it ran:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Olga</span>,—You must get F. to take you to dinner on Friday night +next. You must go to the Moscow Restaurant, and be there by 7.45 +prompt. Please look your handsomest, and spare no pains to be +agreeable. When the waiter brings you liqueurs be especially +fascinating. Act on the Berlin plan. This is very important, as a +danger has arisen which I had not calculated upon. The time for +action has now come, and I need not remind you how much success +means to you.</p> + +<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">Romanoff.</span></p> + +<p>"P.S.—Destroy this as you have destroyed all other correspondence +from me. I shall know whether this is done.—R."</p></blockquote> + +<p>This was the note which had caused Olga Petrovic's cheeks to pale. After +reading it again, she sat thinking for a long time, while more than once +her face was drawn as if by spasms of pain.</p> + +<p>Presently she went to her desk, and taking some scented notepaper, she +wrote a letter. She was evidently very particular about the wording, for +she tore up several sheets before she had satisfied herself. There was +the look of an evil woman in her eyes as she sealed it, but there was +something else, too; there was an expression of indescribable longing.</p> + +<p>The next afternoon Dick Faversham came to her flat and found Olga +Petrovic alone. He had come in answer to her letter.</p> + +<p>"Have I done anything to offend you, Mr. Faversham?" she asked, as she +poured out tea.</p> + +<p>"Offend me, Countess? I never thought of such a thing. Why do you ask?"</p> + +<p>"You were so cold, so distant when you were here last—and that was +several days ago."</p> + +<p>"I have been very busy," replied Dick.</p> + +<p>"While I have been very lonely."</p> + +<p>"Lonely! You lonely, Countess?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, very lonely. How little men know women. Because a number of silly, +chattering people have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> here when you have called, you have +imagined that my life has been full of pleasure, that I have been +content. But I haven't a friend in the world, unless——" She lifted her +great languishing eyes to his for a moment, and sighed.</p> + +<p>"Unless what?" asked Dick.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, nothing. Why should you care about the loneliness of a woman?"</p> + +<p>"I care a great deal," replied Dick. "You have been very kind to me—a +lonely man."</p> + +<p>From that moment she became very charming. His words gave her the +opening she sought, and a few minutes later she had led him to the +channel of conversation which she desired.</p> + +<p>"You do not mind?" she said presently. "I know you are the kind of man +who finds it a bore to take a woman out to dinner. But there will be a +wonderful band at The Moscow, and I love music."</p> + +<p>"It will be a pleasure, a very great pleasure," replied Dick.</p> + +<p>"And you will not miss being away from the House of Commons for a few +hours, will you? I will try to be very nice."</p> + +<p>"As though you needed to try," cried Dick. "As though you could be +anything else."</p> + +<p>She looked half coyly, half boldly into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow night then?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, to-morrow night. At half-past seven I will be here."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">At the Café Moscow</span></h3> + + +<p>During the few days which had preceded Dick's visit to the Countess +Olga's house, he had been very depressed. The excitement which he had at +first felt in going to the House of Commons as the Member for Eastroyd +had gone. He found, too, that the "Mother of Parliaments" was different +from what he had expected.</p> + +<p>The thing that impressed him most was the difficulty in getting anything +done. The atmosphere of the place was in the main lethargic. Men came +there for the first time, enthusiastic and buoyant, determined to do +great things; but weeks, months, years passed by, and they had done +nothing. In their constituencies crowds flocked to hear them, and +applauded them to the echo; but in the House of Commons they had to +speak to empty benches, and the few who remained to hear them, yawned +while they were speaking, and only waited because they wanted to catch +the Speaker's eye.</p> + +<p>Dick had felt all this, and much more. It seemed to him that as a +legislator he was a failure, and that the House of Commons was the most +disappointing place in the world. Added to this he was heart-sore and +despondent. His love for Beatrice Stanmore was hopeless. News of her +engagement to Sir George Weston had been confirmed, and thus joy had +gone out of his life.</p> + +<p>Why it was, Dick did not know; but he knew now that he had loved +Beatrice Stanmore from the first time he had seen her. He was constantly +recalling the hour when she first came into his life. She and her +grandfather had come to Wendover when he was sitting talking, with +Romanoff, and he remembered how the atmosphere of the room changed the +moment she entered. His will-power<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> was being sapped, his sense of right +and wrong was dulled; yet no sooner did she appear than his will-power +came back, his moral perceptions became keen.</p> + +<p>It was the same at her second visit. He had been like a man under a +spell; he had become almost paralysed by Romanoff's philosophy of life, +helpless to withstand the picture he held before his eyes; yet on the +sudden coming of this bright-eyed girl everything had changed. She made +him live in a new world. He remembered going outside with her, and they +had talked about angels.</p> + +<p>How vivid it all was to him! Everything was sweeter, brighter, purer, +because of her. Her simple, childish faith, her keen intuition had made +his materialism seem so much foolishness. Her eyes pierced the dark +clouds; she was an angel of God, pointing upward.</p> + +<p>He knew the meaning of it now. His soul had found a kindred soul, even +although he had not known it; he had loved her then, although he was +unaware of the fact. But ever since he had learnt the secret of his +heart he had understood.</p> + +<p>But it was too late. He was helpless, hopeless. She had given her heart +to this soldier, this man of riches and position. Oh, what a mockery +life was! He had seen the gates of heaven, he had caught a glimpse of +what lay beyond, but he could not enter, and in his disappointment and +hopelessness, despair gnawed at his heart like a canker.</p> + +<p>Thus Dick Faversham was in a dangerous mood. That was why the siren-like +presence of Olga Petrovic acted upon his senses like an evil charm. Oh, +if he had only known!</p> + +<p>At half-past seven on the Friday night he called at her flat, and he had +barely entered the room before she came to him. Evidently she regarded +it as a great occasion, for she was resplendently attired. Yet not too +much so. Either she, or her maid, instinctively knew what exactly suited +her kind of beauty; for not even the most critical could have found +fault with her.</p> + +<p>What a glorious creature she was! Shaped like a goddess, her clothes +accentuated her charms. Evidently, too, she was intent on pleasing him. +Her face was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> wreathed in smiles, her eyes shone with dangerous +brightness. There was witchery, allurement in her presence—she was a +siren.</p> + +<p>Dick almost gave a gasp as he saw her. A girl in appearance, a girl with +all the winsomeness and attractiveness of youth, yet a woman with all a +woman's knowledge of man's weakness—a woman bent on being captivating.</p> + +<p>"Do I please your Majesty?" and her eyes flashed as the words passed her +lips.</p> + +<p>"Please me!" he gasped. "You are wonderful, simply wonderful."</p> + +<p>"I want you to be pleased," she whispered, and Dick thought he saw her +blush.</p> + +<p>They entered the motor-car together, and as she sat by his side he felt +as though he were in dreamland. A delicate perfume filled the air, and +the knowledge that he was going to dine with her, amidst brightness and +gaiety, made him forgetful of all else.</p> + +<p>They were not long in reaching The Moscow, one of the most popular and +fashionable restaurants in London. He saw at a glance, as he looked +around him, that the wealth, the beauty, the fashion of London were +there. The waiter led them to a table from which they could command +practically the whole room, and where they could be seen by all. But he +took no notice of this. He was almost intoxicated by the brilliance of +the scene, by the fascination of the woman who sat near him.</p> + +<p>"For once," she said, "let us forget dull care, let us be happy."</p> + +<p>He laughed gaily. "Why not?" he cried. "All the same, I wonder what my +constituents at Eastroyd would say if they saw me here?"</p> + +<p>She gave a slight shrug, and threw off the light gossamer shawl which +had somewhat hidden her neck and shoulders. Her jewels flashed back the +light which shone overhead, her eyes sparkled like stars.</p> + +<p>"Let us forget Eastroyd," she cried; "let us forget everything sordid +and sorrowing. Surely there are times when one should live only for +gladness, for joy. Is not the music divine? There, listen! Did I not +tell you that some of the most wonderful artists in London<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> play here? +Do you know what it makes me think of?"</p> + +<p>"I would love to know," he responded, yielding to her humour.</p> + +<p>"But I must not tell you—I dare not. I am going to ask a favour of you, +my friend. Will you grant it, without asking me what it is?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I will grant it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is little, nothing after all. Only let me choose the wine +to-night."</p> + +<p>"Why not? I am no wine drinker, and am no judge of vintages."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but you must drink with me to-night. To-night I am queen, and you +are——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, what am I?" asked Dick with a laugh, as she stopped.</p> + +<p>"You are willing to obey your queen, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Who would not be willing to obey such a queen?" was his reply.</p> + +<p>The waiter hovered around them, attending to their slightest wants. Not +only was the restaurant noted as being a rendezvous for the beauty and +fashion of London, but it boasted the best <i>chef</i> in England. Every dish +was more exquisite than the last, and everything was served in a way to +please the most captious.</p> + +<p>The dinner proceeded. Course followed course, while sweet music was +discoursed, and Dick felt in a land of enchantment. For once he gave +himself over to enjoyment—he banished all saddening thoughts. He was in +a world of brightness and song; every sight, every sound drove away dull +care. To-morrow he would have to go back to the grim realities of life; +but now he allowed himself to be swept along by the tide of laughter and +gaiety.</p> + +<p>"You seem happy, my friend," said the woman presently. "Never before did +I see you so free from dull care, never did I see you so full of the joy +of life. Well, why not? Life was given to us to be happy. Yes, yes, I +know. You have your work to do; but not now. I should feel miserable for +days if I thought I could not charm away sadness from you—especially +to-night."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why to-night?"</p> + +<p>"Because it is the first time we have ever dined together. I should pay +you a poor compliment, shouldn't I, if when you took me to a place where +laughter abounded I did not bring laughter to your lips and joy to your +heart. Let us hope that this is the first of the many times we may dine +together. Yes; what are you thinking about?"</p> + +<p>"That you are a witch, a wonder, a miracle of beauty and of charm. +There, I know I speak too freely."</p> + +<p>He ceased speaking suddenly.</p> + +<p>"I love to hear you speak so. I would rather—but what is the matter?"</p> + +<p>Dick did not reply. His eyes were riveted on another part of the room, +and he had forgotten that she was speaking. Seated at a table not far +away were three people, two men and a woman. The men were Sir George +Weston and Hugh Stanmore. The woman was Beatrice Stanmore. Evidently the +lover had brought his fiancée and her grandfather there that night. It +seemed to Dick that Weston had an air of proprietorship, as he acted the +part of host. He watched while the baronet smiled on her and spoke to +her. It would seem, too, that he said something pleasant, for the girl +laughed gaily, and her eyes sparkled with delight.</p> + +<p>"You see someone you know?" and Olga Petrovic's eyes followed his gaze. +"Ah, you are looking at the table where that pretty but rather +countrified girl is sitting with the old man with the white hair, and +the other who looks like a soldier. Ah yes, you know them, my friend?"</p> + +<p>"I have seen them—met them," he stammered.</p> + +<p>"Ah, then you know who they are? I do not know them, they are strangers +to me; but I can tell you about them. Shall I?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." His eyes were still riveted on them, and he did not know he had +spoken.</p> + +<p>"The girl is the younger man's fiancée. They have lately become engaged. +Don't you see how he smiles on her? And look how she smiles back. She is +deeply in love with him, that is plain. There, don't you see—she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> has a +ring on her engagement finger. They are very happy. I think the man has +brought the girl and the old man here as a kind of celebration dinner. +Presently they will go to some place of amusement. She seems a poor +simpering thing; but they are evidently deeply in love with each other. +Tell me, am I not right?"</p> + +<p>Dick did not reply. What he had seen stung him into a kind of madness. +He was filled with reckless despair. What matter what he did, what +happened to him? Of course he knew of the engagement, but the sight of +them together unhinged his mind, kept him from thinking coherently.</p> + +<p>"You seem much interested in them, my friend; do you know them well? Ah, +they have finished dinner, I think. There, they are looking at us; the +girl is asking who we are, or, perhaps, she has recognised you."</p> + +<p>For a moment Dick felt his heart stop beating; yes, she was coming his +way. She must pass his table in order to get out.</p> + +<p>With a kind of despairing recklessness he seized the wineglass by his +side and drained it. He was hardly master of himself; he talked rapidly, +loudly.</p> + +<p>The waiter appeared with liqueurs.</p> + +<p>"Yes," cried the Countess, with a laugh; "I chose the wine—I must +choose the liqueurs also. It is my privilege."</p> + +<p>The waiter poured out the spirits with a deft hand, while the woman +laughed. Her eyes sparkled more brightly then ever; her face had a look +of set purpose.</p> + +<p>"This is the only place in London where one can get this liqueur," she +cried. "What is it? I don't know. But I am told it is exquisite. There! +I drink to you!"</p> + +<p>She lifted the tiny glass to her lips, while her eyes, large, black, +bold, seductive, dangerous, flashed into his.</p> + +<p>"Drink, my friend," she said, and her voice reached some distance around +her; "it is the drink of love, of <i>love</i>, the only thing worth living +for. Drain it to the bottom, and let us be happy."</p> + +<p>He lifted the glass, but ere it reached his lips he saw that Beatrice +Stanmore and her companions were close to him, and that she must have +heard what Olga Petrovic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> had said. In spite of the fact that he had +drunk of rich, strong wine, and that it tingled through his veins like +some fabled elixir, he felt his heart grow cold. He saw a look on the +girl's face which startled him—frightened him. But she was not looking +at him; her eyes were fixed on his companion.</p> + +<p>And he saw the expression of terror, of loathing, of horror. It made him +think of an angel gazing into the pit of hell. But Olga Petrovic seemed +unconscious of her presence. Her eyes were fixed on Dick's face. She +seemed to be pleading with him, fascinating him, compelling him to think +only of her.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Hugh Stanmore and Sir George Weston hesitated, as if doubtful +whether they should speak.</p> + +<p>Dick half rose. He wanted to speak to Beatrice. To tell her—what, he +did not know. But he was not master of himself. He was dizzy and +bewildered. Perhaps it was because he was unaccustomed to drink wine, +and the rich vintage had flown to his head—perhaps because of +influences which he could not understand.</p> + +<p>"Beatrice—Miss Stanmore," he stammered in a hoarse, unnatural voice, so +hoarse and unnatural that the words were scarcely articulated, +"this—this <i>is</i> a surprise."</p> + +<p>He felt how inane he was. He might have been intoxicated. What must +Beatrice think of him?</p> + +<p>But still she did not look at him. Her eyes were still fixed on Olga's +face. She seemed to be trying to read her, to pierce her very soul. Then +suddenly she turned towards Dick, who had dropped into his chair again, +and was still holding the tiny glass in his hand.</p> + +<p>"You do not drink, Dick," said Olga Petrovic, and her voice, though low +and caressing, was plainly to be heard. "You must drink, because I chose +it, and it is the drink of love—the only thing worth living for," and +all the time her eyes were fixed on his face.</p> + +<p>Almost unconsciously he turned towards her, and his blood seemed turned +to fire. Madness possessed him; he felt a slave to the charms of this +bewitching woman, even while the maiden for whom his heart longed with +an unutterable longing was only two or three yards from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> him. He lifted +the glass again, and the fiery liquid passed his lips.</p> + +<p>Again he looked at Beatrice, and it seemed to him that he saw horror and +disgust in her face. Something terrible had happened; it seemed to him +that he was enveloped in some form of black magic from which he could +not escape.</p> + +<p>Then rage filled his heart. The party passed on without further notice +of him, and he saw Beatrice speak to Sir George Weston. What she said to +him he did not know, but he caught a part of his reply.</p> + +<p>"I heard of her in Vienna. She had a curious reputation. Her <i>salon</i> was +the centre of attraction to a peculiar class of men. Magnificent, +but——"</p> + +<p>That was all he heard. He was not sure he heard even that. There was a +hum of voices, and the sound of laughter everywhere, and so it was +difficult for him to be sure of what any particular person said. Neither +might the words apply to the woman at his side.</p> + +<p>Bewildered, he turned towards Olga again, caught the flash of her eyes' +wild fire, and was again fascinated by the bewildering seductiveness of +her charms. What was the matter with him? He did not seem master of +himself. Everything was strange—bewildering.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was because of the wine he had drunk, perhaps because that +fiery liquid had inflamed his imagination; but it seemed to him that +nothing mattered. Right! Wrong! What were they? Mere abstractions, the +fancies of a diseased mind. Wild recklessness filled his heart. He had +seen Beatrice Stanmore smile on Sir George Weston, and he had heard the +woman at his side say that she, Beatrice, wore this Devonshire squire's +ring.</p> + +<p>Well, what then? Why should he care?</p> + +<p>And all the time Olga Petrovic was by his side. She had seemed +unconscious of Beatrice's presence; she had not noticed the look of +horror and loathing in the girl's eyes. She was only casting a spell on +him—a spell he could not understand.</p> + +<p>Then he had a peculiar sensation. This mysterious woman was bewitching +him. She was sapping his will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> even as Romanoff had sapped it years +before. Why did he connect them?</p> + +<p>"Countess," he said, "do you know Count Romanoff?"</p> + +<p>The woman hesitated a second before replying.</p> + +<p>"Dick," she said, "you must not call me Countess. You know my name, +don't you? Count Romanoff? No, I never heard of him."</p> + +<p>"Let us get away from here," he cried. "I feel as though I can't +breathe."</p> + +<p>"I'm so sorry. Let us go back home and spend the evening quietly. Oh, I +forgot. Sir Felix and Lady Fordham are calling at ten o'clock. You don't +mind, do you?"</p> + +<p>"No, no. I shall be glad to meet them."</p> + +<p>A few minutes later they were moving rapidly towards Olga Petrovic's +flat, Dick still excited, and almost irresponsible, the woman with a +look of exultant triumph on her face.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Shadow of a Great Terror</span></h3> + + +<p>"Sit down, my friend. Sir Felix and Lady Fordham have not come; but what +matter? There, take this chair. Ah, you look like yourself again. Has it +ever struck you that you are a handsome man? No; I do not flatter. I +looked around The Moscow to-night, and there was not a man in the room +to compare with you—not one who looked so distinguished, so much—a +man. I felt so glad—so proud."</p> + +<p>He felt himself sink in the luxuriously upholstered chair, while she sat +at his feet and looked up into his face.</p> + +<p>"Now, then, you are king; you are seated on your throne, while I, your +slave, am at your feet, ready to obey your will. Is not that the story +of man and woman?"</p> + +<p>He did not answer He was struggling, struggling and fighting, and yet he +did not know against what he was fighting. Besides, he had no heart in +the battle. His will-power was gone; his vitality was lowered; he felt +as though some powerful narcotic were in his blood, deadening his +manhood, dulling all moral purpose. He was intoxicated by the influences +of the hour, careless as to what might happen to him, and yet by some +strange contradiction he was afraid. The shadow of a great terror rested +on him.</p> + +<p>And Olga Petrovic seemed to know—to understand.</p> + +<p>She started to her feet. "You have never heard me sing, have you? Ah no, +of course you have not. And has it not ever been in song and story that +the slave of her lord's will discoursed sweet music to him? Is there not +some old story about a shepherd boy who charmed away the evil spirits of +the king by music?"</p> + +<p>She sat at a piano, and began to play soft, dreamy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> music. Her fingers +scarcely touched the keys, and yet the room was filled with peculiar +harmonies.</p> + +<p>"You understand French, do you not, my friend? Yes; I know you do."</p> + +<p>She began to sing. What the words were he never remembered afterwards, +but he knew they possessed a strange power over him. They dulled his +fears; they charmed his senses; they seemed to open up long vistas of +beauty and delight. He seemed to be in a kind of Mohammedan Paradise, +where all was sunshine and song.</p> + +<p>How long she sung he could not tell; what she said to him he hardly +knew. He only knew that he sat in a luxuriously appointed room, while +this wonder of womanhood charmed him.</p> + +<p>Presently he knew that she was making love to him, and that he was +listening with eager ears. Not only did he seem to have no power to +resist her—he had no desire to do so. He did not ask whether she was +good or evil; he ceased to care what the future might bring forth. And +yet he had a kind of feeling that something was wrong, hellish—only it +did not matter to him. This woman loved him, while all other love was +impossible to him.</p> + +<p>Beatrice! Ah, but Beatrice had looked at him with horror; all her smiles +were given to another man—the man to whom she had promised to give +herself as his wife. What mattered, then?</p> + +<p>But there was a new influence in the room! It seemed to him as if a +breath of sweet mountain air had been wafted to him—air full of the +strength of life, sweet, pure life. The scales fell from his eyes and he +saw.</p> + +<p>The woman again sat at his feet, looking up at him with love-compelling +eyes, and he saw her plainly. But he saw more: the wrappings were torn +from her soul, and he beheld her naked spirit.</p> + +<p>He shuddered. What he saw was evil—evil. Instead of the glorious face +of Olga Petrovic, he saw a grinning skull; instead of the dulcet tones +of her siren-like voice, he heard the hiss of snakes, the croaking of a +raven.</p> + +<p>He was standing on the brink of a horrible precipice,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> while beneath him +was black, unfathomable darkness, filled with strange, noisome sounds.</p> + +<p>What did it mean? He still beheld the beauty—the somewhat Oriental +beauty of the room; he was still aware of the delicate odours that +pervaded it, while this woman, glorious in her queenly splendour, was at +his feet, charming him with words of love, with promises of delight; but +it seemed to him that other eyes, other powers of vision, were given to +him, and he saw beyond.</p> + +<p>Was that Romanoff's cynical, evil face? Were not his eyes watching them +with devilish expectancy? Was he not even then gloating over the loss of +his manhood, the pollution of his soul?</p> + +<p>"Hark, what is that?"</p> + +<p>"What, my friend? Nothing, nothing."</p> + +<p>"But I heard something—something far away."</p> + +<p>She laughed with apparent gaiety, yet there was uneasiness in her voice.</p> + +<p>"You heard nothing but my foolish confession, Dick. I love you, love +you! Do you hear? I love you. I tried to kill it—in vain. But what +matter? Love is everything—there is nothing else to live for. And you +and I are all the world. Your love is mine. Tell me, is it not so? And I +am yours, my beloved, yours for ever."</p> + +<p>But he only half heard her; forces were at work in his life which he +could not comprehend. A new longing came to him—the longing for a +strong, clean manhood.</p> + +<p>"Do you believe in angels?" he asked suddenly.</p> + +<p>Why the question passed his lips he did not know, but it sprung to his +lips without thought or effort on his part. Then he remembered. Beatrice +Stanmore had asked him that question weeks before down at Wendover Park.</p> + +<p>Angels! His mind became preternaturally awake; his memory flashed back +across the chasm of years.</p> + +<p>"Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them +who shall be heirs of salvation?"</p> + +<p>Yes; he remembered the words. The old clergyman had repeated them years +before, when he had seen the face of the woman which no other man could +see.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p> + +<p>Like lightning his mind swept down the years, and he remembered the +wonderful experiences which had had such a marked influence on his life.</p> + +<p>"Angels!" laughed the woman. "There are no angels save those on earth, +my friend. There is no life other than this, so let us be happy."</p> + +<p>"Look, look!" he cried, pointing to a part of the room which was only +dimly lit. "She is there, there! Don't you see? Her hand is pointing +upward!"</p> + +<p>Slowly the vision faded, and he saw nothing.</p> + +<p>Then came the great temptation of Dick Faversham's life. His will-power, +his manhood, had come back to him again, but he felt that he had to +fight his battle alone. His eyes were open, but because at his heart was +a gnawing despair, he believed there was nothing to live for save what +his temptress promised.</p> + +<p>She pleaded as only a woman jealous for her love, determined to triumph, +can plead. And she was beautiful, passionate, dangerous. Again he felt +his strength leaving him, his will-power being sapped, his horror of +wrong dulled.</p> + +<p>Still something struggled within him—something holy urged him to fight +on. His manhood was precious; the spark of the Divine fire which still +burnt refused to be extinguished.</p> + +<p>"Lord, have mercy upon me! Christ, have mercy upon me!"</p> + +<p>It was a part of the service he had so often repeated in the old school +chapel, and it came back to him like the memory of a dream.</p> + +<p>"Countess," he said, "I must go."</p> + +<p>"No, no, Dick," cried the woman, with a laugh. "Why, it is scarcely ten +o'clock."</p> + +<p>"I must go," he repeated weakly.</p> + +<p>"Not for another half an hour. I am so lonely."</p> + +<p>He was hesitating whether he should stay, when they both heard the sound +of voices outside—voices that might have been angry. A moment later the +door opened, and Beatrice Stanmore came in, accompanied by her +grandfather.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me," panted the girl, "but I could not help<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> coming. Something +told me you were in great danger—ill—dying, and I have come."</p> + +<p>She had come to him just as she had come to him that night at Wendover +Park, and at her coming the power of Romanoff was gone. It was the same +now. As if by magic, he felt free from the charm of Olga Petrovic. The +woman was evil, and he hated evil.</p> + +<p>Again the eyes of Beatrice Stanmore were fixed on the face of Olga +Petrovic. She did not speak, but her look was expressive of a great +loathing.</p> + +<p>"Surely this is a strange manner to disturb one's privacy," said the +Countess. "I am at a loss to know to what I am indebted for this +peculiar attention. I must speak to my servants."</p> + +<p>But Beatrice spoke no word in reply to her. Turning towards Dick again, +she looked at him for a few seconds.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry I have disturbed you," she said. "Something, I do not know +what, told me you were in some terrible danger, and I went back to the +restaurant. A man there told us you had come here. I am glad I was +mistaken. Forgive me, I will go now."</p> + +<p>"I am thankful you came," said Dick. "I—I am going."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Countess," he added, turning to Olga, and without another +word turned to leave the room. But Olga Petrovic was not in the humour +to be baffled. She rushed towards him and caught his arm.</p> + +<p>"You cannot go yet," she cried. "You must not go like this, Dick; I +cannot allow you. Besides, I want an explanation. These people, who are +they? Dick, why are they here?"</p> + +<p>"I must go," replied Dick sullenly. "I have work to do."</p> + +<p>"Work!" she cried. "This is not the time for work, but love—our love, +Dick. Ah, I remember now. This girl was at The Moscow with that soldier +man. They love each other. Why may we not love each other too? Stay, +Dick."</p> + +<p>But she pleaded in vain. The power of her spell had gone. Something +strong, virile, vital, stirred within him, and he was master of +himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Good-night, Countess," he replied. "Thank you for your kind invitation, +but I must go."</p> + +<p>He scarcely knew where he was going, and he had only a dim remembrance +of refusing to take the lift and of stumbling down the stairs. He +thought he heard old Hugh Stanmore talking with Beatrice, but he was not +sure; he fancied, too, that they were close behind him, but he was too +bewildered to be certain of anything.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later he was tramping towards his own humble flat, and as +he walked he was trying to understand the meaning of what had taken +place.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Olga Petrovic had been alone only a few seconds, when Count Romanoff +entered the room. Evidently he had been in close proximity all the time. +In his eyes was the look of an angry beast at bay; his face was +distorted, his voice hoarse.</p> + +<p>"And you have allowed yourself to be beaten—beaten!" he taunted.</p> + +<p>But the woman did not speak. Her hands were clenched, her lips +tremulous, while in her eyes was a look of unutterable sorrow.</p> + +<p>"But we have not come to the end of our little comedy yet, Olga," went +on Romanoff. "You have still your chance of victory."</p> + +<p>"Comedy!" she repeated; "it is the blackest tragedy."</p> + +<p>"Tragedy, eh? Yes; it will be tragedy if you fail."</p> + +<p>"And I must fail," she cried. "I am powerless to reach him, and yet I +would give my heart's blood to win his love. But go, go! Let me never +see your face again."</p> + +<p>"You will not get rid of me so easily," mocked the Count. "We made our +pact. I will keep my side of it, and you must keep yours."</p> + +<p>"I cannot, I tell you. Something, something I cannot understand, mocks +me."</p> + +<p>"You love the fellow still," said Romanoff. "Fancy, Olga Petrovic is +weak enough for that."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I love him," cried the woman—"I admit it—love<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> him with every +fibre of my being. But not as you would have me love him. I have tried +to obey you; but I am baffled. The man's clean, healthy soul makes me +ashamed. God alone knows how ashamed I am! And it is his healthiness of +soul that baffles me."</p> + +<p>"No, it is not," snarled Romanoff. "It is because I have been opposed by +one of whom I was ignorant. That chit of a girl, that wayside flower, +whom I would love to see polluted by the filth of the world, has been +used to beat me. Don't you see? The fellow is in love with her. He has +been made to love her. That is why you have failed."</p> + +<p>Mad jealousy flashed into the woman's eyes. "He loves her?" she asked, +and her voice was hoarse.</p> + +<p>"Of course he does. Will you let him have her?"</p> + +<p>"He cannot. Is she not betrothed to that soldier fellow?"</p> + +<p>"What if she is? Was there not love in her eyes as she came here +to-night? Would she have come merely for Platonic friendship? Olga, if +you do not act quickly, you will have lost him—lost him for ever."</p> + +<p>"But I have lost him!" she almost wailed.</p> + +<p>"You have not, I tell you. Go to her to-night. Tell her that Faversham +is not the man she thinks he is. Tell her—but I need not instruct you +as to that. You know what to say. Then when he goes to her to explain, +as he will go, she will drive him from her, Puritan fool as she is, with +loathing and scorn! After that your turn will come again."</p> + +<p>For some time they talked, she protesting, he explaining, threatening, +cajoling, promising, and at length he overcame. With a look of +determination in her eyes, she left her flat, and drove to the hotel +where Romanoff told her that Hugh Stanmore and Beatrice were staying.</p> + +<p>Was Miss Beatrice Stanmore in the hotel? she asked when she entered the +vestibule.</p> + +<p>Yes, she was informed, Miss Stanmore had returned with her grandfather +only half an hour before.</p> + +<p>She took one of her visiting cards and wrote on it hastily.</p> + +<p>"Will you take it to her at once," she commanded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> the servant, and she +handed him the card. "Tell her that it is extremely urgent."</p> + +<p>"But it is late, your ladyship," protested the man; "and I expect she +has retired."</p> + +<p>Nevertheless he went. A look from the woman compelled obedience. A few +minutes later he returned.</p> + +<p>"Will you be pleased to follow me, your ladyship?" he said. "Miss +Stanmore will see you."</p> + +<p>Olga Petrovic followed him with a steady step, but in her eyes was a +look of fear.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Triumph of Good</span></h3> + + +<p>Beatrice Stanmore was sitting in a tiny room as the Countess Olga +Petrovic entered. It was little more than a dressing-room, and adjoined +her bedroom. She rose at Olga's entrance, and looked at the woman +intently. She was perfectly calm, and was far more at ease than her +visitor.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will pardon the liberty I have taken," and Olga spoke in +sweet, low tones; "but I came to plead for your forgiveness. I was +unutterably rude to you to-night, and I felt I could not sleep until I +was assured of your pardon."</p> + +<p>"Won't you sit down?" and Beatrice pointed to a chair as she spoke. "I +will ask my grandfather to come here."</p> + +<p>"But, pardon me," cried Olga eagerly, "could we not remain alone? I have +much to say to you—things which I can say to you only."</p> + +<p>"Then it was not simply to ask my pardon that you came?" retorted +Beatrice. "Very well, I will hear you."</p> + +<p>She was utterly different from the sensitive, almost timid girl whom +Dick Faversham had spoken to at Wendover. It was evident that she had no +fear of her visitor. She spoke in plain matter-of-fact terms.</p> + +<p>For a few seconds the older woman seemed to be at a loss what to say. +The young inexperienced girl disturbed her confidence, her +self-assurance.</p> + +<p>"I came to speak to you about Mr. Faversham," she began, after an +awkward silence.</p> + +<p>Beatrice Stanmore made no remark, but sat quietly as if waiting for her +to continue.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You know Mr. Faversham?" continued the woman.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know him."</p> + +<p>"Forgive me for speaking so plainly; but you have an interest in him +which is more than—ordinary?" The words were half a question, half an +assertion.</p> + +<p>"I am greatly interested in Mr. Faversham—yes," she replied quietly.</p> + +<p>"Even though, acting on the advice of your grandfather, you have become +engaged to Sir George Weston? Forgive my speaking plainly, but I felt I +must come to you to-night, felt I must tell you the truth."</p> + +<p>Olga Petrovic paused as if waiting for Beatrice to say something, but +the girl was silent. She fixed her eyes steadily on the other's face, +and waited.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Faversham is not the kind of man you think he is." Olga Petrovic +spoke hurriedly and awkwardly, as though she found the words difficult +to say.</p> + +<p>Still Beatrice remained silent; but she kept her eyes steadily on the +other's face.</p> + +<p>"I thought I ought to tell you. You are young and innocent; you do not +know the ways of men. Mr. Faversham is not fit for you to associate +with."</p> + +<p>"And yet you dined with him to-night. You took him to your flat +afterwards."</p> + +<p>"But I am different from you. I am a woman of the world, and your +Puritan standard of morals has no weight or authority with me. Of +course," and again she spoke awkwardly, "I have no right to speak to +you, your world is different from mine, and you are a stranger to me; +but I have heard of you."</p> + +<p>"How? Through whom?"</p> + +<p>"Need you ask?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose you mean Mr. Faversham. Why should he speak to you about me?"</p> + +<p>"Some men are like that. They boast of their conquests, they glory +in—in——; but I need not say more. Will you take advice from a woman +who—who has suffered, and who, through suffering, has learnt to know +the world? It is this. Think no more of Richard Faversham. He—he is not +a good man; he is not fit to associate with a pure child like you."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p> + +<p>Beatrice Stanmore looked at the other with wonder in her eyes. There was +more than wonder, there was terror. It might be that the older woman had +frightened her.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me speaking like this," went on Olga, "but I cannot help +myself. Drive him from your mind. Perhaps there is not much romance in +the thought of marrying Sir George Weston, but I beseech you to do so. +He, at least, will shield you from the temptations, the evil of the +world. As for Faversham, if he ever tries to see you again, remember +that his very presence is pollution for such as you. Yes, yes, I know +what you are thinking of—but I don't matter. I live in a world of which +I hope you may always remain ignorant; but in which Faversham finds his +joy. You—you saw us together——"</p> + +<p>In spite of her self-control Beatrice was much moved. The crimson +flushes on her cheeks were followed by deathly pallor. Her lips +quivered, her bosom heaved as if she found it difficult to breathe. But +she did not speak. Perhaps she was too horrified by the other's words.</p> + +<p>"I know I have taken a fearful liberty with you," went on Olga; "but I +could not help myself. My life, whatever else it has done has made me +quick to understand, and when I watched you, I saw that that man had +cast an evil spell upon you. At first I felt careless, but as I watched +your face, I felt a great pity for you. I shuddered at the thought of +your life being blackened by your knowledge of such a man."</p> + +<p>"Does he profess love to you?" asked Beatrice quietly.</p> + +<p>Olga Petrovic gave a hard laugh. "Surely you saw," she said.</p> + +<p>"And you would warn me against him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I would save you from misery."</p> + +<p>For some seconds the girl looked at the woman's face steadily, then she +said, simply and quietly:</p> + +<p>"And are you, who seek to save me, content to be the woman you say you +are? You are very, very beautiful—are you content to be evil?"</p> + +<p>She spoke just as a child might speak; but there was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> something in the +tones of her voice which caused the other to be afraid.</p> + +<p>"You seem to have a kind heart," went on Beatrice; "you would save me +from pain, and—and evil. Have you no thought for yourself?"</p> + +<p>"I do not matter," replied the woman sullenly.</p> + +<p>"You think only of me?"</p> + +<p>"I think only of you."</p> + +<p>"Then look at me," and the eyes of the two met. "Is what you have told +me true?"</p> + +<p>"True!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, true. You were innocent once, you had a mother who loved you, and +I suppose you once had a religion. Will you tell me, thinking of the +mother who loved you, of Christ who died for you, whether what you say +about Mr. Faversham is true?"</p> + +<p>A change came over Olga Petrovic's face; her eyes were wide open with +terror and shame. For some seconds she seemed fighting with a great +temptation, then she rose to her feet.</p> + +<p>"No," she almost gasped; "it is not true!" She simply could not persist +in a lie while the pure, lustrous eyes of the girl were upon her.</p> + +<p>"Then why did you tell me?"</p> + +<p>"Because, oh, because I am mad! Because I am a slave, and because I am +jealous, jealous for his love, because, oh——!" She flung herself into +the chair again, and burst into an agony of tears.</p> + +<p>"Oh, forgive me, forgive me for deceiving you!" she sobbed presently.</p> + +<p>"You did not deceive me at all. I knew you were lying."</p> + +<p>"But—but you seemed—horrified at what I told you!"</p> + +<p>"I was horrified to think that one so young and beautiful like you +could—could sink so low."</p> + +<p>"Then you do not know what love is!" she cried. "Do you understand? I +love him—love him! I would do anything, anything to win him."</p> + +<p>"And if you did, could you make him happy?"</p> + +<p>"I make him happy! Oh, but you do not know."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Tell me," said Beatrice, "are you not the tool, the slave of someone +else? Has not Mr. Faversham an enemy, and are you not working for that +enemy?"</p> + +<p>Her clear, childlike eyes were fixed on the other's face; she seemed +trying to understand her real motives. Olga Petrovic, on the other hand, +regarded the look with horror.</p> + +<p>"No, no," she cried, "do not think that of me! I would have saved Dick +from him. I—I would have shielded him with my life."</p> + +<p>"You would have shielded him from Count Romanoff?"</p> + +<p>"Do not tell me you know him?"</p> + +<p>"I only know of him. He is evil, evil. Ah yes, I understand now. He sent +you here. He is waiting for you now."</p> + +<p>"But how do you know?"</p> + +<p>"Listen," said Beatrice, without heeding her question, "you can be a +happy woman, a good woman. Go back and tell that man that you have +failed, and that he has failed; then go back to your own country, and be +the woman God meant you to be, the woman your mother prayed you might +be."</p> + +<p>"I—I a happy woman—a good woman!"</p> + +<p>"Yes—I tell you, yes."</p> + +<p>"Oh, tell me so again, tell me—O great God, help me!"</p> + +<p>"Sit down," said Beatrice quietly; "let us talk. I want to help you."</p> + +<p>For a long time they sat and talked, while old Hugh Stanmore, who was +close by, wondered who his grandchild's visitor could be, and why they +talked so long.</p> + +<p>It was after midnight when Olga Petrovic returned to her flat, and no +sooner did she enter than Count Romanoff met her.</p> + +<p>"Well, Olga," he asked eagerly, "what news?"</p> + +<p>"I go back to Poland to-morrow, to my old home, to my own people."</p> + +<p>She spoke slowly, deliberately; her voice was hard and cold.</p> + +<p>He did not seem to understand. He looked at her questioningly for some +seconds without speaking.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are mad, Olga," he said presently.</p> + +<p>"I am not mad."</p> + +<p>"This means then that you have failed. You understand the consequences +of failure?"</p> + +<p>"It means—oh, I don't know what it means. But I do know that that child +had made me long to be a good woman."</p> + +<p>"A good woman? Olga Petrovic a good woman!" he sneered.</p> + +<p>"Yes, a good woman. I am not come to argue with you. I only tell you +that you are powerless to hinder me."</p> + +<p>"And Faversham? Does Olga Petrovic mean that she confesses herself +beaten? That she will have her love thrown in her face, and not be +avenged?"</p> + +<p>"It means that if you like, and it means something more. Isaac Romanoff, +or whatever your real name may be, why you have sought to ruin that man +I don't know; but I know this: I have been powerless to harm him, and so +have you."</p> + +<p>"It means that you have failed—<i>you</i>!" he snarled.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and why? There has been a power mightier than yours against which +you have fought. Good, GOOD, has been working on his side, that is why +you have failed, why I have failed. O God of Goodness, help me!"</p> + +<p>"Stop that, stop that, I say!" His voice was hoarse, and his face was +livid with rage.</p> + +<p>"I will not stop," she cried. "I want to be a good woman—I will be a +good woman. That child whom I laughed at has seen a thousand times +farther into the heart of truth than I, and she is happy, happy in her +innocence, in her spotless purity, and in her faith in God. And I +promised her I would be a new woman, live a new life."</p> + +<p>"You cannot, you dare not," cried the Count.</p> + +<p>"But I will. I will leave the old bad past behind me."</p> + +<p>"And I will dog your every footstep. I will make such madness +impossible."</p> + +<p>"But you cannot. Good is stronger than evil. God is Almighty."</p> + +<p>"I hold you, body and soul, remember that."</p> + +<p>The woman seemed possessed of a new power, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> she turned to the Count +with a look of triumph in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Go," she cried, "in the name of that Christ who was the joy of my +mother's life, and who died that I might live—I bid you go. From +to-night I cease to be your slave."</p> + +<p>The Count lifted his hand as if to strike her, but she stood before him +fearless.</p> + +<p>"You cannot harm me," she cried. "See, see, God's angels are all around +me now! They stretch out their arms to help me."</p> + +<p>He seemed to be suffering agonies; his face was contorted, his eyes were +lurid, and he appeared to be struggling with unseen powers.</p> + +<p>"I will not yield," he cried; "not one iota will I yield. You are mine, +you swore to serve me—I claim my own."</p> + +<p>"The oath I took was evil, evil, and I break it. O eternal God, help me, +help me. Save me, save me, for Christ's sake."</p> + +<p>Romanoff seemed to hesitate what to do, then he made a movement as if to +move towards her, but was powerless to do so. The hand which he had +uplifted dropped to his side as if paralysed; he was in the presence of +a Power greater than his own. He passed out of the room without another +word.</p> + +<p>The next day the flat of Countess Olga Petrovic was empty, but no one +knew whither she had gone.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>For more than a month after the scenes I have described, Dick Faversham +was confined to his room. He suffered no pain, but he was languid, weak, +and terribly depressed. An acquaintance who called to see him, shocked +by his appearance, insisted on sending for a doctor, and this gentleman, +after a careful examination, declared that while he was organically +sound, he was in a low condition, and utterly unfit for work.</p> + +<p>"You remind me of a man suffering from shell-shock," he said. "Have you +had any sudden sorrow, or anything of that sort?"</p> + +<p>Dick shook his head.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Anyhow, you are utterly unfit for work, that is certain," went on the +doctor. "What you need is absolute rest, cheerful companionship, and a +warm, sunny climate."</p> + +<p>"There's not much suggestion of a warm, sunny climate here," Dick said, +looking out of the window.</p> + +<p>"But I daresay it would be possible to arrange for a passport, so that +you might get to the South of France, or to Egypt," persisted the +doctor.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I might get a passport, but I've no money to get there."</p> + +<p>So Dick stayed on at his flat, and passed the time as best he could. By +and by the weather improved, and presently Dick was well enough to get +out. But he had no interest in anything, and he quickly grew tired. Then +a sudden, an almost overmastering desire came to him to go to Wendover. +There seemed no reason why he should go there, but his heart ached for a +sight of the old house. He pictured it as it was during the time he +spent there. He saw the giant trees in the park, the gay flowers in the +gardens, the stateliness and restfulness of the old mansion. The thought +of it warmed his heart, and gave him new hope.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if it were only mine again!" he reflected.</p> + +<p>He had heard that the rumours of Tony Riggleton's death were false, and +he was also told that although he had been kept out of England for some +time he would shortly return; but concerning that he could gather +nothing definite.</p> + +<p>Of Beatrice Stanmore he had heard nothing, and he had no heart to make +inquiries concerning her. He had many times reflected on her sudden +appearance at Olga Petrovic's flat, and had he been well enough he would +have tried to see her. More than once he had taken a pen in hand to +write to her, but he had never done so. What was the use? In spite of +her coming, he felt that she must regard him with scorn. He remembered +what Olga Petrovic had said in her presence. Besides, he was too weak, +too ill to make any effort whatever.</p> + +<p>But with the sudden desire to go to Wendover came also the longing to +see her—to explain. Of course she was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> the affianced wife of Sir George +Weston, but he wanted to stand well in her eyes; he wanted her to know +the truth.</p> + +<p>It was a bright, balmy morning when he started for Surrey, and +presently, when the train had left Croydon behind, a strange joy filled +his heart. After all, life was not without hope. He was a young man, and +in spite of everything he had kept his manhood. He was poor, and as yet +unknown, but he had obtained a certain position. Love was not for him, +nor riches, but he could work for the benefit of others.</p> + +<p>When the train stopped at Wendover station, he again found himself to be +the only passenger who alighted. As he breathed the pure, balmy air, and +saw the countryside beginning to clothe itself in its mantle of living +green, it seemed to him that new life, new energy, entered his being. +After all, it was good to be alive.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later he was nearing the park gates—not those which he had +entered on his first visit, but those near which Hugh Stanmore's cottage +was situated. He had taken this road without thinking. Well, it did not +matter.</p> + +<p>As he saw the cottage nestling among the trees, he felt his heart +beating wildly. He wondered if Beatrice was at home, wondered—a +thousand things. He longed to call and make inquiries, but of course he +would not. He would enter the park gates unseen, and make his way to the +great house.</p> + +<p>But he did not pass the cottage gate. Before he could do so the door +opened, and Beatrice appeared. Evidently she had seen him coming, for +she ran down the steps with outstretched hand.</p> + +<p>"I felt sure it was you," she said, "and—but you look pale—ill; are +you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm ever so much better, thank you," he replied. "So much so that I +could not refrain from coming to see Wendover again."</p> + +<p>"But you must come in and rest," she cried anxiously. "I insist on it. +Why did you not tell us you were ill?"</p> + +<p>Before he could reply he found himself within the cottage.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL"></a>CHAPTER XL</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">The Ministering Angel</span></h3> + + +<p>"Are you alone?" he managed to ask.</p> + +<p>"Yes; Granddad went out early. He'll be back in an hour or so. He has +been expecting to hear from you."</p> + +<p>How sweet and fair she looked! There was no suggestion of the exotic +beauty of Olga Petrovic; she adopted no artificial aids to enhance her +appearance. Sweet, pure air and exercise had tinted her cheeks; the +beauty of her soul shone from her eyes. She was just a child of nature, +and to Dick she was the most beautiful thing on God's earth.</p> + +<p>For a moment their eyes met, and then the love which Dick Faversham had +been fighting against for weeks surged like a mighty flood through his +whole being.</p> + +<p>"I must go—I must not stay here," he stammered.</p> + +<p>"But why? Granddad will be back soon."</p> + +<p>"Because——" Again he caught the flash of her eyes, and felt that the +whole world without her was haggard hopelessness. Before he knew what he +was saying he had made his confession.</p> + +<p>"Because I have no right to be here," he said almost angrily—"because +it is dishonourable; it is madness for me to stay."</p> + +<p>"But why?" she persisted.</p> + +<p>He could not check the words that passed his lips; he had lost control +over himself.</p> + +<p>"Don't you understand?" he replied passionately. "I have no right to be +here because I love you—love you more than my own life. Because you are +everything to me—<i>everything</i>—and you have promised to marry Sir +George Weston."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But I've not." She laughed gaily as she uttered the words.</p> + +<p>"You've not promised to——But—but——"</p> + +<p>"No, of course not. How could I? I do not love him. He is awfully nice, +and I'm very fond of him; but I don't love him. I could never think of +such a thing."</p> + +<p>She spoke quite naturally, and in an almost matter-of-fact way. She did +not seem to realise that her words caused Dick Faversham's brain to +reel, and his blood to rush madly through his veins. Rather she seemed +like one anxious to correct a mistake, but to have no idea of what the +correction meant to him.</p> + +<p>For a few seconds Dick did not speak. "She is only a child," he +reflected. "She does not understand what I have said to her. She does +not realise what my love for her means."</p> + +<p>But he was not sure of this. Something, he knew not what, told him she +<i>did</i> know. Perhaps it was the flush on her cheeks, the quiver on her +lips, the strange light in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"You have not promised to marry Sir George Weston?" he asked hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"No, of course not."</p> + +<p>"But—he asked you?"</p> + +<p>"That is scarcely a fair question, is it?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, forgive me; it is not. But do you understand—what your words +mean to me?"</p> + +<p>She was silent at this.</p> + +<p>"I love you—love you," he went on. "I want you to be my wife."</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad," she said simply.</p> + +<p>"But do you understand?" cried Dick. He could not believe in his own +happiness, could not help thinking there must be some mistake. "This +means everything to me."</p> + +<p>"Of course I understand. I've known it for a long time, that is, I've +felt it must be so. And I've wondered why you did not come and tell me."</p> + +<p>"And you love me?" His voice was hoarse and tremulous.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Love you? Why—why do you think I—could be here like this—if I +didn't?"</p> + +<p>Still she spoke almost as a child might speak. There was no suggestion +of coquetry, no trying to appear surprised at his avowal. But there was +something more, something in the tone of her voice, in the light of her +eyes, in her very presence, that told Dick that deep was calling unto +deep, that this maiden, whose heart was the heart of a child, had +entered into womanhood, and knew its glory.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you glad, too?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Glad! It seems so wonderful that I can't believe it! Half an hour ago +the world was black, hopeless, while now——; but there are things I +must tell you, things I've wanted to tell you ever since I saw you +last."</p> + +<p>"Is it about that woman?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I wanted to tell you why I was with her; I wanted you to know that +she was nothing to me."</p> + +<p>"I knew all the time. But you were in danger—that was why I could not +help coming to you. You understand, don't you? I had the same kind of +feeling when that evil man was staying with you at the big house. He was +trying to harm you, and I came. And he was still trying to ruin you, why +I don't know, but he was using that woman to work his will. I felt it, +and I came to you."</p> + +<p>"How did you know?" asked Dick. He was awed by her words, solemnised by +the wondrous intuition which made her realise his danger.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know—I only felt. You see, I loved you, and I couldn't help +coming."</p> + +<p>Another time he would have asked her many questions about this, but now +they did not seem to matter. He loved, and was loved, and the fact +filled the world.</p> + +<p>"Thank God you came," he said reverently. "And, Beatrice, you will let +me call you Beatrice, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course, you must, Dick."</p> + +<p>"May I kiss you?" he asked, and held out his arms.</p> + +<p>She came to him in all the sweet freshness of her young life and offered +him her pure young lips. Never had he known what joy meant as he knew it +then, never had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> he felt so thankful that in spite of dire temptation he +had kept his manhood clean.</p> + +<p>Closer and closer he strained her to his heart, while words of love and +of thankfulness struggled for expression. For as she laid her head on +his shoulder, and he felt the beating of her heart, his mind swept like +lightning over the past years, and he knew that angels of God had +ministered to him, that they had shielded him from danger, and helped +him in temptation. And this he knew also: while he had been on the brink +of ruin through a woman, it was also by a woman that he had been saved. +The thought of Beatrice Stanmore had been a power which had defied the +powers of evil, and enabled him to keep his manhood clean.</p> + +<p>Even yet the wonder of it all was beyond words, for he had come there +that morning believing that Beatrice was the promised wife of Sir George +Weston, and now, as if by the wave of some magician's wand, his beliefs +had been dispelled, and he had found her free.</p> + +<p>An hour before, he dared not imagine that this unspoilt child of nature +could ever think of him with love, and yet her face was pressed against +his, and she was telling him the simple story of her love—a love +unsullied by the world, a love unselfish as that of a mother, and as +strong as death.</p> + +<p>"But I am so poor," he stammered at length; "just a voting machine at +four hundred a year."</p> + +<p>"As though you could ever be that," she laughed. "You are going to do +great things, my love. You are going to live and work for the betterment +of the world. And I—I shall be with you all the time."</p> + +<p>He had much to tell her—a story so wonderful that it was difficult to +believe. But Beatrice believed it. The thought of an angel who had come +to him, warned him, guided him, and strengthened him, was not strange to +her. For her pure young eyes had pierced the barriers of materialism, +just as the light of the stars pierces the darkness of night. Because +her soul was pure, she knew that the angels of God were never far away, +and that the Eternal Goodness used them to minister to those who would +listen to their voices.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dick did not go to the great house that day. There seemed no reason why +he should. By lunch time old Hugh Stanmore returned and was met by the +two lovers.</p> + +<p>Of all they said to each other, and of the explanations that were made, +there is no need that I should write. Suffice to say that Hugh Stanmore +was satisfied. It is true he liked Sir George Weston, while the thought +that Beatrice might be mistress of his house was pleasant to him; true, +too, that Dick Faversham was poor. But he had no fears. He knew that +this young man's love was pure and strong, that he would never rest +until he had provided a home worthy of her, and that his grandchild's +future would be safe in his hands.</p> + +<p>When Dick left the cottage that night, it was on the understanding that +he would come back as soon as possible. Beatrice pleaded hard with him +not to go to London, but to stay at the cottage and be nursed back to +health and strength. But Dick had to make arrangements for a lengthened +stay away from his work, and to see some of his confrères, so, while his +heart yearned to remain near her, he looked joyfully forward to his +return.</p> + +<p>"And you go away happy, my love?"</p> + +<p>"The happiest man on earth. And you, my little maid?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dick, everything is as I hoped and prayed for."</p> + +<p>"And you loved me all the time?"</p> + +<p>"All the time; but I did not know it until——"</p> + +<p>"Until when?"</p> + +<p>"Until another man told me he wanted me."</p> + +<p>Dick was in dreamland as he returned to London. No sooner had he boarded +the train at Wendover than, as it seemed to him, he had arrived at +Victoria. As for the journey between that station and his flat he has no +remembrance to this day.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the wonder of it, the glad wonder of it!" he repeated again and +again. "Thank God—thank God!"</p> + +<p>Then, as if in fulfilment of an old adage, no sooner had he entered his +flat than another surprise awaited him. On his writing-table lay a long +blue envelope,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> which had been brought by hand that afternoon. Dick +broke the seal almost indifferently. What did he care about letters? +Then he saw the name of Bidlake, and his attention was riveted.</p> + +<p>This is what he read:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Faversham</span>,—Forgive this unceremonious manner of writing, +but I fancy I am a little excited. Riggleton is dead, and thus it +comes about that the Faversham estates—or what is left of +them—revert to you. How it was possible for a man to squander so +much money and leave things in such a terrible mess in such a short +time it is difficult to say. But there it is. Still, a good deal is +left. Wendover Park, and all the lands attached remain untouched, +and a good deal of money can be scraped up. Will you call as soon +as possible on receipt of this, and I'll explain everything to you, +as far as I can.—With heartiest congratulations, yours faithfully,</p> + +<p class="right">"<span class="smcap">John Bidlake.</span>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>Again and again Dick read this letter. He felt something like the lad of +the Eastern Story must have felt as he read. He would not have been +surprised if the Slave of the Lamp appeared, asking what his desires +were, so that they might be performed without delay. December had +changed into June in a single day.</p> + +<p>His joy can be better imagined than described. To know that this old +homestead was his again, to realise that he was no longer homeless and +poor was a gladness beyond words. But he no longer felt as he had felt +when he first saw Wendover. Then his thought had been of his own +aggrandisement, and the satisfaction of his ambitions. Now he rejoiced +because he could offer a home to the maiden he loved, and because he +could do for the world what for years he had dreamt of doing.</p> + +<p>But he was early at Mr. Bidlake's office the following morning.</p> + +<p>"No, no, there's no mistake this time," Mr. Bidlake assured him. "You +can enter into possession with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> confident mind. Money! Yes, the fellow +wasted it like water, but you need not fear. You'll have more than you +need, in spite of increased income-tax and super-tax. Talk about romance +though, if ever there was a romance this is one."</p> + +<p>After spending two hours with the lawyer Dick went to the House of +Commons, where he made the necessary arrangements for a couple of weeks' +further absence.</p> + +<p>"Yes, we can manage all right," assented the Labour Member with whom he +spoke. "Not but what we shall be glad to have you back. There are big +things brewing. The working people must no longer be hewers of wood and +drawers of water. We must see to that."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we <i>will</i> see to that," cried Dick. "But we must be careful."</p> + +<p>"Careful of what?"</p> + +<p>"Careful that we don't drift to Bolshevism, careful that we don't abuse +our power. We must show that we who represent the Democracy understand +our work. We must not think of one class only, but all the classes. We +must think of the Empire, the good of humanity."</p> + +<p>The other shook his head, "No mercy on capitalists," he cried.</p> + +<p>"On the other hand we must make capitalists do their duty," Dick +replied. "We must see to it that Capital and Labour work together for +the good of the whole community. There lies the secret of stable +government and a prosperous nation."</p> + +<p>It was late in the evening when Dick arrived at Hugh Stanmore's cottage, +so late indeed that the old man had given up hope of his coming; but +Beatrice rushed to him with a glad laugh.</p> + +<p>"I knew you would come," she said. "And now I am going to begin my work +as nurse right away. You must have a light supper and go to bed at once, +and to-morrow you must stay in bed all day."</p> + +<p>Dick shook his head. "And I am going to rebel," was his reply. "I am +going to sit up for at least two hours, while first thing to-morrow +morning I am going to take you to a house I have in my mind."</p> + +<p>"What house?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A house I've settled on for our future home."</p> + +<p>"Dick, don't be foolish. You know we must not think of that for +months—years."</p> + +<p>"Mustn't we?" laughed Dick. "There, read that," and he handed her Mr. +Bidlake's letter.</p> + +<p>"But, Dick!" she cried as she read, "this, this is——"</p> + +<p>"Beautiful, isn't it?" Dick replied joyously. "Will you read it, sir?" +and he placed it in old Hugh Stanmore's hands.</p> + +<p>After that Beatrice no longer insisted that her lover must be treated as +an invalid. Hour after hour they sat talking, while the wonder of it all +never left them.</p> + +<p>The next morning broke bright and clear. Spring had indeed come, +gladsome joyous spring, heralded by the song of birds, by the +resurrection of a new life everywhere.</p> + +<p>"Will you go with us, Granddad?" asked Beatrice, as they prepared for +their visit.</p> + +<p>"No," said Hugh Stanmore; "I'll come across alone in a couple of hours." +He was a wise man.</p> + +<p>Neither of them spoke a word as they walked up the avenue towards the +great house. Perhaps their minds were both filled by the same +thoughts—thoughts too great for utterance. Above them the sun shone in +a great dome of cloudless blue, while around them all nature was putting +on her beautiful garments.</p> + +<p>Presently the old house burst upon their view. There it stood on a +slight eminence, while behind it great trees rose. Away from the front +of the building stretched grassy lawns and flower gardens, while beyond +was parkland, studded by giant trees.</p> + +<p>And still neither spoke. Hand in hand they walked towards the entrance +door, Dick gazing at it earnestly, as if looking for something. When +they had come within a dozen yards of it both, as if by mutual consent, +stood still.</p> + +<p>Was it fancy or was it real? Was it because expectancy was in both their +hearts, and their imagination on fire, or did they really see?</p> + +<p>This is what both of them told me they saw.</p> + +<p>Standing in the doorway, with hands outstretched as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> if in the attitude +of welcoming them, was the luminous figure of a woman. Her face was lit +up with holy joy, while in her eyes was no sorrow, no doubt, but a look +of ineffable happiness.</p> + +<p>For a few seconds she stood gazing on them, and Dick saw the look of +love in her eyes, saw the rapture that seemed to pervade her being. It +was the same face he had seen there before, the same love-lit eyes.</p> + +<p>She lifted her hands as if in benediction, and then slowly the figure +faded away.</p> + +<p>"It is my mother," whispered Dick. He had no remembrance of his mother, +but he knew it was she. He felt no fear, there was nothing to be fearful +about, rather a great joy filled his life. God had sent his angel to +tell him that all was well.</p> + +<p>The door stood open, and they entered the great silent hall together. No +one was in sight. He opened his arms, and she came to him.</p> + +<p>"Welcome home, my wife," he said.</p> + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">The End</span></p> + +<p class="center">PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED, EDINBURGH</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> In view of the fact that the above incident may be regarded +as utterly unbelievable, I may say that an experience of the same nature +was related to me only a few weeks ago, far more wonderful than the one +I have recorded. Concerning the good faith of those who told the +incident, it is above all suspicion, and of its authenticity there seems +no room for doubt. I cannot further enter into details for obvious +reasons.—<span class="smcap">The Author.</span></p></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h3><i>JOSEPH HOCKING'S GREAT WAR STORIES</i></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">ALL FOR A SCRAP OF PAPER<br /></span> +<span class="i0">THE CURTAIN OF FIRE<br /></span> +<span class="i0">DEARER THAN LIFE<br /></span> +<span class="i0">THE PATH OF GLORY<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"THE POMP OF YESTERDAY"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">TOMMY<br /></span> +<span class="i0">TOMMY AND THE MAID OF ATHENS<br /></span> +<span class="i0">THE PRICE OF A THRONE<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3><i>OTHER STORIES BY JOSEPH HOCKING</i></h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Facing Fearful Odds</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O'er Moor and Fen</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Wilderness</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Rosaleen O'Hara</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Soul of Dominic Wildthorne</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Follow the Gleam</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">David Baring</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Trampled Cross</span><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The Man who Rose Again</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="center">HODDER AND STOUGHTON<br /> +<span class="smcap">Warwick Square, London, E.C.</span></p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EVERLASTING ARMS***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 39218-h.txt or 39218-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/9/2/1/39218">http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/2/1/39218</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Everlasting Arms + + +Author: Joseph Hocking + + + +Release Date: March 20, 2012 [eBook #39218] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EVERLASTING ARMS*** + + +E-text prepared by David T. Jones, Mary Meehan, Al Haines, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net) + + + +THE EVERLASTING ARMS + +by + +JOSEPH HOCKING + +Author of "All for a Scrap of Paper," "The Trampled Cross," etc., etc. + + + + + + + +Hodder and Stoughton +London New York Toronto + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + + PROLOGUE + + CHAPTER I A WOMAN'S FACE 1 + + CHAPTER II THE MARCONIGRAM 8 + + CHAPTER III THE SHIPWRECK 15 + + CHAPTER IV "THE ENEMY OF YOUR SOUL" 23 + + + PART I.--THE FIRST TEMPTATION + + CHAPTER V THE ONLY SURVIVING RELATIVE 29 + + CHAPTER VI WENDOVER PARK 39 + + CHAPTER VII LADY BLANCHE MAKES HER APPEARANCE 52 + + CHAPTER VIII COUNT ROMANOFF'S GOSPEL 60 + + CHAPTER IX BEATRICE STANMORE 69 + + CHAPTER X UNCERTAINTY 78 + + CHAPTER XI THE REAL HEIR 86 + + CHAPTER XII THE DAY OF DESTINY 94 + + CHAPTER XIII THE INVISIBLE HAND 102 + + CHAPTER XIV A SCRAP OF PAPER 113 + + CHAPTER XV COUNT ROMANOFF'S DEPARTURE 118 + + CHAPTER XVI RIGGLETON'S HOMECOMING 125 + + CHAPTER XVII FAVERSHAM'S RESOLUTION 132 + + + PART II.--THE SECOND TEMPTATION + + CHAPTER XVIII MR. BROWN'S PROPHECY 140 + + CHAPTER XIX AN AMAZING PROPOSAL 151 + + CHAPTER XX "THE COUNTRY FOR THE PEOPLE" 157 + + CHAPTER XXI THE MIDNIGHT MEETING 165 + + CHAPTER XXII "YOU AND I TOGETHER" 173 + + CHAPTER XXIII THE SO-CALLED DEAD 181 + + CHAPTER XXIV VISIONS OF ANOTHER WORLD 190 + + CHAPTER XXV ROMANOFF'S PHILOSOPHY 199 + + CHAPTER XXVI A VOICE FROM ANOTHER WORLD 209 + + CHAPTER XXVII OLGA MAKES LOVE 218 + + + PART III.--THE THIRD TEMPTATION + + CHAPTER XXVIII THE COUNT'S CONFEDERATE 227 + + CHAPTER XXIX IN QUEST OF A SOUL 236 + + CHAPTER XXX VOICES IN THE NIGHT 245 + + CHAPTER XXXI DICK HEARS STRANGE NEWS 254 + + CHAPTER XXXII BEATRICE CONFESSES 263 + + CHAPTER XXXIII SIR GEORGE'S LOVE AFFAIR 272 + + CHAPTER XXXIV THE DAWN OF LOVE 281 + + CHAPTER XXXV THE ETERNAL STRUGGLE 291 + + CHAPTER XXXVI HIS GUARDIAN ANGEL 301 + + CHAPTER XXXVII AT THE CAFE MOSCOW 310 + + CHAPTER XXXVIII THE SHADOW OF A GREAT TERROR 319 + + CHAPTER XXXIX THE TRIUMPH OF GOOD 327 + + CHAPTER XL THE MINISTERING ANGEL 336 + + + + +PROLOGUE + + + + +CHAPTER I + +A WOMAN'S FACE + + +"There may be a great deal in it." + +"Undoubtedly there is. Imagination, superstition, credulity," said Dick +Faversham a little cynically. + +"Well, I can't dismiss it in that fashion," replied the other. "Where +there's smoke there's fire, and you can't get men from various parts of +the world testifying that they saw the Angels at Mons unless there is +some foundation of truth in it." + +"Again I say imagination. Imagination can do a great deal. Imagination +can people a churchyard with ghosts; it can make dreams come true, and +it can also make clever men foolish." + +"Admit that. You still haven't got to the bottom of it. There's more +than mere imagination in the stories of the Angels at Mons, and at other +places. Less than three weeks ago I was at a hospital in London. I was +talking with a wounded sergeant, and this man told me in so many words +that he saw the Angels. He said there were three of them, and that they +remained visible for more than an hour. Not only did he see them, but +others saw them. He also said that what appeared like a great calamity +was averted by their appearance." + +There was a silence after this somewhat lengthy speech, and something +like an uncanny feeling possessed the listeners. + +The conversation took place in the smoke-room of a steamship bound for +Australia, and at least a dozen men were taking part in it. The subject +of the discussion was the alleged appearance of the Angels at Mons, and +at other places in France and Belgium, and although at least half of the +little party was not convinced that those who accepted the stories had a +good case, they could not help being affected by the numerous instances +that were adduced of the actual appearance of spiritual visitants. The +subject, as all the world knows, had been much discussed in England and +elsewhere, and so it was not unnatural that it should form the topic of +conversation in the smoke-room of the outgoing vessel. + +One of the strongest opponents to the supernatural theory was a young +man of perhaps twenty-seven years of age. From the first he had taken up +an antagonistic attitude, and would not admit that the cases given +proved anything. + +"Excuse me," he urged, "but, really, it won't do. You see, the whole +thing, if it is true, is miraculous, and miracles, according to Matthew +Arnold, don't happen." + +"And who is Matthew Arnold, or any other man, to say that what we called +miracles don't happen?" urged Mr. Bennett, the clergyman, warmly. "In +spite of Matthew Arnold and men of his school, the world still believes +in the miracles of our Lord; why, then, should miracles happen in +Palestine and not in France?" + +"If they did happen," interpolated Faversham. + +"Either they happened, or the greatest movement, the mightiest and +noblest enthusiasms the world has ever known, were founded on a lie," +said the clergyman solemnly. + +"That may be," retorted Faversham, "but don't you see where you are +leading us? If, as you say, we accept the New Testament stories, there +is no reason why we may not accept the Angels at Mons and elsewhere. But +that opens up all sorts of questions. The New Testament tells of people +being possessed by devils; it tells of one at least being tempted by a +personal devil. Would you assert that a personal devil tempts men +to-day?" + +"I believe that either the devil or his agents tempt men to-day," +replied the clergyman. + +"Then you would, I suppose, also assert that the old myth of guardian +angels is also true." + +"Accepting the New Testament, I do," replied Mr. Bennett. + +Dick Faversham laughed rather uneasily. + +"Think," went on the clergyman; "suppose someone who loved you very +dearly in life died, and went into the great spirit world. Do you not +think it natural that that person should seek to watch over you? Is it +not natural that he or she who loved you in life should love you after +what we call death? A mother will give her life for her child in life. +Why should she not seek to guard that same child even although she has +gone to the world of spirits?" + +"But the whole thing seems so unreal, so unnatural," urged Faversham. + +"That is because we live in a materialistic age. The truth is, in giving +up the idea of guardian angels and similar beliefs we have given up some +of the greatest comforts in life. Because we have become so +materialistic, we have lost that grand triumphant conviction that there +is no death. Why--why--"--and Mr. Bennett rose to his feet +excitedly--"there is not one of those splendid lads who has fallen in +battle, who is dead. God still cares for them all, and not one is +outside His protection. I can't explain it, but I _know_." + +"You know?" + +"Yes, I know. And I'll tell you why I know. My son Jack was killed at +Mons, but he's near me even now. Say it's unreal if you like, say it's +unnatural if you will, but it's one of the great glories of life to me." + +"I don't like to cast a doubt upon a sacred conviction," ventured +Faversham after a silence that was almost painful, "but is not this +clearly a case of imagination? Mr. Bennett has lost a son in the war. We +are all very sorry for him, and we are all glad that he gets comfort +from the feeling that his son is near him. But even admitting the truth +of this, admitting the doctrine that a man's spirit does not die because +of the death of the body, you have proved nothing. The appearance of the +Angels in France and Belgium means something more than this. It declares +that these spirits appear in visible, tangible forms; that they take an +interest in our mundane doings; that they take sides; that they help +some and hinder others." + +"Exactly," assented Mr. Bennett. + +"You believe that?" + +"I believe it most fervently," was the clergyman's solemn answer. "I am +anything but a spiritualist, as the word is usually understood; but I +see no reason why my boy may not communicate with me, why he may not +help me. I, of course, do not understand the mysterious ways of the +Almighty, but I believe in the words of Holy Writ. 'Are they not all +ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs +of salvation?' says the writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews. While our +Lord Himself, when speaking of little children, said, 'I say unto you +that their angels do always behold the face of My Father who is in +heaven.'" + +Again there was a silence which was again broken by Dick Faversham +turning and speaking to a man who had not spoken during the whole +discussion, but who, with a sardonic, cynical smile upon his face, had +been listening intently. + +"What is your opinion, Count Romanoff?" asked Faversham. + +"I am afraid I must be ruled out of court," he replied. "These stories +smack too much of the nursery." + +"You believe that they are worn-out superstitions?" + +"I should shock you all if I told you what I believe." + +"Shock us by all means." + +"No, I will spare you. I remember that we have a clergyman present." + +"Pray do not mind me," urged Mr. Bennett eagerly. + +"Then surely you do not accept the fables recorded in the New +Testament?" + +"I do not admit your description. What you call fables are the greatest +power for righteousness the world has ever known. They have stood the +test of ages, they have comforted and inspired millions of lives, they +stand upon eternal truth." + +Count Romanoff shrugged his shoulders, and a smile of derision and +contempt passed over his features. + +"All right," he replied, and again lapsed into silence. + +The man had spoken only a very few commonplace words, and yet he had +changed the atmosphere of the room. Perhaps this was because all felt +him utterly antagonistic to the subject of discussion. He was different +from Dick Faversham, who in a frank, schoolboy way had declared his +scepticism. He had been a marked man ever since the boat had left +England. There were several reasons for this. One was his personal +appearance. He was an exceedingly handsome man of perhaps forty years of +age, and yet there was something repellent in his features. He was +greatly admired for his fine physique and courtly bearing, and yet but +few sought his acquaintance. He looked as though he were the repository +of dark secrets. His smile was cynical, and suggested a kind of +contemptuous pity for the person to whom he spoke. His eyes were deeply +set, his mouth suggested cruelty. + +And yet he could be fascinating. Dick Faversham, who had struck up an +acquaintance with him, had found him vastly entertaining. He held +unconventional ideas, and was widely read in the literature of more than +one country. Moreover, he held strong views on men and movements, and +his criticisms told of a man of more than ordinary intellectual acumen. + +"You refuse to discuss the matter?" + +"There is but little use for an astronomer to discuss the stars with an +astrologer. A chemist would regard it as waste of time to discuss his +science with an alchemist. The two live in different worlds, speak a +different language, belong to different times." + +"Of course, you will call me a fanatic," cried the clergyman; "but I +believe. I believe in God, and in His Son Jesus Christ who died for our +sins, and who rose from the dead. On that foundation I build all the +rest." + +A change passed over the Count's face. It might be a spasm of pain, and +his somewhat pale face became paler; but he did not speak. For some +seconds he seemed fighting with a strong emotion; then, conquering +himself, his face resumed its former aspect, and a cynical smile again +passed over his features. + +"The gentleman is too earnest for me," he remarked, taking another cigar +from his case. + +Dick Faversham did not see the change that passed over the Count's face. +Indeed, he had ceased to take interest in the discussion. The truth was +that the young man was startled by what was an unusual occurrence. The +room, as may be imagined, bearing in mind that for a long time a number +of men had been burning incense to My Lady Nicotine, was in a haze of +tobacco smoke, and objects were not altogether clearly visible; but not +far from the door he saw a woman standing. This would not have been +remarkable had not the lady passengers, for some reason known to +themselves, up to the present altogether avoided the smoke-room. More +than this, Dick did not recognise her. He had met, or thought he had met +during the voyage, every lady passenger on the boat; but certainly he +had never seen this one before. He was perfectly sure of that, for her +face was so remarkable that he knew he could not have forgotten her. + +She was young, perhaps twenty-four. At first Dick thought of her as only +a girl in her teens, but as, through the thick smoky haze he watched her +face, he felt that she had passed her early girlhood. What struck him +most forcibly were her wonderful eyes. It seemed to him as though, while +they were large and piercing, they were at the same time melting with an +infinite tenderness and pity. + +Dick Faversham looked at her like a man entranced. In his interest in +her he forgot the other occupants of the room, forgot the discussion, +forgot everything. The yearning solicitude in the woman's eyes, the +infinite pity on her face, chained him and drove all other thoughts +away. + +"I say, Faversham." + +He came to himself at the mention of his name and turned to the speaker. + +"Are you good for a stroll on deck for half an hour before turning in?" + +It was the Count who spoke, and Dick noticed that nearly all the +occupants of the room seemed on the point of leaving. + +"Thank you," he replied, "but I think I'll turn in." + +He looked again towards the door where he had seen the woman, but she +was gone. + +"By the way," and he touched the sleeve of a man's coat as he spoke, +"who was that woman?" + +"What woman?" + +"The woman standing by the door." + +"I saw no woman. There was none there." + +"But there was, I tell you. I saw her plainly." + +"You were wool-gathering, old man. I was sitting near the door and saw +no one." + +Dick was puzzled. He was certain as to what he had seen. + +The smoke-room steward appeared at that moment, to whom he propounded +the same question. + +"There was no lady, sir." + +"But--are you sure?" + +"Certainly, sir. I've been here all the evening, and saw everyone who +came in." + +Dick made his way to his berth like a man in a dream. He was puzzled, +bewildered. + +"I am sure I saw a woman," he said to himself. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE MARCONIGRAM + + +He had barely reached his room when he heard a knock at the door. + +"Yes; what is it?" + +"You are Mr. Faversham, aren't you?" + +"Yes; what do you want?" + +"Wireless for you, sir. Just come through." + +A few seconds later Dick was reading a message which promised to alter +the whole course of his life: + + "_Your uncle, Charles Faversham, Wendover Park, Surrey, just + died. Your immediate return essential. Report to us on arrival._ + BIDLAKE & BILTON, _Lincoln's Inn_." + +The words seemed to swim before his eyes. His uncle, Charles Faversham, +dead! There was nothing wonderful about that, for Dick had heard quite +recently that he was an ailing man, and not likely to live long. He was +old, too, and in the course of nature could not live long. But what had +Charles Faversham's death to do with him? It was true the deceased man +was his father's stepbrother, but the two families had no associations, +simply because no friendship existed between them. + +Dick knew none of the other Favershams personally. His own father, who +had died a few years before, had left him practically penniless. His +mother, whose memory his father adored, had died at his, Dick's, birth, +and thus when he was a little over twenty he found himself alone in the +world. Up to that time he had spent his life at school and at college. +His father, who was a man of scholarly instincts, had made up his mind +that his son should adopt one of the learned professions, although +Dick's desires did not lean in that direction. At his father's death, +therefore, he set to work to carve out a career for himself. He had good +abilities, a determined nature, and great ambitions, but his training, +which utterly unfitted him for the battle of life, handicapped him +sorely. For three years nothing went well with him. He obtained +situation after situation only to lose it. He was impatient of control, +he lacked patience, and although he had boundless energies, he never +found a true outlet for them. + +At length fortune favoured him. He got a post under a company who did a +large business in Austria and in the Balkan States, and he made himself +so useful to his firm that his progress was phenomenal. + +It was then that Dick began to think seriously of a great career. It was +true he had only climbed a few steps on fortune's ladder, but his +prospects for the future were alluring. He pictured himself becoming a +power in the commercial world, and then, with larger wealth at his +command, he saw himself entering Parliament and becoming a great figure +in the life of the nation. + +He had social ambitions too. Although he had had no serious love +affairs, he dreamed of himself marrying into an old family, by which +means the doors of the greatest houses in the land would be open to him. + +"Nothing shall stop me," he said to himself again and again; and the +heads of his firm, realising his value to them, gave him more and more +responsibility, and also pointed hints about his prospects. + +At the end of 1913, however, Dick had a serious disagreement with his +chiefs. He had given considerable attention to continental politics, and +he believed that Germany would force war. Because of this he advocated a +certain policy with regard to their business. To this his chiefs gave a +deaf ear, and laughed at the idea of England being embroiled in any +trouble with either Austria or the Balkan States. Of course, Dick was +powerless. He had no capital in the firm, and as his schemes were rather +revolutionary he was not in a position to press them. + +On the outbreak of war in 1914 Dick's firm was ruined. What he had +predicted had come to pass. Because they had not prepared for this +possible contingency, and because large sums of money were owing them in +Austria and Serbia, which they could not recover, all their energies +were paralysed. Thus at twenty-seven years of age, with only a few +hundreds of pounds in his possession, Dick had to begin at the bottom +again. + +At length a firm who knew something of his associations with his +previous employers offered to send him to Australia to attend to matters +in which they believed he could render valuable service, but payment for +which would depend entirely on his own success. Dick accepted this offer +with avidity. + +This in bare outline was his story up to the commencement of the history +which finds him on his way to Australia with the momentous marconigram +in his hands. + +Again and again he read the wireless message which had been handed to +him. It was so strange, so unexpected, so bewildering. He had never seen +or spoken to his uncle, never expected to. He was further removed from +this representative of his family than the Jews from the Samaritans. It +is true he had seen Wendover Park from the distance. He remembered +passing the lodge gates some year or two before when cycling through +Surrey. From a neighbouring hill he had caught sight of the old house +standing in its broad park-lands, and a pang of envy had shot through +his heart as he reflected that although its owner and his father were +stepbrothers he would never be admitted within its walls. + +But this message had altered everything: "_Your uncle, Charles +Faversham, Wendover Park, just died. Your immediate return essential. +Report to us on arrival._" + +The words burnt like fire into his brain. A wireless message, sent to +him in mid-ocean, must be of more than common purport. Men of Bidlake & +Bilton's standing did not send such messages as a pastime. They would +not urge his immediate return without serious reasons. + +It must mean--it could only mean--one thing. He must in some way be +interested in the huge fortune which Charles Faversham had left behind +him. Perhaps, perhaps--and again he considered the probable outcome of +it all. + +Hour after hour he sat thinking. Was his future, after all, to become +great, not simply by his own energies, but because of a stroke of good +fortune? Or, better still, was his uncle's death to be the means whereby +he could climb to greatness and renown? After all he had not longed so +much for money for its own sake, but as a means whereby he could get +power, distinction, high position. With great wealth at his command he +could--and again a fascinating future spread before him. + +He could not sleep; of course, he couldn't! How could he sleep when his +brain was on fire with wild imaginings and unknown possibilities? + +He reflected on the course of his voyage, and considered where the +vessel would first stop. Yes, he knew they were to call at Bombay, which +was a great harbour from which ships were frequently returning to +England. In three days they would be there, and then---- + +Should he take anyone into his confidence? Should he give reasons for +leaving the ship? Oh, the wonder, the excitement of it all! The +discussion about the Angels at Mons, and the talk about visitants from +the spirit world caring for the people who lived on earth, scarcely +entered his mind. What need had he for such things? + +But who was that woman? For he was sure he had seen her. Tyler, to whom +he had spoken, and the smoke-room steward might say that no woman was +there, but he knew better. He could believe his own eyes anyhow, and the +wonderful yearning look in her eyes still haunted him in spite of the +disturbing message. + +It was not until towards morning that sleep came to him, and then he was +haunted by dreams. Strange as it may seem, he did not dream of Bidlake & +Bilton's message nor of his late uncle's mansion. He dreamt of his +father and mother. He had never seen his mother; she had died at his +birth. He had never seen a picture of her, indeed. He believed that his +father possessed her portrait, but he had never shown it to him. His +father seldom spoke of his mother, but when he did it was in tones of +awe, almost of worship. She was like no other woman, he said--a woman +with all the possible beauty and glory of womanhood stored in her heart. + +And she was with his father in his dream. They stood by his bedside +watching over him. His father's face he remembered perfectly. It was +just as he had seen it when he was alive, except that there was an added +something which he could not describe. His mother's face was strange to +him. Yet not altogether so. He knew instinctively that she was his +mother--knew it by the look on her almost luminous face, by the yearning +tenderness of her eyes. + +Neither of them spoke to him. They simply stood side by side and watched +him. He wished they would speak; he felt as though he wanted guidance, +advice, and each looked at him with infinite love in their eyes. + +Where had he seen eyes like those of his mother before? Where had he +seen a face like the face in his dream? He remembered asking himself, +but could recall no one. + +"Mother, mother," he tried to say, but he could not speak. Then his +mother placed her hand on his forehead, and her touch was like a +benediction. + +When he woke he wondered where he was; but as through the porthole he +saw the sheen of the sea he remembered everything. Oh, the wonder of it +all! + +A knock came to the door. "Your bath is ready, sir," said a steward, and +a minute later he felt the welcome sting of the cold salt water. + +He scarcely spoke throughout breakfast; he did not feel like talking. He +determined to find some lonely spot and reflect on what had taken place. +When he reached the deck, however, the longing for loneliness left him. +The sky was cloudless, and the sun poured its warm rays on the spotless +boards. Under the awning, passengers had ensconced themselves in their +chairs, and smoked, or talked, or read just as their fancy led them. + +In spite of the heat the morning was pleasant. A fresh breeze swept +across the sea, and the air was pure and sweet. + +Acquaintances spoke to him pleasantly, for he had become fairly popular +during the voyage. + +"I wonder if they have heard of that wireless message?" he reflected. +"Do they know I have received news of Charles Faversham's death, and +that I am probably a rich man?" + +"Holloa, Faversham." + +He turned and saw Count Romanoff. + +"You look rather pale this morning," went on the Count; "did you sleep +well?" + +"Not very well," replied Dick. + +"Your mind exercised about the discussion, eh?" + +"That and other things." + +"It's the 'other things' that make the great interest of life," remarked +the Count, looking at him intently. + +"Yes, I suppose they do," was Dick's reply. He was thinking about the +wireless message. + +"Still," and the Count laughed, "the discussion got rather warm, didn't +it? I'm afraid I offended our clerical friend. His nod was very cool +just now. Of course, it's all rubbish. Years ago I was interested in +such things. I took the trouble to inform myself of the best literature +we have on the whole matter. As a youth I knew Madame Blavatsky. I have +been to seances galore, but I cease to trouble now." + +"Yes?" queried Dick. + +"I found that the bottom was knocked out of all these so-called +discoveries by the first touch of serious investigation and criticism. +Nothing stood searching tests. Everything shrivelled at the first touch +of the fire." + +"This talk about angels, about a hereafter, is so much empty wind," went +on the Count. "There is no hereafter. When we die there is a great black +blank. That's all." + +"Then life is a mockery." + +"Is it? It all depends how you look at it. Personally I find it all +right." + +Dick Faversham looked at his companion's face intently. Yes, it was a +handsome face--strong, determined, forceful. But it was not pleasant. +Every movement of his features suggested mockery, cynicism, cruelty. +And yet it was fascinating. Count Romanoff was not a man who could be +passed by without a thought. There was a tremendous individuality behind +his deep-set, dark eyes--a personality of great force suggested by the +masterful, mobile features. + +"You have nerves this morning, Faversham," went on the Count. "Something +more than ordinary has happened to you." + +"How do you know?" + +"I feel it. I see it. No, I am not asking you to make a confidant of me. +But you want a friend." + +"Yes," cried Dick, speaking on impulse; "I do." + +The other did not speak. He simply fixed his eyes on Faversham's face +and waited. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE SHIPWRECK + + +For a moment Dick was strongly tempted to tell his companion about the +wireless he had received. But something, he could not tell what, seemed +to forbid him. In spite of the fact that he had spent a good deal of +time with Count Romanoff he had given him no confidences. There was +something in his presence, in spite of his fascination, that did not +inspire confidence. + +"By the way," ventured Dick, after an awkward silence, "I have often +been on the point of asking you, but it felt like a liberty. Are you in +any way connected with the great Russian family of your name?" + +The Count hesitated before replying. "I do not often speak of it," he +told him presently, "but I come of a Royal Family." + +"The Romanoffs of Russia?" + +The Count smiled. + +"I do not imagine that they would admit me into their family circle," he +replied. "I make no claims to it, but I have the right." + +Dick was duly impressed. + +"Then, of course, you are a Russian. You were born there?" + +"A Russian!" sneered the other. "A vast conglomeration of savagery, +superstition, and ignorance! I do not claim to be a Russian. I have +estates there, but I am a citizen of the world. My sympathies are not +national, insular, bounded by race, paltry landmarks, languages. I live +in a bigger world, my friend. Yes, I am a Romanoff, if you like, and I +claim kinship with the greatest families of the Russian Empire--but la +la, what is it? Thistledown, my friend, thistledown." + +"But you were educated in Russia?" persisted Dick. + +"Educated! What is it to be educated? From childhood I have been a +wanderer. I have taken my degrees in the University of the world. I have +travelled in China, Japan, Egypt, America, the Antipodes. In a few days +we shall call at Bombay. If you will accompany me I will take you to +people in that city, old Indian families whose language I know, whose +so-called mysteries I have penetrated, and who call me friend. Ecco! I +owe my education to all countries, all peoples." + +He did not speak boastfully; there was no suggestion of the boaster, the +braggadocio, in his tones; rather he spoke quietly, thoughtfully, almost +sadly. + +"Tell me this," asked Dick: "you, who I judge to be a rich man, do you +find that riches bring happiness?" + +"Yes--and no. With wealth you can buy all that this world can give you." + +Dick wondered at the strange intonation of his voice. + +"It is the only thing that can bring happiness," added Romanoff. + +"I fancy our friend Mr. Bennett would not agree with you," laughed Dick. +"He would say that a clear conscience meant happiness. He would tell you +that a good life, a clean mind, and a faith in God were the secrets of +happiness." + +Romanoff laughed. + +"What makes a clear conscience? It is a feeling that you have done what +is right. But what is right? What is right in China is wrong in England. +What makes the Chinaman happy makes the Englishman miserable. But why +should the Englishman be miserable because he does the thing that makes +the Chinaman happy? No, no, it won't do. There is no right; there is no +wrong. The Germans are wise there. What the world calls morality is a +bogy to frighten foolish people. 'It is always right to do the thing you +_can_ do,' says Brother Fritz. Personally I believe it to be right to do +what satisfies my desires. It is right because it brings happiness. +After all, you haven't long to live. A few years and it is all over. A +shot from a pistol and _voila!_ your brains are blown out--you are dead! +Therefore, take all that life can give you--there is nothing else." + +"I wonder?" said Dick. + +"That is why money is all-powerful. First of all, get rid of +conventional morality, rid your mind of all religious twaddle about +another life, and then suck the orange of this life dry. You, now, you +are keen, ardent, ambitious; you love beautiful things; you can enjoy to +the full all that life can give you. Nature has endowed you with a +healthy body, ardent desires, boundless ambitions--well, satisfy them +all. You can buy them all." + +"But I am not rich," interposed Dick. + +"Aren't you?" queried the other. "Who knows? Anyhow, you are young--make +money. 'Money talks,' as the Americans say." + +Again Dick was on the point of telling him about the wireless message, +but again he refrained. + +"By the way, Count Romanoff," he said, "did you see that woman in the +smoke-room last night?" + +"Woman! what woman?" + +"I don't know. I never saw her before. But while you were talking I saw +a woman's face through the haze of tobacco smoke. She was standing near +the door. It was a wonderful face--and her eyes were beyond description. +Great, pure, yearning, loving eyes they were, and they lit up the face +which might have been--the face of an angel." + +"You were dreaming, my friend. I have seen every woman on board, and not +one of them possesses a face worth looking at twice." + +"I asked another man," admitted Dick, "and he told me I was dreaming. He +had been sitting near the door, he assured me, and he had seen no woman, +while the smoke-room steward was just as certain." + +"Of course there was no woman." + +"And yet I saw a woman, unless----" He stopped suddenly. + +"Unless what, my friend?" + +"Unless it was a kind of rebuke to my scepticism last night; unless it +was the face of an angel." + +"An angel in mid-ocean!" Romanoff laughed. "An angel in the smoke-room +of a P. & O. steamer! Faversham, you are an example of your own +arguments. Imagination can do anything." + +"But it would be beautiful if it were so. Do you know, I'm only half a +sceptic after all. I only half believe in what I said in the smoke-room +last night." + +"Perhaps I can say the same thing," said Romanoff, watching his face +keenly. + +"I say!" and Dick laughed. + +"Yes, laugh if you will; but I told you just now that the world +contained no mystery. I was wrong; it does. My residence in India has +told me that. Do you know, Faversham, what has attracted me to you?--for +I have been attracted, I can assure you." + +"Flattered, I'm sure," murmured Dick. + +"I was attracted, because the moment I saw your face I felt that your +career would be out of the ordinary. I may be wrong, but I believe that +great things are going to happen to you, that you are going to have a +wonderful career. I felt it when I saw you come on deck a little while +ago. If you are wise you are going to have a great future--a _great_ +future." + +"Now you are laughing." + +"No, I'm not. I'm in deadly earnest. I have something of the power of +divination in me. I feel the future. Something's going to happen to you. +I think great wealth's coming to you." + +Dick was silent, and a far-away look came into his eyes. He was thinking +of the wireless message, thinking whether he should tell Romanoff about +it. + +"I started out on this voyage--in the hope that--that I should make +money," he stammered. + +"Where?" + +"In Australia." + +"You'll not go to Australia." + +"No? Why?" + +"I don't know--something's going to happen to you. I feel it." + +Dick was again on the point of taking him into his confidence when two +acquaintances came up and the conversation ended. But Dick felt that +Romanoff knew his secret all the time. + +The day passed away without further incident, but towards afternoon +there was a distinct change in the weather. The sky became overclouded, +and the gentle breeze which had blown in the morning strengthened into a +strong, boisterous wind. The smooth sea roughened, and the passengers no +longer sat on deck. The smoke-room was filled with bridge players, while +other public rooms became the scenes of other amusements. + +But Dick preferred being alone. He was still hugging his news to his +heart, still reflecting on the appearance of the strange woman's face in +the smoke-room, and all the time he was under the influence of Count +Romanoff's conversation. + +Perhaps the great, dark, heaving waste of waters excited his nerves and +made him feel something of the mysterious and resistless forces around +him. After all, he asked himself, how small the life of a man, or a +hundred men, appeared to be amidst what seemed infinite wastes of ocean. + +After dinner, in spite of the fact that the weather remained boisterous, +he again went on deck. The sky had somewhat cleared now, and although +there were still great black angry clouds, spaces of blue could be seen +between them. Here the stars appeared, and shone with great brilliancy. +Then the moon rose serene, majestic. Now it was hidden by a great storm +cloud, and again it showed its silvery face in the clear spaces. + +"Great heavens!" cried Dick, "how little a man knows of the world in +which he lives, and what rot we often talk. The air all around me may be +crowded with visitants from the unseen world! My dream last night may +have an objective reality. Perhaps my father and my mother were there +watching over me! Why not?" + +It is said that atheists are bred in slums, and amidst brick walls and +unlovely surroundings. It is also said that there are few sailors but +who are believers--that the grandeur of the seas, that the wonder of +great star spaces create a kind of spiritual atmosphere which makes it +impossible for them to be materialists. Whether that is so I will not +argue. This I know: Dick Faversham felt very near the unseen world as +he leaned over the deck railings that night and gazed across the +turbulent waters. + +But this also must be said. The unseen world seemed to him not good, but +evil. He felt as though there were dark, sinister forces around +him--forces which were inimical to what he conceived to be best in him. + +Before midnight he turned in, and no sooner did he lay his head on his +pillow than he felt himself falling asleep. How long he slept he did not +know. As far as he remembered afterwards, his sleep was dreamless. He +only knew that he was awakened by a tremendous noise, and that the ship +seemed to be crashing to pieces. Before he realised what had taken place +he found himself thrown on the floor, while strange grating noises +reached his ears. After that he heard wild shouts and despairing +screams. Hastily putting on a coat over his night clothes, he rushed out +to see what had happened; but all seemed darkness and confusion. + +"What's the matter?" he cried, but received no answer. + +Stumblingly he struggled towards the companion-way, where he saw a dark +moving object. + +"What's happened?" he gasped again. + +"God only knows, except the vessel going down!" + +"Vessel going down?" + +"Yes; struck a mine or something!" + +Even as the man spoke the ship seemed to be splitting asunder. Harsh, +grating, bewildering noises were heard everywhere, while above the +noises of timber and steel were to be faintly heard the cries of frantic +women and excited men. + +Then something struck him. He did not know what it was, but he felt a +heavy blow on his head, and after that a great darkness fell upon him. + +How long the darkness lasted he could not tell. It might have been +minutes, it might have been hours; but he knew that he suddenly came to +consciousness through the touch of icy-cold water. The cold seemed to +pierce his very marrow, to sting him with exquisite pain. Then he was +conscious that he was struggling in the open sea. + +He had been a strong swimmer from early boyhood, and he struck out now. +He had no idea which way to swim, but swim he did, heedless of direction +or purpose. A kind of instinct forced him to get as far away as possible +from the spot where he came to consciousness. + +There was still a heavy sea running. He found himself lifted on the +crest of huge waves, and again sinking in the depths. But he held on. He +had a kind of instinct that he was doing something to save his life. + +Presently his mind became clear. The past came vividly before him--the +talk in the smoke-room, the wireless message---- + +Yes, he must live! Life held out so much to him. His immediate return to +England was essential. Bidlake & Bilton had told him so. + +Where were the other passengers? He had heard women's cries, the wild +shouts of men, the creaking of timbers, the grating of steel; he had +felt that the great steamship was being torn to pieces. But now there +was nothing of this. There was nothing but the roar of waters--great, +heaving, turbulent waters. + +He still struggled on, but he knew that his strength was going. It +seemed to him, too, as though some power was paralysing his limbs, +sapping his strength. He still had the desire to save himself, to live; +but his will power was not equal to his desire. + +Oh, the sea was cruel, cruel! Why could not the waves cease roaring and +rolling if only for five minutes? He would have time to rest then, to +rest and regain his strength. + +Still he struggled on. Again he felt himself carried on the crest of +waves, and again almost submerged in the great troughs which seemed to +be everywhere. + +"O God, help me!" he thought at length. "My strength is nearly gone. I'm +going to be drowned!" + +A sinister power seemed to surround him--a power which took away hope, +purpose, life. He thought of Count Romanoff, who had said there was +nothing after death--that death was just a great black blank. + +The thought was ghastly! To cease to be, to die there amidst the wild +waste of the sea, on that lonely night! He could not bear the thought of +it. + +But his strength was ebbing away; his breath came in panting sobs; his +heart found it difficult to beat. He was going to die. + +Oh, if only something, someone would drive away the hateful presence +which was following him, surrounding him! He could still struggle on +then; he could live then. But no, a great black shadow was surrounding +him, swallowing him up. Yes, and the ghastly thing was taking shape. He +saw a face, something like the face of--no, he could liken it to no one +he knew. + +The waves still rolled on; but now he heard what seemed like wild, +demoniacal laughter. Once, when a boy, he had seen Henry Irving in +_Faust_; he saw the devils on the haunted mountain; he heard their +hideous cries. And there was a ghastly, evil influence with him now. Did +it mean that devils were there waiting to snatch his soul directly it +left his body? + +Then he felt a change. Yes, it was distinct, definite. There was a +light, too--a pale, indistinct light, but still real, and as his tired +eyes lifted he saw what seemed to be a cross of light shining down upon +him from the clouds. What could it mean? + +It seemed to him that the sinister presence was somehow losing power, +that there was something, someone in the light which grew stronger. + +Then a face appeared above him. At first it was unreal, intangible, +shadowy; but it grew clearer, clearer. Where had he seen it before? +Those great, tender, yearning eyes--where had he seen them? Then the +form of a woman became outlined--a woman with arms outstretched. Her +face, her lips, her eyes seemed to bid him hope, and it felt to him as +though arms were placed beneath him--arms which bore him up. + +It was all unreal, as unreal as the baseless fabric of a dream; and yet +it was real, wondrously real. + +"Help me! Save me!" he tried to say, but whether he uttered the words he +did not know. He felt that his grip on life became weaker and +weaker--then a still, small voice seemed to whisper, "The Eternal God is +thy refuge, and underneath are the Everlasting Arms." + +The roar of the waves grew less, and he knew no more. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +"THE ENEMY OF YOUR SOUL" + + +When again Dick Faversham regained something like consciousness he had a +sensation of choking, of a hard struggle to breathe, which ended in +partial failure. + +He did not know where he was, but he had a sense of warmth, of +restfulness. He thought he heard the ripple of waves on a sunlit shore, +and of wide-spreading trees which grew close to the edge of the sea. + +But it was all indistinct, unreal, and he did not care very much. He was +trying to breathe, trying to overcome the awful sense of choking, and +after a while, dazed, bewildered though he was, he felt his breath come +easier and the weight on his chest grow lighter. But he was terribly +tired--so tired that he had no desire to struggle, so languid that his +very efforts to breathe were the result not of his own will, but of some +claims of nature over which he had no control. He was just a piece of +machinery, and that was all. + +He felt himself going to sleep, and he was glad. He had no curiosity as +to where he was, no desire to know how he came to be there, no +remembrance of the past; he only knew that warm air wrapped him like a +garment, and that he was deliciously tired and sleepy. + +How long he slept he did not know, but presently when he woke he saw the +sun setting in a blaze of glory. Scarcely a breath of wind stirred the +warm, fragrant air, and all was silent save the lapping of the waves and +the screaming of birds in the distance. + +He sat up and looked around him. Great tropical trees grew in wild +profusion, while gorgeous vegetation abounded. It was like some land of +dreams. + +Then suddenly memory asserted itself, and the past flashed before his +mind. Everything became clear, vivid. + +"I am saved! I am alive!" he exclaimed aloud. + +Again he saw the wild upheaving sea; he felt himself struggling in the +deep, while his strength, strength of body, of mind, and will were +failing him. He recalled the dark, fearful presence that surrounded him, +and then the coming of the light, and in the light the outline of a +woman's form. Nothing would ever destroy that memory! The face, the +lips, the eyes! No, he should never forget! And he had seen her arms +outstretched, felt her arms placed beneath him--the arms that bore him +up, brought him to safety. + +"I was saved," he murmured--"saved by an angel!" + +He was startled by the sound of a footstep, and, turning, he saw +Romanoff, and with him came back something of the feeling that some evil +presence surrounded him. + +"That's right, Faversham. I was afraid, hours ago, that I should never +bring you round, but at length you made good, and then, like a sensible +fellow, went to sleep." + +Romanoff spoke in the most matter-of-fact way possible, banishing the +mere thought of angels or devils. + +"Where are we? How did we get here?" gasped Faversham. Up to now he had +not given a thought to the other passengers. + +"Where are we? On an island in the Pacific, my dear fellow. How did we +get here? After the accident--or whatever it was--the boats were +lowered, and all hands were got away. I looked out for you, but could +not find you. There was a great commotion, and it was easy to miss +anyone in the darkness. I was among the last to leave the sinking +vessel, and the boat was pretty full. We had got perhaps half a mile +away from the scene of the wreck, when I saw someone struggling in the +sea. It was by the purest chance possible that I saw. However, I managed +to get hold of--what turned out to be you. You were nearly gone--I never +thought you'd--live." + +"But how did I get here?" asked Dick, "and--and where are the others?" + +"It was this way," and Romanoff still continued to speak in the same +matter-of-fact tones. "As I told you, the boat was jammed +full--overweighted, in fact--so full that your weight was a bit of a +danger. More than one said you were dead, and suggested that--that it +was no use endangering the safety of the others. But I felt sure you +were alive, so I held out against them." + +"And then?" asked Dick. He was only giving half his mind to Romanoff's +story; he was thinking of what he saw when he felt his strength leaving +him. + +"You see the bar out yonder?" and Romanoff pointed towards a ridge of +foam some distance out at sea. "It's mighty rough there--dangerous to +cross even when the sea is smooth; when it is rough--you can guess. I +was holding you in my arms in order to--give room. The oarsmen were +making for land, of course; you see, we had been many hours in a mere +cockleshell, and this island promised safety. But in crossing the bar we +were nearly upset, and I suddenly found myself in the sea with you in my +arms. It was fairly dark, and I could not see the boat, but I was +fortunate in getting you here. That's all." + +"That's all?" + +"Yes; what should there be else?" + +"But the others?" + +"Oh, I expect they've landed somewhere else on the island--sure to, in +fact. But I've not looked them up. You see, I did not want to leave +you." + +"Then you--you've saved me?" + +"Oh, that's all right, my dear fellow. You are here, and you are looking +better every minute; that's the great thing. See, I've brought you some +food--fruit. Delicious stuff. I've tried it. Lucky for us we got to this +place." + +Dick ate almost mechanically. He was still wondering and trying to +square Romanoff's story with his own experiences. Meanwhile, Romanoff +sat near him and watched him as he ate. + +"How long have we been here?" + +"Ten hours at least. Look, my clothes are quite dry. By Jove, I was +thankful for the hot sun." + +"You saved me!" repeated Dick. "I owe my life to you, and yet even +now----" + +"What, my dear fellow?" + +"I thought I was saved in another way." + +"Another way? How?" + +Dick hesitated a few seconds, and then told him, while Romanoff listened +with a mocking smile on his lips. + +"Of course, you were delirious; it was pure hallucination." + +"Was it? It was very real to me." + +"Such things don't happen, my friend. After all, it was a very +matter-of-fact, mundane affair. You were lucky, and I happened to see +you--that's all--and if there was an angel--I'm it." + +The laugh that followed was anything but angelic! + +"I suppose that's it," and with a sigh Dick assented to Romanoff's +explanation. Indeed, with this strange, matter-of-fact man by his side, +he could not believe in anything miraculous. That smile on his face made +it impossible. + +"I don't know how to thank you," he said fervently. "You've done me the +greatest service one man can do for another. I can't thank you enough, +and I can never repay you, but if we ever get away from here, and I have +an opportunity to serve you--all that I have shall be yours." + +"I'll remember that," replied Romanoff quietly, "and I accept what you +offer, my friend. Perhaps the time will come when I can take advantage +of it." + +"I hope you will--you must!"--Dick's mind had become excited--"and I +want to tell you something," he continued, for he was strangely drawn +towards his deliverer. "I want to live. I want to get back to England," +he went on. "I have not told you before, but I feel I must now." + +Whereupon he told him the story of the wireless message and what it +possibly might mean. + +Romanoff listened gravely, and Dick once again experienced that uncanny +feeling that he was telling the other a story he already knew. + +"Didn't I tell you on the boat that something big was in store for you?" +he said, after many questions were asked and answered. "I shall +certainly look you up when I go to England again, and it may be I shall +be able to render you some--further service." + +Night came on, and Dick slept. He was calm now and hopeful for the +future. Romanoff had told him that as the island was on the great trade +route it was impossible for them to be left there long. Vessels were +always passing. And Dick trusted Romanoff. He felt he could do no other. +He was so strong, so wise, so confident. + +For hours he slept dreamlessly, but towards morning he had a vivid +dream, and in his dream he again saw the face of the angel, just as he +had seen on the wild, heaving sea. + +"Listen to me," she said to him. "That man Romanoff is your enemy--the +enemy of your soul. Do you realise it?--your soul. He is an emissary of +the Evil One, and you must fight him. You must not yield to him. You +will be tempted, but you must fight. He will be constantly near you, +tempting you. He is your enemy, working for your downfall. If you give +way to him you will be for ever lost!" + +Dick heard her words quite plainly. He watched her face as she spoke, +wondered at the yearning tenderness in her eyes. + +"How can he be my enemy?" he asked. "He risked his life to save mine; he +brought me to safety." + +"No," she replied; "it was the arms of another that were placed beneath +you, and bore you up. Don't you know whose arms? Don't you remember my +face?" + +"Who are you?" asked Dick. + +Then, as it seemed to him in his dream, Romanoff came, and there was a +battle between him and the angel, and he knew that they were fighting +for him, for the possession of his soul. + +He could see them plainly, and presently he saw the face of Romanoff +gloat with a look of unholy joy. His form became more and more clearly +outlined, while that of the angel became dimmer and dimmer. The evil +power was triumphant. Then a change came. Above their heads he saw a +luminous cross outlined, and he thought Romanoff's face and form became +less and less distinct. But he was not sure, for they were drifting away +from him farther and farther---- + +Again he saw the angel's face, and again she spoke. "You will be +tempted--tempted," she said, "in many ways you will be tempted. But you +will not be alone, for the angel of the Lord encampeth around them that +fear Him. You will know me by the same sign. Always obey the angel." + +He awoke. He was lying where he had gone to sleep hours before. He +started to his feet and looked around him. + +Near him, passing under the shadows of the great trees, he thought he +saw a woman's face. It was the face he had seen on the outgoing vessel, +the face he had seen when he was sinking in the deep waters, the face +that had come to him in his dreams. + +He was about to speak to her, to follow her, when he heard someone +shouting. + +"Faversham! Faversham!" It was Romanoff's voice. "Come quickly. We've +hailed a vessel; our signal has been seen. Come to the other side of the +island." + + + + +PART I.--THE FIRST TEMPTATION + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE ONLY SURVIVING RELATIVE + + +Dick Faversham made his way to the offices of Messrs. Bidlake & Bilton, +Solicitors, Lincoln's Inn Fields, with a fast-beating heart. He felt +like a man whose fortune depended on the turn of a die. If the lawyers +had sent him a message for the purpose he hoped, all was well; if +not----And for the hundredth time he considered the pros and cons of +the matter. + +His rescue from the island had turned out to be one of the prosiest +matters imaginable. The captain of an English-bound steamer had seen the +signals made from the island, and had sent boats. Thus Dick was saved +without difficulty. There were others who had a similar fortune, but +Dick had no chance to speak with them. No sooner did he reach the +steamer than he was taken ill, and remained ill during the whole of the +homeward voyage. + +After he reached Plymouth he began to recover rapidly, but he found on +making inquiries that all who were rescued from the island had +disembarked at the western seaport. This was very disappointing to him, +as he wanted to make inquiries concerning the manner of their escape. Of +Romanoff he neither heard nor saw anything. No one knew anything of him +on the steamer, neither was he known to board it. + +Dick was both glad and sorry because of this. Glad because, although +Romanoff possessed a strange fascination for him, he had never been +altogether comfortable in his presence. The man repelled him even while +he fascinated him, and he felt relieved that he was not on board. On the +other hand, he was sorry, because he had a feeling that this strange, +saturnine man might have been a great help to him in his peculiar +circumstances. + +"It may be all a will-o'-the-wisp fancy," he reflected as he walked +along Fleet Street towards the Law Courts, "and yet it must mean +something." + +His mind was in a whirl of bewilderment, for in spite of Romanoff's +explanation he could not drive from his mind the belief that his +experiences after the vessel was wrecked had been real. Indeed, there +were times when he was _sure_ that he had seen an angel's form hovering +while he was struggling in the sea, sure that he felt strong arms +upholding him. + +"At any rate, this is real," he said to himself as he turned into +Lincoln's Inn Fields. "I am here on dry land. I wear a suit of clothes +which Captain Fraser gave me, and I have twenty-four shillings in my +pocket. Whatever happens, I will at the first opportunity pay the +captain for his kindness." + +He entered the office and gave his name. + +"Do you wish to see Mr. Bidlake or Mr. Bilton?" asked the clerk. + +"Either, or both," replied Dick. + +"Would you state your business, please?" The clerk did not seem to be +sure of him. + +"I will state my business to your principals," replied Dick. "Please +take in my name." + +When the clerk returned his demeanour was changed. He was obsequious and +anxious to serve. + +"Will you come this way, please, sir?" he said. "Mr. Bilton is in Mr. +Bidlake's room, and----" + +He did not finish the sentence, for the door of an office opened and a +man of about fifty years of age appeared. + +"Come in, Mr. Faversham," he invited. "Do you know, I've been on +tenterhooks for days about you." + +"I landed at Tilbury only a few hours ago." + +"Is that so? But it was this way: we, of course, heard that your boat +had been mined, and we also heard that a number of the passengers and +crew were rescued; but news about you was contradictory. In one list of +the saved your name appeared, while in another you were not mentioned. +Tell us all about it." + +"Another time," replied Dick. He was in a fever to know why this very +respectable firm of lawyers should have sent a wireless to him. + +"Yes, yes, of course," assented Mr. Bidlake, leading the way to an inner +room. "Bilton, you may as well come too. My word, Mr. Faversham, I _am_ +glad to see you." + +Dick felt light-hearted. Mr. Bidlake would not receive him in this +fashion had there not been important reasons for doing so. + +"Well now, to come to business right away," said Mr. Bidlake the moment +they were seated--"you got my message?" + +"Twenty-four hours before I was wrecked," replied Dick. + +"Just so. You'll tell us all about that presently. My word, you must +have had a terrible time! But that's by the way. You got my message, and +therefore you know that your uncle, Mr. Charles Faversham, is dead?" + +Dick nodded. He tried to appear calm, but his heart was thumping like a +sledge-hammer. + +"Of course, you know that Mr. Charles Faversham was a bachelor, and--by +the way, Mr. Bilton, will you find the Faversham papers? You've had them +in hand." + +"Yes, my uncle was a bachelor," repeated Dick as Mr. Bidlake hesitated. + +"You've never had any communications with him?" + +"Never." + +"A peculiar man. A genius for business, but, all the same, a peculiar +man. However, I think it's all plain enough." + +"What is plain enough?" + +"Have you the papers, Bilton? That's good. Yes, I have everything here. +This is the last will of Mr. Faversham--a plain, straightforward will in +many ways, although slightly involved in others. However----" + +The lawyer untied some tape, and began scanning some documents. + +"However what?" asked Dick, who by this time was almost beside himself +with impatience. + +"By the way, you can easily put your hand on your birth certificate, as +well as the death certificate of your father, I suppose?" + +"Quite easily." + +"Of course you can. The fact that I have known you for some time makes +things far easier, far less--complicated. Otherwise a great many +formalities would have to be gone into before--in short, Mr. Richard +Faversham, I have great pleasure in congratulating you on being the heir +to a fine fortune--a _very_ fine fortune." + +Mr. Bidlake smiled benignly. + +"My uncle's fortune?" + +"Your uncle's estate--yes. He was a very rich man." + +"But--but----" stammered Dick. + +"Yes, yes, of course, you wish for some details. This is the position. +Your uncle made a will--a rather peculiar will in some ways." + +"A peculiar will?" queried Dick. + +"Yes--as you know, I did a great deal of work for him; but there were +others. Triggs and Wilcox attended to some things, while Mortlake and +Stenson also did odd jobs; but I have made all inquiries, and this is +the last will he made. He wrote it himself, and it was duly witnessed. I +myself have interviewed the witnesses, and there is no flaw anywhere, +although, of course, this document is by no means orthodox." + +"Orthodox? I don't understand." + +"I mean that it is not in legal form. As a matter of fact, it is utterly +informal." + +"You mean that there is some doubt about it?" + +"On no, by no means. It would stand good in any court of law, but, of +course, all such documents are loosely worded. In case of a lawsuit it +would offer occasion for many wordy battles," and Mr. Bidlake smacked +his lips as though he would enjoy such an experience. "But here is the +will in a nutshell," he went on. "You see, his own brother died many +years ago, while your father, his stepbrother, died--let me see--how +long ago? But you know. I need not go into that. As you may have heard, +his sister Helen married and had children; she was left a widow, and +during her widowhood she kept house for your uncle; so far so good. This +is the will: all his property, excepting some small sums which are +plainly stated, was left equally to his sister Helen's children, and to +their heirs on their decease." + +"But where do I come in?" gasped Dick. + +"Here, my dear sir. There is a clause in the will, which I'll read: +'Should not my sister Helen's children be alive at the time of my +decease, all my property is to be equally divided between my nearest +surviving relatives.' Now, here," went on the lawyer, "we see the +foolishness of a man making his own will, especially a man with such +vast properties as Mr. Charles Faversham had. First of all, suppose his +sister Helen's children married and had children who were alive at the +time of Mr. Charles Faversham's death. These children might not inherit +a penny if his sister's children had been dead. Again, take the term +'equally divided.' Don't you see what a bill of costs might be run up in +settling that? What is an equal division? Who is to assess values on an +estate that consists of shipping interests, lands, mines, and a host of +other things? Still, we need not trouble about this as it happens. We +have inquired into the matter, and we find that your Aunt Helen's +children are dead, and that none of them was married." + +"Then--then----" + +"You are the nearest surviving relative, my dear sir, and not only +that--you are the only surviving relative of the late Mr. Charles +Faversham of Wendover Park, Surrey." + +Dick Faversham still appeared outwardly calm, although his brain was +whirling with excitement. The words, 'shipping interests, lands, mines, +and a host of other things,' were singing in his ears. And he--_he_ was +heir to it all! But was there some doubt about it? Was everything so +definite as the lawyer had stated? + +"I believe my Aunt Helen had three children," Dick said after a +silence--"two girls and a boy, or two boys and a girl, I have forgotten +which. Do you mean to say they are all dead?" + +"Certain. Directly on Mr. Faversham's death I went into the matter. Two +of the children died in England. The third, a son, died in Australia. I +was very anxious about that, and spent quite a little fortune in +cablegrams. Still, I got everything cleared up satisfactorily." + +"Tell me how." Dick was very anxious about this. It seemed to him as the +crux of the whole question. + +"It was naturally a little difficult," and Mr. Bidlake smiled +complacently. "Australia is some little distance away, eh? But I managed +it. For one thing, an old articled clerk of mine went to Melbourne some +years ago, and succeeded in getting a practice there. He was very +anxious to oblige me, and got on the track almost immediately. +Fortunately for us, the death of Mr. Anthony Riggleton was somewhat +notorious." + +"And Mr. Anthony Riggleton was my Aunt Helen's son?" asked Dick. + +"Exactly. He was not a young man of high character, and I am given to +understand that Mr. Charles Faversham threatened more than once, when he +was in England, never to leave him a penny. However, he paid his debts, +gave him a sum of money, and told him to go away and never to return +again during his life. It seems, too, that Mr. Anthony Faversham +Riggleton considerably reformed himself during the time he was in +Australia, so much so that favourable reports were sent to his uncle +concerning his conduct. That, I imagine, accounts for his inclusion in +the will. Whether he went wild again, I don't know, but it is certain +that he met his death in a very suspicious way. It seems that he and +some other men met in a house of bad repute not far from Melbourne, and +in a brawl of some sort he came to an untimely end. His body was found +more than twenty-four hours after his death, in the harbour at +Melbourne. Evidently the affair was most unsavoury. His face was much +bashed. A pistol-shot had passed through his brain, and there were some +knife-stabs in his body." + +"And his companions?" asked Dick. + +"They had cleared out, and left no traces behind. You see, they had +plenty of time to do so before the police were able to get to work. +According to the latest reports I have heard, there is not the slightest +chance of finding them." + +"But the body--was it identified?" + +"It was. Letters were found on the body addressed to Mr. Anthony +Faversham Riggleton, and there were also private papers on his person +which left no doubt. Added to this, the evidence of the cashier and of a +clerk of the Bank of Australia was most explicit. You see, he had called +at the bank on the morning of the night of the brawl, and drew what +little money he had. When the body was brought to the mortuary, both the +cashier and the clerk swore it was that of the man who had called for +the money." + +"That was settled definitely, then?" + +"Just so. Oh, you can make your mind quite easy. Directly I got news of +Mr. Charles Faversham's death I naturally took steps to deal with his +estate, and I assured myself of your interest in the matter before +seeking to communicate with you. I would not have sent you that wireless +without practical certainty. Since then I have received newspapers from +Melbourne giving details of the whole business." + +"And my Aunt Helen?" asked Dick. + +"She died before the will was made. I gather that her death caused him +to make the new will--the one we are discussing--in a hurry." + +"And my two other cousins?" Dick persisted. He wanted to assure himself +that there could be no shadow of doubt. + +The lawyer smiled. "Things do happen strangely sometimes," he said. "If +anyone had told me at the time this will was made that you would come in +for the whole estate, I should have laughed. There were three healthy +people in your way. And yet, so it is. They are dead. There is not a +shadow of doubt about it." + +"But didn't my uncle know of their decease?" + +"I can't tell you that. He was a strange man. As I have said, he had a +regular genius for making money, and he lived for his business. He +simply revelled in it; not because he cared about money as such, but +because the accumulation of wealth fascinated him. He was, as you know, +unmarried, and up to the time of his making this will, his sister, of +whom he seemed to have been fond, kept house for him. But he would not +have her children around him. He gave them large sums of money, but he +had no personal knowledge of them. It is quite probable, therefore, that +he, being in failing health for more than a year before his death, would +have no knowledge that they died some time before he did. You would +understand if you had known him. A most eccentric man." + +Dick reflected a few seconds. The way seemed perfectly plain, and yet +everything seemed intangible, unreal. + +"In proof of that," went on the lawyer, "he did not tell either Mr. +Bilton or myself that he had made this will. He simply gave a letter to +the housekeeper he had secured after his sister's death, and told her +that this letter was to be given to me at his decease. That letter," +went on Mr. Bidlake, "contained the key of a safe and instructions to me +to deal with the contents of the safe immediately after his death. Of +course, I opened the safe, and among the first things I found was this +will. The rest I have explained to you." + +"And you say I am very wealthy?" asked Dick almost fearfully. Even yet +it seemed too good to be true. + +"Wealthy!" and the lawyer smiled. "Wealthy, my dear sir! I cannot yet +tell you _how_ wealthy. But if a controlling interest in one of the most +prosperous shipping companies in the world, if the principal holding in +one of our great banks, if landed estates in more than three counties, +if important mining interests, if hundreds of houses in London and hosts +of other things mean great wealth--then I can truly say that you are a +very wealthy man. Of course, I cannot as yet estimate the value of the +whole estate, but the death duties will make a nice fortune--a _very_ +nice fortune. Still, if you decide to entrust your legal business to us, +as we hope you will, we shall be able in a few weeks to give you an +approximate idea of what you are worth." + +"Of course I will do that," replied Dirk hastily; "naturally there is no +question about the matter. That must be settled here and now." + +"Thank you," said Mr. Bidlake. "Naturally Mr. Bilton and myself +appreciate this mark of your confidence. You may depend that neither of +us will spare himself in order to serve you. Eh, Mr. Bilton?" + +"Exactly," replied Mr. Bilton. It was the only word he had as yet spoken +throughout the interview. + +"And now," said Dick, "I want your advice." + +"Our advice? Certainly. What about?" + +"Well, owing to the wreck, I am at this moment in borrowed clothes. I +have only a few shillings in my pocket----" + +"My dear sir," interrupted the lawyer, "that presents no difficulties. +Let me give you an open cheque for two hundred--five hundred--pounds +right away. Naturally, too, you will want to get clothes. You lost +everything in the--the wreck; naturally you did. I had almost forgotten +such things in the--the bigger matter. But that's all right. I have a +private sitting-room here, and my tailor would be only too glad to come +here right away. A most capable man. He would rig you out, temporarily, +in a few hours, and afterwards----" + +"That's all right," interrupted Dick; "but what next?" + +"Take possession at once, my dear sir--at once." + +"But I don't want anything to get into the papers." + +"Certainly not--if we can help it. And I think we can. Shall I ring up +my tailors? Yes?" And Mr. Bidlake took a telephone receiver into his +hand. "That's all right," he added two minutes later. "Hucknell will be +here in less than half an hour, and you can trust him to fix you up and +tide you over the next few days. Yes, he will be glad to do so--very +glad. Terrible business this industrial unrest, isn't it? I'm afraid +it's going to take some settling. Of course, it's world wide, but I say, +thank goodness our people have got more sense and more balance than +those poor Russians." + +The words were simple enough, and the expression was almost a +commonplace, but Dick Faversham felt a sudden pain at his heart. He +thought of the dark, mysterious man who claimed kinship with the great +Russian House of Romanoff, and in a way he could not understand; the +thought seemed to take away from the joyous excitement which filled his +being at that moment. He wished he had never seen, never heard of Count +Romanoff. + +With an effort he shook off the cloud. + +"You suggest that I go to Wendover Park at once?" + +"Yes, say to-morrow morning. It is your right; in a way, it's your duty. +The property is undeniably yours." + +"Would--would you--could you go with me?" stammered Dick. + +"I was on the point of suggesting it myself, my dear sir. Yes, I could +go to-morrow morning." + +"Are there any servants there, or is the house empty?" asked Dick. Again +he had a sense of unreality. + +"Most of the servants are there," replied the lawyer. "I thought it best +to keep them. I am not sure about a chauffeur, though. I have an idea I +discharged him. But it can easily be managed. The housekeeper whom your +uncle engaged on your aunt's death is there, and she, it appears, has a +husband. Rather a capable man. He can get a chauffeur. I'll ring up +right away, and give instructions. You don't mind, do you?" + +"It's awfully good of you," Dick assured him. "I shall feel lost without +you." + +At half-past one Dick accompanied Mr. Bidlake to his club for lunch, +attired in a not at all badly fitting ready-made suit of clothes, which +Mr. Hucknell had secured for him, and spent the afternoon with the +lawyer discussing the new situation. + +"Nine-thirty-five Victoria," said Mr. Bidlake to him as he left him that +night. + +"I'll be there." + +Dick went to his hotel like a man in a dream. Even yet everything was +unreal to him. He had received assurances from one of the most +trustworthy and respectable lawyers in London that his position was +absolutely safe, and yet he felt no firm foundation under his feet. + +"I expect it's because I've seen nothing yet," he reflected. "When I go +down to-morrow and get installed as the owner of everything, I shall see +things in a new light." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +WENDOVER PARK + + +The end of April had now come, and a tinge of green had crept over what +in many respects is one of the loveliest counties in England. The train +in which Mr. Bidlake and Dick Faversham sat had left Redhill and was +passing through a rich, undulating countryside. + +"You feel a bit excited, I expect?" and Mr. Bidlake looked up from his +copy of _The Times_. + +"Just a bit." + +"You'll soon get over your excitement, although, of course, you'll find +the change very great. A rich man has many responsibilities." + +"If I remember aright, there are several other big houses within a few +miles of Wendover Park? Was my uncle on good terms with his neighbours?" + +The lawyer coughed. "He did not go much into society. As I told you, he +was a very eccentric man." + +Dick was quick to notice the tone in which the other spoke. "You mean +that he was not well received?" + +"I mean that he lived his own life. Mr. Faversham was essentially a +business man, and--and perhaps he could not understand the attitude of +the old county families. Besides, feeling against him was rather strong +when he bought Wendover Park." + +"Why?" + +"I daresay you'll learn all about it in time. Enough to say now that Sir +Guy Wendover, the previous owner, was in money difficulties, and the +feeling was that your uncle took advantage of them in order to get hold +of the place. Personally I don't pay much attention to such stories; but +undoubtedly they affected your uncle's position. Possibly they may +affect yours--for a time." The lawyer appeared to utter the last +sentence as an afterthought. + +Presently the train stopped at a wayside station, where the two +alighted. The sun was now high in the heavens, and the birds were +singing gaily. Wooded hills sloped up from the station, while westward +was a vast panorama of hill and dale. + +"I don't think you could find a fairer sight in all England," remarked +Mr. Bidlake. "Ah, that's right. I see a motor-car is waiting for us." + +Dick felt as thought a weight rolled from his shoulders the moment he +stood beneath the open sky. Yes, this was glorious! The air was laden +with the perfume of bursting life. The chorus of the birds exhilarated +him; the sight of the rich loamy meadows, where lambkins sported and +cows fed lazily, made him feel that he was not following some chimera of +the mind, but tangible realities. + +A chauffeur touched his cap. "Mr. Faversham and Mr. Bidlake, sir?" he +inquired. + +A few minutes later the car was moving swiftly along beautiful country +lanes, the like of which only a few English counties can show. Yes, Dick +had to admit it. Beautiful as he thought the whole district to be when +cycling through it years before, he had no idea it was like this. Every +corner they turned revealed new loveliness. All nature seemed bent on +giving him a great welcome to his new home. + +They had covered perhaps half the journey between the station and the +house when the chauffeur jammed his foot on the brake suddenly and +brought the car to a standstill. In front of them stood a small +two-seater, by the open bonnet of which stood a young lady with hand +uplifted. Evidently something had gone wrong with her machine, and the +lane at this point was not wide enough for them to pass. + +Dick immediately alighted. + +"I am awfully sorry to inconvenience you," protested the girl, "but my +engine has stopped, and, try as I may, I can't get it to start again." + +Her face was slightly flushed, partly with her endeavours to start the +engine and partly with impatience; but this did not detract from her +more than usually handsome appearance. For she was handsome; indeed, +Dick thought he had never seen such a striking girl. And this was no +wonder. It is only rare that nature produces such a perfect specimen of +young womanhood as he saw that morning--perfect, that is, in face and +form, perfect in colouring, in stature, in bearing. She was a +brunette--great black flashing eyes, full red lips, raven-black hair, +skin suffused with the glow of buoyant health. More than ordinarily +tall, she was shaped like a Juno, and moved with all the grace and +freedom of an athlete. + +"Help the lady, my man," said Mr. Bidlake to the chauffeur. + +"Sorry, sir," replied the man, "but I don't know anything about engines. +I've only just learnt to drive. You see, sir, Mrs. Winkley didn't quite +know what to do when----" + +"All right," interrupted Dick, with a laugh; "perhaps I can help you." + +"If you only could," laughed the girl. "I haven't had the thing long, +but it never went wrong until to-day. I know how to drive pretty well, +but as for understanding the engine, I'm a mere baby." + +She had a frank, pleasant voice, and laughed as she spoke, revealing +perfect teeth. + +Dick, who had quite a gift for mechanism, quickly found some tools, and +commenced testing the sparking-plugs like a man conversant with his +work. + +"I'll have to take off my coat if you'll excuse me," he said presently. +"I see you start the thing on a battery, and have no magneto. I'm sorry +I don't know this class of car well, but I think I can see what's the +matter." + +"What is it? Do tell me," she cried, with an eager laugh. "I've been +studying motor manuals and all that sort of thing ever since I commenced +to drive, but diagrams always confuse me." + +"The distributor seems to be wrong, and some wires have become +disconnected. Have you been held up long?" + +"Oh, a quarter of an hour--more." + +"And running the battery all the time?" + +"I'm afraid so." + +"You must be careful or your battery'll run out of electricity; that +would mean your being hung up for two days." + +"They told me that at the garage a little time ago. But what must I do?" +and she laughed at him pleasantly. + +"If she doesn't start at once, get someone to adjust the parts. There, I +wonder if she'll go now." + +He touched a switch, and the engine began to run. + +"She seems all right," he said, after watching the moving mass of +machinery for some seconds. + +"Oh, you are good--and--thank you ever so much." + +"It's been quite a pleasure," replied Dick, putting on his coat. "It was +lucky I came by." + +"It was indeed; but look at your hands. They are covered with oil. I +_am_ sorry." + +"Nothing to be sorry for. Oil breaks no bones. Besides, I shall be able +to wash them in a few minutes." + +"You are not going far, then?" + +"Only to Wendover Park. Do you know it?" + +"Know it! Why----" She checked herself suddenly, and Dick thought she +seemed a little confused. "But I must be going now. Thank you again." + +She got into the car, and in a few seconds was out of sight. + +"Remarkably handsome young lady, isn't she?" remarked Mr. Bidlake. "Do +you know who she is?" he asked the chauffeur. + +"Lady Blanche Huntingford, sir," replied the chauffeur. + +"Whew!" whistled Mr. Bidlake. + +"Anybody special?" asked Dick. + +The lawyer smiled. "The incident is decidedly interesting," he replied. +"First, she is cousin to Sir Guy Wendover who used to own Wendover Park, +and second, she is the daughter of Lord Huntingford, the proudest and +most exclusive aristocrat in Surrey." + +"No? By Jove, she is handsome!" + +"It is said that the Huntingfords rule Social Surrey. If they take you +up, your social status is assured; if they boycott you----" and the +lawyer shrugged his shoulders. + +Dick was silent a few seconds. Evidently he was thinking deeply. "Isn't +she glorious?" he cried presently. "I never saw such a dazzling girl. +Did you notice her eyes--her complexion? I--I wouldn't have missed it +for anything." + +The lawyer did not reply. Perhaps he had reasons for his silence. + +The car dashed on for another mile, and then Dick gave a cry of delight. + +"That's it, isn't it?" + +"Yes; that's it." + +They were looking at a lovely old mansion which stood on the slope of a +hill. Stretching away from it were fine park-lands, and beyond these +were wide-stretching woods. Looked at on that fair spring day, it was +indeed a place to be proud of, to rejoice in. + +"I never dreamt it was so fine!" gasped Dick. + +"One of the finest places in England," was the lawyer's complacent +reply. + +Dick looked like one fascinated. It appealed to and satisfied him +altogether. + +"It's old, isn't it?" + +"Three hundred years. It is said that the gardens are a wonder." + +The car passed through some heavily wrought gates, and then rolled under +an avenue of old trees. Dick could not speak; the thought of possessing +such a place made him dumb. A few minutes later they drew up before the +main entrance. + +Dick was the first to leap out. He was eager to enter, to claim +possession, to examine every nook and corner of his new home. He put his +foot on the bottom step leading to the door, and then stopped suddenly. +He felt himself rooted to the ground, felt afraid to move. + +"I congratulate you again," said the lawyer. "I feel proud that I have +the privilege to----" + +"Don't you see? There! Don't you see?" gasped Dick. + +"See?" repeated the lawyer. "Of course I see one of the most beautiful +houses in England." + +"Yes, but nothing else?" he asked excitedly. + +"What do you mean?" queried the lawyer. + +But Dick did not reply. Although the lawyer had seen nothing, he saw in +dim outline the face and form which had appeared to him when he was +sinking in the turbulent waters of the Indian Ocean. Was this a warning +that trouble was to overwhelm him again? + +Dick Faversham had no doubts. Whatever he might think later, he was at +that time certain of what he saw. The sun was shining brightly, and +there was nothing in the various objects by which he was surrounded to +suggest the supernatural, and yet he saw the face of the angel. She +seemed to be hovering over the steps which led to the main entrance of +the house, and for the moment she looked as though she would forbid his +entrance. But only for the moment. Slowly she faded away, slowly he lost +sight of her, and by the time the servant, who had evidently seen the +approach of the car, had reached the door she had gone. + +But he was sure he had seen her. The form he had seen hovering over him +on the wild, turbulent sea was plainly visible to him at the door of +this old Surrey mansion. The face, too, could not be mistaken. The same +calm, benign expression, the same tender mouth. Goodness, purity, +guardianship, all found their expression in those features. But there +was something more. The eyes which had riveted his attention and haunted +his memory for months seemed to convey something different to him now +from what they had then. There was still the same yearning gaze, the +same melting tenderness, but there was something more. They seemed to +suggest fear, warning. Dick Faversham felt as though she wanted to tell +him something, to warn him against some unknown danger. It is true the +feeling was indefinite and difficult to put into words; but it was +there. She might, while not forbidding him to enter the house which had +so unexpectedly come into his possession, be trying to tell him of +dangers, of possible calamity. + +"And do you say that you can see--that--that you saw nothing?" he almost +gasped. + +"I can see a great deal," replied Mr. Bidlake. "I can see one of the +loveliest scenes in England. I can see you standing at the entrance +of--but what do you mean? You look pale--frightened. Aren't you well?" + +Dick opened his mouth to tell what he had seen, but he checked himself. +Somehow the thought of opening his heart to this matter-of-fact lawyer +seemed like sacrilege. He would not understand. He would tell him, just +as Romanoff had told him weeks before, that his mind was unbalanced by +the experiences through which he had passed, that the natural excitement +caused by the news he had heard were too much for him, and caused him to +lose his mental balance. + +"Yes, I am quite well, thank you." + +"Well, what do you mean? What do you think you saw?" + +At that moment the door opened, and the housekeeper, who had hurried to +meet them, appeared, and the lawyer did not listen to his stammering +reply. + +"Good-day, Mr. Bidlake," smiled the housekeeper. "I am glad you got here +all right. Winkley had quite a difficulty in getting a chauffeur. I hope +the one provided was satisfactory?" + +"It's all right, Mrs. Winkley," and the lawyer was very patronising as +he spoke; "the man brought us here safely. This," and he turned towards +Dick, "is Mr. Richard Faversham, the new owner of--hem--Wendover Park, +and your new--master." + +"Indeed, sir," and Mrs. Winkley turned and looked nervously towards +Dick, "I hope you'll be very--happy here, sir. I bid you welcome, sir." + +Dick smiled with frank pleasure and shook hands--a familiarity which +pleased the housekeeper, but not the lawyer. + +"You got my letter, Mrs. Winkley?" Mr. Bidlake said hurriedly. + +"Yes, sir, also your telephone message yesterday. Wendover Park is a +lovely place, Mr. Faversham." + +"It is, indeed, Mrs. Winkley. This Surrey air has given me an appetite, +too." + +Dick was so nervous that he hardly knew what he was saying. As he +glanced around the spacious hall and tried to realise that it was his +own, and as he called to mind that for the last mile he had been passing +through his own property, it seemed to be too wonderful to be true. + +"Yes, the air is very good, and I am glad you are hungry. Lunch will be +ready in half an hour. I have prepared a bedroom for you, Mr. Faversham. +I have assumed you are--staying here?" + +"Rather!" and Dick laughed as he spoke. "You must excuse me if I'm a +little abrupt, Mrs. Winkley. You see, I imagine it will take me some +little time to settle down to the new order of things." + +"I think I understand; it must be a wonderful experience for you. But I +think you'll find everything all right. I have taken great care of +everything since the late Mr. Faversham died. It's all just as he left +it. No doubt you'll want to look over the house?" + +"Presently, Mrs. Winkley; but, first of all, I want to come to an +understanding with you. I am a bachelor, and I don't think I have a +relation in the world, so, for a time, I--shall make no changes in the +place at all. What I mean to say is, that I hope you'll continue to be +my housekeeper, and--and look after me generally. Mr. Bidlake has said +all sorts of good things about you, so much so that I shall regard +myself very fortunate if--if you'll remain in your present position." + +Dick didn't know at all why he said this, except that he had a feeling +that something of the sort was expected from him. + +"I'm sure it's very kind of you to say so, sir," and Mrs. Winkley smiled +radiantly. "Of course I've been a little bit anxious, not knowing what +kind of--of gentleman the new owner would be, or what plans he might +have. But, if you think I'll suit you, sir, I'll do my utmost to make +you comfortable and look after your interests. I was housekeeper to Dr. +Bell of Guildford when the late Mr. Faversham's sister died, and----" + +"Yes, I've heard about that," interrupted Dick. "I'm sure he was lucky +to get you." + +"I did my best for him, sir, and he never grumbled. I lived in these +parts as a girl, so I can get you plenty of references as to the +respectability of my family." + +"I'm sure you can," Dick assented. He was glad that Mrs. Winkley was of +the superior servant order rather than some superior person who had +pretensions to being a fine lady. "By the way, of course you know the +house well?" + +"Know the house well?" repeated Mrs. Winkley. She was not quite sure +that she understood him. + +"Yes; know all the rooms?" laughed Dick nervously. + +"Why, certainly, sir. I know every room from the garret to the cellar," +replied Mrs. Winkley wonderingly. + +"And there are no ghosts, are there?" + +"Ghosts, sir? Not that I ever heard of." + +"I was only wondering. It's an old house, and I was thinking that there +might be a family ghost." + +Mrs. Winkley shook her head. "Nothing of the sort, sir, to my knowledge. +Wait a minute, though; I did hear when I was a girl that the elm grove +was haunted. There's a lake down there, and there was a story years ago +that a servant who had drowned herself there used to wander up and down +the grove wringing her hands on Michaelmas Eve." + +"And where is the elm grove?" + +"It's away towards the North Lodge. You wouldn't see it the way you +came, and it's hidden from here." + +"But the house? There's no legend that that has ever been haunted?" + +"No, sir. I suppose some of the Wendovers were very wild generations +ago, but I never heard that any of their spirits ever came back again." + +Mrs. Winkley was pleased that her new master kept talking so long, +although she came to the conclusion that he was somewhat eccentric. + +"Of course, it was foolish of me to ask," Dick said somewhat awkwardly; +"but the thought struck me. By the way, how long did you say it was to +lunch-time?" + +"Not quite half an hour, sir," replied Mrs. Winkley, looking at an old +eight-day clock. "I'll speak to the cook and get it pushed forward as +fast as possible. Perhaps you'd like a wash, sir? I'll show you to your +room, if you would." + +"Thank you. After that I--I think, Mr. Bidlake, I'd like to go into the +gardens." + +He was afraid he was making a bad impression upon his housekeeper, and +he was angry with himself for not acting in a more natural manner. But +he seemed to be under a strange influence. Although the thought of the +supernatural had left him, his experience of a few minutes before +doubtless coloured his mind. + +A few minutes later they were out in the sunlight again, and they had +scarcely reached the gardens when a man of about fifty years of age made +his way towards them. + +"Good morning, sir," he said, with a strong Scotch accent. "Have I the +honour to speak to the new master?" + +"Yes; my name is Faversham." + +"I'm M'Neal, your second gardener, sir. I thought when I saw you I'd +make bold to speak, sir. I've been here for thirty years, sir, and have +always borne a good character." + +"I've no doubt you have," laughed Dick. "You look it." + +"Thank you, sir. I gave satisfaction to the late Mr. Faversham, and to +Sir Guy Wendover before him, and I hope----" + +"That we shall get on well together. Of course we shall. I like the look +of you." + +He felt better now. The sight of the broad expanse of the park and the +smell of the sweet, pure air made him light-hearted again. + +"Indeed," he continued, "I may as well tell you right away that I intend +to keep everybody that was here in my uncle's days. You can tell the +others that." + +"Thank you, sir. But I'd like to remark that this war has made food +dear." + +"I'll bear that in mind; you'll not find me unjust. All who serve me +shall be well paid." + +"We've all done our best, sir," persisted M'Neal, who was somewhat of a +character, "but I'll not deny that we shall all be the better for a +master. Personally I'm not satisfied with the way things are looking." + +"No? I thought they looked beautiful." + +"Ah, but nothing to what they can look. We are, as you may say, in a +kind of between time now. We've not planted out the beds, although we've +prepared them. If you'll----" + +"Of course I will," Dick interrupted him, with a laugh, "but you must +give me time before making definite promises." + +"If I might show you around," suggested M'Neal, "I think I could +explain----" + +"Later, later," laughed Dick, moving away. "Mr. Bidlake, will you come +over here with me? I want to speak to you privately." + +"Do you know," Mr. Bidlake told him, "that your uncle discharged M'Neal +several times during the time he lived here?" + +"Why?" + +"Because he followed him like a dog whenever he came into the grounds, +and insisted on talking to him. He said the fellow gave him no rest." + +"But why did he take him on again?" + +"He didn't. But M'Neal took no notice of the discharges. He always +turned up on the following morning, and went on with his work as though +nothing had happened." + +"And my uncle paid him his wages?" + +"Yes. You see, the fellow is as faithful as a dog, although he's a +nuisance. My word, what a view!" + +The lawyer made this exclamation as a turn in the path revealed a +landscape they had not hitherto seen. It was one of those stretches of +country peculiar to that part of Surrey, and as Dick looked he did not +wonder at the lawyer's enthusiasm. Beyond the park, which was studded +with giant oaks, he saw a rich, undulating country. Here and there were +farmsteads nestling among the trees; again he saw stretches of +woodland, while in the distance rose fine commanding hills. The foliage +had far from reached its glory, but the tinge of green which was +creeping over every hedgerow and tree contained a promise, and a charm +that no poet could describe. And the whole scene was all bathed in +spring sunlight, which the birds, delighting in, made into a vast +concert hall. + +"My word, it is ripping!" cried Dick. + +"It's glorious! it's sublime!" cried the lawyer. "You are a fortunate +man, Mr. Richard Faversham. Do you know, sir, that all you can see is +yours?" + +"All mine?" Dick almost gasped. + +"Yes, all this and much more." + +For the first time Dick had a real feeling of possession, and something +to which he had hitherto been a stranger entered his life. Up to now he +had been poor. His life, ever since his father died, had been a +struggle. He had dreamed dreams and seen visions, only to be +disappointed. In spite of ambition, endeavour, determination, everything +to which he had set his hand had failed him. But now, as if some fabled +genii had come to his aid, fortune had suddenly poured her favours into +his lap. + +And here was the earnest of it! + +This glorious countryside, containing farms, houses, villages, and +wide-spreading lands, was his. All his! Gratified desire made his heart +beat wildly. At last life was smiling and joyous. What a future he would +have! With wealth like his, nothing would be impossible! + +"Yes, and much more," repeated the lawyer. "On what chances a man's +fortunes turn." + +"What do you mean?" asked Dick, who scarce knew what he was saying. + +"Only this," said Mr. Bidlake. "If that fellow had not been killed in a +drunken brawl, none of this would be yours. As it is, you are one of the +most fortunate men in England." + +"Yes, by Jove, I am." + +The lawyer looked at his watch. "Excuse me, Mr. Faversham, but it is +lunch-time, and I must leave you at five o'clock." + +"I'm sorry you can't stay a few days." + +"Impossible, my dear sir, much as I'd like to. But I've made a little +programme for you this afternoon, if it is quite convenient to you." + +"Yes?" queried Dick. + +"Yes; I've arranged for your steward, your head gamekeeper, and the +other principal men on the estate to call here. I thought you might like +to see them. There, I hear the lunch-gong." + +Dick went back to the house like a man in a dream. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +LADY BLANCHE MAKES HER APPEARANCE + + +At six o'clock that evening Dick Faversham was alone. He had had +interviews with his steward, his bailiff, his gamekeeper, his forester, +his head gardener, and his head stableman, and now he was left to +himself. Mr. Bidlake, after promising to come again in three days, had +gone back to London, while the others had each gone to their respective +homes to discuss the new master of Wendover Park and the changes which +would probably take place. + +Dick had also gone over the house, and had taken note of the many +features of his new dwelling-place. He had examined the library, the +billiard-room, the dancing-room, the minstrels' gallery, the banqueting +hall, and the many other apartments belonging to this fine old mansion. +Evidently many of the rooms had for years been unused, but, as Mrs. +Winkley had said, everything was "in perfect condition." + +His uncle belonged to that order of men who could not bear to let +anything deteriorate for lack of attention, and he had spent his money +freely. In a way, too, Charles Faversham had a sense of fitness. In all +the improvements he had made, he saw to it that the character and spirit +of the old place should in no way be disturbed. Thus, while every room +was hygienic, and every fireplace fitted according to the most modern +ideas, the true character of everything was maintained. Electric light +was installed, but not a single fitting was out of accord with the age +of the building. Modern science had in everything been perfectly blended +with the spirit of the men who had erected this grand old pile centuries +before. + +And Dick felt it all. He was enough of an artist to realise that +nothing was out of place, that it was a home to rejoice in, to be proud +of. If John Ruskin had been alive, and had accompanied him on his tour +of inspection, there was little that the author of _The Seven Lamps of +Architecture_ would have found fault with. + +Most of the furniture, too, was old, and had belonged to the Wendovers. +When Mr. Charles Faversham had bought the estate, he had taken over +everything practically as it stood. Pictures, tapestry, antique articles +of furniture which had been in the house for centuries still remained. + +"Everything has such a homely, cosy feeling!" he exclaimed to himself, +again and again. "The place is not one of those great, giant, homeless +barracks; it's just an ideal home. It's perfect!" + +And it was all his! That was the thought that constantly came to his +mind. This fact was especially made real to him during his interview +with Mr. Boase, the steward. That worthy gentleman, a lawyer who lived +in a little town, most of which belonged to the Wendover estate, made +this abundantly plain by every word he spoke, by every intonation of his +voice. + +Mr. Boase unrolled maps and plans in abundance. He placed before him +lists of tenants, with nature and condition of their tenancy. He told +him how much each farmer paid in rent, how much the house property was +worth, what amount was spent each year in repairs, and finally the net +amount of his rent-roll. And this was all apart from his investments +elsewhere. It was simply fabulous. He who had always been poor, and had +often been hard put to it to pay for food and clothes, found himself +ridiculously wealthy. He had money to burn. Aladdin of romantic renown +was not so much filled with wonder when the slave of the lamp appeared, +ready to do his bidding, as was Dick as he realised his position. + +And he revelled in thought of it all. He was not of a miserly nature, +but he gloried in the influence of the power of wealth, and he painted +glowing pictures of his future. He saw the doors of the rich and the +great open to him; he saw himself courted by people possessing old names +and a great ancestry; he fancied himself occupying positions of +eminence in the life of the nation; he saw proud beauties smiling on +him. + +Nothing was impossible! He knew he had more than an average share of +brains; his late employers had admitted as much to him. He also had the +gift of oratory. On the few occasions he had attempted to address his +fellows this had been abundantly proved. In the past he had been +handicapped, but now---- + +After dinner that night he walked out alone. He wanted to see his +possessions, to feel his own earth beneath his feet, to feast his eyes +on the glorious countryside. + +"It will take me a week," he reflected, "to get used to it all, to fully +realise that it is all mine. I want to feel my feet, to formulate my +plans, to sketch my future. Of course, I shall be alone for a time, but +in a few days the neighbours will be sure to call on me. After that I +must give a ball. Of course, it is a bad time just now, and it is a +nuisance that so many of the young fellows have been called into the +Army; but I'll be able to manage it," and then he pictured the great +ballroom filled with laughter and gaiety. + +Then the memory of Lady Blanche Huntingford came to him. He saw her as +she had appeared to him that morning. What a glorious creature she was! +What great flashing eyes, what a complexion, what a figure! And she +belonged to one of the oldest families in England. The Huntingfords were +a great people before half the titled nobility of the present day were +ever heard of. + +He called to mind what Mr. Bidlake had told him. If the Huntingfords +recognised him, his social position was assured, for Lord Huntingford +was the social magnate of the county. He was almost half in love with +her already. He remembered her silvery laugh, the gleaming whiteness of +her teeth. What a mistress she would make for Wendover Park! And he +could win her love! He was sure he could, and when he did---- + +He blessed the failure of her car to run that morning; blessed the +knowledge he possessed whereby he had been able to render her a service. +Of course, she would find out who he was, and then--yes, he would find +the Open Sesame for every door. + +For the next few days things happened as Dick expected. He was given +time to view his possessions, to take stock of his new position, and +then the neighbours began to call. By this time Dick knew full +particulars of all the old families in Surrey, and he was gratified at +their appearance. Evidently he suffered from none of the antipathy which +had been felt towards his uncle. He was young, he was good looking, he +had the education and appearance of a gentleman, and people accepted him +at his face value. + +One day his heart gave a great bound, for a servant told him that Lord +and Lady Huntingford, accompanied by Lady Blanche Huntingford, were in +the drawing-room. He knew then that his position in the society of the +county would be assured. It was true that Lord Huntingford was +poor--true, too, that his uncle had practically ejected Sir Guy Wendover +from his old home, and that Sir Guy was a relative of the Huntingfords. +But that would count for nothing, and the Huntingfords were the +Huntingfords! + +"This is good of you, Lord Huntingford!" he cried, as he entered the +room. + +"I came to give you a welcome," said Lord Huntingford somewhat +pompously. "I trust you will be very happy here." + +"I'm sure I shall!" cried Dick, with the laugh of a boy. "Wendover Park +feels like Paradise to me." + +"I know the place well," said the peer. "My Cousin Guy, as you may have +heard, used to live here." + +"Yes, I have heard of it, and I'm afraid you must feel rather bitterly +towards me as a consequence." + +"Not at all," replied Huntingford. "Of course, it is all ancient history +now. We _did_ feel cut up about it at the time, but--but I congratulate +you on possessing such a fine old place." + +"But for the fact that I so love it already," said Dick, "I should wish +my uncle had secured some other place; but, for the life of me, I can't. +It's too lovely. Anyhow, I'll try to be not an unworthy successor of Sir +Guy. I hope you'll help me, Lord Huntingford, and you, Lady Huntingford +and Lady Blanche. You see, I'm handicapped. I'm a bachelor, and I'm +entirely ignorant of my duties. I shall look to you for help." + +This was sound policy on Dick's part. Lord Huntingford was a vain man, +and loved to patronise. + +"You began all right," laughed Lady Blanche. "You helped a poor, +forlorn, helpless motorist out of a difficulty." + +"You recognise me, then?" + +"Of course I do. I positively envied the way you tackled that engine of +mine and put it right. Of course, I felt angry when I knew who you were. +No, no, there was nothing personal about it. I only hated the thought +that anyone other than a Wendover should live here. A family feeling, +you know." + +"All that Wendover Park has is yours to command!" and Dick looked very +earnest as he spoke. + +"Now, that's good of you. But don't be too liberal with your promises. I +may take you at your word." + +"Try me!" cried Dick. "I should like to do something to atone. Not that +I can give it up," he added, with a laugh. "I simply couldn't, you know. +But--but----" + +"And how are you going to spend your time?" asked Lord Huntingford. "We +are living in a critical age." + +"I shall make something turn up!" Dick cried heartily, "as soon as I +know where I am." + +"And, meanwhile, I suppose you motor, ride, shoot, golf, and all the +rest of it?" asked Lady Blanche. + +"I have all the vices," Dick told her. + +"You say you golf?" + +"Yes, a little. Would you give me a match?" he ventured. + +"I'd love to," and her eyes flashed into his. + +The next afternoon Dick met Lady Blanche on the golf links, and before +the match was over he believed that he was in love with her. Never +before had he met such a glorious specimen of physical womanhood. To him +her every movement was poetry, her lithe, graceful body a thing in which +to rejoice. + +After the match Dick motored her back to her home. He was in Arcadia as +she sat by his side. The charm of her presence was to him like some +fabled elixir. On their way they caught a glimpse of Wendover Park. The +old house stood out boldly on the hillside, while the wide-stretching +park-lands were plainly to be seen. + +"It's a perfect place," said the girl. "It just wants nothing." + +"Oh yes, it does," laughed Dick. + +"What?" she asked. + +"Can't you think? If you were a bachelor you would," and he watched her +face closely as he spoke. + +He was afraid lest he might offend her, and he wondered if she saw his +meaning. He thought he saw a flush surmount her face, but he was not +sure. They were passing a cart just then, and he had to fix his +attention on the steering-wheel. + +"Do you know," he went on, "it's a bit lonely there. I haven't many +friends. And then, being a bachelor, I find it difficult to entertain. +Not but what I shall make a start soon," he added. + +"I think you are to be envied," she remarked. + +"Of course I am. I'm one of the luckiest fellows in the world. By the +way, I want to give a dance or something of that sort as a kind of +house-warming." + +"How delightful." + +"Is it? But then, you see, I'm so ignorant that I don't know how to +start about it." + +"Don't you? That's a pity. You must get help." + +"I must. I say, will you help me? There is no one I'd so soon have." + +He was sure this time. He saw the rosy tint on her face deepen. Perhaps +she heard the tremor in his voice. But she did not answer him; instead, +she looked away towards the distant landscape. + +"Will you?" he persisted. + +"What could I do?" + +"Everything. You know the people, know who I should invite, and what I +should do. You are accustomed to that kind of thing. I am not." + +Still she was silent. + +"Will you?" he asked again. + +"Perhaps. If you really wish me to." + +She almost whispered the words, but he heard her, and to him there was +something caressing in her tone. + +They passed up a long avenue of trees leading to her home, and a few +seconds later the car stood at the door. + +"You'll come in and have some tea, won't you?" + +"May I?" he asked eagerly. + +"Of course you may. Mother will be expecting you." + +As he rode back to Wendover Park that evening Dick was in Paradise. +Nothing but the most commonplace things had been said, but the girl had +fascinated him. She had appealed to his ambition, to his pride, to his +admiration for perfect, physical womanhood. She was not very clever, but +she was handsome. She was instinct with redundant health; she was +glorious in her youth and vitality. + +"I'm in love," he said to himself more than once. "And she's +wonderful--simply, gloriously wonderful. What eyes, what a complexion, +what a magnificent figure! I wonder if----" + +I am dwelling somewhat on this part of Dick Faversham's life because +I wish the reader to understand the condition of his mind, to +understand the forces at work. Uninteresting as it may be, it is still +important. For Dick passed through some wonderful experiences soon +after--experiences which shook the foundations of his life, and which +will be more truly understood as we realise the thoughts and feelings +which possessed him. + +As I have said, he was in a state of bliss as he drove back to Wendover +Park that evening, but as he neared his lodge gates a curious feeling of +depression possessed him. His heart became heavy, forebodings filled his +mind. It seemed to him that he was on the edge of a dreadful calamity. + +"What's the matter with me?" he asked himself again and again. "The sun +is shining, the world is lovely, and I have all that heart can wish +for." + +Still the feeling possessed him. Something was going to +happen--something awful. He could not explain it, or give any reason for +it, but it was there. + +Then suddenly his heart stood still. As the car drew up to his own door +he again saw the face of the angel. She was hovering over the entrance +just as he had seen her on the day he came to take possession. She +seemed to dread something; there was pain almost amounting to agony in +the look she gave him. + +He had alighted from the car, and he had a dim idea that a man was +approaching to take it to the garage, but he paid no attention to him; +he stood like one transfixed, looking at the apparition. He was aware +that the car had gone, and that he was alone. In a vague way he supposed +that the chauffeur, like the lawyer, had seen nothing. + +"Who are you? What do you want?" + +The words escaped him almost in spite of himself. + +But he heard no voice in reply. He thought he saw her lips trying to +formulate words, but were not able. + +"Tell me," he persisted--"tell me who you are, why you appear to me. +What do you want?" + +Again the apparition seemed to be trying to become audible, only to +fail. Then, although he could hear no distinct voice, her answer seemed +to come to him. + +"Fight, fight; pray, pray," she seemed to be saying. "Beware of the +tempter. Fight, fight; pray, pray. Promise me." + +He was not afraid, but it seemed to him that he was face to face with +eternal realities. He knew then that there were depths of life and +experience of which he was ignorant. + +He heard steps in the hall, and then someone opened the door. + +There stood, smiling, debonair, sardonic, and--yes--wicked, Count +Romanoff. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +COUNT ROMANOFF'S GOSPEL + + +Count Romanoff! + +A weight seemed to settle on Dick Faversham's heart as he saw the +sinister face of his visitor. During the excitement of the last few days +he had scarcely given him a thought. The dark, saturnine stranger had +shrunk away into the background of his life, and no longer seemed of +importance to him. It is true he had now and then wondered whether he +should ever see him again, but as there seemed no present likelihood of +his doing so, he had practically dismissed him from his mind. + +His sudden appearance came to him like a shock. Besides, he was nervous, +excited at what he had just experienced. Every nerve was tingling, every +sense preternaturally awake. What did this apparition mean? Why should +the same face and form appear to him again and again?--first in the +smoke-room of the ship, then on the island, then as he first put foot +into the new inheritance, and now again. What did it mean? Then during +that awful struggle in the stormy sea. + +"Ha, Faversham. You see, I have taken you at your word." + +Dick's thoughts came to earth as the Count's voice reached him. + +"I'm glad to see you," he said cordially, and as he led the way to the +library he was all that a host should be. + +"You see, I was in England, and, having a little spare time, I thought I +would look you up. I hope I'm not taking too great a liberty?" + +"Liberty, my dear fellow! I should be annoyed beyond words if you had +not come to see me. I have hosts of things to discuss with you. +Besides," and Dick spoke like one deeply moved, "I cannot help +remembering that but for you it is not likely I should be here. I should +have been lying somewhere at the bottom of the Indian Ocean." + +"Oh, come now; let's have no more of that. Of course, I had the good +luck to be of service to you, and jolly glad I am; no decent fellow +could have done less than I did." + +"All the same, I cannot forget that I owe my life to you," cried Dick +fervently. "Do you know, I wondered no end what happened to you; tell me +about it." + +"Not until I hear about you. Of course, I can guess a great deal. The +fact that you are here tells me that the wireless you got on the ship +was not only _bona fide_ but important. You are master here, eh?" + +Dick nodded. + +"I've been told that your uncle was a very rich man. Is that so?" + +"Yes." + +"And you are his heir?" + +"Yes." + +"I congratulate you. By Jove, it's a lovely place. I didn't know when +I've seen anything I like so much. And I've seen a few houses, I can +tell you. But really, now, and I hope I'm not impertinent, do you mean +to tell me that you have entered into all old Charles Faversham's +wealth?" + +"I suppose so." + +"Shake hands on it. I can think of no one more fitted to own 'big +money,' as the Americans say. I'm glad of the privilege of seeing you in +possession." + +It seemed to Dick that it was a new Romanoff that he saw. He was no +longer pessimistic, cynical, saturnine. He looked younger, too, and no +one could help admitting that he had that grand air that denotes birth +and breeding. + +"I only arrived in London last night," went on Romanoff. "I got into +Tilbury late in the afternoon, and after I got fixed up at my hotel I +began to wonder about you. Presently I called to mind what you told me, +and--here I am." + +"Of course you'll stay with me a bit?" + +"May I?" + +"May you? Why, of course you must, if you can. That goes without +saying." + +"I say, you are awfully good. I should love to stay a bit. This is one +of the loveliest corners in the world at the loveliest time of the year. +Surrey in May! What can be more attractive!" + +"I'll have your room prepared at once, and, by the way, I'll send a man +to London for your luggage." + +"That is good of you, Faversham. I may as well confess it now. I did +bring a suit-case with me in the hope that you could put me up for the +night, but of course----" + +"You might have known that I'd want you for a long time," Dick +interrupted. + +A servant entered, and Dick gave his instructions. "Now tell me," he +went on; "what did you do on leaving the island? I know practically +nothing about anything. I was very ill, and got no better till the boat +landed at Plymouth." + +Romanoff hesitated for a few seconds, then he replied: + +"Oh, I caught a boat bound for Australia." + +"Australia, eh?" + +"Yes. Our signals were seen by two vessels, one returning to England, +and the other going to Australia, which, as luck would have it, stopped +at Bombay for a few hours. So I took that." + +"And you didn't stay long in the Antipodes?" + +"No, I did not like the country, and I found it necessary to return to +England." + +"I'm jolly glad." + +"Well, here I am anyhow. Isn't life a topsy-turvy business? Who would +have thought when we exchanged commonplaces on that boat a short time +ago we should forgather like this in a lovely old Surrey house? Facts +beat fiction all to bits. Fiction is commonplace, tame, prosy; but +facts--real life--are interesting. Now, tell me about your experiences." + +"Not yet. It's nearly dinner-time. I suppose you brought no evening +clothes?" + +Romanoff laughed. "As a matter of fact, I did. Of course, I was not sure +you were here; but I thought you might be, so I took the liberty of----" + +"Splendid," interrupted Dick. "There, the dressing-bell is ringing. I'll +show you your room. My word, I'm awfully glad you've come. To tell you +the truth, I was feeling a bit depressed." + +"You depressed! I say! Fancy the heir of all this being depressed." + +"But I was. The idea of spending the evening alone dismayed me. You see, +a fellow can't be out every night, and--and there you are. But you've +come." + +"And no one will call to-night?" + +"I don't expect so. Young Clavering, who is home on leave, might come +over for a game of billiards, but I can't think of anyone else likely to +turn up." + +"Clavering--Clavering. I don't think I know the name." + +"Oh, it is a good name in Surrey, I can assure you. It's a very old +family, although I suppose it is frightfully poor. I've only met young +Clavering once, but I liked him very much. Most of the young fellows +around here are in the Army, and the older men are frightful old +fossils. Here's your room. I hope you'll be comfortable." + +Romanoff looked around the room with evident pleasure. He walked to the +window and gazed steadily at the landscape; then he turned to Dick and +gave him a keen, searching glance. + +"You are a fortunate man, Faversham. Speaking as a Russian and also as +one who has travelled all over the world, I say, commend me to England +for comfort. Yes, I'll be all right, my friend." + +When Dick had gone Romanoff threw himself in a chair and gazed into +vacancy. A change passed over his face. He was no longer cheerful and +pleasant; the old sinister, threatening look had come into his eyes, +while his mouth was cruel. Once an expression swept over his features +which suggested a kind of mocking pity, but it was only for a moment. + +During dinner he was in a gay humour. Evidently he had thrown care to +the winds, and lived for the pleasure of the moment. Dick found him +fascinating. He talked pleasantly--at times brilliantly. His +conversation scintillated with sardonic humour. He told stories about +many countries. He related anecdotes about the Imperial House of the +Romanoffs, and described the influence which Rasputin had on the Tzar +and the Tzarina. + +"I cannot understand it," remarked Dick after one of these stories. + +"Understand what?" + +"How a man like the Tzar could allow a dirty charlatan like Rasputin to +have such influence. After all, Nicholas was an educated man, and a +gentleman." + +Romanoff laughed. + +"As well Rasputin as the others," he replied. + +"What others?" + +"The priests of the Holy Orthodox Church. Let me give you a bit of +advice, Faversham; keep clear of all this religious rot. It's true that +you in England pretend to be more advanced than the poor Russians, but +at bottom there's no difference. Wherever religion creeps in, it's the +same story. Religion means credulity, and credulity means lies, +oppression, cant, corruption." + +"Did you meet Rasputin?" + +"Oh yes," replied Romanoff, with a sigh of resignation. "On the whole, I +admired him." + +"I say, that's a bit too thick." + +"Anyhow, the fellow was interesting. He had a philosophy of his own. He +recognised the fact that the world was populated by fools, and he +determined to make the most of his chances. He interpreted religion in a +way that would give the greatest possible gratification to his senses. +His policy was to suck the orange of the world dry. 'Salvation through +sin,' eh?" and Romanoff laughed as he spoke. "Well, it's about the most +sensible religion I ever heard of." + +"It seems to me devilish and dirty," Dick spoke warmly. + +"Nonsense, my dear fellow. Of course, all religion is foolishness--that +is, religion as is usually understood. But if there is to be a religion +at all, Rasputin got hold of the true one." + +"You don't mean that?" + +Romanoff looked at Dick steadily for a few seconds. He seemed to be +thinking deeply as though he were trying to understand his man. + +"Perhaps I don't," he admitted presently. "Sometimes one exaggerates in +order to convey what is actually true. Still, there is a substratum of +truth in the dirty monk's philosophy, as you'll find out before you are +much older. By the way, the evening has turned cold, hasn't it?" + +"Do you find it so? The air of a night is often cold in the early +summer. Have you finished? Then we'll go into my little den where I +always have a fire of an evening." + +A few minutes later Romanoff was sprawling in a large easy-chair with +his feet close to the fire. + +"How long have you been here?" he asked. + +"Not quite a month." + +"Been well received by your neighbours?" + +"On the whole, yes." + +Again Romanoff looked steadily at his companion. "Will you forgive me if +I ask you a few questions?" + +"Certainly. Go ahead." + +"First, then, how do you like being a rich man?" + +Dick glanced around the room, and then gave a look towards the +wide-spreading park-lands. + +"How can one help liking it?" he asked. + +"Exactly. You do not find money to be the root of all evil, then?" + +"Heavens, no!" + +"You would not like to be a poor man again?" + +"What in the world are you driving at? Of course, the very thought of it +is horrible." + +"Just so. I am in my way a student of human nature, and I was a bit +curious. Now for a second question. Who is she?" + +"Oh, I say." + +"Of course she exists." + +"How do you know?" + +"In my way I have the power of divination. When I look at a man I know +something, not much perhaps, but something of his hopes. I felt sure +before I spoke that you were in love. You've been quick about it, my +young friend." + +"I don't know that I am in love." + +"Of course you are. Who is she?" + +"There's no one. At least not yet. I don't suppose she's given me a +second's thought." + +"But you do. Is she young, beautiful? Is she rich, well connected?" + +"Young! beautiful!" laughed Dick. + +"Ah, I see. Not a rustic beauty, by any chance?" + +"Rustic beauty, eh? There's nothing rustic about Lady Blanche +Huntingford." + +"Huntingford! That's one of the best known names in England." + +"Do you know it?" + +"Who doesn't? It's the biggest name in Debrett. But the Huntingfords are +as poor as church mice." + +"What does that matter?" + +"You have enough for both, eh? Of course, that's your hope." + +"Why?" and Dick turned rather sharply on his interlocutor. + +"Oh, nothing personal, my friend. I'm only speaking from a long +experience. The Huntingfords are poor and proud. I do not know of a more +unpleasant combination. I've heard of Lady Blanche--she is about +twenty-four, a great beauty, and so far has not succeeded in the +marriage market. She's had several seasons in London, but the rich +aristocrat has not turned up. That's why she may smile on a commoner--a +newcomer--providing he's rich enough." + +"If you'd seen her, spoken with her, you would not talk like that." + +"Shouldn't I? Who knows? But it's nothing to worry about, my dear +fellow. All talk about the love of women goes for nothing. It doesn't +exist. Of course, there is such a thing as sexual attraction, but +nothing else." + +"You are a terrible cynic, Romanoff." + +"I'm a citizen of the world, and I've gone around the world with my eyes +open. But, as I said, you can have an easy mind. The ball is at your +feet, my dear fellow. Whatever you want you can have." + +"Do be serious." Dick spoke lightly; all the same, he felt uneasy. + +"I _am_ serious," replied Romanoff. "With wealth like yours, you are +master of the world; you can get all the world has to give." + +"I wish I could." + +"I tell you you can. Money is all-powerful. Just think, if you were +poor, not a hope, not an ambition could be realised." + +"That won't do. Hosts of poor fellows have----" + +"Risen to position and power. Just so; but it's been a terrible +struggle, a ghastly grind. In most cases, too, men don't get money until +they are too old to enjoy it. But you are young, and the world's at your +feet. Do you want titles? You can buy them. Power? fame? Again you can +get them. Beautiful women? Love? Yes, even love of a sort you can buy, +if you have money. Poverty is hell; but what heaven there is in this +world can be bought." + +"Then you think the poor can't be happy?" + +"Let me be careful in answering that. If a man has no ambitions, if he +has no desire for power, then, in a negative way, he may be happy +although he's poor. But to you, who are ambitious through and +through--you, who see visions and dream dreams--poverty would be hell. +That's why I congratulate you on all this. And my advice to you is, make +the most of it. Live to enjoy, my dear fellow. Whatever your eyes +desire, take it." + +Dick realised that Romanoff was talking cheap cynicism, that, to use a +journalistic term, it was "piffle" from thread to needle, and yet he was +impressed. Again he felt the man's ascendancy over him, knew that he was +swayed and moulded by a personality stronger than his own. + +Dick did not try to answer him, for at that moment there was a knock at +the door and a servant entered. + +"Mr. and Miss Stanmore have called, sir." + +"I do not think I know them, do I?" asked Dick. + +"I don't know, sir. They live not far from the South Park gates. They +are old residents, sir." + +Whether there was something in the tone of the man's voice, or whether +he desired company other than Romanoff's, I cannot tell. Certain it is +that, acting on impulse and scarcely realising what he was doing, he +said: + +"Show them in here, Jenkins, will you?" + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +BEATRICE STANMORE + + +"You don't mind, do you?" asked Dick, turning to Romanoff when the man +had left the room. + +"Not at all, my dear fellow. Why should I?" + +Again the servant returned and ushered in an old man and a young girl. +The former was a striking-looking figure, and would be noticed in any +crowd. Although old, he stood perfectly upright, and was evidently +healthy and vigorous. His face was ruddy and almost unlined. His white +beard and moustache were allowed to grow long, while his almost massive +head was covered with a wealth of wavy white hair. Perhaps, too, his +attire helped to make his appearance attractive, and his velvet +dinner-jacket suggested the artist or the poet. + +"I hope you'll forgive me calling, Mr. Faversham," he said, taking +Dick's outstretched hand, "but I'm an old man, as well as a man of +moods. I've thought several times of dropping in to see you, but +refrained. I was afraid you would have no use for an old buffer such as +I. But to-night I felt I must, and here I am. This is my granddaughter, +Beatrice." + +"It's awfully good of you to call, Mr. Stanmore, and you, too, Miss +Stanmore." + +Dick looked at the girl full in the face as he spoke, and then all +further words were frozen on his lips. The sight of Beatrice Stanmore +caused his heart to beat wildly, and made him feel that a new influence +had entered the room. + +And yet, at first sight, there was nothing remarkable in her presence. +Picture a fair-haired, blue-eyed girl of eighteen--a girl with a sweet, +winsome, yet mischievous smile, and a perfect complexion; a girl with +well-formed features and an evident sense of humour--and you see +Beatrice Stanmore. And yet your picture would be incomplete. What I have +said suggests a somewhat commonplace girl, such as can be seen by the +score in any country town. But she was not commonplace. Her blue eyes +were large and haunting; sometimes they were sad, and yet there was a +world of mirth and gladness stored in their liquid depths. She was only +eighteen or nineteen years of age, and she did not look older than her +years; but, if you took a second look at her, you would know that her +thoughts were not always a child's thoughts--that she had longings too +deep for words. + +She was dressed very simply. I cannot describe her apparel, but to Dick +it was something light and diaphanous, which set oft a figure which was +at once girlish and yet perfect in its proportions. I do not suppose +that a connoisseur would call her beautiful, but she suggested +health--health of body, of mind, of soul. It would be impossible to +associate her with anything impure, rather a flash from her mirth-loving +eyes would destroy all thought of such a thing. + +"I've seen her before," thought Dick, "but where?" + +No, it was only fancy. She was an utter stranger to him, and yet he was +haunted with the thought that somewhere, at some time, they had met and +known each other, that she had been with him in some crisis. + +"Please forgive us, Mr. Faversham," she said, with a laugh; "it's not my +fault. I should never have had the courage to beard the lion in his +den." + +"What lion? What den?" asked Dick, as he looked into the girl's sunny +face. + +"Of course, you are the lion. You've been the talk of the countryside +for weeks; and--and isn't this your den?" + +She spoke with all the simplicity and frankness of a child, and seemed +to be perfectly unimpressed by the fact that she was talking with one +who was spoken of as one of the richest young men in England. + +"It's I who am the culprit, Mr. Faversham," broke in the old man. "The +impulse came upon me suddenly. I said to Beatrice, 'I am going to call +on young Faversham,' and she jumped at the idea of a walk through the +park, and that's why she's here with me. Please tell me if we are in the +way." + +"In the way? I'm just delighted. And--but let me introduce you to Count +Romanoff." + +Both Hugh Stanmore and his granddaughter looked towards Count Romanoff, +who had risen to his feet. The light was shining fully upon his face, +and Dick could not help feeling what a striking appearance he had. He +half held out his hand to the newcomers and then suddenly withdrew it. + +Old Hugh Stanmore looked at the Count steadily for a few seconds, and +then bowed in silence. It might seem as though something had frozen his +urbanity and cheerfulness. He did not appear to notice the +half-outstretched hand, and Dick felt as though there was an instinctive +antipathy between them. As for Beatrice, she gave the Count a cold nod, +and then, with a perfunctory, "How d'ye do?" turned to Dick again. + +"I'm so glad you've come here to live, Mr. Faversham," she said, with +girlish enthusiasm. + +"You can't be gladder than I," replied Dick; "but, is there a special +reason for your gladness?" + +"Of course there is. I've wanted for years to see the inside of this +house, but I was frightfully afraid of your--your uncle. He always +looked so stern, and so--so forbidding that I hadn't the courage to ask +him. But you are different." + +"Then why haven't you called before?" asked Dick. "I've been here nearly +a month, and yet I've never seen you before." + +"Of course, you must understand," and it was old Hugh Stanmore who +replied, "that we are quite unimportant people. We live in that cottage +not far from your South Lodge, and, not knowing you, we felt rather +sensitive about calling." + +"But your name seems familiar. I'm sure I've heard it somewhere." + +"Not among the people around here, I imagine?" + +"No, I think not; but I seem to have heard of it, or seen it, years +ago." + +"I fancy you are mistaken, although what you say is just possible. When +I was at Cambridge I had tremendous ambitions, and, like thousands of +other callow youths, I made up my mind to win fame. I was something of a +linguist, and had a great longing to win renown as an Egyptologist and +as an Assyrian scholar. However, I had no money to indulge in such +luxuries, so on leaving Cambridge I looked to journalism for a living. I +even wrote a novel," and he laughed merrily. + +"Splendid!" cried Dick. "What was the title of the novel?" + +"I won't tell you that," replied the old man. "I've drawn a very thick +curtain over that effort. However, I might have done something if I'd +persevered; but, luckily or unluckily for me, I had some money left to +me. Not much, but enough to enable me to travel in the East." + +"Yes, and then?" + +"Oh, I'm afraid I did not shine as an Egyptologist, although I had some +wonderful experiences and made some interesting acquaintances. I also +contributed to that phase of literature." + +"I never saw your name in that connection," Dick confessed. + +"I expect not. You see, that was many years ago. Still, although my +health would not stand the Eastern climate, I've kept up my interest in +my early love. But I've been somewhat of a butterfly. On my return to +England I conceived a passion for throwing paint in the eyes of the +public, to quote John Ruskin. I even went so far as to get a few +pictures hung in the Academy. But, in spite of that, I achieved no fame. +Since then I've contributed occasional articles to the reviews, while +such papers as _The Spectator_ and _The Times_ have printed some +effusions of mine which I in my vanity have called poetry. Please +forgive me for talking about myself in this way. I know it is frightful +egotism on my part, but, as I'm one of your nearest neighbours, I'm in a +way introducing myself." + +"It's awfully good of you," replied Dick. "I hope we shall see a good +deal of each other." + +"I hope we shall," replied Hugh Stanmore. "I may as well confess it, Mr. +Faversham, that although I am an old man, I am a creature of impulses. I +do things without being able to give a reason for them. I talk without +knowing why. Do you know that I've never spoken so much about myself to +anyone in this district as I have to-night, and I've lived here for +eighteen years?" + +"What--at the cottage you spoke of?" + +"Yes, at the cottage. I took up my residence there when my son died. He +was an artist who would have won fame if he had lived; but it pleased +the good God to take him away. I determined that I would try to bring +what comfort I could into the life of his young wife. But I was not with +her long. She died at the birth of this little girl here, three months +later." + +A silence fell upon the little company. + +"There, there," laughed Hugh Stanmore, "there's nothing to be sad about. +This life is only a beginning. Actual life comes next, as Browning says. +Besides, I've been very happy looking after my little maid here. It's +rather hard on her, having to see so much of an old man like myself. All +the same, we've had a jolly time." + +"Old man!" cried Beatrice indignantly. "I assure you, Mr. Faversham, +he's the youngest man in Surrey. Sometimes I am quite ashamed of his +frivolity. I'm quite a staid, elderly person compared to him." + +"Anyhow," said the old man, rising, "we must be going now. But be +assured of this, Mr. Faversham: no one wishes you joy in your new home +more than I. We give you a glad welcome to the district, and if an old +man's prayer and an old man's blessing are worth anything, you have +them." + +"But please don't go yet," cried Dick. "It's only a little after nine +o'clock, and--and I'm so glad to have you here. You see, you've only +just come." + +"No, no, I know. But we'll be going now. Some other time, when you +happen to be alone, I'll be glad to come and smoke a pipe with you--if I +may?" + +"May! Of course. Besides, Miss Stanmore said she wanted to look over +the house. When will you come, Miss Stanmore?" + +"I think it must be when you can let Granddad know that you are alone +and have nothing to do," was the girl's reply. "I shall look forward to +it tremendously." + +"So shall I," cried Dick. Then, forgetful of Romanoff, he added, "And I +can assure you, you won't have long to wait." + +Throughout their conversation, only a part of which I have recorded, +Romanoff had not spoken a word. Had Dick been watching him he would have +seen that he was not at all pleased at the presence of the visitors. +There was a dark, lowering look in his eyes, and almost a scowl on his +face. It was evident that a strong feeling of antagonism existed. + +"Good-night, Mr. Faversham," said old Hugh Stanmore, holding out his +hand; then, bowing gravely to Romanoff, he passed out of the room. + +"Oh, but I'll see you to the door, if you _will_ go," insisted Dick, as +for a moment he held Beatrice Stanmore's hand in his. "Allow me." + +He passed through the hall by her side and opened the door. As he did +so, he could barely repress an exclamation of wonder and delight, while +both the old man and the young girl stood as if spellbound. + +It was one of those rare nights which constantly recur to one's +remembrance in after days. It was now the end of May, and while the +summer had not reached its full glory, the fullness of spring made the +earth like a paradise. The sky was cloudless and the silver rays of a +nearly full moon lit up the scene with an unearthly beauty. All around +giant trees stood, while the flowers, which grew in rich profusion, were +plainly to be seen. Away through the leafy trees could be seen the +outline of the country. Here and there the birds, which had barely gone +to rest, were chirping, while away in the distance a cuckoo proclaimed +the advent of summer. + +For a few seconds they stood in silence, then Hugh Stanmore said +quietly, "One can understand Charles Kingsley's dying words on such a +night, Mr. Faversham." + +"What did he say?" asked Dick. + +"'How beautiful God must be,'" quoted Hugh Stanmore. + +Just then a bird burst forth into song--rich-noted, mellow, triumphant. + +"A nightingale!" cried the girl. "Look, Granddad, it is over on that +tree." She went down the drive under the long avenue of trees as she +spoke, leaving Hugh Stanmore and Dick together. + +"They can't be far away on such a night as this," murmured the old man. + +"Who can't be far away?" + +"The angels. The heavens are full of them. Ah, if we could only see!" + +"Do you believe in angels?" + +"Do I believe in them? How can I help believing? It is nearly nineteen +years ago since my boy and his wife died. But they didn't leave me +altogether. They come to me." + +"Have you seen them?" and Dick's eager question was uttered almost +unconsciously. + +"No, not with my natural eyes. Why? I wonder. But I have felt them near +me. I know they are watching over me. You see, they did not cease to +love us when God took them away for some higher service. Naturally, too, +they watch over Beatrice. They could not help it." + +He spoke quietly, and in an almost matter-of-fact way, yet with a +suggestion of reverence in his tones. + +"Who knows who is watching over us now?" continued the old man. "Ah, if +we could only see! 'Are they not all ministering spirits sent to +minister to those who are heirs of Salvation?'" + +Dick felt a shiver pass through him. He reflected that on that very +spot, only a few hours before, he had seen something, _something_--a +luminous figure, a pale, sad face--sad almost to agony! + +"Mr. Faversham," asked Hugh Stanmore suddenly, "who is Count Romanoff?" + +"I don't know much about him," replied Dick. "He was a fellow-passenger +on board the boat on which I was bound for Australia some time ago. Why +do you ask?" + +"You know nothing else? Excuse me." + +"Only that he saved my life." + +"Ah!" + +"Why do you ask?" + +"Nothing. Only he will have a great influence on your life." + +"How do you know?" Dick was greatly excited. + +"I have no reason to give you. I only know." + +"Good or bad?" asked the young man eagerly. + +"I don't know. But did you notice that Beatrice didn't like him? And +I've never once known her wrong in her estimate of people. There, look +at her now, amongst the moon's rays under the trees. Doesn't she look +like an angel? Yes, and she _is_ an angel--one of God's sweetest and +purest and best. But as human as every woman ought to be. Good-night, +Mr. Faversham. Yes, my darling, I'm coming," and the old man went down +the drive with the activity of a boy. + +Dick watched them until they were out of sight. He was influenced more +than he knew by their visit. Their presence, after Count Romanoff's +cynicism, was like some sweet-scented balm; like a breeze from the +mountains after the fetid atmosphere of a cavern. + +"Well, what did you think of them?" he asked of Romanoff on his return. + +The Count shrugged his shoulders. "There's not much to think, is there?" +he asked. + +"I think there is a great deal. I found the old man more interesting +than almost any caller I have had." + +"A dull, prosy, platitudinous old Polonius; as for the girl, she's just +a badly behaved, unformed, bread-and-butter miss." + +Dick did not speak. The Count's words grated on him. + +"By the way," went on Romanoff, "I should like to meet Lady Blanche +Huntingford. I think I knew the old Lord." + +"I promised to call to-morrow afternoon," replied Dick. "I'll take you +over." But he was not so enthusiastic as the Count expected. + +After they had retired to their rooms that night, the Count sat long in +soliloquy. Of what he was thinking it would be difficult to say. His +face was like a mask. + +When he rose from his chair, however, there was a look of decision in +his eyes. + +"The time has come sooner than I thought," he said aloud. "I must bring +the matter to a head at once. Otherwise I shall lose him." + +And then he laughed in his grim, sardonic way, as if something had made +him merry. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +UNCERTAINTY + + +Dick rose early the following morning, and went for a walk in the park. +When he returned he found the Count in the breakfast-room. + +"Quite a pattern young countryman," he laughed. "I saw you reflecting on +the beauties of your own domains. Did you sleep well?" + +"Like a healthy dog. And you?" + +"I never sleep. I dream sometimes--that's all." + +"Still play-acting," laughed Dick. + +"No, there's not a more serious man in England than I, as a rule; but +I'm not going to be serious to-day while the sun shines. When the sun +goes down I shall be tragic. There, Richard is himself again!" + +He threw back his shoulders as he spoke, as though he would shift a +weight from them. "I am hungry, Faversham," he laughed. "Let us eat. +After breakfast I would love a ride. Have you a horse in your stables +that you could lend me?" + +"Of course I have." + +"Good. Then we'll have a gallop till lunch. After that a-wooing we will +go. I'm feverish to see the glorious Lady Blanche, the flower of the +age, the beauty of the county. I say, Faversham, prepare to be jealous. +I can be a most dangerous rival." + +"I can't think of you as a marrying man, Count. Domesticity and you are +oceans apart." + +The Count laughed. "No, a man such as I never marries," he said. +"Marriage! What an idiotic arrangement. But such things always follow +religion. But for religion, humanity would be natural, happy." + +"Come, now. That won't do." + +"It is true, my friend. Ever and always the result of religion has been +to raise unnatural barriers, to create sin. The man who founds a +religion is an enemy to the race. The greatest enemy to the world's +happiness was the Founder of Christianity." + +"In Heaven's name, why?" + +"Because He labelled natural actions as sins, because He was for ever +emphasising a distinction between right and wrong. When there is no +right, no wrong. The evolution of religion, and of so-called morality, +is a crime, because it strikes at the root of human enjoyment. But, +there, I'm getting serious, and I won't be serious. This is a day to +laugh, to rejoice in, and I've an appetite like a hunter." + +Throughout the morning they carried out the programme Romanoff had +suggested. Two of the best horses in the stables were saddled, and they +rode till noon. During all this time the Count was in high spirits, and +seemed to revel in the brightness of the day and the glory of the +scenery. + +"After all, give me a living thing to deal with," he cried. "This craze +for motor-cars is a sign of decadence. 'Enjoyment by machinery' should +be the motto of every motorist. But a horse is different. A horse is +sentient, intelligent. He feels what his rider feels; he enters into the +spirit of whatever is going on." + +"But motoring can be jolly good sport," Dick rejoined. + +"Of course it can. But a motor is impersonal; it is a thing, not a +being. You cannot make it your slave. It is just a matter of steel, and +petrol, and oil. It never becomes afraid of you." + +"What of that?" asked Dick. + +"Without fear there is no real mastery," replied Romanoff. + +"But surely the mastery which is obtained through fear is an +unsatisfactory sort of thing." + +Romanoff looked at Dick as though on the point of replying, but he was +silent. + +"Anyhow, I love a horse," he ventured presently. "I love to feel his +body alive beneath me, love to feel him spurn the ground beneath his +feet." + +"Yes; I, too, love a horse," replied Dick, "and do you know, although +I've only been here a month, this chap loves me. He whines a welcome +when I go to the stable, and he kind of cries when I leave." + +"And he isn't afraid of you?" asked Romanoff. + +"Afraid!" cried Dick. "I hope not. I should hate to feel that a thing I +loved was afraid of me." + +"Wait till you are married," laughed Romanoff. + +"I don't see what that has to do with it." + +"But it has everything to do with it. A wife should obey, and no woman +obeys unless she fears. The one thing man has to do when he marries is +to demand obedience, and until he has mastered the woman he gets none." + +"From the little experience I have, a woman is a difficult thing to +master." + +"Everything can be mastered," replied Romanoff. "It sometimes requires +patience, I'll admit, but it can always be done. Besides, a woman never +respects her husband until he's mastered her. Find me a man who has not +mastered his wife, and I'll show you a man whose wife despises him. Of +course, every woman strives for mastery, but in her heart of hearts +she's sorry if she gets it. If I ever married----" He ceased speaking. + +"Yes; if you married?" + +"I'd have obedience, obedience, obedience," and Romanoff repeated the +word with increasing emphasis. "As you say, it might be difficult, but +it can always be obtained." + +"How?" + +"Of course, if you go among the lower orders of people, the man obtains +his wife's obedience by brute force. If she opposes him he knocks her +down, thrashes her. But as you rise in the scale of humanity, the +methods are different. The educated, cultured man never loses his +temper, seldom utters an angry word. He may be a little sarcastic, +perhaps, but nothing more. But he never yields. The wife cries, pleads, +protests, goes into hysterics perhaps, threatens, but he never yields. +He is polite, cold, cruel if you like, but he never shows a sign of +weakness, and in the end he's master. And mastery is one of the great +joys of life." + +"You think so?" + +"I'm sure of it." + +Dick felt slightly uncomfortable. "You said you wouldn't be serious +to-day, Romanoff," he laughed nervously, "and yet you talk as though +something tragic were in the air." + +"I can assure you I'm in one of my light moods," replied the Count. +"After all, of what account is a woman in a man's life? A diversion if +you like--a creature necessary to his pleasure, but nothing more. When a +man regards a woman as indispensable to his happiness, he's lost. Always +look on a woman, whoever she may be, as a diversion, my friend," and +Romanoff laughed quietly. + +After lunch, however, Romanoff's mood seemed changed. He spoke of his +early days, and of his experiences in St. Petersburg and Moscow. + +"People talk about Paris being the great centre of pleasure," he said a +little indignantly, "but it is nothing compared with St. Petersburg, or +Petrograd, as it is called now. Some day, my friend, I must take you +there; I must show you the sights; I must take you behind the scenes. +Oh, I envy you!" + +"Why should you?" asked Dick. + +"Because you are young, because you have the world at your feet." + +"And haven't you?" + +"Yes, I suppose so. But, then, you go to everything fresh. You will +drink the cup of life for the first time; you will drink deep and enjoy. +But I can never again drink for the first time--there lies the +difference." + +"But if the cup of life is good and sweet, why may not one drink it +again, and again, and still find enjoyment?" + +Romanoff did not reply. He sat for a few seconds in silence, and then +started up almost feverishly. + +"Let us away, my friend," he cried. "I am longing to see Lady Blanche +Huntingford. How did you describe her? Velvety black eyes, rosy lips, +hair as black as the raven's wing, tall, stately, shaped like a Juno +and a Venus combined--was that it? Please don't let's waste any time. +I'm anxious to be off." + +"Even although we are going in a motor." + +"Motors are useful, my friend. I may not like them, but I use them. For +the matter of that, I use everything. I discard nothing." + +"Except religion," laughed Dick. + +"Oh, I have my religion," replied Romanoff. "Some time I'll tell you +about it, but not now. The sunlight is the time for adventure, for love, +for happiness. Let us be off." + +Evidently the Count was impressed by Lady Blanche. Directly he entered +her presence he seemed to forget his cynicism, and to become +light-hearted and gay. + +"Do you know, Lady Blanche," he said, "that I had an idea I had seen you +somewhere. Your name was familiar, and when Faversham spoke of you, I +felt I should be renewing an old acquaintance. Of course, I was +mistaken." + +"Why 'of course'?" + +"The true reply would be too obvious, wouldn't it? Besides, it would be +as trite and as clumsy as the repartee of an Oxford undergraduate." + +"You are beyond me," she sighed. + +Romanoff smiled. "Of course, you are laughing at me; all the same. I'll +say this: I shall have no doubt from this time on as to whether I've met +you. Do you know who I regard as the most favoured man in England?" + +She shook her head. + +"My friend Faversham, of course," and Romanoff glanced towards Dick, who +sat listening and looking with a kind of wonder at the face of the girl. + +"Of course, Wendover is just lovely," she replied. + +"And only a very short motor-run from here," remarked Romanoff. + +The girl pouted as though she were vexed at his words, but it was easy +to see she was not. There could be little doubt that she loved flattery, +and although she felt slightly uncomfortable under the Count's ardent +gaze, she was pleased at his admiration. + +She was also bent on being agreeable, and Dick felt that surely no +handsomer woman ever lived than this glorious creature with whom he +chatted and laughed. More than once he felt his heart beating wildly as +her eyes caught his, and while he wished that Romanoff was not there, he +felt it to be one of the happiest days of his life. + +"If Romanoff were not here I'd ask her to-day," he reflected. "It's true +she's almost a stranger to me; but, after all, what does it matter? Love +does not depend on a long acquaintance." + +For Dick felt sure he was in love. It is true there seemed a kind of +barrier between them, a certain something that kept them apart. But that +he put down to their different upbringing. She was a patrician, the +child of long generations of aristocratic associations, while he, +although his father and mother were gentlefolk, was a commoner. All his +life, too, he had been poor, while during the last few years he had had +to struggle constantly with poverty. It was no wonder, therefore, that +there should be a kind of barrier between them. But that would break +down. Already he was feeling more as if "he belonged" to his new +surroundings, while his neighbours had received him with the utmost +kindness. It was only a matter of time before he would feel at one with +them all. Meanwhile, Lady Blanche charmed him, fascinated him. She +appealed to him as a glorious woman, regal in her carriage, wondrous in +her youth and beauty. + +Once during the afternoon they were alone together, and he was almost on +the point of declaring his love. But something kept him back. What it +was he could not tell. She was alluring, gracious, and seemed to offer +him opportunities for telling her what was in his heart. And yet he did +not speak. Perhaps he was afraid, although he could not have told what +he feared. + +"When are you going to give me another game of golf?" he asked, as they +parted. + +"I don't like threesomes," she laughed, looking towards Romanoff. + +"I share your antipathy," said Romanoff, "but could you not suggest +someone who might bear with me while you and Faversham break the +record?" + +"Please manage it," pleaded Dick. + +"There's a telephone at Wendover, isn't there?" + +"Of course there is. You'll ring me up and let me know, won't you?" + +"Perhaps." + +Her smile was bewildering, and as he felt the warm pressure of her hand +he was in Arcadia. + +"I congratulate you, Faversham," remarked Romanoff, as they neared +Wendover Park. "She's a glorious creature, simply glorious. Cleopatra +was plain compared with her. My word, what a mistress for your new home. +Such eyes, such hair, such a complexion--and what a magnificent figure. +Yes, Faversham, you are a lucky man." + +"If I get her," sighed Dick. + +"Get her! Of course you'll get her. Unless----" + +"Unless what?" asked Dick as the other hesitated. + +Romanoff looked at him for some seconds very searchingly; then he +sighed. + +"Yes, what is it?" persisted Dick, who felt uncomfortable under +Romanoff's look. + +"I'm wondering." + +"Why and at what?" + +"If you are a wise man or a fool." + +"I'm afraid I don't understand." + +"No, but you will presently." + +There seemed to be something so ominous in his words that a feeling like +fear possessed Dick's heart. He had always felt somewhat uncomfortable +in Romanoff's presence, but now the feeling was so intensified that he +dreaded what he might mean. + +"The sun is still shining," went on the Count, "and I told you that I +should be in a festive mood until dark. In another hour the king of day +will have disappeared; then I shall have some serious things to say to +you." + +"Let's have no more play-acting," and Dick laughed nervously. + +"I can assure you, there'll be no play-acting. Everything will be +real--desperately real. But I'm going to say no more now. After dinner +I am going to be serious. But not until. See! Aren't you proud of it +all? Don't you revel in it? Was there ever such a lovely old house, +standing amidst such gorgeous surroundings? Look at those giant trees, +man! See the glorious landscape! Was there ever such a lucky man! What a +mistress Lady Blanche will make!" + +They were now passing up the long avenue which led to the house. Away in +the distance they could see the mansion nestling amidst giant trees +centuries old. From the house stretched the gardens, which were glorious +in the beauty of early summer. And Dick saw it all, gloried in it all; +but fear haunted him, all the same. + +"What is the meaning of this strange mood of yours, Romanoff?" he asked. + +"After dinner, my friend," laughed the other. "I'll tell you after +dinner." + +Throughout dinner the Count was apparently light-hearted, almost to +flippancy, but directly the servants had left them to their coffee and +cigars his mood changed. + +"I told you I was going to be serious, didn't I?" he said slowly. "The +time for laughter has ceased, Faversham. The next hour will be critical +to you--ay, and more than critical; it will be heavy with destiny." + +"What in Heaven's name do you mean?" + +"Have you ever considered," and Romanoff enunciated every word with +peculiar distinctness, "whether you are _really_ the owner of all +this?" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE REAL HEIR + + +Dick Faversham could not repress a shudder as the other spoke. The +Count's words were so ominous, so full of sinister meaning that for the +moment he felt like crying out with fear. He mastered himself after a +few seconds, however, and his reply was calm. + +"I see what you mean," he said quietly. "A few weeks ago I was poor, and +without great expectation. Now----Naturally you wonder whether it is +real to me, whether I can believe in my good fortune." + +"It goes deeper than that, Faversham," was the Count's rejoinder--"very +much deeper than that." + +"What do you mean?" + +"You believe that you are the owner of all this. You regard yourself as +the lawful possessor of the Wendover Park estate, with all its farms, +cottages, and villages; you also think of yourself as the owner of +mining rights, shipping interests, and a host of other things, added to +a very magnificent credit balance at your bankers'. Isn't that so?" + +"Of course I do. What have you to say against it?" Dick spoke almost +angrily. He was greatly excited, not only by the Count's words, but by +his manner of speech. + +"On the strength of it you have cast eyes of love on one of the most +beautiful women in England; you have dreamed of marrying Lady Blanche +Huntingford, who bears one of the oldest names in the land?" + +"And if I have, what then?" + +"Has it ever occurred to you that your fortune rests on a very slender, +a very unsafe, foundation?" + +"I say, Count Romanoff----" + +"Don't be angry, my friend, and, above all, look at everything calmly." + +"Really, this is a trifle thick, isn't it? I'm afraid I must ask for an +explanation of this peculiar manner of speech." + +"I deeply regret that I shall have to give an explanation," and there +was curious vibration in Romanoff's voice. "But please, _please_, +Faversham, don't think unkindly of me because of what I have to tell +you. Perhaps I have been very clumsy, but I have been trying all day to +prepare you for--for what you will regard as bad news." + +"Trying to prepare me? Bad news?" + +"Yes, my friend. I told you this morning that I was not going to be +serious while the sun shone, but that after the sun went down I was +going to be tragically in earnest. The time has come." + +"You spoke of my having no right here!" and a gleam of anger shot from +Dick's eyes. "Might I suggest, Count, that it is a little out of the +common for a guest to tell his host that he has no right to give him +hospitality?" + +"I was afraid you might take it like that," and Romanoff spoke almost +gently. "Doubtless I have been very clumsy, very gauche; all the same, I +have come only in kindness." + +"Am I to understand, then, that you came here for the purpose of telling +me that I am an impostor, an interloper? That, indeed, is interesting." + +"I came as a friend, a well-wisher--as one deeply, very deeply, +interested in your welfare. I came as one who wants you to enjoy what +you believe is your good fortune, and to marry the most beautiful woman +in England. If, after you have heard me, you wish me to leave you, I +will do so--sadly, I will admit, but I will leave you." + +"At least, do not deal in hints, in innuendoes. Tell me exactly what you +mean, and perhaps you will also tell me what particular interest you +have in the matter, and by what right you--you--talk in this way." + +"Faversham, let me first of all admit frankly that I took a great +liking to you during the voyage that ended so--tragically. I am no +longer a boy, and I do not take to people easily; but I felt an +unaccountable interest in you. There were traits in your character that +attracted me. I said to myself, 'I should like to know that young +fellow, to cultivate his acquaintance.' That must be my reason for +taking what interest I have in you. It would have been easy to let you +drown, to--to listen to the appeal of the other occupants of the boat, +and----" + +"Pardon me," interrupted Dick impulsively, "I have behaved like a cad. I +forgot that I owed my life to you. But I was excited--angry. You see, +the suggestion that I am here under false pretences naturally upsets me. +But tell me what you mean. I do not understand you--I am bewildered by +your hints." + +"Of course, I understand your feelings, and am not in the least +offended. I think I know you too well not to take offence easily; +besides, my desire, and my only desire, being to help you makes me +impervious to ordinary emotions." + +"Still," cried Dick, "tell me what you mean. You say my position as +owner of my Uncle Faversham's estates rests on a very slender, a very +unsafe foundation. That is surely a serious statement to make. How do +you know?" + +"Your uncle's will--yes, I will admit I went to Somerset House and paid +a shilling for the right of reading it--states that he gave his fortune +to his sister's sons, and after them to the next-of-kin." + +"Exactly." + +"Presently it came to pass that only one person stood between you and +possession." + +"That is so. I did not know it at the time, but such, I am informed, was +the case." + +"This person's name was Mr. Anthony Riggleton, at that time the only +surviving son of your uncle's sister!" + +"That is so." + +Romanoff lay back in his chair and quietly smoked his cigar. + +"But why these questions?" persisted Dick. + +"I was only thinking, my friend, on what small issues fortune or poverty +may rest." + +"But--but really----" + +"Here is the case as I understand it. Your lawyer told you that Mr. +Anthony Riggleton, the only man who stood between you and all your +uncle's possessions, was killed in a drunken brawl in Melbourne, and +that on his death you became heir. That was why he sent you that +wireless; that was why he summoned you back to England." + +"Exactly." + +"But what if Mr. Anthony Riggleton is not dead?" + +"There is no doubt about that," replied Dick, in tones of relief. "Mr. +Bidlake realised the importance of this, and sent to a lawyer in +Melbourne to make investigations. Every care was taken, every possible +loophole of mistake was investigated. I saw all the documents, all the +newspaper reports." + +"Has it ever struck you that mistakes might be made about this?" + +"Of course. As a consequence I questioned Bidlake closely, and he told +me that doubt was impossible." + +"Let me understand," and Romanoff continued to speak quietly. "Your +position is that Anthony Riggleton, the then heir to all your Uncle +Faversham's fortune, was living in Australia; that he was known in +Melbourne; that he went to a house near Melbourne with some boon +companions; that there was a night of orgy; that afterwards there was a +quarrel; and that Mr. Anthony Riggleton was killed." + +"Evidently you've worked up the case," and there was a sneer in Dick's +voice. + +"But I'm right, am I not?" + +"As far as you've gone, you are roughly right. Of course, his body was +afterwards identified by----" + +"By the cashier of the bank from which he had drawn money, and by +others," interrupted Romanoff. "But what if that cashier made a mistake? +What if it paid him to make it? What if the others who identified the +body were paid to do so? What if Mr. Anthony Riggleton is still alive?" + +"What if a hundred things are true?" cried Dick angrily. "One can ask +such questions for ever. Of course, if Mr. Anthony Riggleton is still +alive, I have no right here. If he is alive, I clear out." + +"And does the prospect please you?" and the Count looked at Dick like +one anxious. + +"Of course, it doesn't please me. If it's true, I'm a pauper, or next +door to one. If it's true, I should have to leave everything and go out +into the world to begin again." + +"And give up all thought of Lady Blanche Huntingford," added the Count. + +"I say, Romanoff, if you've anything definite to tell me, tell it. I +tell you honestly, I don't enjoy all this." + +"Of course you don't. The thought of giving up all this is like thinking +of having your eyes pulled out, isn't it?" + +"But of course it's all rubbish. Of course you are imagining an ugly +bogey man," and Dick laughed nervously. + +"I'm imagining nothing, Faversham." + +"Then you mean to tell me----" + +"That Mr. Anthony Riggleton is alive? Yes, I do." + +Dick gave the Count an angry look, then started to his feet and began to +pace the room. + +"Of course it's all nonsense," he cried after a few seconds. "Please +don't imagine that I'm going to accept a cock-and-bull sort of story +like that. Do you think that Bidlake would be deceived? Do you imagine +that the man he employed in Melbourne would be duped? No, no, I'm not +such a fool as to accept that. Besides, what have you to do with it? Why +did you come here in such a fashion, and with such a story? It does not +look very friendly, does it?" + +"Why I came here, and why I have told you the truth, will leak out +presently. You will see then that I came not as an enemy, but as a +friend." + +"As a friend!" and there was an angry sneer in Dick's voice. + +"As a friend," repeated Romanoff. "Of course," he went on quietly, "I +expected that you would take it in this way; but you will soon see that +my motives are--not unworthy of a friend." + +"Tell me then how you came to know of this. Perhaps you will also give +me some proofs that Mr. Anthony Riggleton, who was found dead, whose +body was identified by responsible witnesses, has so miraculously come +to life again. Believe me, this hearsay, this wonderful story does not +appeal to me. Do you come to me with this--this farrago of nonsense with +the belief that I am going to give up all this?" and he looked out of +the window towards the far-spreading parks as he spoke, "without the +most absolute and conclusive proof? If Mr. Anthony Riggleton is alive, +where is he? Why does he not show himself? Why does he not come here and +claim his own?" + +"Because I have stopped him from coming," replied Romanoff. + +"You have stopped him from coming?" cried Dick excitedly. + +"Exactly." + +"Then you have seen him?" + +"I have seen him." + +"But how do you know it was he? Are Mr. Bidlake's inquiries to go for +nothing? No, no, it won't do. I can't be deceived like that." + +"I know it was he because I have the most absolute proofs--proofs which +I am going to submit to you." + +"You saw him, you say?" + +"I saw him." + +"But where?" + +"In Australia. I told you, didn't I, that--after leaving you I went to +Australia? I told you, too, that I left Australia quickly because I did +not like the country. That was false. I came because I wanted to warn +you, to help you. You asked me just now why, if Mr. Anthony Riggleton +was alive, he did not show himself. I will tell you why. If I had +allowed him to do so, if he knew that he was heir to all you now +possess, you would be a poor man. And I did not want you to be a poor +man. I did not want your life to be ruined, your future sacrificed, your +hopes destroyed. That's why, Faversham. That's why I left Australia and +came here without wasting an hour. That's why I examined your uncle's +will; that's why I came to warn you." + +"To warn me?" + +"To warn you." + +"Against what?" + +"Against dangers--against the dangers which might engulf you--ruin you +for ever." + +"You speak in a tragic tone of voice." + +"I speak of tragic things. I told you that this was your hour of +destiny. I told you the truth. This night will decide your future. You +are a young fellow with your life all before you. You were born for +enjoyment, for pleasure, for ease. You, unlike your uncle, who made all +the wealth we are thinking of, are not a business genius; you are not a +great master personality who can forge your way through difficult +circumstances. You are not cast in that mould. But you can enjoy. You +have barely felt your feet since you came into possession of great +wealth, but already you have dreamt dreams, and seen visions. You have +already made plans as to how you can suck the orange of the world dry. +And to-night will be the time of decision." + +Dick laughed uneasily. "How?" he asked, and his face was pale to the +lips. + +"Is there a photograph of Mr. Anthony Riggleton in the house?" asked +Romanoff. + +"Yes, I came across one the other day. Would you like to see it?" He +went to a drawer as he spoke and took a packet from it. "Here is the +thing," he added. + +"Just so," replied Romanoff; "now look at this," and he took a +photograph from his pocket. "It's the same face, isn't it? The same man. +Well, my friend, that is the photograph of a man I saw in Australia, +weeks after you got your wireless from Mr. Bidlake--months after the +news came that Mr. Anthony Riggleton was dead. I saw him; I talked with +him. He told me a good deal about himself, told me of some of his +experiences in this house. There are a number of people in this +neighbourhood who knew him, and who could identify him." + +"You are sure of this?" gasped Dick. + +"Absolutely." + +"And does he know--that--that his uncle is dead?" + +"Not yet. That's why I hurried here to see you. But he has made up his +mind to come to England, and of course he intends coming here." + +"He told you this, did he?" + +"Yes. I came across him in a little town about five hundred miles from +Melbourne, and when I found out who he was I thought of you." + +"But how do you explain the news of his death, the inquest, and the +other things?" + +"I'll come to that presently. It's easily explained. Oh, there's no +doubt about it, Faversham. I have seen the real heir to all the wealth +you thought your own." + +"But what do you mean by saying that you stopped him from coming here?" +and Dick's voice was husky. + +"I'm going to tell you why I stopped him. I'm going to tell you how you +can keep everything, enjoy everything. Yes, and how you can still marry +the woman you are dreaming of." + +"But if the real heir is alive--I--I can't," stammered Dick. + +"I'm here to show you how you can," persisted Romanoff. "Did I not tell +you that this was the hour of destiny?" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE DAY OF DESTINY + + +Dick Faversham wiped away the beads of perspiration that stood thick +upon his forehead. It seemed to him that he was surrounded by peculiar +influences, that forces were at work which he could not understand. In +one sense he did not at all believe in the story that Count Romanoff had +told him. It appeared to him chimerical, unconvincing. + +It did not seem at all likely that a man of Mr. Bidlake's experience and +mental acumen could have been so deceived. This subtle-minded lawyer, +who had lived in London for so many years and had been spoken of as one +of the most astute and level-headed men in the profession, would not be +likely to communicate news of such great importance to him without being +absolutely certain of his ground. He had shown him details of +everything, too, and Mr. Bidlake was absolutely certain that Mr. Anthony +Riggleton was dead, that he was murdered near Melbourne. The proofs of +this were demonstrated in a hundred ways. No, he did not believe in +Romanoff's story. + +Besides, it was absurd, on the face of it. Who was this Count Romanoff? +He knew little or nothing of him. Though he owed his life to him, he +knew nothing of his history or antecedents. He was afraid of him, too. +He did not like his cynical way of looking at things, nor understand his +mockery of current morality. And should he believe the bare word of such +a man? + +And yet he did believe him. At the back of his mind he felt sure that he +had spoken the truth. + +It came to him with ghastly force that he was not the owner of this fine +old house, and of all the wealth that during the last few weeks he had +almost gloated over. There was something in the tones of Romanoff's +voice--something in his mocking yet intense way of speaking that +convinced him in spite of himself. + +And the fact maddened him. To be poor now after these few brief weeks of +riches would drive him mad. He had not begun to enjoy yet. He had not +carried out the plans which had been born in his mind. He had only just +entered into possession, and had been living the life of a pattern young +man. But he had meant to enjoy, to drink the cup of pleasure to the very +dregs. + +His mind swept like lightning over the conversation which had taken +place, and every word of it was burnt into his brain. What did the Count +mean by telling him that he could retain everything? Why did he persist +in urging that he had hurried from Australia to England to save him from +losing everything? What did he mean by telling him that this was his +hour of destiny--that on his decision would depend the future of his +life? + +"You mean--to say then, that--that----" he stammered, after a long, +painful silence. + +"That Anthony Riggleton, the legal heir of old Charles Faversham, is +alive," interrupted Romanoff. "I myself have seen him, have talked with +him." + +"Does he know that he is--is the rightful heir?" + +"Not yet," and Romanoff smiled. "I took good care of that." + +"You mean----" + +"I mean that I did not save your life for nothing. When I had fully +convinced myself that he was--who he said he was--I of course reflected +on what it meant. I called to mind what you had told me on that island, +and I saw how his being alive would affect you." + +"How did you know? I did not tell you the terms of the will. I did not +know them myself." + +"Does it matter how I knew? Anyhow, he--Riggleton--would guess." + +"How did he know?" + +Romanoff shrugged his shoulders. "How should I know, my dear fellow? But +one can easily guess. He knew he was next-of-kin to old Charles +Faversham, and would naturally think he would inherit his wealth. But +that is not all. Australia, although a long way from England, is not +away from the lines of communication. Melbourne is quite a considerable +city. It has newspapers, telephones, cablegrams, and a host of other +things. But one thing Anthony Riggleton did not know: he did not know +that the terms of the will were published in the Melbourne newspapers. +He was afraid to go near Melbourne, in fact. He thought it best for the +world to think of him as dead. Indeed, he paid a man to personate him in +Melbourne, and that man paid the penalty of his deceit by his life." + +"It's anything but clear to me." + +"Then I'll make it clear. Riggleton had enemies in Melbourne whom it was +necessary for him to see, but whom he was personally afraid to meet. He +had served them very shabbily, and they had threatened him with +unpleasant things. He had as a friend a man who resembled him very +closely, and he offered this friend a sum of money if he would go to +Melbourne and personate him. This man, ignorant of his danger, accepted +the offer--now, do you see?" + +After he had asked many questions about this--questions which Romanoff +answered freely--Dick looked long and steadily at a picture of old +Charles Faversham which hung on the wall. He was trying to co-ordinate +the story--trying to understand it. + +"And where is Anthony Riggleton now?" + +"He is in England." + +"In England! Then--then----" + +"Exactly," interrupted Romanoff. "You see what I meant when I said that +the foundations of your position were very insecure. I do not imagine +that Lady Blanche Huntingford would think very seriously about Dick +Faversham if she knew the whole truth." + +"But--but--in England?" + +"Exactly. In England." + +"But you say he does not know--the truth?" + +"No. He may guess it, though. Who knows?" + +"But why did you not tell me this last night? Why wait till now before +letting me know?" + +Again Romanoff smiled; he might be enjoying himself. + +"Because I like you, my friend. Because I wanted to see the state of +your mind, and to know whether it was possible to help you." + +"To help me?" + +"To help you. I saw the kind of man you were. I saw what such wealth as +you thought you possessed would mean to you. I saw, too, to what uses +you could turn the power that riches would give you. So I made my +plans." + +"But you say he is in England. If so, he will know--all!" + +"No, he does not. I took good care of that." + +"But he will find out." + +Romanoff laughed. "No, my friend, I have taken care of everything. As I +told you, I like you, and I want you to be a great figure in the life of +your country. That is why you are safe--for the present." + +Again Dick wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead. It seemed +to him as though he were standing on a precipice, while beneath him were +yawning depths of darkness. All he had hoped for was mocking him, and he +saw himself sinking under the stress of circumstances, just as on that +terrible night he felt himself sinking in the deep waters. But there +were no arms outstretched to save him, nor friendly help near him. He +looked around the room, noble in its proportions, and handsomely +appointed, and thought of all it suggested. He remembered his last +interview with Mr. Bidlake, when that gentleman gave him an account of +his possessions, and told him of the approximate amount of his fortune. +And now it would all go to this man who was not even aware of the truth. +It was all bewildering, maddening. Before he had properly begun to taste +of the sweets of fortune they were being dashed from his lips. He felt +as though he were losing his senses, that his brain was giving way +under the stress of the news he had heard. + +Then his innate manhood began to assert itself. If what Romanoff had +said were true, he must bear it. But, of course, he would not yield +without a struggle. He would take nothing on the bare word of a man who, +after all, was a stranger. Everything should be proved up to the hilt +before he relinquished possession. + +"Safe for the present!" Dick repeated, and there was a note of angry +scorn in his voice. "Of course, if--if you are not mistaken, there is no +question of safety." + +"No question of safety?" + +"Certainly not. If Anthony Riggleton is alive, and if he is the true +heir to old Charles Faversham, he must make his claim, as I assume he +will." + +"Then you will yield without a struggle?" and there was a peculiar +intonation in Romanoff's voice. + +"No," cried Dick, "I shall not yield without a struggle. I shall place +the whole matter in Bidlake's hands, and--and if I'm a pauper, I +am--that's all." + +"I know a better way than that." + +"I don't understand you." + +"No, but you will in a minute. Faversham, there's no need for you to fix +up anything, no need for anyone to know what only you and I know." + +"Look here," and Dick's voice trembled. "Are you sure that this fellow +you talk about is Anthony Riggleton--and that he is the lawful heir?" + +Romanoff gave Dick a quick, searching glance; then he gave a peculiar +laugh. "Am I sure that the man is Anthony Riggleton? Here's the +photograph he gave me of himself. I compared the photograph with the +man, and I'm not likely to be mistaken. The photograph is the exact +representation of the man. You have photographs of Riggleton in this +house; compare them. Besides, he's been here repeatedly; he's known, I +imagine, to the servants, to the neighbours. If he is allowed to make a +claim, it will not be a question of Roger Tichborne and Arthur Orton +over again, my friend. He will be able to prove his rights." + +"What do you mean by saying, 'if he is allowed to make his claim'?" +asked Dick hoarsely. "Of course he'll be allowed." + +"Why of course? + +"Naturally he will." + +"That depends on you. Did I not tell you that this was your hour of +destiny?" + +"Then the matter is settled. I will not usurp another man's rights. If +he's the lawful owner, he shall have his own. Of course, he will have to +prove it." + +"You don't mean that?" + +"Of course I do. Why not?" + +"Because it would be criminal madness--the act of a fool!" + +"It is the only attitude for a decent fellow." + +Again Romanoff let his piercing eyes fall on Dick's face. He seemed to +be studying him afresh, as though he were trying to read his innermost +thoughts. + +"Listen, my dear fellow," and the Count calmly cut the end of a fresh +cigar. "I want to discuss this matter with you calmly, and I want our +discussion to be entirely free from sentimental rubbish. To begin with, +there is no doubt that the man Anthony Riggleton is alive, and that he +is the legal owner of all Charles Faversham's fabulous fortune. Of that +I've no doubt. If he came here everyone would recognise him, while there +is not a lawyer, not a judge or jury in the land, who would not acclaim +him the owner of all which you thought yours. But, as I said, I like +you. You were meant to be a rich man; you were meant to enjoy what +riches can give you. And of this I am sure, Faversham: poverty after +this would mean hell to you. Why, man, think what you can have--titles, +position, power, the love of beautiful women, and a thousand things +more. If you want to enter public life the door is open to you. With +wealth like yours a peerage is only a matter of arrangement. As for Lady +Blanche Huntingford----" and the Count laughed meaningly. + +"But what is the use of talking like that if nothing really belongs to +me?" cried Dick. + +"First of all, Faversham," went on the Count, as though Dick had not +spoken, "get rid of all nonsense." + +"Nonsense? I don't understand." + +"I mean all nonsense about right and wrong, about so-called points of +honour and that sort of thing. There is no right, and no wrong in the +conventional sense of the word. Right! wrong! Pooh, they are only bogys +invented by priests in days of darkness, in order to obtain power. It is +always right to do the thing that pays---the thing that gives you +happiness--power. The German philosophy is right there. Do the thing you +can do. That's common sense." + +"It's devilish!" exclaimed Dick. + +"Your mind's unhinged, excited, or you wouldn't say so," replied +Romanoff. "Now, look at me," and he fastened Dick's eyes by his intense +gaze. "Do I look like a fanatic, a fool? Don't I speak with the +knowledge of the world's wisdom in my mind? I've travelled in all the +countries in the world, my friend, and I've riddled all their +philosophies, and I tell you this: there is no right, no wrong. Life is +given to us to enjoy, to drink the cup of pleasure to its depths, to +press from the winepress all its sweets, and to be happy." + +He spoke in low, earnest tones, and as he did so, Dick felt as though +his moral manhood were being sapped. The glitter of the Count's eyes +fascinated him, and while under their spell he saw as the Count saw, +felt as he felt. + +And yet he was afraid. There was something awesome in all +this--something unholy. + +"Look here!" and Dick started to his feet. "What do you mean by coming +to me in this way? Why should you so coolly assert that the moralities +of the centuries are nonsense? Who are you? What are you?" + +Again the Count laughed. + +"Who am I? What am I?" he repeated. "You remember Napoleon Bonaparte's +famous words: 'I am not a man. I am a thing. I am a force. Right and +wrong do not exist for me. I make my own laws, my own morals.' Perhaps I +could say the same, Faversham." + +"Napoleon found out his mistake, though," protested Dick. + +"Did he? Who knows? Besides, better taste the sweets of power, if only +for a few years, than be a drudge, a nonentity, a poor, struggling worm +all your days." + +"But what do you want? What have you in your mind?" + +"This, Faversham. If you will listen to me you will treat Anthony +Riggleton as non-existent----" + +"As non-existent?" + +"Yes, you can with safety--absolute safety; and then, if you agree to my +proposal, all you hope for, all you dream of, shall be yours. You shall +remain here as absolute owner without a shadow of doubt or a shadow of +suspicion, and--enjoy. You shall have happiness, my friend--happiness. +Did I not tell you that this was your day of destiny?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE INVISIBLE HAND + + +Again Dick felt as though he were gripped by an irresistible power, and +that this power was evil. It was true that the Count sat in the chair +near him, faultlessly dressed, urbane, smiling, with all the outward +appearance of a polished man of the world; all the same, Dick felt that +an evil influence dominated the room. The picture which Romanoff made +him see was beautiful beyond words, and he beheld a future of sensuous +ease, of satisfied ambition, of indescribable delights. And what he saw +seemed to dull his moral sense, to undermine his moral strength. +Moreover, the man had by his news undermined the foundations of life, +shattered the hopes he had nourished, and thus left him unable to fight. + +"Tell me that this is a--a joke on your part," Dick said at length. "Of +course it's not true." + +"Of course it is true." + +"Well, I'll have it proved, anyhow. Everything shall be sifted to the +bottom." + +"How?" + +"I'll go and see Bidlake to-morrow. I'll tell him what you've said." + +"You will do no such thing." The Count spoke in the most nonchalant +manner. + +"Why not? Indeed, I shall." + +"You will not. I'll tell you why. First, because it would be criminally +insane, and second, because you would be cutting your own throat." + +"Please explain." + +"Understand," replied Romanoff, "that this is really nothing to me after +all. I do not benefit by your riches, or lose by your poverty. Why, I +wonder, am I taking an interest in the matter?" And for the moment he +seemed to be reflecting. "I suppose it is because I like you--of course +that is it. Besides, I saved your life, and naturally one has an +interest in the life one has saved. But to explain: accept for the +moment the conventional standards of right and wrong, good and evil, and +what is the result? Suppose you give up everything to Riggleton--what +follows? You give up all this to an unclean beast. You put power in the +hands of a man who hasn't an elevated thought or desire. You, now--if +you are wise, and retain what you have--can do some good with your +money. You can bring comfort to the people on your estates; you can help +what you believe worthy causes. You, Faversham, are a gentleman at +heart, and would always act like one. Mind, I _don't_ accept +conventional morality; it is no more to me than so much sawdust. But I +do respect the decencies of life. My education has thrown me among +people who have a sense of what's fit and proper. Anyhow, judging from +your own standards, you would be doing an _immoral_ thing by handing +this great fortune to Riggleton." + +"Tell me about him," and Dick felt a tightening at the throat. + +"Tell you about him! An unsavoury subject, my friend. A fellow with the +mind of a pig, the tastes of a pig. What are his enjoyments? His true +place is in a low-class brothel. If he inherited Wendover Park, he would +fill these beautiful rooms with creatures of his own class--men and +women." + +The Count did not raise his voice, but Dick realised its intensity; and +again he felt his influence--felt that he was being dominated by a +personality stronger than his own. + +"No, no," he continued, and he laughed quietly as he spoke; "copy-book +morality has no weight with me. But I trust I am a gentleman. If, to use +your own term, I sin, I will sin like a gentleman; I will enjoy myself +like a gentleman. But this man is dirty. He wallows in filth--wallows in +it, and rejoices in it. That is Anthony Riggleton. Morality! I scorn it. +But decency, the behaviour of a gentleman, to act as a gentleman under +every circumstance--that is a kind of religion with me! Now, then, +Faversham, would it not be criminal madness to place all this in the +hands of such a loathsome creature when you can so easily prevent it?" + +Of course, the argument was commonplace enough. It was a device by which +thousands have tried to salve their consciences, and to try to find an +excuse for wrong-doing. Had some men spoken the same words, Dick might +not have been affected, but uttered by Romanoff they seemed to undermine +the foundations of his reasoning power. + +"But if he is in England?" he protested weakly. + +"He is, but what then?" + +"He must know; he must. He is not an idiot, I suppose?" + +"No; he is cunning with a low kind of cunning--the cunning of a sensual +beast. Some would say he is clever." + +"Then he must find out the truth." + +"Not if you say he must not." + +"What have I to do with it?" + +"Everything," and Romanoff's eyes seemed to be searching into Dick's +innermost soul. + +"But how? I do not understand," and he nervously wiped his moist hands. + +"Say so, and he must be got rid of." + +"How?" + +Romanoff laughed quietly. "These are good cigars, Faversham," he said, +like one who was vastly enjoying himself. "Oh, you can do that easily +enough," he continued. + +"How?" asked Dick. He felt his eyes were hot as he turned them towards +the other. + +"I said treat him as though he were non-existent. Well, let him _be_ +non-existent." + +"You mean--you mean----" and Dick's voice could scarcely be recognised. + +"Why not?" asked the Count carelessly. "The fellow is vermin--just dirty +vermin. But he is a danger--a danger to the community, a danger to you. +Why, then, if it can be done easily, secretly, and without anyone +having the slightest chance of knowing, should you not rid the world of +such a creature? Especially when you could save all this," and he looked +around the room, "as well as marry that divine creature, and live the +life you long to live." + +"Never!" cried Dick. "What?--murder! Not for all the wealth ever known. +No, no--my God, no!" + +"If there are good deeds in the world, that would be a good deed," +persisted Romanoff. "You would be a benefactor to your race, your +country," and there was a touch of pleading in his voice. "Why, man, +think; I have him safe--safe! No one could know, and it would be a +praiseworthy deed." + +"Then why not do it yourself?" cried Dick. There was a sneer as well as +anger in his voice. + +"I am not the next heir to the Faversham estates," replied Romanoff. +"What does it matter to me who owns all that old Charles Faversham +gained during his life?" + +"Then why suggest such a thing? Why, it's devilish!" + +"Don't--please, don't be melodramatic," the Count drawled. "Would you +not kill a rat that ate your corn? Would you not shoot any kind of +vermin that infested your house? Well, Riggleton is vermin, human vermin +if you like, but still vermin, and he is not fit to live. If I, +Romanoff, were in your position, I would have no more hesitation in +putting him out of existence than your gamekeeper would have in shooting +a dog with rabies. But, then, I am not in your position. I have nothing +to gain. I only take a friendly interest in you. I have hurried to you +with all speed the moment I knew of your danger, and I have told you how +you can rid the world of a coarse, dirty-minded animal, and at the same +time save for yourself the thing nearest your heart." + +"Did he come in the same vessel with you?" + +"Suffice to say that I know he is in England, and in safe keeping." + +"Where? How? England has laws to protect everyone." + +"That does not matter. I will tell you if you like; but you would be +none the wiser." + +"Then you have arranged this?" + +"If you like--yes." + +"But why?" + +"Still the same silly question. Have you no sense of proportion, +Faversham? Haven't I told you again and again?" + +Dick was almost gasping for breath, and as he buried his head in his +hands, he tried to understand, to realise. In calmer moments his mind +would doubtless have pierced the cheap sophistry of the Count, and +discarded it. But, as I have said, he was greatly excited, bewildered. +Never as now did he desire wealth. Never as now had the thought of +winning Lady Blanche seemed the great thing in life to be hoped for. And +he knew the Count was right--knew that without his money she would no +more think of marrying him than of marrying the utmost stranger. And yet +his heart craved after her. He longed to possess her--to call her his +own. He saw her as he had never seen her before, a splendid creature +whose beauty outshone that of any woman he had ever seen, as the sun +outshone the moon. + +And this Anthony Riggleton, whom the Count described as vermin, stood in +his way. Because of a quibble on his part this loathsome thing would +ruin his future, dash his hopes to the ground, blacken his life. + +But the alternative! + +"No, of course not!" he cried. + +"You refuse?" + +"Certainly I do. I'm not a murderer." + +"Very well, go your own way. Go to your Mr. Bidlake, see him shrug his +shoulders and laugh, and then watch while your cousin--your +_cousin_!--turns this glorious old place into a cesspool." + +"Yes; rather than stain my hands in----I say, Romanoff," and the words +passed his lips almost in spite of himself, "there must be some deep +reason why you--you say and do all this. Do you expect to gain anything, +in any way, because of my--retaining possession of my uncle's wealth?" + +For the first time the Count seemed to lose possession over himself. He +rose to his feet, his eyes flashing. + +"What!" he cried; "do you mean that I, Romanoff, would profit by your +poor little riches? What is all this to me? Why, rich as you thought you +were, I could buy up all the Faversham estates--all--all, and then not +know that my banking account was affected. I, Romanoff, seek to help a +man whom I had thought of as my friend for some paltry gain! Good-night, +Mr. Richard Faversham, you may go your own way." + +"Stop!" cried Dick, almost carried away by the vehemence of the other; +"of course, I did not mean----" + +"Enough," and the Count interrupted him by a word and a laugh. "Besides, +you do not, cannot, understand. But to rid your mind of all possible +doubt I will show you something. Here is my account with your Bank of +England. This is for pocket-money, pin-money, petty cash as your +business men call it. There was my credit yesterday. In the light of +that, do you think that I need to participate in your fortune, huge as +you regard it?" + +Dick was startled as he saw the amount. There could be no doubt about +it. The imprimatur of the Bank of England was plainly to be seen, and +the huge figures stood out boldly. + +"I'm sure I apologise," stammered Dick. "I only thought that--that--you +see----" + +"All right," laughed the Count, "let it be forgotten. Besides, have I +not told you more than once that I am interested in you? I have shown +you my interest, and----" + +"Of course you have," cried Dick. "I owe you my life; but for you I +should not be alive to-day." + +"Just so. I want to see you happy, Faversham. I want you to enjoy life's +sweetness. I want you to be for ever free from the haunting fear that +this Anthony Riggleton shall ever cross your path. That is why----" + +He hesitated, as though he did not know what to say next. + +"Yes," asked Dick, "why what?" + +"That is why I want to serve you further." + +"Serve me further? How?" + +"Suppose I get rid of Riggleton for you?" + +"I do not understand." + +"Suppose I offer to get rid of Riggleton for you? Suppose without your +having anything to do with him, without knowing where he is, I offer to +remove him for ever from your path--would you consent?" + +"I consent?" + +"Yes; I must have that. Would you give it?" + +"You--you--that is, you ask me if I will consent to--to his--his +murder?" + +"Just that, my friend. That must be--else why should I do it? But--but I +love you, Faversham--as if you were my son, and I would do it for your +happiness. Of course, it's an unpleasant thing to do, even although I +have no moral scruples, but I'll do it for you." + +Again Dick felt as though the ground were slipping from under his feet. +Never before was he tempted as he was tempted now, never did it seem so +easy to consent to wrong. And he would not be responsible. He had +suggested nothing, pleaded nothing. His part would be simply to be +blindly quiescent. His mind was confused to every issue save one. He had +only to consent, and this man Riggleton, the true owner of everything, +would be removed for ever. + +"And if I do not?" he asked. + +"Then nothing more need be said. But look at me, Faversham, and tell me +if you will be such a fool. If there is any guilt, I bear it; if there +is any danger, I face it; do you refuse, Faversham? I only make the +offer for your sake." + +Again Dick felt the awful eyes of the Count piercing him; it was as +though all his power of judgment, all his volition were ebbing away. At +that moment he felt incapable of resistance. + +"And if I consent?" he asked weakly. + +"Of course you will, you _will_, you WILL," and the words were repeated +with peculiar intensity, while the eyes of the two met. "I only make one +stipulation, and I must make it because you need a friend. I must make +it binding for your sake." + +He took a piece of paper from a desk and scribbled a few words. + +"There, read," he said. + +Dick read: + +"I promise to put myself completely under the guidance of Count Romanoff +with regard to the future of my life." + +"There, sign that, Faversham," and the Count placed the pen in his hand. + +Without will, and almost without knowledge, Dick took the pen. + +"What do you want me to do?" asked Dick dully. + +"Sign that paper. Just put 'Richard Faversham' and the date. I will do +the rest." + +"But--but if I do this, I shall be signing away my liberty. I shall make +myself a slave to you." + +"Nonsense, my dear fellow. Why should I interfere with your liberty?" + +"I don't know; but this paper means that." He was still able to think +consecutively, although his thoughts were cloudy and but dimly realised. + +"Think, Faversham. I am undertaking a dirty piece of work for your sake. +Why? I am doing it because I want you to be free from Anthony Riggleton, +and I am doing it because I take a deep interest in you." + +"But why should I sign this?" + +In spite of the Count's influence over him, he had a dull feeling that +there was no need for such a thing. Even although he had tacitly +consented to Romanoff's proposal he saw no necessity for binding +himself. + +"I'll tell you why. It's because I know you--because I read your mind +like a book. I want to make you my protege, and I want you to cut a +figure in the life of the world. After all, in spite of Charles +Faversham's wealth, you are a nobody. You are a commoner all compact. +But I can make you really great. I am Romanoff. You asked me once if I +were of the great Russian family, and I answered yes. Do you know what +that means? It means that no door is closed to me--that I can go where I +will, do what I will. It means that if I desire a man's aggrandisement, +it is an accomplished fact. Not only are the delights of this country +mine for the asking, but my name is an _Open Sesame_ in every land. My +name and my influence are a key to unlock every door; my hand can draw +aside the curtain of every delight. And there are delights in the world +that you know nothing of, never dreamt of. As my protege I want them to +be yours. A great name, great power, glorious pleasures, the smile of +beautiful women, delights such as the author of _The Arabian Nights_ +only dimly dreamt of--it is my will that you shall have them all. +Charles Faversham's money and my influence shall give you all this and +more. But I am not going to have a fretful, puling boy objecting all the +time; I am not going to have my plans for your happiness frustrated by +conscience and petty quibbles about what is good and evil. That is why I +insist on your signing that paper." + +Romanoff spoke in low tones, but every word seemed to be laden with +meanings hitherto unknown to Dick. He saw pictures of exquisite +delights, of earthly paradises, of joys that made life an ecstasy. + +And still something kept his hand still. He felt rather than reasoned +that something was wrong--that all was wrong. He was in an abnormal +state of mind; he knew that the influences by which he was surrounded +were blinding him to truth, and giving him distorted fancies about +life's values. + +"No," he said doggedly; "I won't sign, and I won't consent to this +devilish deed." + +Again Romanoff laughed. "Look at me, Dick, my boy," he said. "You are +not a milksop; you were made to live your whole life. Fancy you being a +clerk in an office, a store--a poor little manikin keeping body and soul +together in order to do the will of some snivelling tradesman! Think of +it! Think of Anthony Riggleton living here, or in London, in Paris, in +India--or wherever he pleases--squandering his money, and satiated with +pleasure, while you--you----Pooh! I know you. I see you holding Lady +Blanche in your arms. I see you basking in the smiles of beautiful women +all over the world. I see the name of Faversham world-wide in its +power. I see----" and the Count laughed again. + +All the while, too, he kept Dick's eyes riveted on his own--eyes which +told him of a world of sensuous delights, and which robbed him of his +manhood. No, he could not bear to become poor again, and he would not +give up the delights he had dreamt of. Right! Wrong! Good! Evil! They +were only words. The Count was right. It was his right to enjoy. + +"All right, I'll sign," he said. + +He dipped the pen into the ink, and prepared to inscribe his name, but +the moment he placed his hand on the paper it felt as though it were +paralysed. + +"There is something here!" he gasped. + +"Something here? Nonsense." + +"But there is. Look!" + +It seemed to him that a ray of light, brighter than that of the electric +current that burnt in the room, streamed towards him. Above him, too, he +saw the face that was now becoming familiar to him. Strange that he had +forgotten it during the long conversation, strange that no memory of the +evening before, when over the doorway he had seen an angel's face +beaming upon him and warning him, had come to him. + +But he remembered now. The night on the heaving sea, the vision on the +island, the luminous form over the doorway of the house, all flashed +before him, and in a way he could not understand Romanoff's influence +over him lessened--weakened. + +"Sign--sign there!" urged the Count, pointing towards the paper. + +"What is the matter with your eyes?" gasped Dick. "They burn with the +light of hell fire." + +"You are dreaming, boy. Sign, and let's have a bottle of wine to seal +the bargain." + +"I must be dreaming," thought Dick. "An angel's face! What mad, idiotic +nonsense!" + +He still held the pen in his hand, and it seemed to him that strength +was again returning to his fingers. + +"Where must I sign?" he muttered. "I can't see plainly." + +"There--right at the point of your pen," was the Count's reply. + +But Dick did not sign, for suddenly he saw a white, shadowy hand appear, +which with irresistible strength gripped his wrist. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A SCRAP OF PAPER + + +Suddenly the spell, or whatever had enchained him, was broken. There was +a noise of wheels on the gravel outside, and the sound of footsteps in +the hall. He heard the Count mutter a savage oath, and a moment later +the door opened and he heard a happy, clear, girlish voice: + +"Oh, Mr. Faversham, forgive me for coming; but I really couldn't help +myself." + +It was Beatrice Stanmore who, unheralded and unaccompanied, stood by his +side. + +He muttered something, he knew not what, although he felt as though a +weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and strength came back to his +being. + +"I really couldn't," the girl went on. "Granddad left me just after a +very early dinner, and then I felt awfully miserable and depressed. I +didn't know why. It was just ghastly. Nothing had happened, and yet I +knew--why, I couldn't tell--that something was terribly wrong. Then +something told me that you were in danger, that unless I came to help +you, you would be--oh, I can't put it into words! You are not in danger, +are you?" + +"It was very kind of you to come," muttered Dick. "I'm no end glad to +see you." + +"But--but I'm afraid!" she said in her childish way. "I don't know what +Granddad will say to me. You see, you are a stranger to me, and I had no +right to come. But I couldn't help it--I really couldn't. Someone seemed +to be saying to me all the time, 'Mr. Faversham is in deadly peril; go +to him--go to him quick! quick!' And I couldn't help myself. I kept +telling myself that I was very silly, and all that sort of thing, but +all the time I heard the voice saying, 'Quick, quick, or you'll be too +late!' But I'm afraid it's all wrong. You are all right. You are in no +danger, are you?" + +"I'm no end glad to see you," he repeated. "And it is awfully good of +you to come." + +He still seemed to be under strange influences, but he no longer felt as +though his strength was gone. His heart was strangely light, too. The +presence of the girl by his side gave him comfort. + +"You are not angry with me, then? I've not done wrong, have I?" + +"Wrong? No! You have done quite right--quite. Thank you very, very +much." + +"I'm glad of that. When I had left our house I wanted to run to you. +Then I thought of the car. I've learnt to drive, and Granddad thinks I'm +very clever at it. I simply flew through the park. But I'm glad you are +in no danger. I must go now." + +She had not once looked at Romanoff; she simply stood gazing at Dick +with wide-open, childish-looking eyes, and her words came from her +almost pantingly, as though she spoke under the stress of great +excitement. Then she looked at the paper before him. + +"You are not going to write your name on that, are you?" she asked. + +"No," he replied; "I'm not." + +"You must not," she said simply. "It would be wrong. When I heard the +words telling me to come to you I--I saw--but no, I can't recall it. But +you must not sign that. I'll go now. Good-night, and please forgive me +for coming." + +"Please don't go yet." + +"But I must. I could not stay here. There's something wrong, something +evil. I'm sure there is." + +She glanced nervously towards Romanoff, and shivered. "Good-night," she +said, holding out her hand. "I really must go now. I think the danger is +over--I feel sure it is; and Granddad will be anxious if he comes back +and does not find me." + +"I'll see you to the door," said Dick. "I shall never cease to thank you +for coming." + +Leaving the paper on the table, and without looking at Romanoff, he +opened the door to her, and passed into the hall. + +"Yes; I shall never cease to thank you," he repeated--"never. You have +saved me." + +"What from?" and she looked at him with a strangely wistful smile. + +"I don't know," he replied--"I don't know." + +When they stood together on the gravel outside the door, he gave a deep +sigh. It seemed to him as though the pure, sweet air enabled him to lift +every weight from himself. He was free--wonderfully, miraculously free. + +"Oh, it is heavenly, just heavenly here!" and she laughed gaily. "I +think this is the most beautiful place in the world, and this is the +most beautiful night that ever was. Isn't the avenue just lovely? The +trees are becoming greener and greener every day. It is just as though +the angels were here, hanging their festoons. Do you like my car? Isn't +it a little beauty?" + +"Yes," replied Dick. "May--may I drive you back?" + +"Will you? Then you can explain to Granddad. But no, you mustn't. You +must go back to your friend." + +"He isn't my friend," replied Dick almost involuntarily; "he's just--but +perhaps you wouldn't understand." + +"He isn't a good man," she cried impulsively. "I don't like him. I know +I ought not to say this. Granddad often tells me that I let my tongue +run away with me. But he's not a good man, and--and I think he's your +enemy." + +Dick was silent. + +"Is he staying with you long?" she went on. + +"No, not long." + +"I'm glad of that. He isn't nice. He's--he's--I don't know what. I shall +tell Granddad I've been here." + +"He won't be angry, will he?" + +"No; he's never angry. Besides, I think he'll understand. You'll come +and see us soon, won't you?" + +"I'm afraid I shall not be able to. I'm going away." + +"Going away?" + +"Yes; I'm leaving Wendover Park. At least, I expect so." + +"You don't mean for always?" + +"Yes; for always. To-night has decided it." + +She looked at him wistfully, questioningly. + +"Has that man anything to do with it? Is he driving you away?" + +"No; he wants me to stay." + +She again scanned his features in a puzzled, childish way. "Of course, I +don't understand," she said. + +"No; I hardly understand myself," and he spoke almost involuntarily. +"Thank you very much for coming." + +She clasped his hand eagerly. "I shall be very sorry if you go," she +said, "but please don't do anything that man asks you. Please don't." + +"I won't," replied Dick. + +He started the car for her, and then watched her while she drove down +the avenue. Then he stood for a few seconds looking at the great +doorway. He might have been expecting to see there what had been so +plainly visible before, but there was nothing. + +The grey old mansion was simply bathed in the light of the dying day, +while the silvery moon, which was just rising behind the tree-tops, sent +its rays through the fast-growing leaves. But as Beatrice Stanmore had +said, it was a most wondrous night. All nature was glorying in life, +while the light breezes seemed to bring him distant messages. The birds, +too, even although the sun had set, perhaps an hour before, sent their +messages one to another, and twittered their love-songs as they settled +to their rest. + +He waited on the steps for perhaps five minutes, then he found his way +back to Romanoff. For some seconds neither said anything; each seemed to +have a weight upon his lips. Then Romanoff spoke. + +"You refuse, then?" + +"Yes; I refuse." + +"What do you refuse?" + +"Everything. I refuse to allow you to do that devilish deed. I refuse to +obey you." + +Romanoff laughed as his eyes rested on Dick's face. + +"You know what this means, of course?" + +"Yes, I know." + +"Then--then I interfere no further." + +"Thank you." + +Romanoff waited a few seconds before he spoke again. "Of course, you are +very silly, Faversham," he said. "Soon you'll be sorry for this, and +some time you'll need my help. Meanwhile I'm tired, and will go to bed." + +He passed out of the room as he spoke, and Dick noticed that the scrap +of paper was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +COUNT ROMANOFF'S DEPARTURE + + +The next morning when Dick came downstairs he found Romanoff evidently +prepared for a journey. His luggage had been brought into the hall, and +he was looking at a time-table. + +"Faversham, I am sorry that we part in this way," he said. + +"Are you going?" asked Dick. + +The Count looked at him steadily, as if trying to divine his state of +mind--to know if he had changed his purposes since the previous evening. + +"Naturally," he replied. + +"You have settled on your train?" + +"Yes; I go by the 10.43." + +"Then I will see that a car is in readiness." + +As may be imagined, Dick had spent a well-nigh sleepless flight, and he +was in a nervous condition; but upon one thing he had decided. He would +be studiously polite to the Count, and would in no way refer to the +happenings of the previous night. Even yet he had not made up his mind +about his visitor, except that he agreed with Beatrice Stanmore. The man +still fascinated him; but he repelled him also. There was something +mysterious, evil, about him; but the evil was alluring; it was made to +seem as though it were not evil. + +"Should you alter your mind," said the Count on leaving, "this address +will find me. After to-night at ten o'clock, it will be useless to try +to find me." + +Dick looked at the card he had placed in his hand, and found the name of +one of the best hotels in London. + +When he had gone, the young man felt strangely lonely and fearfully +depressed. The air seemed full of foreboding; everything seemed to tell +him of calamity. As the morning passed away, too, he, more than once, +found himself questioning his wisdom. After all, the Count had asked +nothing unreasonable. Why should he not promise to be guided by a man +who was so much older and wiser than himself? One, too, who could so +greatly help him in the future. + +Again and again he wandered around the house, and through the gardens. +Again and again he feasted his eyes upon the beauty of the park and the +glory of the district. And it was his no longer! Could he not even +now---- + +No; he could not! If Anthony Riggleton were alive, and was the true heir +to old Charles Faversham's wealth, he should have it. The thought of +doing what Romanoff had proposed made him shudder. + +But he would not give up without a struggle. After all, he was in +possession, and he was accepted as the owner of Wendover Park as well as +heir to enormous wealth. Why, then, should he give it up? No; he would +fight for what he held. + +The day passed slowly away. He ate his lonely lunch in silence, and +then, taking a two-seater car, ran it in the direction of Lord +Huntingford's house. Just as he was passing the gates Lady Blanche +appeared, accompanied by a girl of about her own age. + +Almost unconsciously he lifted his foot from the accelerator and pressed +down the brake. + +"Alone, Mr. Faversham?" she asked, with a radiant smile. + +"Quite alone, Lady Blanche." + +"Your guest is gone, then?" + +"He left this morning." + +"Then--then please excuse the informality--but then we are neighbours; +won't you come to dinner _en famille_ on Thursday night? Father will be +delighted to see you. And, oh, I want to introduce you to my friend +here." + +He did not catch the girl's name, but it did not matter. He had only +eyes and ears for this glorious woman. Her face was wreathed with +smiles, while her eyes shone brightly. Surely such a woman was never +known before. In a moment he had forgotten the previous night--forgotten +the great crisis in his life. + +"Thursday! I shall be delighted!" he cried, lifting his cap. + +The two passed on, and he resumed his drive. Why did he not ask them to +accompany him? Why? Why? + +His mind was in a turmoil. The sight of Lady Blanche had set his nerves +tingling, and caused his blood to course madly through his veins. Her +smile, her look, her attitude could only mean one thing: she thought +kindly of him--she thought more than kindly of him. + +Then he remembered. Wendover Park was not his--nothing was his. If +Romanoff told him truly, he was a pauper. All--all would have to be +sacrificed. + +Where he went that afternoon he had no recollection. He only knew that +he drove the car at its utmost speed, and that the country through which +he was passing was strange to him. He wanted to get away from himself, +from his thoughts, from everything that reminded him of the truth. + +He returned to Wendover Park in time for dinner, and from eight to ten +o'clock he sat alone. On his arrival he had asked whether there had been +any callers, any message, and on receiving an answer in the negative, he +had heaved a sigh of relief. In the library after dinner, however, the +whole ghastly position had to be faced, and for two hours his mind was +torn first this way and then that. + +But he did nothing. He could not do anything. How could he? + +The evening--the night passed, and there was no happening. Everything +was orderly, quiet, commonplace. He might never have seen the luminous +figure at the doorway, never felt that awesome gripping of his wrist; +indeed, the whole experience might have been a dream, so unreal was it. + +The next day passed, and still nothing happened. More than once he was +on the point of ringing up Mr. Bidlake, but he refrained. What could he +say to the keen old lawyer? + +He did not leave the house during the whole day. Almost feverishly he +listened to every sound. No footstep passed unnoticed, no caller but was +anxiously scanned. Every time the telephone bell rang, he rushed to it +with fast-beating heart, only to heave a sigh of relief when he +discovered that there was no message concerning the things which haunted +his mind. + +Still another night passed, and still nothing happened. He was beginning +to hope that Romanoff had been playing a practical joke on him, and that +all his fears were groundless. + +Then just before noon the blow came. + +The telephone bell tinkled innocently near him, and on putting the +instrument to his ear he heard Mr. Bidlake's voice. + +"Is that you, Mr. Faversham? + +"Mr. Faversham speaking. You are Mr. Bidlake, aren't you?" + +"Yes." + +This was followed by a cough; then the lawyer spoke again. + +"Will you be home this afternoon?" + +"Yes." + +"I want to see you very particularly. A strange thing has happened. +Grotesque, in fact, and I want you to be prepared for--for anything." + +"What?" + +"I don't like telling you over the telephone. I'm tremendously upset. I +can hardly speak collectedly." + +"I think I know. It has to do with Anthony Riggleton and the Faversham +estates, hasn't it?" + +"How did you know? Yes; it has. It's terribly serious, I'm afraid. I'd +better see you at once. Some arrangement, some compromise might be +made." + +"You mean that Riggleton is not dead? That you've seen him?" + +He spoke quite calmly and naturally. Indeed, he was surprised at his +command over himself. + +"Yes; he's just left me. He's been here for two hours. Of course, I +tried at first to take his visit as a joke, but----" + +"You are convinced that it _was_ Riggleton?" + +"I can have no doubt about it--no possible doubt. He's deadly in earnest +too, and his case is overwhelming--simply overwhelming. Never, outside +the realms of the wildest romance, did I ever come across a case where a +lawyer could be so completely mistaken. But I can't help it, and I'm +afraid that--that your prospects for the future are materially altered. +Of course you might----" + +"You are coming down here, you say. There's a good train from Victoria +at 1.45. Can you catch it?" + +"Ye--s. I think so." + +"Then I'll send a car to meet you at this end." + +He rang the bell, altered the time of lunch, and then sat down to think. +But not for long. Calmly as he had talked to the lawyer, his every nerve +was quivering with excitement, every faculty was in tension. + +He went to the window and looked out. + +All he saw was his no longer. He had no doubt about it, and it seemed to +him that an icy hand was placed upon his heart as he realised it. + +And he might have retained it! + +Was he glad or sorry because of what he had done? Every particle of his +being was crying out for the life he longed to live, and yet----As he +thought of the price he would have to pay, as he remembered Romanoff's +words, he did not repent. + +He calmly waited for the lawyer's arrival. + +By four o'clock Mr. Bidlake was on his way back to London again, and +Dick knew that his own fate was sealed. The lawyer had proved to him +that he had no right to be there, and while he advised him to put on a +bold face, and in the last extremity to try and compromise with Anthony +Riggleton, he held out no hope. Anthony Riggleton was beyond doubt the +true heir of old Charles Faversham, and he had undisputable proofs of +the fact. + +"I am more upset than I can say, Faversham," said the lawyer, when he +had described Riggleton's visit, "but we can't help ourselves. He is +perfectly sure of his ground, and he has reason to be." + +"He convinced you entirely, then?" + +"Absolutely--absolutely." + +Dick was still calm. Perhaps the experiences of the last few days left +him almost incapable of feeling. + +"What sort of fellow is he?" + +The lawyer puckered up his face, and shook his head dismally. "He will +not be a Society favourite," was all he said. + +"But he has no doubts as to his plans?" + +"He says he's going to take possession immediately. If you offer any +opposition, he will apply for an injunction." + +"Has he any money?" + +"He appeared to be quite well off. His clothes are quite new," added the +lawyer, "and he sported some very flashy jewellery. I was impressed by +the thought that he had someone behind him." + +"Did he say so?" + +"No, not definitely, but I formed that impression. Anyhow, you can be +certain of this. He will lose no time in making his claim. Indeed, I +should not be at all surprised if the papers don't contain some notice +of his advent and his claims to-morrow morning." + +"You said something about a compromise." + +"Yes, you see"--and the lawyer coughed almost nervously--"this will be +very awkward for you. You've no right here; you've been spending money +which has not been your own. Still, your case is not without its good +points. You are in possession, you have been accepted as the owner +of--all this, and even although he has the prior claim, you would have +great sympathy from a jury--should it come to that. I told him so. I +don't promise anything, but it might be that he might be disposed to--do +something considerable to persuade you to leave him in possession +quietly." + +"As a kind of salve for my disappointment?" and there was an angry light +in Dick's eyes. + +"If you like to put it that way, yes. But, bless my soul, it is close on +four o'clock, and I must be going. I can't say how sorry I am, and--and +if I can do anything----" + +"Is the fellow married?" interrupted Dick. + +"No--nothing of that sort. After all, no one but he stands in the way of +possession." + +"What shall I do?" Dick asked himself. "I'm worse off than I was before. +At any rate I was in the way of earning a few hundred pounds when that +wireless came. But now everything is altered, and I don't know where to +turn. Still----" and there was a grim, hard look in his eyes. + +Slowly he walked down the avenue towards the lodge gates. Away in the +distance, as though coming towards him, he saw a young girl. It was +Beatrice Stanmore. He took a few steps towards her, and then turned +back. Something forbade his speaking to her; somehow she seemed closely +connected with the black calamity which had fallen on him. + +He had barely returned to the house when he heard the tooting of a motor +horn, and, looking out, he saw a large, powerful motor-car coming +rapidly up the avenue. A minute later he heard voices in the +hall--voices which suggested recognition. Then the door opened. + +"Mr. Anthony Riggleton!" said the servant excitedly. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +RIGGLETON'S HOMECOMING + + +A young fellow about twenty-eight years of age entered the room. He was +a round-faced, thickly built man, and he carried himself with a swagger. +Evidently it had been his desire to get himself up for the occasion. His +clothes were new, and shouted aloud of his tastes. They suggested a +bookmaker. He smoked a large cigar, and wore an aggressive buttonhole. +He did not take off his hat on entering, but, having advanced a couple +of steps, took a survey of the room. + +"Yes," he said, and his voice was somewhat thick; "I remember the old +place well. It's as natural as life." Then, coming up to where Dick was, +he continued, "Of course you know who I am?" + +Dick, who had difficulty in repressing his excitement, mentioned +something about never having seen him before. + +"Oh, stow that!" said the newcomer. "I'm Tony Riggleton, I am. You know +that well enough." + +"I don't see why I should," and Dick's voice was a little angry. He +instinctively disliked Tony Riggleton. + +"I do, though. Why, Bidlake hasn't been gone half an hour. Hopper has +just told me." + +Dick was silent. He did not see at the moment what there was for him to +say. + +"You guess why I'm here?" he went on. + +"I'm not good at guessing." Dick felt that Riggleton had the whip hand +of him, and while he did not intend to make any concessions to his +whilom cousin, he felt sure what the upshot of their meeting would be. + +"Oh, I say, Faversham," and Riggleton moved farther into the room, "it's +no use taking the high hand with me. Of course I don't blame you, and +naturally you're cut up. Anyone would be in your place. But there's +nothing green about me. All this show belongs to me, and I mean to +finger the coin. That's straight. Mind, I've come down here in a +friendly way, and I don't want to be unreasonable. See? I'm old +Faversham's heir. Old Bidlake was obliged to own it, although he +wriggled like a ferret in a hole. I can see, too, that you're a bit of a +swell, and would suit his book better than I can; but I can make the +money go. Don't you make any mistake." + +He laughed as he spoke, and made a pretence of re-lighting his cigar. + +"Come now," he went on, "let's have a bottle of champagne, and then we +can talk over things quietly." + +"There's nothing to talk over as far as I can see," interposed Dick. + +"What do you mean by that?" In spite of his assertive attitude, he did +not appear at ease, and was constantly casting furtive and suspicious +glances towards Dick. + +"I mean," replied Dick, "that if you are old Charles Faversham's heir, +and if you can prove it, there's nothing more to be said." + +"You mean that you'll clear out quietly?" + +There was evident astonishment in his voice. Apparently he had expected +bluster, and perhaps a scene. + +"Of course I shall clear out quietly. Naturally there are formalities +with which you'll have to comply; but, if you are the true owner, you +are, and there's no more to be said." + +Riggleton looked at him with open-mouthed wonder, evidently staggered +that Faversham was taking the matter so calmly. + +Dick was silent. The fellow was getting on his nerves, and he had +difficulty in keeping calm. + +"Then you don't mean to fight it out?" he continued. + +"Why should I?" asked Dick quietly. "You have placed your papers in Mr. +Bidlake's hands, and left everything for his examination. Your identity +will have to be proved, and all that sort of thing; but I hope I've too +much self-respect to try to hold anything that isn't mine." + +"Put it there!" cried Anthony Riggleton, holding out his hand. "That's +what I call acting like a gentleman, that is. I sort of thought you'd +get your monkey up, and--but there. It's all right. There's nothing +fishy about me. I don't pretend to be a saint, I don't. In fact, I don't +believe old Uncle Charlie ever meant me to come in for all his wad. +S'welp me bob, I don't. I was never his sort, and I don't mind telling +you that he as good as kicked me out from here. You see, I was always +fond of a bit of life, and I've gone the whole hog in my time. But +that's all over now." + +"You mean that you're going to reform?" + +"Reform! Not 'alf. No, Faversham; I'm going to have the time of my life. +I'm going to--but--I say, have you been here ever since you thought you +came in for the old man's whack?" + +"Yes; why?" + +"You _are_ a plaster saint. By gosh, you are! But you don't see me +burying myself in this hole. Of course it's very grand, and all that +sort of thing; but, no, thank you! Tony Riggleton is going the whole +hog. What's the use of money else? Of course I shall use the place now +and then. When I feel my feet a bit I shall get some music-hall people +down here for week-ends, and all that sort of thing. But, as for living +here like Bidlake says you have!--no, thank you. London's my mark! I +tell you, I mean to paint the town red. And then, if I can get passports +and that sort of tommy-rot, I'll do Paris and Madrid and Rome. You don't +catch me burying myself like a hermit. Not a little bit. Now I've got +the money, I mean to make it fly. I _should_ be a fool if I didn't!" + +The man was revealing himself by every word he spoke. His tastes and +desires were manifested by his sensual lips, his small, dull eyes and +throaty voice. + +"Now, look here, Faversham," he went on, "I'll admit you are different +from what I expected you to be. I was prepared for a bit of a shindy, +and that's straight. But you've taken a knock-down blow in a sporting +way, and I want to do the thing handsome. Of course I own this show just +as I own all the rest of the old man's estates; but there's nothing mean +about me. Live and let live is my motto. You can stay on here for a week +or a fortnight if you like. I don't want to be hard. For that matter, +although I'm going back to town to-night, I'll come back on Saturday and +bring some bits of fluff from the Friv, and we'll make a week-end of it. +I expect you've plenty of fizz in the house, haven't you?" + +Dick was silent. The conversation, only a part of which I have recorded, +so disgusted him that, although he was not a Puritan by nature, he felt +almost polluted by the man's presence. It seemed like sacrilege, too, +that this fellow should turn Wendover Park into a sty, as he evidently +meant to do, and he found himself wondering whether, after all, he would +not have been justified in accepting Romanoff's offer. + +"Come, what do you say?" went on Riggleton. "I tell you----" and then he +went on to give details of his programme. "There's no need for you to be +so down in the mouth," he concluded. "There's plenty of money, as you +know, and I'll not be hard on you." + +The fellow was so coarsely patronising that Dick with difficulty kept +himself from starting up and rushing from the room. At that moment, +however, a servant entered and brought him a telegram, and a moment +later his brain seemed on fire as he read: + + "Riggleton's claim undoubtedly valid, but can still save situation + if you accept my terms.--ROMANOFF, Hotel Cosmopolitan." + +The words burnt into his brain; he felt as he had felt a few nights +before when Romanoff had placed the paper before him to sign. + +"Any answer, sir?" + +He looked towards a pen which lay on the table before him. Why should he +not send back an acceptance? + +"I say," said Riggleton, "is that about the estate? Because if it is, I +demand to see it." + +His tone was loud and arrogant. The sight of the telegram had evidently +aroused his suspicions and his desire to assert his mastery. + +"Oh, I mean it," he went on. "I'm an easy chap to get on with, but I'm +master here. I tell you that straight." + +Dick felt as though his nerves were raw; the man's presence was +maddening. And he had to give up everything to him! + +"It's a purely personal telegram," he replied. "I'm only considering how +I shall answer it." + +He seized a telegraph form, and dipped a pen into an inkstand, but he +did not write a word. His mind again flew back to the night when +Romanoff tempted him, and when he had felt a hand grip his wrist. + +"Let's get out," he said, cramming the telegram into his pocket. + +"Yes; let's," assented Riggleton; "but let's have a drink before we go. +I say, my man," and he turned to the servant, who still waited, "bring a +bottle of fizz. Yes; do as you're told. I'm your new master. Everything +belongs to me. See?" + +The servant turned to Dick. Doubtless there had been a great deal of +excited conversation in the servants' quarters, and he awaited +confirmation of what he had heard. + +"Do as he tells you," assented Dick, and then he left the room. + +But he could not help hearing what took place between Riggleton and the +servant. + +"What do you mean by looking to him?" asked Riggleton angrily. "Any of +your nonsense and it'll be right about face with you. I'm master here +and no error. It was all a mistake about Faversham. Everything belongs +to me. See? And look here, there's going to be a change here. I ain't no +milksop, I can tell you, and the whole lot of you'll have to get a move +on, or out you go. It isn't much time that I shall spend in this gloomy +hole, but when I am here there'll be something doing. I shall get the +place full of a jolly lot of girls, and Wendover Park won't be no mouldy +church, nor no bloomin' nunnery. You can bet your life on that. +There'll be plenty of booze, and plenty of fun. Now then, get that fizz, +and be quick about it." + +The man's raucous, throaty voice reached him plainly, and every word +seemed to scrape his bare nerves. He left the hall, and went out on the +lawn where the sun shone, and where the pure spring air came to him like +some healing balm. + +This, then, was his cousin! This was the man who was the heir of old +Charles Faversham's great wealth! + +The whole situation mocked him. He believed he had done the thing that +was right, and this was the result of it. + +Like lightning his mind swept over his experiences, and again he +wondered at all that had taken place. He tried to understand his strange +experiences, but he could not. His thoughts were too confused; his brain +refused to grasp and to co-ordinate what he could not help feeling were +wonderful events. + +He looked towards the great doorway, where, on the day of his coming to +Wendover Park, he had seen that luminous figure which had so startled +him. But there was nothing to be seen now. He wondered, as he had +wondered a hundred times since, whether it was an objective reality, or +only the result of a disordered imagination. There, in the bright +sunlight, with Anthony Riggleton's raucous voice still grating on his +ears, he could not believe it was the former. But if it were pure +imagination, why--why----And again his mind fastened on the things +which in spite of everything were beginning to revolutionise his life. + +Then a thought startled him. He realised that a change had come over +him. If he had met Tony Riggleton a few months before, neither the man's +presence nor his language would have so disgusted him. He had writhed +with anger when Riggleton had unfolded his plans to him, and yet a +little while before he himself had contemplated a future which was not, +in essence, so far removed from what his cousin had so coarsely +expressed. Yes; he could not blind himself to the fact that +since--since----But no, nothing was clear to him. + +"I say, Faversham." + +He turned and saw that Riggleton had joined him. + +"Show me around a bit, will you? You see, the old man wouldn't have me +here much, and--I should like to talk things over." + +"I think, when Mr. Bidlake has got everything in order----" + +"Oh, hang Bidlake! Besides, it's no use your talking about Bidlake. I've +settled with him. You don't feel like talking, eh? Very well, let's go +for a walk." + +Almost instinctively Dick turned down the drive which led to the cottage +where Beatrice Stanmore lived. + +"Yes," reflected Riggleton, after they had walked some time in silence; +"I suppose this kind of thing appeals to a poetical bloke like you seem +to be. But it doesn't do for Tony R. I love a bit of life, I do. I +always did. Did you ever hear that I ran away from school, and went off +on my own when I was fifteen? Went to sea, I did, and knocked about the +world. I had a rough time, too; that's why I've no polish now. But I +know the value of money, I do, and you may bet your bottom dollar that +I'll make things hum. Ah, here we are at the lodge gates." + +Dick looked across a meadow, and saw old Hugh Stanmore's cottage. Even +although it was some little distance away he could see the gaily +coloured flowers in the garden and the pleasant quaintness of the +cottage. But it was no longer his. In future it would belong to this +clown by his side, and---- + +His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a motor, and a few seconds +later he caught sight of Lady Blanche Huntingford in her two-seater car. +His heart gave a leap as he saw her put her foot on the clutch, while +the car slowed down by his side. + +The girl smiled into his face. "You've not forgotten your promise for +to-morrow night, Mr. Faversham?" she said, and then, stopping the +engine, she stepped lightly into the lane. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +FAVERSHAM'S RESOLUTION + + +It seemed to Dick that nothing could have happened more unfortunately. +Painfully aware as he was that Anthony Riggleton was standing by his +side, and devouring every detail of the girl's appearance, he felt +ashamed that she should see him. He wanted to run away, longed to disown +all knowledge of the vulgar creature who accompanied him. + +"No, I've not forgotten, Lady Blanche," he managed to say. + +"And we may expect you?" There was eagerness in her voice, expectancy in +the gladness of her bright eyes. + +"I--I'm afraid not," he stammered. + +The girl flashed a quick look upon him--a look partly of questioning, +partly of disappointment. "Really, Mr. Faversham----" she protested, and +then stopped. Perhaps she felt that something untoward had taken place. + +"You see," he went on confusedly, "while I'd just love to come, things +have happened since I saw you. I did not know----" and almost +unconsciously he glanced towards Riggleton. + +"I say, Faversham," and Riggleton put on his most fascinating smile, +"introduce me to your lady friend, won't you? I don't think, when I've +been in the neighbourhood before, that I've had the pleasure of meeting +the young lady." + +But Dick was silent. He simply could not speak of the fellow as his +cousin. Evidently, too, Riggleton felt something of what was passing in +Dick's mind; perhaps, too, he noticed the haughty glance which the girl +gave him, for an angry flush mounted his cheeks, and his small eyes +burnt with anger. + +"Oh, you don't feel like it!" he exclaimed aloud. "And no wonder. Well, +miss, I'll tell you who I am. I'm the owner of this place, that's what I +am. My name's Anthony Riggleton, and I'm what the lawyers call +next-of-kin to old Charles Faversham. That's why I'm boss here. There's +been a big mistake, that's what there's been, and Dick Faversham got +here, not under false pretences--I don't say that--but because people +thought I was dead. But I ain't dead by a long chalk. I'm jolly well +alive, and I'm the heir. That's the situation, miss. I thought I'd tell +you straight, seeing we may be neighbours. As for Dick here, of course +he's jolly well disappointed. Not that I mayn't do the handsome thing by +him, seeing he means to be reasonable. I may make him my steward, or I +might make him an allowance. See?" + +The girl made no response whatever. She listened in deadly silence to +Riggleton, although the flush on her cheek showed that the man's words +had excited her. Also she looked at Dick questioningly. She seemed to be +demanding from him either an affirmation or a denial of what the man +said. But Dick remained silent. Somehow he felt he could not speak. + +"You don't seem to take me, miss," went on Riggleton, who might have +been under the influence of the champagne he had been drinking, "but +what I'm telling you is gospel truth. And it may interest you to know +that I mean to paint this part of the country red. Oh, I'll shake things +up, never fear. Might you be fond of hunting, and that kind of thing, +miss? Because after the war I mean to go in for it strong." + +Still Lady Blanche did not speak to him. The only reply she made was to +get into her car and turn on the engine. "Good afternoon, Mr. +Faversham," she said. "Then must I tell my father that you'll not be +able to come to-morrow?" + +"Perhaps you'd better," replied Dick, "but--I'll explain later." + +Almost unconsciously he lifted his hat, while the car passed out of +sight. + +"By gosh!" exclaimed Riggleton, "she's a stunner, she is!--a regular +stunner. Who is she?" + +But Dick turned and hurried up the drive towards the house. He felt +that he could no longer bear to be near the creature who had robbed him +of everything worth living for. + +"I say, you needn't be so huffy," cried Riggleton, who again joined him. +"Why didn't you introduce me? I don't know when I've seen such a +stunning bit of fluff. She looks regular top-hole stuff too! And hasn't +she got a figure? And I say, Faversham, seeing that I said I was +prepared to do the handsome by you, you might have done the correct +thing. What! Oh, I suppose you were riled because I told her how things +are. But the truth was bound to come out, man! Do you think I would be +such a ninny as not to let her know I was the bloomin' owner of this +show? Tell me, who is she?" + +"Lady Blanche Huntingford." + +He uttered the name curtly, savagely. He was angry with himself for +having spoken at all. + +"Whew! She's Lord Huntingford's daughter, is she?" and he gave a hoarse +laugh. "Well, she's a beauty, she is--just a beauty!" + +He laughed again in high good-humour, indeed, he seemed to be enjoying +himself vastly. + +"You are a deep one, Faversham, you are," he shouted, as he slapped Dick +on the back. "Here was I calling you a fool for staying in this hole +instead of going to London and gay Paree. But I see the reason now. +Dining with her to-morrow night, were you? And it seems that I've spoilt +your little game. Well, she's a bit of all right, that's what she is. A +regular bit of all right. I don't know but after all I shall do the +country squire touch, and make up to her. What are you looking like that +for?" + +For Dick's face was crimson with rage. The fellow's coarse vulgarity was +driving him mad. + +"Are you in love with her?" persisted Riggleton. "Is that it?" + +Still Dick did not speak. He was walking rapidly towards the house--so +rapidly that Riggleton had difficulty in keeping up with him. + +"I say, don't be huffy," went on Tony. "I'm sorry if I didn't do the +correct thing. I didn't mean anything wrong, and I'm not up to the ways +of the swells. As I told you, I ran away from school, and got in with a +rough set. That was why, when I came back here, Uncle Charlie cleared me +out. But I don't believe in grudges, I don't, and I'm sorry if I've put +your nose out. I can't say fairer than that, can I?" + +Dick felt slightly ashamed of himself. He was beginning to understand +Riggleton better now, and to appreciate his coarse kindness. + +"It's all right, Riggleton," he said, "and no doubt you've done the +natural thing. But--but I don't feel like talking." + +"Of course you don't," said Tony, "and of course my coming is a regular +knock-out blow to you. If it was me, I'd have--well, I don't know what I +wouldn't have done. But I'm not such a bad chap after all. And look +here, I meant what I said, and I'm prepared to do the handsome thing. +You play fair with me, and I'll play fair with you. See? I shall make an +unholy mess of things if I'm left alone, and if you like I'll keep you +on here. You shall be my steward, and I'll make you a good allowance. +Then you can stay here, and I'll give you my word of honour that I'll +not try to cut you out with Lady Blanche, although she takes the fancy +of yours truly more than any bit of fluff I've seen for years." + +"For Heaven's sake, drop it!" cried Dick, exasperated. + +"All right," laughed Tony. "I don't mind. There's plenty of girls to be +had. Besides, she's not my sort. She's too high and mighty for me. +Besides," and he laughed raucously, "it all comes back to me now. Once +when I was here before, I nearly got into trouble with her. I was +trespassing on her father's grounds, and she came along and saw me. She +told me to clear out or she'd set the dogs on me. Good Lord! I'd +forgotten all about it, and I never thought I'd see her again. So if +you're gone on her, I'll give you a clear field, my boy. I can't say +fairer than that, now can I?" + +They had reached the house, and Dick again, almost unconsciously, looked +at the great doorway. He dreaded, yet he almost longed to see the great +haunting eyes of the figure which, whether imaginary or real, had become +such a factor in his existence. + +But there was nothing. No suggestion of the luminous form appeared. + +Of course it was all a mad fancy--all the result of exciting and +disturbing experiences. + +"Riggleton," he said, when they had reached the library, "I want to be +quiet; I want to think. You don't mind, do you? I'll explain presently." + +"As you like, my boy. Think as much as you bloomin' well want to. I see +the servant hasn't taken away the fizz, so I'll have another drink." + +Dick threw himself on a chair and covered his face with his hands. He +tried to think, tried to co-ordinate events, tried to understand the +true bearings of the situation. But he could not. His mind was either a +blank or it was filled with mad, confusing thoughts. + +What should he do? + +He thought he had decided on his course of action before Riggleton's +advent, but now everything was a wild chaos; he seemed to be in a +maelstrom. Should he accept Riggleton's offer? The fellow was a fool; +there could be no doubt about that--a coarse-minded, vulgar, gullible +fool. With careful treatment, he, Dick, could still remain master of +Wendover Park; he could have all the money he wanted; he could--and a +vista of probabilities opened up before him. He was sure he could play +with his cousin as a cat plays with a mouse. He could get him in his +power, and then he could do what he liked with him. + +And why not? + +Perhaps, perhaps----He turned towards Riggleton, who was pouring out a +glass of champagne and humming a popular music-hall song. Yes; he could +mould the fellow like clay; he could make him do anything--_anything_! + +He was on the point of speaking, of starting a conversation which would +naturally lead to the thing he had in his mind, but no words passed his +lips. It seemed to him as though two distinct, two antagonistic forces +were in the room. Almost unconsciously he took Romanoff's telegram from +his pocket, and as he did so, he felt as though the sender was by his +side; but even while he thought of the man he remembered something else. +He remembered the night when he had unfolded his plans to him, and when +he had pointed to the paper which he had prepared for him. + +Again he felt the grip of the hand upon his wrist, again he felt a +presence which he could not explain--a presence which forbade him to +sign away his liberty--his soul. + +He thought, too, how immediately afterwards that guileless child +Beatrice Stanmore had rushed into the room, and had told him that she +had been impelled to come to him. + +Suddenly a prayer came to his lips: "O God, help me! For Christ's sake, +help me!" + +It was strange, bewildering. He was not a praying man. He had not prayed +for years, and yet the prayer, unbidden, almost unthought of, had come +into his heart. + +"Well, have you made up your mind?" + +It was Tony Riggleton's voice, and he felt like a man wakened out of a +trance. + +"Yes." + +"Good. You take me on, eh? We'll be pals, and you'll stay on here as my +steward?" + +"No." + +"What are you going to do, then?" + +"I'm going to London." + +"To London, eh? But when?" + +"To-night." + +"To-night! Well, I'm----But--but, all right. I'll drive you there in my +car, and we'll make a night of it." + +"No, thank you. Look here, Riggleton, I'm very much obliged to you, and +I appreciate all you have said; but our paths must lie apart." + +"Lie apart?" Tony's mind was a little confused. "You mean to say that +you don't accept the allowance I'm willing to make you?" + +"I mean that. I thank you very much, but I don't accept." + +"But--but what are you going to do?" + +"I don't know." + +"Have you any money?" + +"No. Yes, I have, though. I've a few pounds which I saved before I +thought I--I was----" + +"Old Uncle Charlie's heir," concluded Tony as Dick hesitated. "But what +about the estate?" + +"The lawyer must settle all that. I'm sorry I'm intruding here. I'll go +and pack my things right away. Some day I'll repay you for the money +I've spent while I've been here." + +"Look here," and Tony came to Dick's side, "don't you be a fool. You +just take things sensibly. Pay me money! Money, be blowed! You just----" + +"No, thank you. I'll go now if you don't mind." + +He left the room as he spoke, and a few minutes later he had packed a +small suit-case. He returned to the room where Tony still remained. + +"Good-bye, Riggleton; I'm off." + +"But you--you're mad." + +"I think I am. Good-bye." + +"But where are you going?" + +"To the station. If I make haste I shall catch the next train to +London." + +Riggleton looked at him in open-mouthed wonder. "Well, you _are_ a +fool!" he gasped. + +Dick rushed out of the house without a word to the servants. He felt as +though he dared not speak to them. Something in his heart--something +which he could not explain--was telling him to fly, and to fly quickly. + +When he reached the doorway he turned and looked. He wanted to see +if--if----But there was nothing. The westering sun shed its bright rays +not only on the house, but on the flowers which bloomed in glorious +profusion; but there was no suggestion of anything beyond the ordinary +to be seen. + +"Of course I _am_ a fool," he reflected; "perhaps I am mad," and then he +again tried to understand the experiences which had so bewildered him. +But he could not. All was confusion. + +He hurried along the drive which led to the lodge near which Beatrice +Stanmore lived. He had a strange longing to see once more the home of +the child who had come to him in the hour of his dire temptation. + +When he had gone some distance he turned to have a last look at the +house. Never had it seemed so fair; never as now did he realise what he +was leaving. What a future he was giving up! What a life he was +discarding! Yes; he had been a fool--an egregious fool! Oh, the folly of +his actions!--the mad folly! + +"Holloa, Mr. Faversham!" + +He turned and saw Beatrice Stanmore. + +"You are going away?" + +"Yes; I'm going to London." + +"And walking to the station? Why?" + +"Because I've no conveyance." + +The girl looked at him wonderingly. Questions seemed to hang upon her +lips--questions which she dared not ask. + +"I'm going away," he went on, "because nothing is mine. There's been a +great mistake--and so I'm going away. Do you understand?" + +She looked at him with childlike wonder. In years she was nearly a +woman, but she was only a child in spirit. + +"But surely you need not go and leave everything?" she queried. + +"No; I need not go." He hardly knew what he was saying. He seemed like a +man under a spell. + +"Then what makes you go?" + +"You," he replied. "Don't you remember? Good-bye." + +He hurried on without another word. He felt he was going mad, even if he +were not mad already. And yet he had a kind of consciousness that he was +doing right. + +"But I will come back some day," he said between his set teeth. "I'll +not be beaten! Somehow--somehow I'll make my way. I'll conquer--yes, +I'll conquer! At all hazards, I'll conquer!" + +There was a grim determination in his heart as he set his face towards +the unknown. + + + + +PART II.--THE SECOND TEMPTATION + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +MR. BROWN'S PROPHECY + + +"Yes, Mr. Faversham; I see such a future before you as was never +possible to any other Englishman." + +The speaker was a man about fifty years of age, short, stout, well fed, +seemingly prosperous. A smile played around his lips---a smile which to +a casual observer suggested a kindly, almost a childlike, innocence. He +might have been interested in orphan schools, charity organisations, or +any other philanthropic movement. His voice, too, was sympathetic and +somewhat caressing, and his whole appearance spoke of a nature full of +the milk of human kindness. + +The two men were sitting in the corner of a smoking-room in a London +club. A most respectable club it was, whose members were in the main +comprised of financiers, prosperous merchants, and men of the upper +middle classes. Money was writ large everywhere, while comfort, solid +comfort, was proclaimed by the huge, softly cushioned chairs, the +thickly piled carpets, and the glowing fires. Any stranger entering the +club would have said that its members were composed of men who, having +plenty of this world's goods, meant to enjoy the comforts which their +gains justly entitled them to. + +Dick Faversham, to whom the words were spoken, smiled, and the smile was +not without incredulity and a sense of wonder. + +"Yes," went on the speaker, "you smile; you say in your heart that I am +a bad example of my theories; but one mustn't be deceived by +appearances. You think, because I am fat and prosperous, that I take no +interest in my fellow-creatures, that I do not dream dreams, see +visions, eh? Is not that so?" + +"Not at all," replied Dick; "but your views are so out of accord with +all this," and he looked around the room as he spoke, "that I am +naturally a bit puzzled." + +"It is because I have accustomed myself to this, because I have seen +inside the minds of rich men, and thus understand their prejudices and +points of view, that I also see the other things. You have seen me in +places different from this, my friend." + +"Yes," replied Dick; "I have." + +"Little as you have realised it," went on the other, "I have watched you +for years. I have followed you in your career; I have seen your +sympathies expand; I have been thrilled with your passion too. You did +not suspect, my friend, three years ago, that you would be where you are +to-day, eh?" + +"No," assented Dick; "I didn't." + +"You have thought much, learnt much, suffered much, seen much." + +"Yes; I suppose so," and a wistful look came into his eyes, while his +face suggested pain. + +"It is said," went on the stout man, "that there is no missioner so +ardent, so enthusiastic, as the new convert; but, as I have told you, +you do not go far enough." + +Dick was silent. + +"You are spoken of by many as a man with advanced ideas, as one who has +an intense passion for justice, as one, too, who has advanced daring +plans for the world's betterment; but I, the fat old Englishman, the +respectable millionaire, the man whom Governments have to consider--mark +that--the man whom Governments have to consider and consult, tell you +that your scheme, your plans are mere palliatives, mere surface things, +mere sticking-plasters on the great, gaping sores of our times. That if +all your ideas were carried out--yes, carried out to the full--you would +not advance the cause of humanity one iota. In a few months the old +anachronisms, the old abuses, would again prevail, while you would be a +back number, a byword, a fellow who played at reform because you neither +had the vision to see the world's real needs nor the courage to attempt +real reform. A back number, my dear sir, and a mere play-actor to boot." + +The fat man watched the flush on Dick's face as he spoke, and was +apparently gratified. + +"You see," he went on, still watching Dick's face closely, "I am getting +on in life, and I have shed my illusions. I have my own philosophy of +life, too. I do not believe that the reformer, that the man who lives to +relieve the woes of others must of necessity be a monk, a Peter the +Hermit, a Francis of Assisi. The labourer is worthy his hire; the great +worker should have a great reward. Why should honour, riches, fall into +the lap of kings who do nothing, of an aristocracy which is no +aristocracy? Youth is ambitious as well as altruistic. Thus ambitions +should be ministered unto, realised. Shakespeare was only a shallow +parrot, when he wrote the words, 'Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away +ambition.' The man who flings away ambition becomes a pulpy reed. He +lacks driving force, lacks elemental passions. If one opposes primitive +instincts, one is doomed to failure." + +"Pardon me if I fail to see what you are driving at," interposed Dick. + +"You'll see in a minute," asserted the other. "What I urge is this: the +man who sets up a new kingdom should be a king. It is his right. The man +who sees a new earth, a more glorious earth, an earth where justice and +right abound, and where neither poverty nor discontent is known--I say +the man who sees that new earth and brings it to pass should rule over +it as king. He should have, not the pomp and empty pageantry of a paltry +hereditary king, but the honour, the power, the riches of the true +king." + +The man paused as if he expected Dick to reply, but no reply was +forthcoming. Still, the stout man was evidently satisfied by his survey +of Dick's face, and he noted the flash of his eyes. + +"That is why, to come back to where we were a few minutes ago," he went +on, "I see such a future for you as was never possible to any other +Englishman. I see you, not only as the man who will revolutionise the +life of this starved and corrupt country, not only as the man who will +bring in a new era of prosperity and happiness for all who are citizens +of the British Empire, but as the man who can enjoy such a position, +such honours, such riches as no man ever enjoyed before. Do you follow +me? The people who are redeemed will make haste to heap glory and honour +upon their redeemer." + +"History does not bear that out," was Dick's reply. + +"No, and why, my friend? I will tell you. It is because the men who have +aimed to be saviours have been fools. It is because they have been blind +to the elemental facts of life. The first business of the saviour is not +self-interest--I do not say that--but to regard his own welfare as +essential to the welfare of others. The man who allows himself to be +crucified is no true saviour, because by allowing it he renders himself +powerless to save. No, no, I see you, not only as one who can be a great +reformer, and as one who can strike death-blows at the hoary head of +abuse, but as one who can lift himself into such fame and power as was +never known before. The plaudits of the multitudes, the most glorious +gifts of the world, the love of the loveliest women--all, all, and a +thousand times more, can be yours. That is your future as I see it, my +friend." + +"Do you know what I think of you?" asked Dick, with a nervous laugh. + +"It would be interesting to know," was the reply. + +"That your imaginative gifts are greater than your logical powers." + +The stout man laughed heartily. "I suppose I puzzle you," he replied. +"You think it strange that I, the financier, the millionaire if you +like, who eats well, drinks good wine, smokes good cigars, and who is a +member of the most expensive clubs in London, should talk like this, eh? +You think it strange that I, who two hours hence will be hobnobbing with +financiers and Cabinet ministers, should be talking what some would +call rank treason with an advanced labour leader, eh? But do not judge +by outward appearances, my friend; do not be misled by the world's +opinions. It is not always the ascetic who feels most acutely or +sympathises most intensely. + +"As I told you, I have watched you for months--years. For a long time I +did not trust you; I did not believe you were the man who could do what +I saw needed doing. Even when I heard you talking to the masses of the +people--yes, carrying them away with the passion of your words--I did +not altogether believe in you. But at length I have come to see that you +are the man for my money, and for the money of others." + +Again he looked at Dick keenly. + +"Ah, I astonish you, don't I? You have looked upon such as I as enemies +to the race. You have not realised that there are dozens of millionaires +in this city of millionaires who almost hate the money they have made, +because they see no means whereby it can be used for the uplifting and +salvation of the oppressed and downtrodden. They do not talk about it, +yet so it is. I tell you frankly, I would at this moment give +half--two-thirds--of all I possess if thereby I could carry out the +dream of my life!" + +The man spoke with passion and evident conviction. There was a tremor in +his voice, and his form became almost rigid. His eyes, too, flashed with +a strange light--a light that spoke almost of fanaticism. + +"You already have in your mind what burns in mine like a raging +furnace," he went on. "You see from afar what has become a fixed, +settled conviction with me. You behold as a hazy vision what I have +contemplated for a long time, until it is clearly outlined, thoroughly +thought out. I will tell you what it is directly. And if that great +heart of yours, if that fine quick mind of yours does not grasp it, +assimilate it, and translate it into actuality, it will be one of the +greatest disappointments of my life. I shall for evermore put myself +down as a blind fool, and my faith in human nature will be lost for +ever." + +"Tell me what it is," and Dick's voice was tense with eagerness. + +Months, years had passed since Dick had left Wendover Park, and both his +life and thoughts had become revolutionised. Perhaps this was not +altogether strange. His manner of life had been altered, his outlook +altogether new. + +Even now as he looked back over those fateful days he could not +understand them. They seemed to him rather as some wild fantastic series +of dreams than as sane and sober realities. Yet realities they were, +even although they were a mystery to him. Often in his quiet hours he +caught himself thinking of the figure of the woman in the smoke-room of +the outward-bound ship, which no one but himself could see, while again +and again he almost shivered as he felt himself sinking in the black, +turbulent sea, while conflicting powers seemed to be struggling to +possess him. Indeed, the wonder of that night never left him. The light +which shone in the darkness, the luminous form above him, the great, +yearning, pitying eyes which shone into his, and the arms outstretched +to save. + +Sometimes it was all visionary and unreal--so visionary was it that he +could not believe in its reality, but at other times he could not doubt. +It was all real--tremendously real. Especially was it so as he thought +of those after days when he had fought the greatest battles of his life. +Again and again he had seen himself in the library at Wendover while +Romanoff stood beside him and told him of his plans; again and again had +he recalled the moment when he took the pen in his hand to sign the +paper, and had felt the grip on his wrist which had paralysed his hand. + +Was it real, or was it imaginary? + +"Suppose I had signed it?" he had often asked himself; "where should I +be now? I should be a rich man--the owner of old Charles Faversham's +huge fortune. Possibly I should have married Lady Blanche Huntingford +and acted the part of the rich squire. But what would Romanoff have +exacted of me? What would be my thoughts about Tony Riggleton?" + +Yes; those were wonderful days, whether they were a dream or a reality, +and sometimes he called himself a fool for not following the Count's +advice, while at others he shuddered to think of the dangers from which +he had escaped. + +He had never seen nor heard of Lady Blanche since. On his arrival in +London he had written an explanatory letter, and had expressed the hope +that she would not lose interest in him. But he had received no reply. +Evidently she regarded him as a kind of an impostor, with whom she could +no further associate herself. + +Neither had he ever seen or heard of Romanoff. This dark, sinister man +had passed away into the shadows, and only remained a strange memory, a +peculiar influence in his life. + +Of Tony Riggleton he had heard various stories, all of which were of the +same nature. Tony had been true to the programme he had marked out. He +had filled Wendover Park with a motley crowd of men and women, and the +orgies there were the talk of the neighbourhood. He had also a flat in +London where he had indulged in his peculiar tastes. + +It was on hearing these stories that Dick had felt that he had acted the +fool. He had become cynical, too, and laughed at the idea that virtue +and honour were wise. + +"If I had followed Romanoff's advice," he had said to himself, "I might +have----" And repeatedly he had recounted what he might have done with +the wealth which he had thought was his. + +For many months Dick had a hard struggle to live. His few weeks of +riches had unfitted him for the battle of life. Society was shaken to +its foundations; the world was a maddening maze. Again and again he had +offered himself for the Army--only to be rejected. He was conscious of +no illness, but the doctors persistently turned him down. + +Presently he drifted towards the industrial North of England and became +employed in a huge factory where thousands of people worked. It was here +that Dick's life underwent a great change. For the first time he found +himself the daily, hourly companion of grimy-handed toilers. + +This gave him a new vision of life; it placed new meanings on great +problems; he was made to look at life from new angles. For the first +time he felt the squalor, the ugliness of life. He lived in a grimy +street, amidst grimy surroundings. He saw things as the working classes +saw them, saw them with all their grey unloveliness, their numbing +monotony. + +Still ambitious, still determined to carve out a career, he felt +oppressed by the ghastly atmosphere in which he found himself. He was +now fast approaching thirty, and he found himself unable to adapt +himself to his new conditions. He thought of all he had hoped to do and +be, and now by some sport of fate he had become engulfed in this +maelstrom of life. + +Little by little the inwardness of it all appealed to him. He had to do +with men and women who were drunken, foul-mouthed, depraved. What wonder +that he himself was becoming coarsened every day! Things at which he +would once have shuddered he now passed by with a shrug of his +shoulders. How could the working classes be refined, how could they have +exalted ideas amidst such surroundings? + +He noticed the tremendous disparity between the moneyed and the working +classes. The former were deliberately exploiting the great world +convulsion, and the peculiar conditions caused thereby, to make huge +profits. It was all wrong--utterly wrong. What was the worker, on whose +labour everything depended? Mere means for swelling the capitalists' +profits. Who cared about them? Politicians talked glibly about what they +meant to do; but they did nothing. + +Newspapers shrieked, and capitalists talked about the disloyalty of the +working classes. How could men go on strike while the very existence of +empire, civilisation, humanity hung in the balance? they asked. But what +of their own disloyalty? What of those who held a pistol at the head of +the Government, and threatened to disorganise the trade of the country +and paralyse output, if they could not stuff their money-bags still +fuller? + +And so on, and on. His new environment changed him--changed his +sympathies, his thoughts, his outlook. He thought of Tony Riggleton +spending the money these people were making for him in wild orgies among +loose men and women, and he became angry and bitter. + +Little by little his superior education asserted itself. He found, too, +that he had a remarkable aptitude for public speech. He discovered that +he could sway huge multitudes by the burning fervour of his words. He +was able to put into language what the people felt, and before long +became a popular hero. + +The world was in a state of flux; old ideas, old conceptions were swept +aside as worn-out fallacies. What ten years before were regarded as +madmen's dreams no longer appeared either unreasonable or quixotic. The +forces of life had become fluid, and it was the toiler of the nation who +was to decide into what channels the new movements were to flow. + +And Dick became a doctrinaire, as well as a dreamer of a new heaven and +a new earth. He became an ardent reader, too. He was surprised at the +ease with which his mind grasped theories hitherto unknown to him, how +he absorbed the spirit of unrest, and how he flung himself into the +world's great fray. + +"Faversham's our man," people said on every side. "He's got eddication, +he's got a fair grip on things, and he can knock the masters to +smithereens when it comes to argument and the gilt o' th' gab." + +"But who is he?" asked others. "He's noan our sort. He was noan brought +up a workin' man." + +"Nay, but he's a workin' man naa. He's worked side by side with the best +on us, and he knows how to put things. I tell thee, he mun go into +Parlyment. He'll mak 'em sit up. He mun be our member." + +This feeling became so strong that Dick was on two occasions selected to +be one of deputations to the Prime Minister, and more than that, he was +chosen to be the chief spokesman to state the workers' claims. + +In all this, not only were his sympathies aroused, but his vanity was +appealed to. It was very pleasant to feel himself emerging from +obscurity; the roar of cheering which the mention of his name elicited +became as sweet as the nectar of the gods to him. + +Again he saw visions, and dreamt dreams. They were different from those +of the old days, but they did a great deal to satisfy him. They told him +of position, of power, of a place among the great ones of the world. +Sometimes he was almost glad that Tony Riggleton inherited Charles +Faversham's huge fortune. If he had retained it, and gained high +position, that position would have been through the toil and brain of +another. Now he would do everything by himself--unaided and alone. + +More than once during the many stormy and excited meetings Dick had +attended, he had seen a kindly, benevolent-looking man, whose face +suggested the milk of human kindness. Dick rather wondered how he came +there, and on asking his name was told that he was called John Brown, +and that, although he did not directly belong to the working classes, he +was in deep sympathy with them, and had more than once subscribed to +their funds. Presently Dick became acquainted with Mr. Brown, and +something like intimacy sprang up between them. + +He found that Mr. Brown was a great admirer of his speeches, and more +than once that gentleman had hinted that if he found any money +difficulty in entering Parliament, he, John Brown, would see that the +difficulty should be removed. + +"I am almost ashamed of being something of a capitalist," he confided to +Dick, "but, at any rate, I can use what money I have for the advance of +the cause which is so dear to me." + +Just before Dick was going to London the next time, he received a letter +from Mr. Brown asking him to meet him at a well-known club. "I have +certain things to say to you," he said, "certain propositions to make +which I think will be worthy of your consideration." + +On Dick's arrival in London he made certain inquiries about Mr. Brown, +which, however, did not help him much. He was by no means a prominent +character, he learnt, but he was believed by many to be a man of +enormous wealth. He was told, moreover, that he was somewhat eccentric, +and loved doing good by stealth. + +It was therefore with aroused curiosity that Dick made his way to the +club in question. He was not yet quite sure of his man, and so he +determined to listen carefully to what Mr. Brown had to say without +committing himself. Before long he found himself deeply interested. The +stout, benevolent-looking man was revealing himself in a new light, and +Dick found himself listening with fast-beating heart. + +"Yes; I will tell you what it is," said Mr. Brown. "I will make plain to +you what I meant when I said that I see such a future before you as was +never possible to any other Englishman." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +AN AMAZING PROPOSAL + + +Dick unconsciously drew his chair nearer the fire, while every nerve in +his body became tense. He felt that the millionaire had not brought him +here for mere pastime. + +"Tell me," said Mr. Brown, "what your plans for the future are." + +"Too hazy to outline," was Dick's reply. + +"That's truer than you think, my friend--far truer than you think; +that's why your position is so absurd. And yet you answer me falsely." + +Dick gave the other a look that was almost angry. + +"No, no, my friend," went on Mr. Brown; "do not mistake me. I do not +accuse you of falsehood. You think you are speaking the truth. But you +are not. In a way, your plans are defined. You mean to be Member of +Parliament for Eastroyd. You mean to be the first Labour Member for that +great working-class constituency. Already you have been approached by +the various unions of the town, and you have been assured that you will +be returned by a triumphant majority. And you've practically accepted, +although you have persuaded yourself that you've not yet made up your +mind. So far so good--or bad; but you are unsettled. There is something +at the back of your mind that you can't explain. It doesn't satisfy you. +Am I not speaking the truth?" + +"Perhaps," assented Dick. + +"And naturally, too. Oh, my young friend, I know--I know. I have been +through it all. What is a Labour Member after all? Just one of a few +others, who is submerged by the great so-called Liberal and Conservative +Parties. What can he do? Speak now and then when he's allowed to, beat +the air, be listened to by a handful of his own supporters, and then +forgotten. Consider the history of the Labour Party. What influence has +it really had on the life of the nation? My friend, the government of +the country is still in the hands of the upper and middle classes in +spite of all you do and say." + +"Pardon me," interrupted Dick, "but what are you driving at? What you +say may be partly true, but at least the hope of the working classes, +politically speaking, lies in the Labour Party." + +"Moonshine, my friend--mere moonshine. The atmosphere of the British +House of Commons stifles the aspiration of the Labour Members. One by +one they are absorbed into the old orthodox parties, and nothing is +done. You know it, too. That's why the thought of becoming a Labour +Member is unsatisfying to you. You would never be a real power, and you +would always be regarded as an outsider, and you would never touch the +helm of affairs." + +Dick was silent. After all, he was not a working man. He had social +ambitions. He desired not only to be a prominent figure among the +working classes; he wanted to be an equal of, a peer amongst the +dominant forces of the world. He still remembered Lady Blanche +Huntingford--as a Labour Member he would be outside her sphere. + +"You see it, don't you?" persisted Mr. Brown. + +"And if I do? What then?" + +"Everything then, my friend. Your present plans would end in nothing. +Not only would you fail to do anything real for the people, but you +yourself would be stultified. A Labour Member! What is he?--a man who, +socially, is patronised; who is recognised only on sufferance; who, if +he marries, must marry a commoner, a woman of the people, with all her +limitations. Oh, I know, I know. And meanwhile the working people still +continue to be trodden underfoot, and who toil for what they can squeeze +out of their employers--their social superiors. Yes, yes, you are +impatient with me. You say I am a long time in getting to my point. But +be patient, my friend; I will get there. I only want you to realise the +truth." + +"Then please get to your point," urged Dick a little impatiently. + +"I will," replied Mr. John Brown, and he placed his chubby hand on +Dick's knee. "Here is the fact, my friend: we live in a time when +nothing is impossible. The world is in travail, in wild convulsions. The +new channels of life are not made. All the forces of life are in a state +of flux. Now is the time for the real leader, the strong man. The great +proletariat is waiting for that leader, longing for him. The people are +tired of the old worn pathways; they are waiting for the new kingdom, +the new deliverer." + +"You are still in the clouds," cried Dick. "Come down to the solid +earth." + +"I will, my friend. England is ripe for real reform, ripe for the new +order. The open sores of the country cannot be healed by +sticking-plasters. They must be cauterised; the cancers must be cut out. +In one word--Revolution!" + +Dick started to his feet, and took a hasty glance around the room. For a +wonder, it was empty. They were alone. + +"You are mad!" he cried. + +"Of course I am," laughed Mr. Brown. "Every man is called mad who sees a +new heaven and a new earth. But, my friend, I speak as an Englishman, as +one who loves his country. I am a patriot, and I want to see a greater, +grander England. I want to see a Britain that shall be happy, +prosperous, contented. I want to destroy poverty, to smash up the old +order of things--an order which has dragged squalor, misery, poverty, +injustice, inequality at its heels. I am tired--_tired_ of seeing +criminal wealth and mad luxury and waste on the one hand, and abject +grinding poverty on the other. And to cure it all you must go to the +roots of things; there must be great upheavals, revolutions. The land +must be the people's, the mineral must be the people's, the water, the +food, the wealth, the Army, the Navy, the _everything_ must belong to +the people." + +"Bolshevism!" The word came from him abruptly--angrily. + +"Yes, Bolshevism," replied the other; "and what then?" + +"Russia!" and there was a sneer in Dick's voice as he uttered the word. + +"Yes, Russia if you like. And still, what then? Would you have Russia go +on century by century as it had been going? Would you have scores upon +scores of millions of men and women go on existing as they were +existing? You know the history of Russia for ten centuries past. What +has it been?--a criminal, bloated, corrupt, cruel, overbearing, +persecuting aristocracy and bureaucracy on the one hand, and a welter of +poor, suffering, starving, outraged, diseased, dying people on the +other. That was Russia. And desperate diseases need desperate remedies, +my friend. Of course, the very name of Russia is being shuddered at just +now. But think, my friend. Birth is always a matter of travail, and +Russia is being re-born. But wait. In ten years Russia will be regarded +as the pioneer of civilisation--as the herald of a new age. Russia is +taking the only step possible that will lead to justice, and to peace, +and prosperity for all." + +"You don't mean that!" Dick scarcely knew that he spoke. + +"I am as certain of it as that I sit here. I swear it by whatever gods +there be!" + +Plain, stout Mr. John Brown was changed. Dick forgot his fat, chubby +hands, his round, benevolent, kindly, but commonplace face. It was a new +Mr. John Brown that he saw. A new light shone in his eyes, a new tone +had come to his voice, a seemingly new spirit inspired him. + +"I go further," cried Mr. Brown, "and I say this: England--the British +Isles need the same remedy. All that you have been thinking about are +sticking-plasters--palliatives, and not cures. What England needs is a +Revolution. All the old corrupt, crushing forces must be destroyed, the +old gods overthrown, and a new evangelist must proclaim a new gospel." + +"A madman's dream," protested Dick. "Let's talk of something else." + +"Not yet," replied Mr. John Brown. "Tell me this, you who long for a new +heaven and a new earth--you who plead for justice, for fraternity, for +brotherhood: do you believe that the programme--I mean the organised +programme--of the Labour Party or the Socialist Party will ever bring +about what you desire?" + +Dick was silent. + +"Ah, you are honest. You know it will not. In your heart of hearts you +know, too, that nothing but a thorough upheaval, a complete Revolution +of the bad old order of things can bring about what you desire. Patching +up an old building whose walls are cracked, whose drains are corrupt, +whose foundations are insecure, is waste of time and energy. If you want +a new sanitary house the old place has to be demolished and the rubbish +_cleared away_! That's it, my friend. That's what's needed in this +country. The rubbish must be cleared away. That's what the people want. +For the moment they are crying out for something, they hardly know what, +but they will have a Revolution, and they are longing for a leader to +lead them, a prophet to interpret their needs." + +"But for England to become another Russia!" Dick's response was that of +a man who had not yet grasped all that was in the other's mind. + +"There is no need of that. Because England has not sunk to the depths of +Russia, her revolution would be less violent. There would be no need for +excesses, for violence. But here is the fact, my friend: three-fourths +of our population belong to the wage-earning classes; they are the +toilers and the moilers; let the true gospel be preached to them, let +the true prophet and leader appear, and they would follow him." + +"And who is to be the prophet, the leader?" + +"You, my friend." + +"I!" gasped Dick. + +"You. Richard Faversham. You who have tasted the sweets of wealth. You +who have toiled and sweated with the workers. You who have eyes to see, +ears to hear. You who have the power to interpret the people's +longings. You who have the qualities of the leader, who can take them to +the Promised Land. You!" + +"Madness!" + +"You say that now. You will not say it in a few hours from now. You can +understand now what I meant when I startled you an hour ago by saying +that I see such a future before you as was never possible to any +Englishman. You are young; you are ambitious. It is right you should be. +No man who is not ambitious is worth a rotten stick to his age. Here is +such a career as was never known before. Never, I say! Man, it's +glorious! You can become the greatest man of the age--of all the ages!" + +Mr. Brown looked at Dick intently for a few seconds, and then went on, +speaking every word distinctly. + +"A Labour Member, indeed! A voting machine at four hundred a year! The +hack of his party organisation! Is that a career for a man like you? +Heavens, such a thought is sacrilege! But this, my friend, is the +opportunity of a life--of all time." + +"Stop!" cried Dick. "I want to grasp it--to think!" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +"THE COUNTRY FOR THE PEOPLE" + + +"But you _are_ mad," said the young man at length. "Even if you are +right in your diagnosis of the disease from which the country is +suffering, if the remedy you suggest is the only one, I am not the man +you need. And even if I were, the remedy is impossible. England is not +where France was a hundred years ago; she is not where Russia is +to-day." + +"And you are not a Lenin, a Trotsky, eh?" and Mr. John Brown laughed +like a man who had made a joke. + +"No, thank Heaven, I am not," and Dick spoke quickly. "I do not believe +in the nationalisation of women, neither do I believe in the destruction +of the most sacred institutions of life." + +"Of course you don't," replied Mr. John Brown, "and I am glad of it. +Russia has gone to many excesses which we must avoid. But what can you +expect, my friend? After centuries of oppression and persecution, is it +any wonder that there has been a swing of the pendulum? The same thing +was true of France a hundred years ago. France went wild, France lost +her head, and neither Danton nor Robespierre checked the extravagances +of the people. But, answer me this. Is not France a thousand times +better to-day than when under the Bourbons and the Church? Is not such a +Republic as France has, infinitely better than the reign of a corrupt +throne, a rotten aristocracy, and a rottener Church? Besides, did not a +great part of those who were guillotined deserve their doom?" + +"Perhaps they did; but--but the thing is impossible, all the same." + +"Why impossible?" + +"For one thing, Lenin and Trotsky are in a country without order and +law. They murdered the Tzar and his family, and they seized the money of +the Government and of the banks. Such a thing as you suggest would need +millions, and you could not get any body of Englishmen to follow on the +Russian lines. Besides--no, the thing is impossible!" + +"Money!" repeated Mr. John Brown, like a man reflecting. "I myself would +place in your hands all the money you need for organisation and +propaganda." + +"In _my_ hands!" + +"In your hands, my friend. Yes, in your hands. But we have talked enough +now. You want time to think over what has been said. But will you do +something, my friend?" + +"I don't know. I suspect not." + +"I think you will. To-night I want you to accompany me to a place where +your eyes will be opened. I want you to see how deep are the feelings of +millions, how strong is the longing for a leader, a guide. You, who have +felt the pulses of the millions who live and act in the open, have no +idea of what is felt by the millions who act in the dark." + +"I do not understand." + +"Of course you don't. You and other so-called Labour leaders, because +you mingle with a class which you call the people, think you know +everything. You believe you know the thought, the spirit of the age. +Come with me to-night and I will show you a phase of life hitherto +unknown to you. You will come? Yes?" + +"Oh yes, I will come," replied Dick, with a laugh. The conversation had +excited him beyond measure, and he was eager for adventure. + +"Good. Be at the entrance to the Blackfriars Underground Station +to-night at eleven o'clock." + +"At eleven; all right." + +Mr. John Brown looked at his watch, and then gave a hasty glance round +the room. He saw two portly looking men coming in their direction. + +"I am sure you will excuse me, Mr. Faversham. It is later than I +thought, and I find I have appointments. But it has been very +interesting to know your point of view. Good evening. Ah, Sir Felix, I +thought you might drop in to-night," and leaving Dick as though their +talk had been of the most commonplace nature, he shook hands with the +newcomers. + +Dick, feeling himself dismissed, left the club, and a minute later found +himself in the thronging crowd of Piccadilly. Taxicabs, buses, richly +upholstered motor-cars were passing, but he did not heed them. People +jostled him as he made his way towards Hyde Park gates, but he was +unaware of it. His head was in a whirl; he was living in a maze of +conflicting thoughts. + +Of course old John Brown was a madman! Nothing but a madman would +advance such a quixotic programme! He pictured the club he had just +left--quiet, orderly, circumspect--the natural rendezvous for City and +West End magnates, the very genius of social order and moneyed +respectability. How, then, could a respected member of such a place +advance such a mad-brained scheme? + +But he had. + +Not that he--Dick Faversham--could regard it seriously. Of course he had +during the last two years been drawn into a new world, and had been led +to accept socialistic ideas. Some, even among the Socialists, called +them advanced. But this! + +Of course it was impossible. + +All the same, there was a great deal in what John Brown had said. A +Labour Member. A paid voting machine at L400 a year! The words rankled +in his mind. + +And this scheme was alluring. The country for the people!... + +He made his way along the causeway, thinking of it. + +A Revolution! The old bad, mad order of things ended by one mighty +upheaval! A new England, with a new outlook, a new Government!... A +mighty movement which might grip the world. A new earth.... + +And he--Dick Faversham? + +Here was scope for new enterprises! Here was a career! On the one hand, +a paid working man member at L400 a year, regarded with a supercilious +smile by the class to which he really belonged; and, on the other, a +force which shook Society to its foundations--a leader whose name would +be on all lips.... + +Of course it was all nonsense, and he would drive it from his mind. + +And he would not meet Mr. John Brown that night. What a madcap idea to +go to some midnight gathering--where, Heaven only knew! And for what? + +He had reached Park Lane, and almost unconsciously he turned eastward. + +He could not remember a single thing that had happened during his walk +from Park Lane to Piccadilly Circus. The great tide of human life surged +to and fro, but he was oblivious of the fact. + +He was thinking--wildly thinking. + +Then suddenly he gave a start. Just as he reached the Circus he saw a +face which set his heart beating wildly. + +"Ah, Faversham, is that you?" + +"Count Romanoff!" Dick almost gasped. + +"Yes; who would have thought of seeing you? Still, the world is small." + +The Count was not changed. He still carried himself proudly, and was +dressed to perfection. Also, he still seemed to regard others with a +degree of indifference. He was the same contemptuous, cynical man of the +world. + +"What are you doing, eh? Still living at Wendover Park?" + +"No. You know I am not." + +"No? Ah, I remember now. I have been knocking around the world ever +since, and had almost forgotten. But your quondam cousin entered +possession, didn't he? But you, what did you do?" + +"Oh, I--I drifted." + +"Drifted--where?--to what? You look changed. Things are not going well +with you, eh?" + +"Yes--quite well, thank you." + +"Yes? You married Lady Blanche? But no, I should have heard of it." + +"No; I did not marry. I am living in Eastroyd." + +"Eastroyd! Where's that?" + +"Don't you know?" + +"Never heard of it before. Is it in England?" + +Dick was growing angry; there was a sneer in every tone of the man's +voice. He felt a mad desire to make the Count see that he had become a +man of importance. + +"Yes; it's in the North," he replied. "It's a huge town of a quarter of +a million people. A great industrial centre." + +"And what are you doing there?" + +"I'm contemplating an invitation to become a Member of Parliament for +the town. I'm assured that, if I accept, my return to the House of +Commons is certain." + +"Ah, that's interesting. And which side will you take--Conservative or +Liberal? Conservative, I suppose?" + +"No; I should stand as a Labour candidate." + +"As a----Surely I didn't hear you aright?" + +"Quite right. My sympathies have come to lie in that direction." + +"But--but--a Labour Member! I thought you had some pretensions to be a +gentleman." + +Dick felt as though he had received the lash of a whip. He wanted to +lash back, to make Romanoff feel what he felt. But no words came. + +"You have no sympathy with the working classes?" he asked feebly. + +"Sympathy! What gentleman could? See what they've done in my own +country. I had little sympathy with Nicky; but great heavens, think! Of +course I'm angry. I had estates in Russia; they had been in the families +for centuries--and now! But the thing is a nightmare! Working classes, +eh! I'd take every mal-content in Europe and shoot him. What are the +working classes but lazy, drunken swine that should be bludgeoned into +obedience?" + +"I don't think you understand the British working classes," was Dick's +response. + +"No? I'm sure I don't want to. I prefer my own class. But pray don't let +me keep you from them. Good evening." + +Without another word, without holding out his hand, the Count turned on +his heel and walked away. + +The incident affected Dick in two ways. First of all, it made his +experiences three years before in the Wendover Park very shadowy and +unreal. In spite of everything, he had not been able to think of the +Count save as an evil influence in his life, as one who desired to get +him into his power for his own undoing. He had had a vague belief that +in some way unknown to him, Romanoff desired to hold him in his grip for +sinister purposes, and that he had been saved by an opposing power. Had +he been asked to assert this he would have hesitated, and perhaps been +silent. Still, at the back of his doubt the feeling existed. But now, +with the memory of the Count's contemptuous words and looks in his mind, +it all appeared as groundless and as unreal as the fabric of a dream. If +he had been right, he would not have treated him in such a fashion. + +The other way in which the incident affected him was to arouse an angry +determination to win a position equal to and superior to that which +would be his as Charles Faversham's heir. He would by his own endeavours +rise to such heights that even the Count's own position would pale into +insignificance. After all, what were kings and princes? Their day was +over. Soon, soon thrones all over the world would topple like ninepins; +soon the power of the world would be in new hands. + +A Labour Member, indeed! Working people swine, were they? Soon the +working people of the world would be masters! Then woe be to a useless, +corrupt aristocracy! As for the leaders of the toilers... + +"I'll meet Mr. John Brown again to-night," he reflected. "I'll go to +this, this!... I wonder what he has in his mind?" + +Meanwhile Count Romanoff wandered along Piccadilly till he came to St. +James's Street. He was smiling as though something pleasant had happened +to him. His eyes, too, shone with a strange light, and he walked like a +victor. + +He walked past the Devonshire Club, and then turned into a street +almost opposite St. James's Square. Here he looked at his watch and +walked more slowly. Evidently he knew his way well, for he took several +turnings without the slightest hesitation, till at length he reached a +house at the corner of a street. He selected a key from a bunch, opened +the door of the house, and entered. For a moment he stood still and +listened; then, walking noiselessly along a thick carpet, he opened the +door of a room and entered. + +"Sitting in the dark, eh? Reflecting on the destiny of nations, I +suppose?" + +The Count's manner was light and pleasant. He was in a good humour. He +switched on the light and saw Mr. John Brown. It would seem that they +had met by appointment. + +"Yes," replied Mr. Brown; "I was reflecting on the destiny of +nations--reflecting, too, on the fact that the greatest victories of the +world are won not by armies who fight in the open, but by brains that +act in the dark." + +"You have seen him. I know that." + +"How do you know?" + +"I know everything, my friend. You met him about an hour ago. You had a +long talk with him. You have baited your hook, and thrown it. Before you +could tell whether the fish would rise, you thought it better to wait. +You decided to make further preparations." + +"Romanoff, I believe you are the devil." + +"Many a true word is spoken in jest, my friend. But, devil or not, am I +not right?" + +"You have seen him? He has told you?" + +"He has told me nothing. Yes, he has, though. He has told me he had +ambitions to be a Labour Member of Parliament." + +"But nothing more?" + +"Nothing more. I was passing along the street and spoke to him." + +The two were looking at each other eagerly, questioningly. Mr. John +Brown's face had become flabby; the flesh around his eyes was baggy. The +eyes had a furtive look, as though he stood in awe of his companion. +Romanoff, too, in spite of his claim to omniscience, might be a little +anxious. + +"The fellow's career is a miracle," remarked Mr. John Brown at length. +"A millionaire one day, a pauper the next. And then to settle down as a +toiler among toilers--to become the popular hero, the socialist leader, +the rebel, the seer of visions, the daring reformer! A miracle, I say! +But with proper guidance, he is the man we need. He can do much!" + +Count Romanoff laughed like one amused. + +"Germany is in a bad way, eh? Poor Wilhelm, what a fool! Oh, what a +fool!" + +"Be quiet!" cried the other hoarsely. "Even here the walls may have +ears, and if it were suspected that----" + +"Exactly, my friend," sneered the Count. "But tell me how you stand." + +For some time they talked quietly, earnestly, the Count asking questions +and raising objections, while Mr. John Brown explained what he had in +his mind. + +"Germany is never beaten," he said--"never. When arms fail, brains come +in. Russia has become what Russia is, not by force of arms, but by +brains. Whose? And Germany will triumph. This fellow is only one of many +who are being used. A network of agencies are constantly at work." + +"And to-night you are going to introduce him to Olga?" and the Count +laughed. + +"The most fascinating woman in Europe, my friend. Yes; to-night I am +going to open his eyes. To-night he will fall in love. To-night will be +the beginning of the end of Britain's greatness!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE MIDNIGHT MEETING + + +Dick Faversham stood at the entrance of the underground station at +Blackfriars Bridge. It was now five minutes before eleven, and the +traffic along the Embankment was beginning to thin. New Bridge Street +was almost deserted, for the tide of theatre-goers did not go that way. +Dick was keenly on the look out for Mr. John Brown, and wondered what +kind of a place he was going to visit that night. + +He felt a slight touch upon his shoulder, and, turning, he saw Mr. Brown +go to the ticket office. + +"Third single for Mark Lane," he said, carelessly throwing down two +coppers, yet so clearly that Dick could not help hearing him. + +Without hesitation Dick also went to the office and booked for the same +place. Mr. Brown took no apparent notice of him, and when the train came +in squeezed himself into a third-class compartment. Having secured a +seat, he lit a cheap black cigar. + +Dick noticed that he wore a somewhat shabby over-coat and a hat to +match. Apparently Mr. Brown had not a thought in his mind beyond that of +smoking his cigar and reading a soiled copy of an evening paper. + +Arrived at Mark Lane, Mr. Brown alighted and, still without taking +notice of Dick, found his way to the street. For some time he walked +eastward, and then, having reached a dark alley, turned suddenly and +waited for Dick to come up. + +"Keep me in sight for the next half-mile," he said quickly. "When I stop +next, you will come close to me, and I will give you necessary +instructions." + +They were now in a part of London which was wholly strange to the young +man. There were only few passers-by. It was now nearly midnight, and +that part of London was going to sleep. Now and then a belated traveller +shuffled furtively along as though anxious not to be seen. They were in +a neighbourhood where dark things happen. + +Evidently Mr. John Brown knew his way well. He threaded narrow streets +and dark alleys without the slightest hesitation; neither did he seem to +have any apprehension of danger. When stragglers stopped and gave him +suspicious glances, he went straight on, unheeding. + +Dick on the other hand, was far from happy. He did not like his midnight +journey; he did not like the grim, forbidding neighbourhood through +which they were passing. He reflected that he was utterly ignorant where +he was, and, but for a hazy idea that he was somewhere near the river, +would not know which way to turn if by any chance he missed his guide. + +Presently, however, Mr. Brown stopped and gave a hasty look around. +Everywhere were dark, forbidding-looking buildings which looked like +warehouses. Not a ray of light was to be seen anywhere. Even although +vast hordes of people were all around the spot where he stood, the very +genius of loneliness reigned. + +He beckoned Dick to him, and spoke in low tones. + +"Be surprised at nothing you see or hear," he advised in a whisper. +"There is no danger for either you or me. This is London, eh? And yet +those who love England, and are thinking and working for her welfare, +are obliged to meet in secret." + +"Still, I'd like to know where we are going," protested Dick. "I don't +like this." + +"Wait, my young friend. Wait just five minutes. Now, follow me in +silence." + +Had not the spirit of adventure been strong upon the young fellow, he +would have refused. There was something sinister in the adventure. He +could not at all reconcile Mr. John Brown's membership of the club he +had visited that afternoon with this Egyptian darkness in a London slum. + +"Follow without remark, and without noise," commanded the older man, +and then, having led the way a few yards farther, he flashed a light +upon some narrow stone steps. + +Dick was sure he heard the movement of a large body of water. He was +more than ever convinced that they were close to the Thames. + +Mr. Brown descended the steps, while Dick followed. His heart was +beating rapidly, but he had no fear. A sense of curiosity had mastered +every other feeling. At the bottom of the steps Mr. Brown stopped and +listened, but although Dick strained his powers of hearing, he could +detect no sound. The place might have been exactly what it appeared in +the darkness--a deserted warehouse. + +"Now, then," whispered Mr. Brown, and there was excitement in his voice. + +A second later he tapped with his stick on what appeared to be the door +of the warehouse. Dick, whose senses were keenly alert, counted the +taps. Three soft, two loud, and again two soft ones. + +The door opened as if by magic. There was no noise, and Dick would not +have known it was opened save for the dim light which was revealed. A +second later he had entered, and the door closed. + +In the dim light Dick saw that he was following two dark forms. +Evidently the person who had opened the door was leading the way. But he +could discern nothing clearly; he thought they were passing through some +kind of lumber room, but he could have sworn to nothing. After that +there was a passage of some sort, and again they descended some more +steps, at the bottom of which Dick heard what seemed the confused murmur +of voices.... + +Dick found himself standing in a kind of vestibule, and there was a +sudden glare of light. Both he and Mr. John Brown were in a well-lit +room, in which some two hundred people had gathered. + +When Dick's eyes had become accustomed to the light, he saw that he was +in the midst of one of the most curious crowds he had ever seen. The +people seemed of many nationalities, and the sexes appeared equally +divided. Very few old people were present. In the main they were well +dressed, and might have been comfortably situated. Nevertheless, it was +a motley crowd--motley not so much because of any peculiarity in their +attire as because of their personalities. What impressed Dick more than +anything else was the look of fierce intelligence on their faces, and +the nervous eagerness which characterised their every movement. Every +look, every action spoke of intensity, and as Dick swept a hasty glance +around the room, he felt that he was breathing an atmosphere which was +altogether new to him--an atmosphere which was electric. + +The room was evidently arranged for a meeting. At one end was a platform +on which was placed a table and half a dozen chairs, while the people +who formed the audience were waiting for the speakers to appear. + +Then Dick realised that all eyes were turned towards himself and that a +sudden silence prevailed. This was followed by what Dick judged to be a +question of some sort, although he could not tell what it was, as it was +asked in a language unknown to him. + +"It is all right. I, John Brown, vouch for everything." + +"But who is he?" This time the question was in English, and Dick +understood that it referred to himself. + +"It is all right, I repeat," replied Mr. Brown. "My companion is a +comrade, a friend, whom you will be glad to hear. Who is he? He is a +Labour leader, and is chosen by the working people of Eastroyd to +represent them in the British Parliament." + +A great deal of scornful laughter followed this. It might have been that +Mr. Brown were trying to play a practical joke upon them. + +"Listen," said Mr. Brown. "I am not unknown to you, and I think I have +proved to you more than once that I am in sympathy with your aims. Let +me ask you this: have I ever introduced anyone who was not worthy and +whose help you have not gladly welcomed?" + +There was some slight cheering at this, and Mr. Brown went on: + +"I need not assure you that I have taken every precaution--_every_ +precaution--or tell you that, if good does not come of my being here, +harm will surely not come of it. This, my friends, is Mr. Richard +Faversham of Eastroyd, whose fiery zeal on behalf of the world's toilers +cannot be unknown to you." + +Again there was some cheering, and Dick noted that the glances cast +towards him were less hostile, less suspicious. + +Mr. Brown seemed on the point of speaking further, but did not. At that +moment a curtain at the back of the platform was drawn aside, and three +men accompanied by two women appeared. It would seem that the time for +the commencement of the meeting had come. + +Dick had some remembrance afterwards that one of the men addressed the +meeting, and that he spoke about the opportunities which the times +offered to the struggling millions who had been crushed through the +centuries, but nothing distinct remained in his mind. Every faculty he +possessed was devoted to one of the two women who sat on the platform. +He did not know who she was; he had never seen her before, and yet his +eyes never left her face. + +Never before had he seen such a woman; never had he dreamed that there +could be anyone like her. + +Years before he had seen, and fancied himself in love with, Lady Blanche +Huntingford. He had been captivated by her glorious young womanhood, her +abundant vitality, her queenly beauty. But, compared with the woman on +the platform, Blanche Huntingford was as firelight to sunlight. + +Even as he sat there he compared them--contrasted them. He remembered +what he had thought of the proud Surrey beauty; how he had raved about +her eyes, her hair, her figure; but here was a beauty of another and a +higher order. Even in his most enthusiastic moments, Lady Blanche's +intellectuality, her spirituality, had never appealed to him. But this +woman's beauty was glorified by eyes that spoke of exalted thoughts, +passionate longings, lofty emotions. + +Her face, too, was constantly changing. Poetry, humour, passion, pity, +tenderness, scorn were expressed on her features as she looked at the +speaker. This woman was poetry incarnate! She was pity incarnate! She +was passion incarnate! + +Dick forgot where he was. He was altogether unconscious of the fact that +he was in a meeting somewhere in the East End of London, and that things +were being said which, if known to the police, would place the speaker, +and perhaps the listeners, in prison. All that seemed as nothing; he was +chained, fascinated by the almost unearthly beauty of the woman who sat +on the little shabby-looking platform. + +Then slowly the incongruity of the situation came to him. The audience, +although warmly dressed and apparently comfortably conditioned, belonged +in the main to the working classes. They were toilers. Most of them were +malcontents--people who under almost any conditions would be opposed to +law and order. But this woman was an aristocrat of aristocrats. No one +could doubt it any more than he could doubt the sunlight. Her dress, +too, was rich and beautiful. On her fingers costly rings sparkled; +around her neck diamonds hung. And yet she was here in a cellar +warehouse, in a district where squalor abounded. + +The speaker finished; evidently he was the chairman of the meeting, and +after having finished his harangue turned to the others on the platform. + +Dick heard the word "Olga," and immediately after the room was full of +deafening cheers. + +The woman he had been watching rose to her feet and waited while the +people continued to cheer. Fascinated, he gazed at her as her eyes swept +over the gathering. Then his heart stood still. She looked towards him, +and their eyes met. There might have been recognition, so brightly did +her eyes flash, and so tender was the smile which came to her lips. She +seemed to be saying to him, "Wait, we shall have much to say to each +other presently." The air of mystery, which seemed to envelop her, +enveloped him also. The hard barriers of materialism seemed to melt +away, and he had somehow entered the realm of romance and wonder. + +Then her voice rang out over the audience--a voice that was rich in +music. He did not understand a word she said, for she spoke in a +language unknown to him. And yet her message reached him. Indeed, she +seemed to be speaking only to him, only for him. And her every word +thrilled him. As she spoke, he saw oppressed peoples. He saw men in +chains, women crushed, trodden on, little children diseased, neglected, +cursed. The picture of gay throngs, revelling in all the world could +give them in pleasure, in music, in song, and wine, passed before his +mind side by side with harrowing, numbing want and misery. + +Then she struck a new note--vibrant and triumphant. It thrilled him, +made his heart beat madly, caused a riot of blood in his veins. + +Suddenly he realised that she was speaking in English, that she was +calling to him in his own language. She was telling of a new age, a new +era. She described how old things had passed away, and that all things +had become new; that old barriers had been broken down; that old +precedents, old prejudices which for centuries had crushed the world, +were no longer potent. New thoughts had entered men's minds; new hopes +stirred the world's heart. In the great cataclysm through which we had +passed, nations had been re-born, and the old bad, mad world had passed +away in the convulsions of the world's upheaval. + +"And now," she concluded, "what wait we for? We await the prophet, the +leader, the Messiah. Who is he? How shall he come? Is he here? Is the +man who is able to do what the world needs brave enough, great enough to +say, like the old Hebrew prophet, 'Here am I, send me'?" + +And even as she spoke Dick felt that her eyes were fastened upon him, +even as her words thrilled his heart. Something, he knew not what it +was, formed a link between them--gave this woman power over him. + +There was no applause as she sat down. The feeling of the people was too +intense, the magnetic charm of the speaker too great. + +Still with her eyes fixed upon Dick, she made her way towards him. He +saw her coming towards him, saw her dark, flashing eyes, her white, +gleaming teeth, felt the increasing charm of her wondrous face. + +Then there was a change in the atmosphere--a change indefinable, +indescribable. Just above the woman's head Dick saw in dim outline what +years before had become such a potent factor in his life. It was the +face of the angel he had seen when he was sinking in the deep waters, +and which appeared to him at Wendover Park. + +"Mr. Richard Faversham," said the woman who had so thrilled him that +night, "I have long been waiting for this hour." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +"YOU AND I TOGETHER" + + +For some time Dick Faversham was oblivious to the fact that the woman +who had so fascinated him a few minutes before stood near him with hands +outstretched and a smile of gladness in her eyes. Again he was under the +spell of what, in his heart of hearts, he called "The Angel." Even yet +he had no definite idea as to who or what this angel was, but there was +a dim consciousness at the back of his mind that she had again visited +him for an important reason. He was certain that her purposes towards +him were beneficent, that in some way she had crossed the pathway of his +life to help him and to save him. + +Like lightning the memory of that fearful night when he was sinking in +the stormy sea came surging back into his mind. He remembered how he had +felt his strength leaving him, while the cold, black waters were +dragging him into their horrible depths. Then he had seen a ray of light +streaming to him across the raging sea; he had seen the shadowy figure +above him with outstretched arms, and even while he had felt himself +up-borne by some power other than his own, the words had come to +him--"Underneath are the Everlasting Arms." + +It was all shadowy and unreal--so much so that in later days he had +doubted its objective reality, and yet there had been times when it had +been the most potent force in his life. It had become such a great and +glorious fact that everything else had sunk into insignificance. + +Then there was that scene in the library at Wendover. He had been on the +point of signing the paper which Count Romanoff had prepared for him. +Under this man's influence, right and wrong had appeared to him but a +chimera of the imagination. The alternative which had appeared before +him stood out in ghastly clearness. He had only to sign the paper, and +all the riches which he thought were his would remain in his possession. +But he had not signed it. Again that luminous form had appeared, while a +hand, light as a feather, but irresistible in its power, had been laid +upon his wrist, and the pen had dropped from his fingers. + +And now the angel had come to him again. Even as he looked, he could see +her plainly, while the same yearning eyes looked into his. + +"Mr. Faversham!" + +He started, like a man suddenly wakened from a dream, and again he saw +the woman who had been spoken of as Olga, and who had thrilled him by +her presence and by the magic of her voice, standing by his side. + +"Forgive me," he said, "but tell me, do you see anyone on the platform?" + +The girl, for she appeared to be only two or three and twenty, looked at +him in a puzzled kind of way. + +"No," she replied, casting her eyes in that direction; "I see no one. +There is no one there." + +"Not a beautiful woman? She is rather shadowy, but she has wonderful +eyes." + +"No," she replied wonderingly. + +"Then I suppose I was mistaken. You are Olga, aren't you?" + +"Yes; I am Olga." + +"And you made that wonderful speech?" + +"Was it wonderful?" and she laughed half sadly, half gaily. + +Suddenly the spell, or whatever it was, left him. He was Dick Faversham +again--keen, alert, critical. He realised where he was, too. He had +accompanied Mr. John Brown to this place, and he had listened to words +which were revolutionary. If they were translated into action, all law +and order as he now understood them would cease to be. + +Around him, too, chattering incessantly, was a number of long-haired, +wild-eyed men. They were discussing the speech to which they had just +listened; they were debating the new opportunities which the times had +created. + +"Ah, you two have met!" It was Mr. John Brown who spoke. "I am glad of +that. This is Olga. She is a Princess in Russia, but because she loved +the poor, and sought to help them, she was seized by the Russian +officials and sent to Siberia. That was two years ago. She escaped and +came to England. Since then she has lived and worked for a new Russia, +for a new and better life in the world. You heard her speak to-night. +Did you understand her?" + +"Only in part," replied Dick. "She spoke in a language that was strange +to me." + +"Yes, yes, I know. But, as you see, she speaks English perfectly. We +must get away from here. We must go to a place where we can talk +quietly, and where, you two can compare ideas. But meanwhile I want you +to understand, Mr. Faversham, that the people you see here are typical +of millions all over Europe who are hoping and praying for the dawn of a +new day. Of course there are only a few thousands here in London, but +they represent ideas that are seething in the minds of hundreds of +millions." + +"Mr. Brown has told me about you," said Olga. "I recognised you from his +description the moment I saw you. I felt instinctively what you had +thought, what you had suffered, what you had seen in visions, and what +you had dreamed. I knew then that you were the prophet--the leader that +we needed." + +Dick gave her a quick glance, and again felt the spell of her beauty. +She was like no woman he had ever seen before. Her eyes shone like +stars, and they told him that this was a woman in a million. The quickly +changing expressions on her face, the wondrous quality of her presence, +fascinated him. + +"I shall be delighted to discuss matters with you," replied Dick. "That +part of your speech which I understood made me realise that we are one +in aim and sympathy. If you will come to my hotel to-morrow, we can +speak freely." + +Olga laughed merrily. "I am afraid you do not understand, Mr. +Faversham," she said. "I am a suspect; I am proscribed by your +Government. A price has been placed on my head." + +Dick looked at her questioningly. + +"No; I am afraid I don't understand," was his reply. + +"Don't you see?" and again she laughed merrily. "I am looked upon as a +dangerous person. News has come to your authorities that I am a menace +to society, that I am a creator of strife. First of all, I am an alien, +and as an alien I am supposed to subscribe to certain regulations and +laws. But I do not subscribe to them. As a consequence I am wanted by +the police. If you did your duty, you would try to hand me over to the +authorities; you would place me under arrest." + +"Are--are you a spy, then?" Dick asked. + +"Of a sort, yes." + +"A German?" + +A look of mad passion swept over her face. + +"A German!" she cried. "Heaven forbid. No, no. I hate Germany. I hate +the accursed war that Germany caused. And yet, no. The war was a +necessity. The destruction of the old bad past was a necessity. And we +must use the mad chaos the war has created to build a new heaven and +create a new earth. What are nationalities, peoples, country boundaries, +man-made laws, but the instruments of the devil to perpetuate crime, +brutality, misery, devilry?" + +Dick shook his head. "You go beyond me," he said. "What you say has no +appeal for me." + +"Ah, but it has," she cried; "that is why I want to talk with you. That +is why I hail you as a comrade--yes, and more than a comrade. I have +followed your career; I have read your speeches. Ah, you did not think, +did you, when you spoke to the people in the grimy north of this country +about better laws, better conditions--ay, and when you made them feel +that all the people of _every_ country should be one vast +brotherhood--that your words were followed, eagerly followed, by a +Russian girl whose heart thrilled as she read, and who longed to meet +you face to face?" + +"You read my speeches? You longed to see me?" gasped Dick. + +"Every word I read, Mr. Faversham; but I saw, too, that you were chained +by cruel tradition, that you were afraid of the natural and logical +outcome of your own words. But see, we cannot talk here!" and she +glanced towards the people who had come up to them, and were listening +eagerly. + +"Come, my friend," whispered Mr. Brown, "you are honoured beyond all +other men. I never knew her speak to any man as she speaks to you. Let +us go to a place where I will take you, where we can be alone. Is she +not a magnificent creature, eh? Did you ever see such a divine woman?" + +"I'm perfectly willing," was Dick's reply, as he watched Olga move +towards the man who had acted as chairman. Truly he had never seen such +a woman. Hitherto he had been struck by her intellectual powers, and by +what had seemed to him the spiritual qualities of her presence. But now +he felt the charm of her womanhood. She was shaped like a goddess, and +carried herself with queenly grace. Every curve of her body was perfect; +her every movement was instinct with a glowing, abundant life. Her +complexion, too, was simply dazzling, and every feature was perfect. A +sculptor would have raved about her; an artist would have given years of +his life to paint her. Her eyes, too, shone like stars, and her smile +was bewildering. + +A few minutes later they were in the street, Dick almost like a man in a +dream, Mr. John Brown plodding stolidly and steadily along, while Olga, +her face almost covered, moved by his side. Dick was too excited to heed +whither they were going; neither did he notice that they were being +followed. + +They had just turned into a narrow alley when there was a quick step +behind them, and a man in a police officer's uniform laid his hand on +Olga's arm and said: + +"You go with me, please, miss." + +The girl turned towards him with flashing eyes. + +"Take your hand from me," she said; "I have nothing to do with you." + +"But I have something to do with you. Come, now, it's no use putting on +airs. You come with me. I've been on the look out for you for a long +while." + +"Help her! Get rid of the man!" whispered Mr. Brown to Dick. "For God's +sake do something. I've a weak heart and can do nothing." + +"Now, then," persisted the policeman. "It's no use resisting, you know. +If you won't come quiet, I may have to be a bit rough. And I _can_ be +rough, I can assure you!" + +"Help! help!" she said hoarsely. + +She did not speak aloud, but the word appealed to Dick strongly. It was +sacrilege for the police officer to place his hands on her; he +remembered what she had told him, and dreaded the idea of her being +arrested and thrown into prison. + +"You won't, eh?" grumbled the policeman. "We'll soon settle that." + +Dick saw him put his whistle to his lips, but before a sound was made, +the young fellow rushed forward and instantly there was a hand-to-hand +struggle. A minute later the police constable lay on the pavement, +evidently stunned and unconscious, while Dick stood over him. + +"Now is our chance! Come!" cried Mr. Brown, and with a speed of which +Dick thought him incapable, he led the way through a network of narrow +streets and alleys, while he and the girl followed. A little later they +had entered a house by a back way, and the door closed behind them. + +"Thank you, Faversham," panted Mr. Brown. "That was a narrow squeak, +eh?" + +He switched on a light as he spoke, and Dick, as soon as his eyes had +become accustomed to the light, found himself in a handsomely, even +luxuriously, appointed room. + +"Sit down, won't you?" said Olga. "Oh, you need not fear. You are safe +here. I will defy all the police officers in London to trace me now. Ah! +thank you, Mr. Faversham! But for you I might have been in an awkward +position. It would have been horrible to have been arrested--more +horrible still to be tried in one of your law courts." + +"That was nothing," protested Dick. "Of course I could not stand by and +see the fellow----" + +"Ah, but don't you see?" she interrupted merrily. "You have placed +yourself in opposition to the law? I am afraid you would be found +equally guilty with me, if we were tried together. Did I not tell you? +There is a price on my head. I am spoken of as the most dangerous person +in London. And you have helped me to escape; you have defeated the ends +of justice." + +"But that is nothing," cried Mr. John Brown. "Of course, Mr. Faversham +is with us now. It could not be otherwise." + +Every event of the night had been somewhat unreal to Dick, but the +reality of his position was by no means obscure at that moment. He, Dick +Faversham, who, when he had advocated his most advanced theories, had +still prided himself on being guided by constitutional methods, knew +that he had placed himself in a most awkward position by what he had +done. Doubtless, efforts would be made to find him, and if he were +discovered and recognised, he would have a very lame defence. In spite +of the honeyed way in which Mr. Brown had spoken, too, he felt there was +something like a threat in his words. + +But he cast everything like fear from his mind, and turned to the young +girl, who had thrown off her cloak, and stood there in the brilliant +light like the very incarnation of splendid beauty. + +"I would risk more than that for this opportunity of talking with you," +he could not help saying. + +"Would you?" and her glorious eyes flashed into his. "I am so glad of +that. Do you know why? Directly I saw you to-night, I felt that we +should be together in the greatest cause the world has ever known. Do +you think you will like me as a co-worker? Do you believe our hearts +will beat in unison?" + +Again she had cast a spell upon him. He felt that with such a woman he +could do anything--dare anything. + +Still, he kept a cool head. His experiences of the last few years had +made him wary, critical, suspicious. + +"I am going to be frank," she went on. "I am going to lay bare my heart +to you. The cause I have at heart is the world's redemption; that, too, +is the cause I believe you, too, have at heart. I want to destroy +poverty, crime, misery; I want a new earth. So do you. But the way is +dangerous, stormy, and hard. There will be bleeding footsteps all along +the track. But you and I together!--ah, don't you see?" + +"I am afraid I don't," replied Dick. "Tell me, will you?" + +She drew her chair closer to him. "Yes; I will tell you," she said in a +whisper. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE SO-CALLED DEAD + + +"Don't be frightened at a word," she laughed. "I shall explain that word +in a few minutes. But it will not need much explanation. At heart you +and I are one." + +Dick waited in silence. + +"You do not help me," and her laugh was almost nervous. "And yet--oh, I +mean so much. But I am afraid to put it into a word, because that word +has been so misunderstood, so maligned. It is the greatest word in the +world. It sweeps down unnatural barriers, petty creeds, distinctions, +man-made laws, criminal usages. It is the dawn of a new day. It is the +sunrise. It is universal liberty, universal right. It is the divine +right of the People!" + +Still Dick was silent, and as she watched him she started to her feet. + +"Who have held the destinies of the great unnumbered millions in the +hollow of their hands?" she cried passionately. "The few. The Emperors, +the Kings, the Bureaucrats. And they have sucked the life blood of these +dumb, suffering millions. They have crushed them, persecuted them, made +them hewers of wood and drawers of water. Why have the poor lived? That +they might minister to the rich. Just that and nothing more. Whether the +millions have been called slaves, serfs, working classes--whatever you +like--the result has been the same. They have existed that the few might +have what they desired. But at last the world has revolted. The Great +War has made everything possible. The world is fluid, and the events of +life will be turned into new channels. Now is the opportunity of the +People. Whatever God there is, He made the world and all that is in it +for the People. In the past it has been robbed from them, but now it is +going to be theirs! Don't you see?" + +Dick nodded his head slowly. This, making allowance for the extravagance +of her words, was what he had been feeling for a long time. + +"Yes," he said presently; "but how are they to get it?" + +"Ah!" she laughed. "I brought you here to-night to tell you. You are +going to give it them, my friend. With me to help you, perhaps, if you +will have me. Will you? Look into my eyes and tell me that you see--that +you understand?" + +Her eyes were as the eyes of a siren, but still Dick did not lose his +head. + +"I see no other way of giving the people justice than by working on the +lines I have been trying to work for years," he said. + +"Yes, you do," she cried triumphantly. "You are a Labour man--a +Socialist if you like. You have a vision of better conditions for the +working classes in England--the British Isles. But what is that? What +does it all amount to? Sticking-plasters, _mon ami_--sticking-plasters." + +"Still, I do not understand," replied Dick. + +"But you do," she persisted, still with her great, lustrous eyes +laughing into his, in spite of a certain seriousness shining from them. +"Think a minute. Here we are at a crisis in the world's history. Unless +a mighty effort is made now, power, property, everything will drift back +to the old ruling classes, and that will mean what it has always meant. +Still the same accursed anomalies; still the same blinding, numbing, +crushing poverty on the one hand; still the same pampered luxury and +criminal waste on the other. All things must be new, my friend--new!" + +"But how?" + +"In one word--Bolshevism. No; don't be startled. Not the miserable +caricature, the horrible nightmare which has frightened the dull-minded +British but a glorious thing! Justice for humanity, the world for the +people! That's what it means. Not for one country, but for all the +countries--for the wide world. Don't you see? The world must become one, +because humanity is one. It must be. Disease in any part of the organism +hurts the whole body. If wrong is done in Russia, England has to pay; +therefore, all reform must be world wide; right must be done +everywhere." + +"Words, words, words," quoted Dick. + +"And more than words, my friend. The most glorious ideal the world has +ever known. And every ideal is an unborn event." + +"Beautiful as a dream, but, still, words," persisted Dick. + +"And why, my friend?" + +"Because power cannot be wrested from the hands in which it is now +vested----" + +"That is where you are mistaken. Think of Russia." + +"Yes; think of Russia," replied Dick--"a nightmare, a ghastly crime, +hell upon earth." + +"And I reply in your own language, 'Words, words, words.' My friend, you +cannot wash away abuses hoary with age with rose water. Stern work needs +stern methods. Our Russian comrades are taking the only way which will +lead to the Promised Land. Do not judge Russia by what it seems to-day, +but by what it will be when you and I are old. Already there are patches +of blue in the sky. In a few years from now things will have settled +down, and Russia, with all its wealth and all its possibilities, will +belong to the people--the great people of Russia. That is what must be +true of every nation. You talk of the great wealth of European +countries, and of America. Who holds that wealth? Just a few +thousands--whereas it should be in the hands of all--all." + +"And how will you do this mighty thing?" laughed Dick. + +"By the people not simply demanding, but taking their rights--taking it, +my friend." + +"By force?" + +"Certainly by force. It is their right." + +"But how?" + +"Think, my friend. Do you believe the people will ever get their rights +by what is called constitutional means? Do you think the landed +proprietors will give up their lands? That the Capitalists will disgorge +their millions? That the bourgeoisie will let go what they have squeezed +from the sweat and toil of the millions? You know they will not. There +is but one way all over the world. It is for the people everywhere to +claim, to _force_, their rights." + +"Revolution!" + +"Yes, Revolution. Do not be afraid of the word." + +"Crime, anarchy, blood, ruin, the abolition of all law and order!" + +"What is called crime and anarchy to-day will be hailed a few years +hence as the gospel which has saved the world." + +Dick could not help being influenced by her words. There was an +intellectual quality in her presence which broke down his prejudices, a +spiritual dynamic in her beauty and her earnestness which half convinced +him. + +"Admitting what you say," he replied presently, "you only proclaim a +will-o'-the-wisp. Before such a movement could be set on foot, you must +have the whole people with you. You must have a great consensus of +opinion. To do this you must educate the people. Then you must have a +tremendous organisation. You would have to arm the people. And you would +need leaders." + +She laughed gaily. "Now we are getting near it," she cried. "You've seen +the vision. You've been seeing it, proclaiming it, unknowingly, for +years, but you've not dared to be obedient to your vision. But you will, +my friend. You will." + +She placed her hand on his arm, and looked half beseechingly, half +coyly, into his face. + +"Do you not see with me?" she cried. "Could you not join with me in a +great crusade for the salvation of the world? For I can be a faithful +comrade--faithful to death. Look into my eyes and tell me." + +Again he looked into her eyes, and he saw as she saw, felt as she felt. +His past life, his past work, seemed but as a mockery, while the vision +she caused him to see was like a glimpse of Paradise. Even yet, however, +a kind of hard, Saxon, common sense remained with him; and she appeared +to realise it, for, still keeping her hand upon his arm, she continued +her appeal. She told him what she had seen and heard, and tried to prove +to him how impossible it was for the poor to have their rights save by +rising in their millions, seizing the helm of power, and claiming, +taking, their own. Still he was not altogether convinced. + +"You describe a beautiful dream," he said, "but, like all beautiful +dreams, it vanishes when brought into contact with hard realities. What +you speak of is only mob rule, and mob rule is chaos. To achieve +anything you must have leaders, and when you get your leaders, you +simply replace one set of rulers by another." + +"Of course we do," was her answer. "But with this difference. The +present leaders are the result of an old bad system of selfish greed. +They think and act for themselves instead of for the good of the people. +But, with you as a leader, we should have a man who thinks only of +leading the children of the world into Light." + +"I?--I?" stammered Dick. + +"Of course, you, my friend. Else why should I long to see you, speak +with you, know you?" + +"Of course it's madness," he protested. + +"All great enterprises are madness," was her reply; "but it is Divine +madness. You were born from the foundation of the world for this work. +You have vision, you have daring, you have the essential qualities of +the leader, for you have the master mind." + +It is easy for a young man to be flattered by a beautiful woman, +especially when that woman is endowed with all charms, physical, +intellectual, personal. Her hand was still on his arm; her eyes were +still burning into his. + +"Of course it is impossible," he still persisted. + +"Why?" she asked. + +"A huge organisation which is international requires the most careful +arrangement--secret but potent." + +"The organisation exists in outline." + +"Propaganda work." + +"It has been going on for years. Even such work as you have been doing +has been preparing the way for greater things." + +"Money--millions of money!" he cried. "Don't you see? It's easy to talk +of leading the people, but difficult to accomplish--impossible, in fact, +in a highly organised country like this." + +"Give me your consent--tell me you will consent to lead us, and I will +show you that this is already done. Even now a million British soldiers +are ready--ready with arms and accoutrements!" + +Again she pleaded, again she fired his imagination! Fact after fact she +related of what had been done, and of what could be done. It needed, she +said, but the strong man to appear, and the poor, the suffering from +every byway, would flock to his standard. + +"But don't you see?" cried Dick, half bewildered and altogether dazzled +by the witchery of her words. "If I were to respond to your call, you +would be placing not only an awful responsibility upon me, but a +terrible power in my hands?" + +"Yes, I do see!" she cried; "and I glory in the thought. Look here, my +friend, I have been pleading with you not for your own sake, but for the +sake of others--for the redemption of the world. But all along I have +thought of you--_you_. It is right that you should think of yourself. +Every man should be anxious about his own career. This is right. We +cannot go against the elementary truths of life. There must be the +leaders as well as the led. And leadership means power, fame! Every +strong man longs for power, fame, position. You do, my friend. For years +you have been craving after it, and it is your right, your eternal +right. And here is the other ground of my appeal, my friend. Such a +position, such fame, such power is offered you as was never offered to +any man before. To be a leader of the world! To focus, to make real the +visions, longings, hopes of unnumbered millions. To make vocal, to +translate into reality all the world has been sighing for--striving +after. Great God! What a career! What a position!" + +"Ah--h!" and Mr. John Brown, who had been silent during the whole +conversation, almost sobbed out the exclamation, "that is it! that is +it! What a career! What a position to struggle after, to fight for! +Power! Power! The Kings and Emperors of the world become as nothing +compared with what you may be, my friend." + +Dick's heart gave a wild leap. Power! place! greatness! Yes; this was +what he had always longed for. As the thought gripped him, mastered him, +impossibilities became easy, difficulties but as thistledown. + +And yet he was afraid. Something, he knew not what, rose up and forbade +him to do things he longed to do. He felt that every weakness of his +life had been appealed to--his vanity, his selfishness, his desire for +greatness, as well as his natural longing for the betterment of the +world. And all the time the beautiful woman kept her hand on his arm. +And her touch was caressing, alluring, bewildering. Her eyes, wondrous +in their brilliance, fascinating, suggesting all the heart of man could +long for, were burning into his. + +He rose to his feet. "I must go," he said. "I will consider what you +have said." + +The woman rose too. She was nearly as tall as he, and she stood by his +side, a queen among women. + +"And you will think kindly, won't you?" she pleaded. "You will remember +that it is the dearest hope of my life to stand by your side, to share +your greatness." + +Dick was silent as he made his way through the dark and silent streets +with Mr. Brown by his side. He was still under the influences of the +night through which he had passed; his mind was still bewildered. + +Just before he reached his hotel, he and Mr. Brown parted--the latter to +turn down Piccadilly, Dick to make his way towards Bloomsbury. When Mr. +Brown had gone, Dick stood and watched him. Was he mistaken, or did he +see the figure of a man like Count Romanoff move from the doorstep of a +large building and join him? Was it Count Romanoff's voice he heard? He +was not sure. + +The night porter of his hotel spoke to him sleepily as he entered. + +"No Zepps to-night, sir," he said. + +"No; I think not. I fancy the Huns have given up that game." + +"Think so, sir? Well, there's no devilish thing they won't think of. I +hear they're going to try a new dodge on us." + +"Oh, what?" + +"I don't know. But if it isn't one thing it's another. Nothing's too +dirty for 'em. Good night--or, rather, good morning, sir." + +"Good morning." + +Dick went to bed, but not to sleep. Again and again his mind rehearsed +the scenes through which he had passed. It all seemed like a dream, a +phantasmagoria, and yet it was very wonderful. + +When daylight came he plunged into a bath, and as he felt the sting of +the cold water on his body, he felt his own man again. His mind was +clear; his senses were alert. + +After breakfast he went for a walk towards Hyde Park. The air was clear +and exhilarating; the great tide of human life stirred his pulses and +caused his blood to course freely through his veins. His mind was saner, +more composed. He turned into the Park at the Marble Arch, and he +watched the crowds of gaily dressed women and swiftly moving motor-cars. + +Presently his heart gave a wild leap. Coming towards him he saw Lady +Blanche Huntingford. He thought he saw her smile at his approach, and +with eager footsteps he moved towards her. He held out his hand. "This +is indeed a pleasure, Lady Blanche," he said. + +She gave him a quick, haughty stare, and passed on. He was sure she +recognised him, but she acted as though he did not exist. She had cut +him dead; she had refused to know him. The woman's action maddened him. +Yet why should she not refuse to recognise him? He was a nobody, whom +she remembered as a kind of Roger Tichborne--an impostor. + +But she should know him! Again the memory of his recent experiences +came surging back into his mind. He could reach a position where such as +she would be as nothing, and like lightning his mind fastened upon +Olga's proposal. + +Yes; he would accept. He would throw himself heart and soul into this +great work. He would become great--yes, the greatest man in England--in +the world! He would go back to his hotel and write to her. + +A little later he sat at a table in the writing-room of the hotel, but +just as he commenced to write the pen dropped from his hand. Again he +thought he felt that light yet irresistible hand upon his wrist--the +same hand that he had felt in the library at Wendover Park. + +He gave a quick, searching glance around the room, and he saw that he +was alone. + +"Who are you? What do you want?" he asked aloud. + +Again he looked around him. Did he see that luminous form, those +yearning, searching eyes, the memory of which had been haunting him for +years? He was not sure. But of this he was sure. The place seemed filled +with a holy influence, and he thought he heard the words, "Watch and +pray, that ye enter not into temptation." + +"Speak, speak, tell me who you are," he again spoke aloud. But no +further answer came to him. + +Bewildered, wondering, he rose to his feet and sauntered around the +room. His attention was drawn to a number of papers that were scattered +on a table. A minute later he was reading an article entitled + + "DO THE SO-CALLED DEAD SPEAK TO US?" + +The paper containing the article was a periodical which existed for the +purpose of advocating spiritualism. It announced that a renowned medium +would take part in a seance that very afternoon in a building not far +away, and that all earnest and reverent seekers after truth were invited +to be present. + +"I'll go," determined Dick as he read. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +VISIONS OF ANOTHER WORLD + + +After Dick had decided to attend the seance he read the article more +carefully. It purported to be written by a man who had given up all +faith in religion and all forms of spiritual life. He had tried to find +satisfaction in the pleasures and occupations of his daily existence, +and had treated everything else as a played-out fallacy. Then two of his +sons had been killed in the war, and life had become a painful, hollow +mockery. By and by he became impressed by the thought that his sons were +alive and wanted to speak to him. Sometimes, too, he had felt as though +presences were near him, but who they were or what they meant he could +not tell. After this he had by pure accident heard two people talking +about their experiences at a seance, and one had distinctly stated that +he had seen and spoken to a dear dead friend. This caused the writer to +turn his attention to spiritualism. The result was that he remained no +longer a materialist, but was an ardent believer in the spiritual world. +He distinctly stated that he had had irrefutable assurance that his sons +were alive, that they had spoken to him, and had brought him messages +from the spirit world. Things which before had been bewildering and +cruel now became plain and full of comfort. Life was larger, grander, +and full of a great hope. + +Dick's heart warmed as he read. Surely here was light. Surely, too, he +would be able to find an explanation to what for years had been a +mystery to him. + +He thought of the conversations he had heard in Eastroyd, in relation to +this, to which he had paid but little attention because his mind had +been too full of other matters, but which were now full of +significance. His mind again reverted to the discussion on the Angels +at Mons. If there were no truth in the stories, how could so many have +believed in them? How could there be such clear and definite testimonies +from men who had actually seen? + +And had not he, Dick Faversham, both seen and heard? What was the +meaning of the repeated appearances of that beautiful, luminous figure +with great, yearning eyes and arms outstretched to save? + +Yes; he would go to this seance. He would inquire, and he would learn. + +He felt he had need of guidance. He knew he had come to another crisis +in his life. The proposal which had been made to him was alluring; it +appealed to the very depths of his being. + +Power, position, fame! That was what it meant. To take a leading part in +the great drama of life, to be a principal factor in the emancipation of +the world! But there was another side. If this movement was spreading +with such gigantic strides--were to spread to England and dominate the +thoughts and actions of the toiling millions of the country--what might +it not mean? + +He was sure of nothing. He could not grasp the issues clearly; he could +not see his way to the end. But it was grand; it was stupendous! +Besides, to come into daily, hourly, contact with that sublime woman--to +constantly feel the magnetic charm of her presence! The thought stirred +his pulses, fired his imagination! How great she was, too. How she had +swept aside the world's conventions and man-made moralities. She seemed +like a warm breath from the lands of sunshine and song. And yet he was +not sure. + +For hours he sat thinking, weighing pros and cons, trying to mark out +the course of his life. Yes; he had done well. Since he had left +Wendover Park he had become an influence in the industrial life of the +North; he had become proclaimed a leader among the working classes; in +all probability he would soon be able to voice their cause in the Mother +of Parliaments. + +But what did it all amount to after all? A Labour Member of Parliament! +The tool of the unwashed, uneducated masses! A voting machine at L400 a +year! Besides, what could he do? What could the Labour Party do? When +their programme was realised, if ever it was realised, what did it all +amount to? The wealth, the power, would still be in the hands of the +ruling, educated classes, while he would be a mere nobody. + +"Sticking-plasters." + +The term stuck to him--mocked him. He was only playing at reform. But +the dream of Olga--the emancipation of the race! the dethronement of the +parasites--the bloodsuckers of the world!--a new heaven and a new +earth!--while he, Dick Faversham, would be hailed as the prophet, the +leader of this mighty movement, with infinite wealth at his command and +power unlimited. Power! + +Men professed to sneer at Trotsky; they called him a criminal, an +outrage to humanity. But what a position he held! He was more feared, +more discussed, than any man in the world--he who a few months before +was unknown, unheard of. And he defied kings and potentates, for kings +and potentates were powerless before him. While behind him was a new +Russia, a new world. + +To be such a man in England! To make vocal and real the longings of the +greatest Democracy in the world, and to lead it. That would mean the +premier place in the world, and---- + +So he weighed the position, so he thought of this call which had come to +him. + +During the afternoon he left his hotel and made his way towards the +house where the spiritualistic seance was to be held. In spite of all +his dreams of social reforms, and the appeal made to his own ambitions, +his mind constantly reverted to the vision which had again come to +him--to the influences he could not understand. + +He found the house, and was admitted without difficulty. It was in a +commonplace, shabby-looking street not far from Tottenham Court Road. On +his arrival he was admitted into a room, where an absurd attempt had +been made to give it an Oriental appearance. An old woman occupied the +only arm-chair in the room. She looked up at his entrance, stared at him +for a few seconds, and then muttered indistinctly. He was followed by +half a dozen others who might have been habitues of the place. + +Presently a man entered, who glanced inquiringly around the room. He +appeared to be about fifty years of age, and had light watery-looking +eyes. He made his way to Dick. + +"You desire to be present at the seance?" he asked of Dick. + +"If I may?" was Dick's reply. + +"You come as a sincere, earnest, reverent inquirer?" + +"I hope so." + +"Is there any friend you have lost, any message you want to receive?" +and he scrutinised Dick closely. + +"At a time like this, we have all lost friends," Dick replied. + +"Ah, then you come as an inquirer?" + +"That is true. I have come to learn." + +"Certainly. But of course there are certain expenses. Would it be +convenient for you to give me ten shillings?" + +Dick gave him a ten-shilling note, whereupon the man turned to another +visitor. + +"A great medium, but keen on business," Dick heard someone say. + +"Yes, but why not? Mediums must live the same as other people." + +Another man entered. He was much younger than the other. He looked very +unhealthy, and his hands twitched nervously. + +"The room is ready," he said, and his voice was toneless. "Perhaps you +would like to see it and examine it before the light is excluded, so +that you may be sure there is no deception." + +Dick with two others accepted the man's invitation. The room into which +he was led was carpetless and completely unfurnished save for a number +of uncushioned chairs and a plain deal table. Nothing else was visible. +There was not a picture on the walls, not a sign of decoration. Dick +and the others professed satisfaction with what they had seen. + +A few minutes later the others joined them, accompanied by the man who +had been spoken of as a "great medium," also the man with the nervous, +twitching hands, who Dick afterwards learned was the leader of the two +mediums. + +"My friends," he said, "will you seat yourselves around the table? We +promise you nothing. The spirits may come, and they may not. I, +personally, am a medium of the old order. I do not pretend to tell you +what spirits say; I make no claim to be a clairvoyant. If the spirits +come they will speak for themselves--if they wish to speak. If there are +persons here who desire a message from the spirit world they will, if +they receive such a message at all, receive it direct from the spirits. +I pretend to explain nothing, just as I promise nothing. But in the past +spirits have come to such gatherings as this, and many comforting +messages have been given. That is all." + +The party then sat down at the table, placed their hands upon it in such +a way that the fingers of one person joined those of the persons sitting +next, and thus formed a circle. All light was excluded. + +For three minutes there was silence. No sound was heard; no light was +seen. All was darkness and silence. + +Then suddenly there was a faint voice--a child's voice. It sounded as +though it came from the ceiling. + +"I am come," wailed the voice. + +"Yes, and I am come." This time the voice seemed to come from the +direction of the window. It was hoarse, and coarse. + +"Who are you? + +"I am Jim Barkum. I was killed at Mons." + +"Anything to tell us?" + +"No; nothin' except I'm all right. I come fro' Sheffield. If you could +tell my mother, Emily Barkum, that I'm very happy I'd be very thankful." + +"What's your mother's address?" + +"Number 14 Tinkers Street." + +After this a number of other spirits purported to come, one of whom +said he was the son of a sitter in the circle, and that he had been +killed in the war. + +"Will you reveal yourself?" said the medium. + +Some phosphorous light shone in the darkness, in the radiance of which +was the outline of a face. + +"Do you recognise it?" asked the medium. + +"It might be Jack," Dick heard a voice say. + +After this there seemed to be a quarrel among the spirits. There was a +good deal of confused talk and a certain amount of anger expressed. Also +a number of feeble jokes were passed and far-away laughter heard. +Evidently the spirits were in a frolicsome humour. + +Dick, whose purpose in coming to the seance was not to take part in a +fiasco, grew impatient. In his state of mind he felt he had wasted both +money and time. It was true he had seen and heard what he could not +explain, but it amounted to nothing. Everything seemed silly beyond +words. There was nothing convincing in anything, and it was all +artificial. + +"I should like to ask a question," he ventured at length. + +"Go ahead," said a voice, which seemed to come from the ceiling. + +"I should like to ask this: why is it that you, who have solved the +great secret of death, should, now you are permitted to come back and +speak to those of us who haven't, talk such horrible drivel?" + +"Hear! hear!" assented a member of the circle. + +"Oh, it's this way," answered the spirit: "every one of you sitting here +have your attendant spirits. If you are intellectual, intellectual +spirits attend you and come to talk to you, but as you are not they just +crack silly jokes." + +There was laughter at this, not only from the sitters, but among the +spirits, of which the room, by this time, seemed to be full. + +"That's not bad," replied Dick. "One might think you'd said that before, +but as it happens we are not all fools, and I personally would like +something more sensible. This is a time when thousands of hearts are +breaking," he added. + +"What would you like to know?" + +It was another voice that spoke now--a sweeter and more refined voice, +and might have belonged to a woman. + +"I would like to know if it is true that each of us have attendant +spirits, as one of you said just now?" + +"Yes; that is true." + +"You mean guardian angels?" + +"Yes; if you like to call them that. But they are not all guardian +angels. There are spirits who try to do harm, as well as those who try +to guard and to save." + +"Are they here now?" + +"Yes; they are here now. I can see one behind you at this moment." + +The atmosphere of the room had suddenly changed. It seemed as though +something solemn and elevating had entered and driven away the +frivolous, chattering presences which had filled the room. A hush had +fallen upon the sitters too, and all ears seemed to be listening +eagerly. + +"You say you can see a spirit behind me now?" + +"Yes." + +"Tell me, is it a good spirit or a bad one?" + +"I do not know. The face is hidden." + +"But surely you can cause the face to be seen. I am anxious to learn--to +know." + +"I think I can tell directly. Wait." + +There was a silence for perhaps ten seconds; then the voice spoke again. + +"The spirit will not show its face," it said, "but it is always with +you. It never leaves you night nor day." + +"Why does it not leave me?" + +"I cannot tell; I do not know." + +"Tell me," persisted Dick, "you do not seem like the other spirits who +have been here--if they are spirits," he added in an undertone. "Can you +not find out if I am watched over for any particular purpose?" + +"Yes, yes, I can. I can see now. It is a guardian angel, and she loves +you." + +"She loves me--why does she love me?" + +"When she was alive she loved you. I think you were engaged. But she +died, and you never married her. But she is always watching over +you--trying to help you. Were you ever engaged to anyone who died?" + +"That is surely a leading question," was Dick's retort. "Is that all you +can tell me?" + +"That is all, except that you have enemies, one in particular, who is +trying to do you harm, and your guardian angel is always near you, +seeking to protect you. Have you an enemy?" + +"Possibly--I don't know. Is that enemy a man or a woman?" + +"I cannot tell. Everything is becoming hazy and dim. I am not a spirit +of the highest order. There, everything is blank to me now." + +After this the seance continued for some time, but as far as Dick was +concerned, it had but little definite interest. Many things took place +which he could not explain, but to him they meant nothing. They might +have been caused by spirits, but then again they might have been the +result of trickery. Nothing was clear to him except the one outstanding +fact that no light had been thrown on the problem of his life. He wanted +some explanation of the wonderful apparition which had so affected his +life, and he found none. For that matter, although the spirit world had +been demonstrated to him, he had no more conviction about the spirit +world after the seance than he had before. All the same, he could not +help believing, not because of the seance, but almost in spite of it, +that a presence was constantly near him, and that this presence had a +beneficent purpose in his life. + +"You were not convinced?" asked a man of him as presently he left the +house. + +Dick was silent. + +"Sometimes I think I am, and sometimes I think I am not," went on the +man. "It's all a mystery. But I know one thing." + +"What?" asked Dick. + +"My old mother, who held fast to the old simple faith in Christ, had no +doubts nor fears," was the man's reply. "I was with her when she was +dying, and she told me that angels were beckoning to her. She said she +saw the face of her Lord, and that He was waiting to welcome her on the +other side. I wish I could see as she saw." + +"Did she believe in angels?" asked Dick. + +"She had no doubt," replied the man. "She said that God sent His angels +to guard those they loved, and that those angels helped them to fight +evil spirits." + +"Accepting the idea of a spirit world, it seems reasonable," and Dick +spoke like one thinking aloud rather than to be answering the man. + +"Did not angels minister to Christ after He was tempted of the Devil?" +persisted the man. "Did not angels help the Apostles? I don't think I'll +bother about spiritualism any more. There may be truth in it; there may +not; but I'd rather get hold of the faith my mother had." + +"I wonder?" mused Dick, as he went away alone. "I wonder? But I'll have +to send an answer to Olga. My word, what a glorious woman, and what a +career! But I don't see my way clear." + +He made his way back to his hotel, thinking and wondering. He felt he +had come to a crisis in his life, but his way was not plain, and he did +not know where to look for light. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +ROMANOFF'S PHILOSOPHY + + +Count Romanoff sat in a handsomely furnished room. It formed a part of a +suite he had taken in a fashionable London hotel. He was smoking a +cigar, while at his side was a tray with several decanters containing +spirits. + +He seemed to be puzzled, and often there was an angry gleam in his eyes, +a cruel smile on his lips. + +"I am not sure of him," he muttered, "and so far I've failed altogether. +More than once I was certain that I had him--certain that he was bound +to me hand and foot, and then----" + +He started to his feet and strode impatiently across the room. He +appeared angry. Looking out of the window, he could see the tide of +human beings which swept hither and thither in the London street. + +"Good and evil," he said aloud--"good and evil. Those people are all the +time tempted, and yet--and yet----But I'll have him. It's only a matter +of time now." + +He heard a knock at the door, and started violently. For a +self-contained, strong man, he seemed at times to be peculiarly +apprehensive. + +"Yes; come in. Ah, it's you, is it? I was expecting you." + +"Count Romanoff, are you ever surprised?" It was Mr. John Brown who +spoke, and who quietly came into the room. + +"Rarely," replied the Count. "Why should I? After all, the events of +life are a matter of calculation. Certain forces, certain powers of +resistance--and there you are." + +"It takes a clever man to calculate the forces or the powers of +resistance," replied Mr. Brown. + +"Just so. Well, I am clever." + +Mr. Brown looked at him curiously, and there was an expression almost of +fear in his eyes. + +"Count Romanoff," he said, "I wonder sometimes if you are not the +Devil--if there is a devil," he added as if in afterthought. + +"Why, do you doubt it?" + +"I don't know. It would be difficult to explain some things and some +people unless you postulate a devil." + +The Count laughed almost merrily. "Then why not accept the fact?" he +asked. + +"Do you?" asked Mr. Brown. + +"I have no doubt of it. I--but wait. You must clear the ground. The +existence of a devil presupposes evil--and good. If what the world calls +evil is evil--there is a devil." + +"You speak like one who knows." + +"I do know." + +"How do you know?" + +"Because----But look here, my friend, you did not come here to discuss +_that_ problem." + +"No; I did not. I came because I wanted to discuss----" + +"A young man called Richard Faversham. Very well, let's discuss him," +and the Count took a fresh cigar and lit it. + +"I've been thinking a good deal since I saw you last," said Mr. +Brown--"thinking pretty deeply." + +The Count for reply looked at Mr. Brown steadily, but spoke no word. + +"I have been wondering at your interest in him," said Mr. Brown. "He's +not your sort." + +"Perhaps that's a reason," he suggested. + +"Still I do not understand you." + +"But I understand you. I know you through and through. You, although you +are a member of the best London clubs, although you pass as a Britisher +of Britishers, and although you bear a good old commonplace English +name, hate Britain, and especially do you hate England. Shall I tell you +why?" + +"Not aloud, my friend--not aloud; there may be servants outside--people +listening," and Mr. Brown spoke in a whisper. + +"I _shall_ speak aloud," replied the Count, "and there is no one +listening. I feel in a communicative, garrulous mood to-night, and it's +no use mincing words. You hate England, because you are German at heart, +and a German by birth, although no one knows it--but me. I also hate +England." + +"Why?" asked Mr. Brown. + +"Because it stands for those things I abominate. Because, in spite of +its so-called materialism, it still holds fast to the old standards of +religion, and all that religion means. It stands for what the world +calls progress, for civilisation, and Democracy. And I hate Democracy." + +"You are a Russian," commented Mr. Brown--"a Russian aristocrat, +therefore you would naturally hate Democracy." + +"Am I?" and the Count laughed. "Well, call me that if you like." + +"You told me so when we first met." + +"Did I? I know you came to me in a sad way. You began to doubt your +country, and your country's victory. You saw that it would never gain +what it desired and hoped on the battlefield. You realised that this +England--this Britain that you had scorned--was mightier than you +thought. You saw that John Bull, whom I hate as much as you, was +practically invincible." + +"Yes; I could not help realising that. I admitted it to you, and you +told me to----" + +"Take special note of Faversham. I told you his story." + +"Yes, you did, and I accepted your advice. I went to Eastroyd; I made +his acquaintance." + +"And were impressed by the power he had obtained over the working +classes, the Democracy, that we hear so much about. As you told me, he +had taken up their cause, and that he had developed the gift of public +oratory so assiduously that his power over working-class audiences was +almost magnetic." + +"But look here, Count, I----" + +"Pardon me a moment. I had studied Faversham for years. For reasons of +my own, I wanted him to do certain things." + +Mr. Brown sat quietly, watching the Count, who ceased speaking suddenly, +and seemed to be staring into vacancy. + +"Did you ever read a book by a man named John Bunyan, called _The Holy +War_?" he asked, with seeming irrelevance. + +Mr. Brown laughed. "Years ago, when I was a boy," he replied. + +"A wonderful book, my friend. I have read it many times." + +"_You_ read it many times! Why, what interest could such a book have for +you?" + +"A very deep interest," and there was a curious intonation in his voice. + +"What interest?" asked Mr. Brown. + +The Count rose to his feet and knocked some ash from the end of his +cigar. "Corpo di Bacco!" he cried. "Did not the man get deep? The city +of Mansoul! And the Devil wanted to get it. So he studied the +fortifications. Eyegate, nosegate, touchgate, eargate he saw, he +understood!" + +"What on earth are you talking about?" asked Mr. Brown in astonishment. + +"There is one passage which goes deep," went on the Count as though Mr. +Brown had not spoken. "It contained some of the deepest philosophy of +life; it went to the roots of the whole situation. I had it in my mind +when I advised you to make Faversham's acquaintance." + +"What passage?" asked Mr. Brown, still failing to catch the drift of the +other's words. + +"It is this," and the Count spoke very quietly. "_For here lay the +excellent wisdom of Him who built Mansoul, that the walls could never be +broken down, nor hurt by the most mighty adverse potentate, unless the +townsmen gave consent thereto._" + +Mr. Brown looked puzzled. "I don't follow you," he said. + +"Don't you? Bunyan wrote in parable, but his meaning is plain. He said +that Diabolus could never conquer Mansoul except by the consent of +Mansoul. Well, I saw this: England--Britain--could never be conquered +except by the consent of the people of England. United, Britain is +unconquerable." + +"Well?" + +"Therefore, I made you see that if your country, which stands for force, +and militarism, and barbarism, was to conquer England you must get +England divided; you must get her own forces in a state of disunity. A +country at war with itself is powerless. Set class against class, +interest against interest, party against party, and you produce chaos. +That is the only hope of your country, my friend. The thing was to get a +man who could do this for you." + +"And you thought of Faversham?" + +"I told you to make his acquaintance." + +"Which I have done. The results you know." + +"Are you satisfied with the results?" + +Mr. John Brown was silent a few seconds. Evidently he was thinking +deeply. + +"He is no Bolshevist at heart," he said. + +"Are you?" + +"I? Great heavens, no! I hate it, except for my enemies. But it has +served our purpose so far. Russia is in a state of chaos; it is +powerless--bleeding at our feet. If Russia had remained united, we, the +Germans, would have been crushed, beaten, ruined. As it is----" + +"I love the condition of Russia," and Romanoff spoke almost exultantly. +"I love it! It is what I hoped for, strove for, prayed for!" + +"You--a Russian--say that! And _you_ pray?" + +"Yes; I pray. What then?" + +"But you did not pray to God?" and there was a note of fear in Mr. +Brown's voice. + +"I prayed to my own god," replied Romanoff, "who is a very good +counterpart of the god of your Kaiser. The good old German god, eh?" and +he laughed ruthlessly. "And what is he, my friend? A god of force, a god +of cruelty. Ruthlessness, mercilessness, anything to win. That's the +German god. I prayed to that." + +Mr. Brown almost shuddered. + +"Yes; the condition of Russia is one of the great joys of my life. It +means victory--victory for me, for you--if we can only get England to +follow Russia's example." + +"If we only could," assented Mr. Brown. + +"And there are elements at work which, properly used, will bring this +about," went on the Count. "I, Romanoff, tell you so. And Faversham is +your man." + +"He is no Bolshevist," again urged Mr. Brown. "At heart he knows what it +means. That's why I am nearly hopeless about him. Give him time to +think, and he will see that it will mean chaos--ruin to the things he +has been taught to love." + +"Before Adam ate the forbidden fruit two things happened," remarked +Romanoff. + +"What?" + +"First the serpent worked. Then the woman." + +"The woman! Yes; the woman!" + +"Human nature is a curious business," went on the Count. "There are +several points at which it is vulnerable. I have made a special point of +studying human nature, and this I have seen." + +"I don't quite follow you." + +"I don't speak in riddles, my friend. Take a strong character like +Faversham, and consider it. What is likely to appeal to it? As I +understand the case, there are three main channels of appeal. First, +money, and all that money means. Next there is ambition, greed for +power, place, position, dominance. Then there is the eternal thing--the +Senses. Drink, gluttony, drugs, women. Generally any one of these things +will master a man, but bring them altogether and it is certain he will +succumb." + +"Yes, yes, I see." + +"Money, and all that money brings, is not enough in Faversham's case. +That I know. But he is intensely ambitious--and--and he is young." + +"That is why you told me to introduce him to Olga?" + +"A woman can make a man do what, under ordinary circumstances, he would +scorn to do. If you advocated Bolshevism to him, even although you +convinced him that he could be Lenin and Trotsky rolled into one, and +that he could carry the Democracy of Britain with him, he would laugh at +you. I saw that yesterday after your conversation with him. He was +attracted for an hour, but I saw that he laughed at your proposals. That +was why I told you to let him see and hear Olga. Now, tell me of their +meeting." + +Mr. Brown described in correct detail Dick's experiences in the East of +London. + +"Never did I believe a woman could be such a siren," Mr. Brown +concluded. "She charmed, she magnetised, she fascinated." + +"Is he in love with her?" asked the Count. + +"If he is not he must be a stone," said Mr. Brown. + +"Yes, but is he? I told you to watch him--to report to me." + +"I do not know. He did not consent readily; he must have time to think, +he said. But, man, he cannot resist her!" + +"I do not know." + +"But have you ever heard of any man who could resist her blandishments? +Has she not been called a sorceress?" + +"Yes, yes, I know--but he promised her nothing?" + +"He said he would let her know later." + +"Then he has resisted. My friend, I do not understand him. But--but--let +me think." + +"He was greatly impressed not only by her, but by her arguments," went +on Mr. Brown presently. "I tell you, the woman is a sibyl, a witch. She +was wonderful--wonderful. While I listened, I--even I--almost believed +in her description of Bolshevism. A new heaven, and a new earth! I tell +you, I almost believed in it. She pictured a paradise, an El Dorado, an +Elysium, and she made Faversham see, understand. I tell you, he cannot +resist her, and if he promises her, as he will, I can see England in a +state of chaos in six months. Then--then----" + +But the Count did not seem to be listening. His eyes were turned towards +the streets, but he saw nothing. + +"He went to a spiritualistic seance this afternoon," he said presently. + +"What?--Faversham?" + +"Yes, Faversham. What do you think it means?" + +"I cannot think. He has never struck me as that sort of fellow." + +"Look here, Brown, have you had many intimate talks with him?" + +"Intimate? Yes, I think so." + +"What have you talked about?" + +"Always about the condition of the people, politics, and things of that +nature." + +"Have you ever discussed religion with him?" + +"I don't believe he has any religion." + +"I wonder?" + +"What do you wonder?" + +"I say, during your conversations with him--during your visits to +Eastroyd--have you ever heard, have you ever discovered, that he is in +love with anyone?" + +"Never. He has taken no notice of women since I have known him. He seems +to have been engrossed in his socialistic work. Mind, I doubt whether, +at heart, he is even a socialist, much less a Bolshevist." + +"That does not matter if we can get him to enlist in Olga's crusade. He +has enough influence among, not only the working classes of the country, +but among the leaders of the working classes all over the land, to +create disturbances. He can inspire strikes; he can cause anarchy among +the people. He can imbue them with Bolshevist ideals; he can make great +promises. That done, the British Army is powerless. Without coals, and +without the means of transport--don't you see?" + +"Of course I see. That's what I've had in my mind from the first. If +that can be done, Germany will be master of the world!" + +"And more than that," and the Count spoke exultantly, "I shall have him, +body and soul." + +"But we must be very careful. If our plans leak out, my life will not be +worth a row of pins." + +Again the Count paced the room. He did not seem to be heeding Mr. Brown. +His face worked convulsively, his eyes burned red, his hands clenched +and unclenched themselves. + +"I vowed I'd have him," he reflected--"vowed he should be mine. Left by +himself he will do great things for what is called the good of the +world. He will work for sobriety, purity, British national life. The man +has powers, qualities which mean great things for what pietists call the +world's betterment. But he is an aristocrat at heart; he loves money, +and, more, he loves position, fame. He is as ambitious as Napoleon. He +longs for power. But he has a conscience; he has a strong sense of what +he calls right and wrong. I thought I had him down at Wendover. But I +failed. Why, I wonder? But I will not fail this time. Olga will dull his +conscience. She has charmed, fascinated him. She will make him her +slave. Then--then----" + +"Yes, yes," broke in Mr. Brown, who had only half understood the Count's +monologue; "then he will cause a revolution here in England, and Britain +as a fighting power will be paralysed. But I am not sure of him. He +loves his country, and unless Olga gets hold of him, and that soon, he +will see what our plans mean, and he will refuse to move hand or foot. +You see, we've got no hold on him." + +"We've every hold on him," almost snapped the Count. "We've appealed to +his every weakness, and Olga will do the rest. I select my tools +carefully, my friend." + +A knock was heard at the door, and the Count impatiently opened it. "I +am engaged; I cannot be disturbed," he said. + +"The lady said she must see you," protested the servant, "so I--I +thought I'd better come." + +The Count looked beyond the man, and saw a woman closely veiled. + +"Show the lady in," and a few seconds later she threw off her wraps and +revealed her face. + +"Olga?" cried both men together. + +"Yes; I thought I'd better brave all danger. I've heard from him." + +"From Faversham?" + +"Yes; a long telegram." + +"What does he say?" gasped Mr. Brown. + +"I have it here," replied Olga breathlessly. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +A VOICE FROM ANOTHER WORLD + + +Dick Faversham walked along Oxford Street thinking deeply. Although he +had been by no means convinced by what he had seen and heard, he could +not help being impressed. The whole of the proceedings might be +accounted for by jugglery and clever trickery, or, on the other +hand, influences might have been at work which he could not +understand--influences which came from the unseen world. But nothing +satisfied him. Everything he had experienced lacked dignity. It was +poor; it was sordid. He could not help comparing the outstanding +features of the seance with the events which had so affected him. The +face of the woman in the smoking-room of the steamer, the sublime figure +which had upheld him when he was sinking in the wild, stormy sea, was +utterly removed from the so-called spirits who had obeyed the summons of +the mediums, and acted through them. How tawdry, too, were the so-called +messages compared with the sublime words which had come to him almost +like a whisper, and yet so plainly that he could hear it above the roar +of the ocean: + +"The Eternal God is thy Refuge, and underneath are the Everlasting +Arms." + +This was sublime--sublime in the great comfort it gave him, sublimer +still in what it signified to the life of the world. + +"It's true, too!" he exclaimed aloud, as he threaded his way along the +crowded thoroughfare. "True!" + +He stopped as the meaning of the words came to him: + +"The Eternal God is thy Refuge, and underneath are the Everlasting +Arms." + +And because that was true, everything was possible! + +As he thought of it, his materialism melted like snow in a tropical sun, +and he realised how superficial and how silly his past scepticism had +been. + +God was behind all, underneath all, in all, through all. And if that was +true, He had a thousand agents working to do His will, an infinite +variety of means whereby His purposes were carried out. He, Dick +Faversham, could not understand them; but what of that? God was greater +than the thoughts of the creatures He had made. + +But what of his own immediate actions? He had promised Olga that he +would that very day send her a telegram where and when he could meet +her, and that this telegram would signify his intention to fall in with +her plans. She had given him directions where this telegram was to be +sent, and he had to confess that he had looked forward to meeting her +again with no ordinary pleasure. + +The memory of their strange conversation on the previous night, and the +picture of her glorious womanhood came to him with a strange vividness. +Well, why should he not send the telegram? + +He passed a post office just then, and turned as though he would enter. +But he did not pass through the doorway. Something, he could not tell +what, seemed to hold him back. He thought little of it, however, and +still made his way along Oxford Street, towards High Holborn. + +Again the problem of the future faced him, and he wondered what to do. +Somehow, he could not tell why, but the thought of meeting the beautiful +Russian did not seem to be in accord with the sublime words which were +surging through his brain: + +"The Eternal God is thy Refuge." + +He found himself thinking of the wondrous face which had appeared to him +as he stood at the door of Wendover Park, and he remembered the words +that came to him. + +"Pray, pray!" the voice had said. "Watch and pray!" + +"God help me!" he cried almost involuntarily. "Great God help me!" + +He still threaded his way through the crowd in the great thoroughfare, +almost unconscious of what he did. He was scarcely aware that he had +uttered a cry to Heaven for help. He passed the end of Chancery Lane and +then came to the old timbered houses which stand opposite Gray's Inn +Road. But this ancient part of London did not appeal to him. He did not +notice that the houses were different from others. He was almost like a +man in a dream. + +Then suddenly he found himself in Staple Inn. How he had come there he +did not know. He had no remembrance of passing through the old doorway, +but he was there, and the change from the roar of the great thoroughfare +outside and the silence of this little sequestered nook impressed him. + +There was not a soul visible in the little square. As all Londoners +know, Staple Inn is one of the smallest and quietest in the metropolis. +The houses which form it are mostly occupied by professional men, and +there is scarcely ever anything like traffic there. But this afternoon +there was no one to be seen, and the change from the crowded highway was +pleasant. + +"What in the world am I doing here?" he asked himself. + +But before he had time to answer the question he had propounded he +realised a strange sensation. Although he could see nothing, he felt +that some presence was near him. + +"Listen." + +The word was scarcely above a whisper, but he heard it plainly. He +looked around him, his senses alert, but nothing was to be seen. + +"Can you hear me?" + +"Yes." He spoke the word almost involuntarily, and his voice seemed +strange to his own ears. + +"Do you know Drury Lane?" + +"Yes," and he looked around wonderingly, trying to locate the voice. + +"To-night, at nine o'clock, you must go to Drury Lane. You must walk +westward until you come to Blot Street. Turn up at Blot Street, and keep +along the right side. You must turn at the third street. You are sure +you are following my instructions?" + +"Yes, yes," he answered excitedly. "Who are you? Where are you?" + +"You must walk along the third street for about twenty steps, stopping +at the door marked 13A. You will knock five times in quick succession. +You will wait five seconds, then you will give two more knocks louder +than the first. The door will be opened, and you will be asked your +business. Your reply will be two words, 'Victory,' 'Dominion.' You will +be admitted without further questions. After that use your own +judgment." + +Suddenly there was a change as if in the whole atmosphere. He had, as it +seemed to him, been in a kind of trance, but now he was more than +ordinarily awake. And he was alone. Whatever had been near him was gone. +The voice had ceased speaking.[1] + +[Footnote 1: In view of the fact that the above incident may be regarded +as utterly unbelievable, I may say that an experience of the same nature +was related to me only a few weeks ago, far more wonderful than the one +I have recorded. Concerning the good faith of those who told the +incident, it is above all suspicion, and of its authenticity there seems +no room for doubt. I cannot further enter into details for obvious +reasons.--THE AUTHOR.] + +For some time Dick Faversham stood alone in the square without moving +hand or foot. He was in a state of astonishment which was beyond the +power of words to describe. But he had no doubt that he had heard the +voice; he was as certain that some presence which he could not see had +been near him as that he was certain he stood there at that moment. + +Outside the square in Holborn the tide of traffic rolled on. Conveyances +filled with human life rushed eastward and westward; men and women, +oblivious to the fact of any world save their own, made their way to +their destinations; but inside the square a man felt he had been in +touch with mystery, eternity. + +He moved into High Holborn like a man in a dream, and stood for a few +seconds watching the faces of the passers-by. + +"And not one of them seems to realise that the spirit world is all +around them," he reflected. + +He never thought of disobeying the commands he had received. The voice +had come to him with a note of authority; the message was one which must +be obeyed. + +Slowly he made his way westward again, and presently came to a post +office. He entered without hesitation, wrote a telegram, gave it to the +clerk, and, having paid for its dispatch, again made his way along the +street. + +"There, that's done with," he said, with a sigh of relief. + +At nine o'clock that night he found himself in Drury Lane following the +instructions he had received. He was quite calm, although his heart +throbbed with expectancy. He had little or no thought of what he was +going to see or hear; enough for him that he was obeying instructions, +that he was acting upon the commands which had come to him for his good. +For he had no doubt that these commands were somehow for his benefit. +Almost unconsciously he associated the presence near him with the one +who had hovered over him with arms outstretched when he had been sinking +in the stormy sea. + +He had no difficulty in finding Blot Street, and quickly found himself +at the third turning of that shabby-looking thoroughfare. + +"Chainley Alley," he read in the dim light of the darkened street lamp +at the corner. + +The place was very quiet. He was now away from the traffic of the broad +streets, and ordinary business had ceased for the day. There was nothing +to mark Chainley Alley from a hundred others which may still be found in +the centre of London. It was simply a dark, grimy little opening which, +to the ordinary passer-by, presented no interest whatever. A minute +later he stood at 13A. All was dark here, and it was with difficulty +that he discerned the number. He listened intently, but heard no sound, +and then, with a fast-beating heart, he knocked five times in quick +succession. Then, waiting five seconds, he knocked again according to +instructions. + +The door opened as if by magic. It might seem that he was expected. But +the passage into which he looked was as black as ink; neither could he +hear anything. + +Then suddenly the silence was broken. "Who are you? What do you want?" +asked someone unseen. + +"'Victory,' 'Dominion,'" he whispered. + +A dim light shone, and he saw what looked like a woman of the caretaker +order. Evidently the house was bigger than he imagined, for the woman +led him down a long corridor which suggested that it was a way to +another and a larger block of buildings in the rear. + +She opened a door and told him to go in. "You will wait there till I +call you," she whispered, and then closed the door behind him. + +There was a thick rug on the floor, which muffled the sound of his +footsteps, but there was no furniture in the room save a deal table and +one straight-backed chair. A tiny gas-jet burnt on the wall, which, +however, was extinguished a few seconds after the door had closed. + +"This is darkness with a vengeance," reflected Dick, but the fact did +not trouble him so much because he had brought a small electric lamp +with him. He switched on this light and saw that the room had no outlet +at all, save the door. There was neither window nor fireplace, and, in +fact, was little more than a large cupboard. + +Before he had time to realise what this might mean, he heard the sound +of footsteps, which seemed to be close by; this was followed by +murmuring voices. Then there were more footsteps, and the voices became +clearer. + +"Is he come?" he heard one man say. + +"Not yet. But he'll soon be here. He did not promise to get here till +half-past nine." + +From that time there was a general hum of conversation, which was +intermingled by the clinking of glasses. It might be that he was close +to a kind of club-room, and that the members were arriving and ordering +refreshments. The conversation continued, now indistinct, and again more +clear. Dick caught snatches of it, but it was not connected, and +conveyed but little meaning to him. + +Suddenly he heard everything plainly, and a sentence struck him. "I hope +he'll be careful," he heard someone say. "The whole lot of us would +swing if we were found here together." The man spoke in German, and +Dick's interest became tense. + +"More likely be shot," someone retorted, with a laugh. + +"But we're safe enough. This is the first time we've been here, and +every care has been taken." + +"I know," said someone, who appeared doubtful, "but if the British +Secret Service people have been fools in the past, they are sharp enough +now. Schleswig thought he was as safe as houses, but he was cleverly +nabbed, and now he's cold meat." + +"Never mind," said another voice, "our turn is coming. Gott in Himmel, +won't we let them know when we are masters of London! Even now the +English don't know that their country is a powder magazine. They little +think that, in spite of their Alien Acts and the rest of it, the country +is still riddled with friends of the Fatherland. Hark, he's coming!" + +This was followed by a general shuffling of feet, and Dick instinctively +felt that something of importance was about to happen. He wondered at +the ease with which he could now hear. Evidently the partition which hid +him from the room in which the conspirators had met (for evidently they +were conspirators) was thin, or else there must have been some secret +channel by which the sounds reached him. He realised, too, that these +people had not entered by way of Chainley Alley, but that their room +must have an outlet somewhere else. Possibly, probably too, as they had +used this meeting-place for the first time that night, these people +would be ignorant of the closet where he was hidden. + +Dick heard a new voice, and he detected in a moment that it was a voice +of authority. I will not attempt to relate all he heard, or attempt to +give a detailed description of all that took place. I will only briefly +indicate what took place. + +The newcomer, who was evidently the person for whom the others had +waited, seemed to regard those to whom he spoke as his subordinates. He +was apparently the leader of a movement, who reported to his workers +what progress had been made, and who gave them instructions as to the +future. + +He began by telling them that things were not going altogether well for +the Fatherland, although he had no doubt of final victory. + +But England--Great Britain--was their great enemy, and, unless she were +conquered, Germany could never again attempt to be master of the world. +But this could never be done altogether by force of arms. + +"Russia is conquered!" he declared; "it lies bleeding, helpless, at our +feet, but it was not conquered on the battlefield. By means of a +thousand secret agencies, by careful and skilful propaganda, by huge +bribes, and by playing on the ignorance of the foolish, we set the +Bolshevist movement on foot, and it has done our work. Of course it has +meant hell in Russia, but what of that? It was necessary for the +Fatherland, and we did our work. What, although the ghastliest outrages +are committed, and millions killed, if Germany gains her ends!" + +What was done in Russia was also being done in Great Britain, he assured +them. Of course, our task was harder because the people had, on the +whole, been well conditioned and had the justest Government in the +world. But he had not been dismayed. Thousands of agencies existed, and +even among the English the Germans had many friends. The seeds which had +been sown were bringing forth their harvest. + +They had fermented strikes, and the English people hadn't known that +they had done it. If some of the key industries, such as coal and +transport, could be captured, England was doomed. This could be done by +Bolshevism; and it was being done. + +"But what real progress has been made?" someone dared to ask presently. + +"We have workers, agents in all these industries," replied the man, "and +I'm glad to tell you that we have won a new recruit, who, although he is +a patriotic Englishman, will help our cause mightily. Our trusted +friend, Mr. John Brown, has got hold of a man who has a tremendous +influence among not only the working-class people in various unions, but +among the leaders of those unions, and who will be of vast help in our +cause, and of making Great Britain another Russia; that done, victory +is ours." + +"Who is he?" + +"A young man named Faversham. John Brown has had him in hand for months, +and has now fairly made him his tool. Even to-night, comrades, we shall +get him into our net." + +"Tell us more about him," cried someone; but before the speaker could +reply, some sort of signal was evidently given, for there was a general +stampede, and in an incredibly short time silence reigned. + +Almost unconsciously Dick switched on his electric lamp and looked at +his watch. It was eleven o'clock. Although he had not realised it, he +had been in the little cupboard of a room more than an hour and a half, +while these men had been plotting the ruin and the destruction of the +country he loved. + +For some time he could not grasp all he had heard, but the meaning of it +was presently clear to him. The thought almost overwhelmed him. He had +unwittingly been again and again playing into the hands of the enemy. + +"I must get out of this," he reflected after a few seconds. "I must get +back to the hotel and think it all out." + +"You can go now." It was the woman who showed him there who spoke. + +A few seconds later he was in the open air, making his way towards Drury +Lane. + +"Thank God!" + +The words passed his lips involuntarily. It seemed the natural +expression of his heart. + +Almost unconsciously he found his way back to his hotel. He had no +remembrance afterwards of the streets he had traversed, or of the +turnings he had taken. His mind was too full of the thought that but for +his wonderful experience in Staple Inn the facts he had learnt that +night would not have been made known to him. + +On reaching his hotel he made his way to his sitting-room, and on +opening the door he saw a letter lying on the table, which on +examination he found to be signed "Olga." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +OLGA MAKES LOVE + + +In order to relate this story in a connected manner it is necessary to +return to Count Romanoff's rooms, where, a few hours earlier, both the +Count and Mr. John Brown were startled by the sudden entrance of Olga. + +"Let me see the telegram," the Count said, holding out his hand. His +voice was somewhat hoarse, and his eyes had a peculiar glitter in them. + +The girl handed it to him without a word. + + "_Impossible for me to come. Am leaving London almost + immediately._--FAVERSHAM." + +"What time did you get this?" he asked. + +"I scarcely know. Almost directly I got it I came to you. I thought it +best. Do you think it is true? Do you believe he will leave London?" + +The Count was silent for a few seconds. "It would seem so, wouldn't it?" +he answered grimly. "But he must _not_ leave London. At all hazards, he +must be kept here." + +"But it means that Olga has failed," cried Mr. John Brown. "It means +that we have lost him!" + +"We have not lost him. I'll see to that," and there was a snarl in +Romanoff's voice. "Olga Petrovic, all now depends on you. At your peril +you must keep him here; you must win him over. If you fail, so much the +worse for you." + +Evidently the girl was angered. "Do you threaten me?" she said, with +flashing eyes. + +"And if I do, what then?" + +"Simply that I will not be threatened. If you speak to me in that +fashion, I refuse to move another finger." + +"I am not in the habit of having my plans destroyed by the whims of a +petulant woman," said the Count very quietly. "I tell you that if you +fail to keep him in London, and if you fail to make him your slave, +ready to obey your every bidding, you pay the penalty." + +"What penalty?" + +"What penalty?" and the Count laughed. "Need you ask that? You are in my +power, Countess Olga Petrovic. I know every detail of your +history--every detail, mind you--from the time you were waiting-maid to +the Czarina. Yours is a curious history, Countess. How much would your +life be worth if it were known to the British authorities that you were +in London? What would our German friends do to you if they knew the part +you played at Warsaw?" + +"You know of that?" she gasped. + +"I know everything, Countess. But I wish you no harm. All I demand is +that you gain and keep Faversham in your power." + +"Why are you so anxious for him to be in my power?" + +"Because then he will be in my power." + +"Your power? Why do you wish him in your power? Do you want to do him +harm?" + +"Harm!" Then Romanoff laughed. "And if I do, what then?" + +"That I refuse to serve you. Carry out your threats; tell the British +authorities who I am. Tell the Germans what I did at Warsaw. I do not +care. I defy you. Unless you promise me that you will not do Faversham +harm, I will do nothing." + +"Why are you interested as to whether I will do Faversham harm?" + +"I am--that's all." + +The Count was silent for a few seconds. Evidently his mind was working +rapidly. "Look at me!" he cried suddenly, and, as if by some power she +could not resist, she raised her eyes to his. + +The Count laughed like one amused. + +"You have fallen in love with him, eh?" + +The girl was silent, but a flush mounted her cheeks. + +"This is interesting," he sneered. "I did not think that Olga Petrovic, +who has regarded men as so many dogs of the fetch-and-carry order, and +who has scorned the thought of love, should have fallen a victim to the +malady. And to a thick-headed Englishman, too! Surely it is very +sudden." + +"You sneer," she cried, "but if I want to be a good woman; what then?" + +The Count waved his hand airily. "Set's the wind in that quarter, eh? +Well, well. But it is very interesting. I see; you love him--you, Olga +Petrovic." + +"And if I do," she cried defiantly, "what then?" + +"Only that you will obey me the more implicitly." + +"I will not obey you," she cried passionately. "And remember this, I am +not a woman to be played with. There have been many who have tried to +get the better of Olga Petrovic, and--and you know the result." + +"La, la!" laughed the Count, "and so my lady threatens, does she? And do +you know, if I were susceptible to a woman's beauty, I should rejoice to +see you angry. Anger makes you even more beautiful than ever. For you +are beautiful, Olga." + +"Leave my beauty alone," she said sullenly. "It is not for you anyhow." + +"I see, I see. Now listen to me. If you do not obey me in everything, I +go to Richard Faversham, and I tell him who and what you are. I give him +your history for the last ten years. Yes, for the last ten years. You +began your career at eighteen and now you are twenty-eight. Yes, you +look a young girl of twenty-two, and pride yourself upon it. Now then, +Countess, which is it to be? Am I to help you to win the love of +Faversham--yes and I can promise you that you shall win his love if you +obey my bidding--or am I to go to him and tell him who Olga Petrovic +really is?" + +The girl looked at him angrily, yet piteously. For the first time she +seemed afraid of him. Her eyes burnt with fury, and yet were full of +pleading at the same time. Haughty defiance was on her face, while her +lips trembled. + +"But if you tell him, you destroy my plans. You cannot do that, Count!" +It was Mr. John Brown who spoke, and there was a note of terror in his +voice. + +"_Your_ plans! What do I care for your plans?" cried the Count. "It is +of my own plans I am thinking." + +"But I thought, and as you know we agreed----" + +"It is not for you to think, or to question my thoughts," interrupted +the Count. "I allow no man to interpret my plans, or to criticise the +way in which I work them out. But rest contented, my dear friend, John +Brown," he added banteringly, "the success of your plans rests upon the +success of my own." + +While they were speaking Olga Petrovic gazed towards the window with +unseeing eyes. She looked quite her age now: all suggestion of the young +girl had gone, she was a stern, hard-featured woman. Beautiful she was, +it is true, but with a beauty marked by bitter experience, and not the +beauty of blushing girlhood. + +"Well, Countess Olga, which is it to be?" asked Romanoff, who had been +watching her while he had been speaking to Mr. Brown. + +"What do you want me to do?" + +"Do! Keep him in London. Enlist his sympathies. Make him your slave as +you have made other men your slaves. Bind him to you hand and foot. Make +him love you." + +A strange light burned in the girl's eyes, for at the Count's last words +she had seemingly thrown off years of her life. She had become young and +eager again. + +"Swear to me that you mean him no harm, and I will do it," was her +reply. "If I can," she added, as an afterthought. + +"Do you doubt it?" asked Romanoff. "Have you ever failed when you have +made up your mind?" + +"No, but I do not feel certain of him. He is not like those others. +Besides, I failed last night. In his heart he has refused me already. He +said he was leaving London almost immediately, which means that he does +not intend to see me again." + +"And you want to see him again?" + +"Yes," she replied defiantly; "I do." + +"Good." He seized a telephone receiver as he spoke and asked for a +certain number. Shortly after he was connected with Dick's hotel. + +"Mr. Richard Faversham of Eastroyd is staying with you, isn't he?" + +"Mr. Richard Faversham? Yes, sir." + +"Is he in?" + +"No, sir, he went out a few minutes ago." + +"Did he say when he was likely to return?" + +"No, sir, he said nothing." + +"But you expect him back to-night?" + +"As far as I know, sir." + +"Thank you. Either I, or a lady friend, will call to see him to-morrow +morning at ten o'clock on a very important matter. Tell him that, will +you?" + +"Certainly, sir. What name?" + +But the Count did not reply. He hung up the telephone receiver instead. + +"Why did you say that?" asked Olga. "How dare I go to his hotel in broad +daylight?" + +"You dare do anything, Countess," replied the Count. "Besides, you need +not fear. Although you are wanted by the British authorities, you are so +clever at disguise that no detective in Scotland Yard would be able to +see through it." He hesitated a moment, and then went on: "If we were in +Paris I would insist on your going to see him to-night, but Mrs. Grundy +is so much in evidence in England that we must not risk it." + +"But if they fail to give him your message?" she asked. "Suppose he +leaves to-morrow morning before I can get there?" Evidently she was +eager to carry out this part of his plans. + +"He will not leave," replied Romanoff; "still, we must be on the safe +side. You must write and tell him you are coming. There is ink and paper +on yonder desk." + +"What shall I write?" she asked. + +"Fancy Olga Petrovic asking such a question," laughed the Count. "Word +your letter as only you can word it, and he will spend a sleepless night +in anticipation of the joy of seeing you." + +She hesitated for a few seconds, and then rushing to the desk began to +write rapidly. + +"And now," said Romanoff, when she had finished, "to avoid all danger +we must send this by a special messenger." + +Thus it was, when Dick Faversham returned from Chainley Alley that night +that he found the letter signed "Olga" awaiting him. + +It was no ordinary letter that he read. A stranger on perusing it would +have said that it was simply a request for an interview, but to Dick it +was couched in such a fashion that it was impossible for him to leave +London before seeing her. For this is what he had intended to do. When +he had sent the telegram a few hours earlier his mind was fully made up +never to see her again. Why he could not tell, but the effect of his +strange experience in Staple Inn was to make him believe that it would +be best for him to wipe this fascinating woman from the book of his +life. Her influence over him was so great that he felt afraid. While in +her presence, even while she fascinated him, he could not help thinking +of the fateful hours in Wendover Park, when Romanoff stood by his side, +and paralysed his manhood. + +But as he read her letter, he felt he could do no other than remain. +Indeed he found himself anticipating the hour of her arrival, and +wondering why she wished to see him. + +He had come to London ostensibly on business connected with his probable +candidature in Eastroyd, and as he had to see many people, he had +engaged a private sitting-room in the hotel. To this room he hurried +eagerly after breakfast the following morning, and although he made +pretensions of reading the morning newspaper, scarcely a line of news +fixed itself on his memory. On every page he saw the glorious face of +this woman, and as he saw, he almost forgot what he had determined as he +left Chainley Alley. + +Precisely at ten o'clock she was shown into the room, and Dick almost +gave a gasp as he saw her. She was like no woman he had ever seen +before. If he had thought her beautiful amidst the sordid surroundings +of the warehouse in the East End of London, she seemed ten-fold more so +now, as slightly flushed with exercise, and arrayed in such a fashion +that her glorious figure was set off to perfection, she appeared before +him. She was different too. Then she was, in spite of her pleading +tones, somewhat masterful, and assertive. Now she seemed timid and +shrinking, as though she would throw herself on his protection. + +"Are you sure you are safe in coming here?" he asked awkwardly. "You +remember what you told me?" + +"You care then?" she flashed back. Then she added quickly, "Yes, I do +not think anyone here will recognise me. Besides, I had to take the +risk." + +"Why?" he questioned. + +"Because your telegram frightened me." + +"Frightened you? How?" + +"Because--oh, you will not fail me, will you? I have been building on +you--and you said you were leaving London. Surely that does not mean +that all my hopes are dashed to the ground? Tell me they are not." + +Her great dark eyes flashed dangerously into his as she spoke, while her +presence almost intoxicated him. But he mastered himself. What he had +heard the previous night came surging back to his memory. + +"If your hopes in any way depend on me, I am afraid you had better +forget them," he said. + +"No, no, I can never forget them. Did you not inspire them? When I saw +you did I not feel that you were the leader we needed? Ah no, you cannot +fail me." + +"I cannot do what you ask." + +"But why? Only the night before last you were convinced. You saw the +vision, and you had made up your mind to be faithful to it. And oh, you +could become so great, so glorious!" + +He felt the woman's magnetic power over him; but he shook his head +stubbornly. + +"But why?" she pleaded. + +"Because I have learned what your proposal really means," he replied, +steeling himself against her. "I was carried away by your pleading, but +I have since seen that by doing what you ask I should be playing into +the hands of the enemies of my country, the enemies of everything worth +living for." + +"You mean the Germans; but I hate Germany. I want to destroy all +militarism, all force. I want the world to live in peace, in prosperity, +and love." + +"I cannot argue with you," replied Dick; "but my determination is fixed. +I have learnt that Mr. John Brown is a German, and that he wants to do +in England what has been done in Russia, so that Germany may rule the +world." + +"Mr. John Brown a German!" she cried like one horror-stricken. "You +cannot mean that?" + +"Did you not know it?" + +"I? Oh no, no, no! you cannot mean it! It would be terrible!" + +She spoke with such passion that he could not doubt her, but he still +persisted in his refusal. + +"I have seen that what you dream of doing would turn Europe, the world, +into a hell. If I were to try to persuade the people of this country to +follow in the lines of Russia, I should be acting the part of a criminal +madman. Not that I could have a tithe of the influence you suggested, +but even to use what influence I have towards such a purpose would be to +sell my soul, and to curse thousands of people." + +She protested against his statement, declaring that her purposes were +only beneficent. She was shocked at the idea that Mr. John Brown was a +German, but if it were true, then it only showed how evil men would +pervert the noblest things to the basest uses. She pleaded for poor +humanity; she begged him to reconsider his position, and to remember +what he could do for the betterment of the life of the world. But +although she fascinated him by the magic of her words, and the witchery +of her presence, Dick was obdurate. What she advocated he declared meant +the destruction of law and order, and the destruction of law and order +meant the end of everything sacred and holy. + +Then she changed her ground. She was no longer a reformer, pleading for +the good of humanity, but a weak woman seeking his strength and +guidance, yet glorious in her matchless beauty. + +"If I am wrong," she pleaded, "stay with me, and teach me. I am lonely +too, so lonely in this strange land, and I do so need a friend like you, +strong, and brave, and wise. And oh, I will be such an obedient pupil! +Ah, you will not leave London, will you? Say you will not--not yet." + +Again she almost mastered him, but still he remained obdurate. + +"I must return to my work, Miss----You did not tell me your name." And +she thought she detected weakness in his tones. + +"My name is Olga Petrovic," she replied. "In my own country, when I had +a country, I was Countess Olga Petrovic, and I suppose that I have still +large estates there; but please do not call me by your cold English term +'Miss.' Let me be Olga to you, and you will be Dick to me, won't you?" + +"I--I don't understand," he stammered. + +"But you do, surely you do. Can you look into my eyes, and say you do +not? There, look at me. Yes, let me tell you I believe in the sacredness +of love, the sacredness of marriage. Now you understand, don't you? You +will stay in London, won't you, and will teach a poor, ignorant girl +wherein she is in error." + +He understood her now. Understood that she was making love to him, +asking him to marry her, but still he shook his head. "I must return to +my work," he said. + +"But not yet--tell me not yet. Forgive me if I do not understand English +ways and customs. When I love, and I never loved before, I cannot help +declaring it. Now promise me." + +A knock came to the door, and a servant came bearing cards on a tray. + +"Mr. Hugh Edgeware," "Miss Beatrice Edgeware," he read. He held the +cards in his hands for a second, then turned to the woman, "I must ask +you to excuse me," he said. "I have friends who have come to see me." + +Olga Petrovic gave him a look which he could not understand, then +without a word left the room, while he stood still like a man +bewildered. + +"Show them up," he said to the servant. + + + + +PART III.--THE THIRD TEMPTATION + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE COUNT'S CONFEDERATE + + +Count Romanoff sat alone in his room. On one side the window of his room +faced Piccadilly with its great seething tide of human traffic, from +another St. James's Park was visible. But the Count was not looking at +either; he was evidently deep in his own thoughts, and it would appear +that those thoughts were not agreeable. + +He was not a pleasant-looking man as he sat there that day. He was +carefully dressed, and had the appearance of a polished man of the +world. No stranger would have passed him by without being impressed by +his personality--a dark and sinister personality possibly, but still +striking, and distinguished. No one doubted his claim to the title of +Count, no one imagined him to be other than a great personage. But he +was not pleasant to look at. His eyes burnt with a savage glare, his +mouth, his whole expression, was cruel. It might seem as though he had +been balked in his desire, as though some cruel disappointment had made +him angry. + +More than once his hands clenched and unclenched themselves as he +muttered angrily, savagely, while again and again a laugh of vindictive +triumph passed his lips. And yet even in his laugh of triumph there was +something of doubt. He was perturbed, he was furious. + +"But he shall be mine," he said at length, "mine! and then----" + +But his tone lacked certainty; his eyes burnt with anger because he had +not been able to accomplish his designs. + +"It might be that he was especially watched over," he reflected, as +though some beneficent Providence were fighting for him. "Providence! +Providence! As though----!" + +He started to his feet and began to pace the room. His stride was angry, +his whole appearance suggested defeat--a defeat which he had determined +to transform to triumph. + +"Good! Evil!" he cried. "Yes, that is it. Good! Evil! And I have given +myself over to evil, and I have sworn that evil could be made stronger +than good! I have sworn to exemplify it, in the case of that young fool, +Dick Faversham. I thought I should have accomplished it long ago but I +have so far failed, failed!" + +He still continued to pace the room, although apparently he was +unconscious of the fact. There was a far-off look in his eyes, a look +that almost suggested despair. + +"Does it mean after all that right is stronger than wrong, that right is +more eternally established in the world than wrong? That in the sweep of +events the power of right is slowly but surely conquering and crushing +the evil, that the story of what is called evolution is the story of the +angel in man overcoming the beast?" + +Again he laughed, and the laugh had a cruel ring in it. + +"No, no; evil is triumphant. Nearly two thousand years have passed since +the Man of Nazareth was crucified, and yet for years the devil has been +triumphant. Europe has been deluged in blood, world hatreds have been +created, murder has been the order of the day, and the earth has been +soaked in blood. No, no; evil is triumphant. The Cross has been a +failure, and Him who died on it defeated!" + +He paused in his angry march around the room, and again he looked +doubtful. + +"No, no," he cried; "cruelty, lies, treason, have not triumphed. Germany +is beaten; her doctrine that might was right--a doctrine born in +hell--has been made false. After all this sword-clanging, all the +vauntings about an invincible army, materialism, devilry, have failed. +Germany is being humbled to the dust, and her militarism defeated and +disgraced." + +The thought was evidently wormwood to him, for his features worked +convulsively, his eyes were bloodshot. It might seem that the triumph of +right filled him with torture. + +Presently he shrugged his shoulders impatiently, and lifted his hands +above his head as though he would throw a burden from him. + +"But that is not my affair," he cried. "It was for me to conquer that +man, to make him my slave. I swore to do it. I had every chance, and I +thought that he, young, ambitious, and subject to all human passions, +would be an easy victim. He was no dreamer, he had none of the makings +of an ascetic, much less a saint, and yet so far he has beaten me. He +still lives what is called the clean, healthy life. He still mocks me. +It might be that he is specially guarded, that some angel of good were +constantly fighting against me, constantly defeating me." + +The thought seemed to disconcert Romanoff. A look almost like fear swept +over his features, and again something like despair came into his eyes. + +"But no, I have other weapons in my armoury yet," he reflected. "He is +no religious fanatic, no pious prig with ideals, he is still ambitious, +still craves for all the things that humanity longs for." + +A clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour of six. + +"He should soon be here," he reflected. "I told him not to waste a +second." + +At that moment there was a knock at the door, and a second later a man +entered who gave the appearance of having come from a distance. + +He was a mild, placid-looking creature whose very walk suggested that he +was constantly making an apology for his existence. A creature not of +highways, but of byways, a humble Uriah Heep sort of fellow who could +act like a whipped cur in his desire to curry favour, but who in his +hour of triumph would show his fangs, and rend his victim without mercy. + +"You are back to time, Slyme. Well, what news?" + +By this time Romanoff was the great gentleman again--haughty, +patronising, calm, and collected. + +"Of course your honour has heard that he's in? I wired the moment I +knew." + +"Yes, I knew that before I got your wire. A servant in the hotel here +told me the moment it was ticked off on the tape. Of course I expected +that. Naturally it was uncertain, as all such things are. One can +calculate on the actions of the few; but not on those of the many. Human +nature is a funny business." + +"Isn't it, your Excellency? It's a remark I've often dared to make; one +can never tell what'll happen. But he's in; he's the Member for +Eastroyd." + +"With over a thousand majority." + +"I've discovered that he's coming up to town by the midnight train from +Eastroyd." + +"Ah!" The Count's eyes flashed with interest. + +"Yes, he seemed very much delighted at his victory, and is coming up I +suppose to consult with other Members of his party." + +"Of course he's delighted with his victory. For heaven's sake refrain +from remarking on the obvious. Tell me about the election." + +"What does your honour, that is, your lordship, want to hear about? What +phase of the election, I mean?" + +"You had your instructions. Report on them." + +"Well, if I may say so," remarked Slyme apologetically, "although he has +over a thousand majority, he has very much disappointed the people." + +"Why? In what way?" + +"He isn't so much of a firebrand as he was. The people complain that he +is too mealy-mouthed." + +"Less of a people's man, do you mean?" + +"I don't say that quite. But he's more moderate. He talks like a man +trying to see all sides of a question." + +The Count reflected a few seconds, and then snapped his fingers. + +"And his private life?" the Count questioned. + +"As far as I could find out, blameless." + +"Have the wealthier classes taken up with him at all?" + +"No, not actively. But they are far less bitter towards him. They are +saying that he's an honest man. I do not say that for myself. I'm only +quoting," added the little man. + +Romanoff asked many questions on this head, which the little man +answered apologetically, as if with a desire to know his employer's +views before making direct statements. + +"There are generally a lot of scandals at a political election," went on +the Count. "I suppose that of Eastroyd was no exception?" He said this +meaningly, as though there were an understanding between them. + +Little Polonius Slyme laughed in a sniggering way. "Polonius" was the +name by which he was known among his friends, and more than once the +Count used it when addressing him. + +"I made many inquiries in that direction," he replied; "I even went so +far as to insinuate certain things," he added with a covert look towards +the Count. "I had some success, but not much." + +But the Count's face was like a mask. Polonius Slyme could tell nothing +of his thoughts. + +"I did not think your lordship would be offended?" he queried with a +cunning look in his eyes. + +"Go on." + +"I had some success, but not much." + +"What were your insinuations about? Drink, drug-taking, debt, +unfaithfulness to his class?--what?" + +"Oh, there was no possibility of doing anything on those lines, +although, as I said, there was some disappointment on the last head. But +that's nothing. I reflected that he was a young man, and a bachelor--a +good-looking bachelor." He added the last words with a suggestive +giggle. + +"I see. Well?" + +"Of course he is a great favourite with the fair sex. By dint of very +careful but persistent investigation I discovered that two ladies are +deeply in love with him." + +Romanoff waited in silence. + +"One is the daughter of a wealthy manufacturer, quite the belle of the +town among the moneyed classes. I inquired about her. There is no doubt +that she's greatly interested in him." + +"And he?" + +"He's been seen in her company." + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"Oh, nothing. She would be a good match for him, that's all. There was a +rumour that she had visited his lodgings late at night." + +"Which rumour you started?" + +"I thought it might be useful some day. As for the other woman, she's a +mill girl. A girl who could be made very useful, I should think." + +"Yes, how?" + +"She's undoubtedly very much in love with him--after her own fashion. +She possesses a kind of gipsy beauty, has boundless ambitions, is of a +jealous disposition, and would stop at nothing to gain her desires." + +"And is Faversham friendly with her?" + +"Just friendly enough for one to start a scandal in case of necessity. +And the girl, as you may say, not being overburdened with conscientious +scruples, could be made very useful." + +Romanoff reflected for some time, then he turned to Slyme again. + +"Slyme," he said, "I don't think you need go any further in that +direction. Faversham is scarcely the man to deal with in the way you +suggest. Still you can keep them in mind. One never knows what may +happen." + +Polonius Slyme was evidently puzzled. He looked cautiously, +suspiciously, at the face of the other, as if trying to understand him. + +"I have tried to do your lordship's will," he ventured. + +"Yes, and on the whole I'm satisfied with what you've done. Yes, what is +it?" + +"If your lordship would deign to trust me," he said. + +"Trust you? In what way?" + +"If you would tell me what is in your mind, I could serve you better," +he asserted, with a nervous laugh. "All the time I have been acting in +the dark. I don't understand your lordship." + +The Count smiled as though he were pleased. + +"What do you want to know?" he asked. + +"I am very bold, I know, and doubtless I am not worthy to have the +confidence of one so great and so wise as your lordship. But I have +tried to be worthy, I have worked night and day for you--not for the +wages, liberal though they are, but solely for the purpose of being +useful to you. And I could, I am sure, be more useful if I knew your +mind, if I knew exactly what you wanted. I am sure of this: if I knew +your purposes in relation to Faversham, if I knew what you wanted to do +with him, I could serve you better." + +The Count looked at Slyme steadily for some seconds. + +"I allow no man to understand my mind, my purposes," the Count answered. + +"Certainly, your lordship," assented the little man meekly; "only your +lordship doubtless sees that--that I am handicapped. I don't think I'm a +fool," he added; "I am as faithful as a dog, and as secret as the +grave." + +"You want to know more than that," replied Romanoff harshly. + +Polonius Slyme was silent. + +"You want to know who I am," continued the Count. "You have been puzzled +because I, who am known as a Russian, should interest myself in this man +Faversham, and up to now you, in spite of the fact that you've hunted +like a ferret, have found out nothing. More than that, you cannot think +why I fastened on you to help me, and, cunning little vermin that you +are, you stopped at nothing to discover it." + +"But only in your interest," assented the little man eagerly; "only +because I wanted to deserve the honour you have bestowed upon me." + +"I am disposed to be communicative," went on the Count; "disposed to +make something of a confidante of you. Of my secret mind, you, nor no +man, shall know anything, but I will let you know something." + +Polonius Slyme drew nearer his master and listened like a fox. "Yes, +your lordship," he whispered. + +"Look here, Polonius, you have just told me that you are a man of +brains: suppose that you wanted to get a strong man in your power, to +make him your slave, body and soul, what would you do? Suppose also that +you had great, but still limited power, that your knowledge was wide, +but with marked boundaries, how would you set to work?" + +"Every man has his weaknesses," replied Polonius. "I should discover +them, fasten upon them, and make my plans accordingly." + +"Yes, that's right. Now we'll suppose that Faversham is the man, what +would you regard as his weaknesses?" + +"Pride, ambition, a love, almost amounting to a passion, for power," +answered the little man quickly. "That would mean a longing for wealth, +a craving for fame." + +"And conscience?" queried the Count. + +"He has a conscience," replied the little man; "a conscience which may +be called healthily normal." + +"Just so. Now I'll tell you something. I've placed wealth in his way, +and he has rejected it for conscience sake. I've tempted him with power +and fame, almost unlimited power and fame, and although he's seen the +bait, he has not risen to it." + +Polonius was silent for some time. Evidently he was thinking deeply; +evidently, too, he saw something of what lay behind the Count's words, +for he nodded his head sagely, and into his cunning eyes came a look of +understanding. + +"Of course you do not care to tell me why you want to make him your +slave, body and soul?" he whispered. + +"No!" the Count almost snarled. "No man may know that." + +"You ask what I would do next?" + +"Yes, I ask that." + +"No man is invulnerable," said the little man, as though he were talking +to himself. "No man ever was, no man ever will be. Every man has his +price, and if one can pay it----" + +"There is no question of price," said the Count eagerly; "nothing need +stand in the way, any price can be paid." + +"I see, I see," and the little man's foxy eyes flashed. "You want to +work the man's moral downfall," he added. "You want to make him a slave +to your will--_not_ to make him a saint?" + +The Count was silent. + +"If I wanted to make such a man a slave to my will, and I had such means +as you suggest, I should find a woman to help me. A woman beautiful, +fascinating, unscrupulous. I would instruct her to be an angel of light. +I would make her be the medium whereby he could obtain all that such as +he desires, and I would make him believe that in getting her he would +find the greatest and best gift in life, a gift whereby all that was +highest and best in this life, and in the life to come, could be got. At +the same time she must be a _woman_, a woman that should appeal to his +desires, and make his pulses throb at the thought of possessing her." + +For some time they spoke eagerly together, the Count raising point after +point, which the little man was not slow to answer. + +"Polonius, did I not know otherwise, I should say you were the devil," +laughed Romanoff. + +"I know you are," replied the little man in great glee. + +"What do you mean?" and there was a kind of fear in the Russian's voice. + +"Only that your cleverness is beyond that of ordinary mankind. You have +thought of all this long before you asked me." + +"Have I? Perhaps I have; but I wanted your opinion." + +"The difficulty is to find the woman." + +"In two minutes she will be here. Go into the next room and watch, and +listen. After she has gone, you shall tell me what you think of her." + +A minute later the door opened, and Olga Petrovic entered the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +IN QUEST OF A SOUL + + +"Good evening, Countess. Thank you for coming so promptly. Be seated, +won't you?" + +Olga Petrovic looked at the Count eagerly, and accepted the chair he +indicated. She looked older than when she left Dick Faversham after the +interview I have described, and there were indications on her face that +she had suffered anxious thoughts, and perhaps keen disappointment. But +she was a strikingly beautiful woman still. Tall, magnificently +proportioned; and almost regal in her carriage. She was fast approaching +thirty, but to a casual observer she appeared only two- or +three-and-twenty. She had the air of a grand lady, too, proud and +haughty, but a woman still. A woman in a million, somewhat captivating, +seductive; a woman to turn the head of any ordinary man, and make him +her slave. One felt instinctively that she could play on a man's heart +and senses as a skilful musician plays on an instrument. + +But not a good woman. She had a world of experience in her eyes. She +suggested mystery, mystery which would appear to the unwary as Romance. +Because of this she could impress youth and inexperience by her +loveliness, she could appear as an angel of light. + +She was magnificently dressed, too. Every detail of her glorious figure +was set off to the full by her _costumier_, and her attire spoke of +wealth, even while this fact was not ostentatious or even intended. In +short, her _costumier_ was an artist who knew her business. + +Evidently, if ever she had been in danger by appearing in public, that +danger was over. There was no suggestion of fear or apprehension in her +demeanour. + +"Why do you wish to see me?" she asked abruptly. + +"I am quite aware," said Romanoff, without taking any apparent notice of +her question, "that I took a liberty in asking you to come here. I +should have asked you when it would have been convenient for you to +graciously receive me at your flat. For this I must crave your pardon." + +There was something mocking in his voice, a subtle insinuation of power +which the woman was not slow to see. + +"You asked me to come here because you wanted me, and because you knew I +should come," she replied. "You knew, too, that I could not afford to +disobey you." + +"We will let that drop," replied the Count suavely. "I count myself +honoured by your visit. How could it be otherwise?" and he cast an +admiring glance towards her. + +The woman watched him closely. It seemed as though, in spite of their +acquaintance, she did not understand him. + +"You see," went on Romanoff, "our Bolshevism is a thing of the past. The +proletariat of England will have none of it. A few malcontents may have +a hankering after it; but as a class the people of England see through +it. They see what it has done for Russia, and they know that under a +Bolshevist regime all liberty, all safety, all prosperity would be gone +for ever." + +The woman nodded. + +"Besides," went on the Count, "you are in a far more becoming position +as the Countess Petrovic, with estates in Russia and elsewhere, than as +Olga, the high priestess of a wild and irresponsible set of fanatics." + +"You have changed your views about those same fanatics," responded the +woman rather sullenly. + +"Have I? Who knows?" was the Count's smiling and enigmatical reply. "But +I did think they might have served my purpose." + +"What purpose?" + +"Dear lady, even to you I cannot disclose that. Besides, what does it +matter?" + +"Because I would like to know. Because--because----" There she broke off +suddenly. + +"Because through it the man Faversham crossed your path, eh?" and the +smile did not leave his face. + +"You knew that Bolshevism would fail in England," cried the woman. "You +knew that the whole genius of the race was against it. Why then did you +try to drag--Faversham into it? Why did you tell me to dazzle him with +its possibilities, to get him involved in it to such a degree that he +would be compromised?" + +"Ah, why?" + +"But he would have none of it," retorted the woman. "He saw through it +all, saw that it was an impossible dream, because in reality it was, and +is, a wild delusion and a nightmare." + +"Perhaps that was your fault," replied Romanoff. "Perhaps your powers of +fascination were not as great as I thought. Anyhow----" + +"Have you seen him lately?" she interrupted. "You know where he is? What +he is doing?" + +Her voice vibrated with eagerness; she looked towards Romanoff with a +flash of pleading in her great lustrous eyes. + +"Don't you read the newspapers?" + +"Not the English. Why should I? What is there in them for me? Of course +I get the Polish and the Russian news." + +"If you read the English newspapers you would have no need to ask where +he is," replied Romanoff. + +"Why, has he become famous?" + +As if in answer to her question there was a knock at the door, and a +servant entered bringing three London evening papers. + +"There," said the Count, pointing to some bold headlines--"there is the +answer to your question." + +"Great Labour Victory in Eastroyd," she read. "Triumphant Return of Mr. +Richard Faversham." + +Her eyes were riveted on the paper, and almost unheeding the Count's +presence she read an article devoted to the election. Especially was her +attention drawn to the Career of the Successful Candidate. + +"Although Mr. Faversham, because of his deep sympathy with the aims of +the working classes, has been returned to Parliament by them," she read, +"he is not a typical Labour Member. As the son of a scholar, and the +product of one of our best public schools, he has naturally been +associated with a class different from that which has just given him its +confidence. Years ago he was regarded as the heir of one of our great +commercial magnates, and for some time was in possession of a great +country house. His association with the middle classes, however, has not +lessened his passionate interest in the welfare of the poor, and +although he has of late become less advanced in his views, there can be +no doubt that he will be a strong tower to the party with which he has +identified himself." + +"He will be in London to-morrow," remarked Romanoff, when presently the +woman lifted her head. + +"In London? To-morrow!" + +The Count noted the eagerness with which she spoke. + +"Yes," he said; "to-morrow." + +"And he will be a great man?" + +"Not necessarily so," answered Romanoff. "He will be a Labour Member at +four hundred pounds a year. He will have to be obedient to the orders of +his party." + +"He never will! He is not a man of that sort!" + +Her voice was almost passionate. Evidently her interest in him was deep. + +"Won't he? We shall see. But he will find it hard to live in London on +four hundred pounds a year. London is not a cheap city in these days. +You see he has all the instincts of his class." + +"Will he be one of the working men? Will he live as they live? Will he +be of their order?" asked Olga. + +"You seem greatly interested, Countess." + +"Naturally. I--I----" + +"Yes, I remember your last interview." + +The woman's eyes flashed with anger. She suggested the "woman scorned." + +"You made love to him, didn't you, Countess? And he--he politely +declined your advances?" Romanoff laughed as he spoke. + +The woman started to her feet. "Did you get me here to taunt me with +that?" she cried. "Besides, did I not obey your bidding? Was it not at +your command that I----" + +"Yes, but not against your will, Countess. You had what our French +neighbours call the _grand passion_ for Faversham, eh?" + +"Why do you taunt me with that?" + +"Because the game is not played out. I do not break my promise, and I +promised you that he should be yours--yours. Well, the time has come +when my promise may be fulfilled." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Countess, are you still in love with Faversham?" + +"I don't know. Sometimes I think I hate him. Tell me, why have you +brought me here to-day?" + +"To give you your opportunity. To tell you how, if you still love +Faversham, you can win him; and how, if you hate him, you can have your +revenge. Surely, Olga Petrovic, you are not the kind of woman who sits +down meekly to a snub. To offer your love to a man, and then accept a +cold rebuff. I thought I knew you better." + +Deeply as his words wounded her, she did not forget her caution. + +"What interest have you in him?" she asked. "I have never been able to +understand you." + +"No, I am not easily understood, and I do not make my motives public +property. But Faversham will in future live in London. He, although he +is a Labour Member, will have but little sympathy, little in common with +his confreres. He will be lonely; he will long for the society of women, +especially for those who are educated, fascinating, beautiful. Olga, are +you the woman to be beaten? Listen, he with his tastes, will need money. +You can give it to him. He will be lonely; he will need companionship. +You have a beautiful flat in Mayfair, and you can be as fascinating as +an angel." + +She listened to every word he said, but her mind might be far away. + +"Why do I care for him?" she cried passionately. "What is he to me? A +middle-class Englishman, with an Englishman's tastes and desires, an +Englishman with the morality of his class. Just a plain, stupid, +uninteresting bourgeois, a specimen of the self-satisfied Puritan." + +"You found him vastly interesting though." + +"Yes, but why should I? Why do I care what becomes of him? He is nothing +to me." + +"He can be something to you though, Countess; you are a beautiful, +fascinating woman. You can appeal to every man's weaknesses, no matter +what they are. With time and opportunity no man can resist you. Say the +word, and I will give you these opportunities." + +"You mean----?" + +"That I want him to be yours. You want him, and I owe you at least +this." + +"You have some other purpose." + +"And if I have, what then? He will be yours, body and soul. Tell me, are +you still in love with him?" + +The woman walked to the window, and looked out on the tide of human +traffic in Piccadilly. For some time she seemed to be lost in thought, +then she burst out passionately. + +"I am angry whenever I think of him. He was as cold as an icicle; I was +like a woman pleading with a stone. Something seemed to stand between +us--something--I don't know what." + +"What, you?" and there was a taunt in the Count's voice. "You, Olga +Petrovic, said to be the most beautiful, the most dangerous woman in +Europe, you whom no man has been able to resist, but who have fascinated +them as serpents fascinate birds? Are you going to be beaten by this +middle-class Englishman, this Labour Member of Parliament with L400 a +year? Will you have him boast that Countess Olga Petrovic threw herself +at him, and that he declined her without thanks?" + +"Has he boasted that?" she cried hoarsely. + +"What do you think?" laughed the Count. "Is he not that kind of man?" + +"No," the word came from her involuntarily. "Only----" + +"Only he is much in favour with the ladies at Eastroyd. I have just been +told that." + +"I hate him!" she said, and her voice was hoarse. + +"I wonder?" queried the Count mockingly. + +"Do you know, have you found out who his visitors were that day, that +morning when I saw him last?" + +"An old man and a chit of a girl." + +"Yes, I know that; I saw them as I left the room. The man might have +been a poet, an artist, and the girl was an unformed, commonplace miss. +But he did not regard them as commonplace. His eyes burnt with a new +light as he read their cards. I saw it. I believe I should have had him +but for that. I had conquered him; he was ready to fall at my feet; but +when he read their names, I knew I had lost. Who were they?" + +"I have not discovered. They could have been only casual acquaintances. +I have had him watched ever since he left London that day, and he has +never seen them since. Of course he may be in love with her. It may be +that he prefers an English wayside flower to such a tropical plant as +yourself. That he would rather have youth and innocence than a woman +twenty-eight years of age, who--who has had a past." + +"He never shall! Never!" + +Her eyes flashed dangerously. She had evidently decided on her course. + +"You may have to play a bold, daring game," insinuated the Count. + +"I will play any game. I'll not be beaten." + +"You love him still--you who never loved any man for more than a month! +And Faversham----" + +"You must find out where he lives, you must let me know." + +"And then?" + +"You may leave everything to me." + +"Mind, Olga, you may have to appear an Angel of Light in order to win +him. In fact I think that will have to be your plan. He has all the +old-fashioned morality of the middle-classes." + +"We shall see!" cried the woman triumphantly. + +"I may trust you then?" + +"Tell me why you wish this? Suppose I--I love him really, suppose I am +willing to become his slave? Suppose I want to settle down to--to quiet +domestic happiness, to loving motherhood? Suppose I want to be good--and +to pray?" + +The Count's eyes burnt red with anger as she spoke, while his features +were contorted as if with pain. + +"Stop that," he almost snarled. "I know you, Olga Petrovic, I know too +much about you. Besides, the Bolshevists have taken your estates, +and--but why argue? You love luxury, don't you? Love beautiful dresses, +love your life of ease, love what money can buy, money that you can't +get without me?" + +"You must tell me all I need to know," she answered with sullen +submissiveness. + +"Yes." + +"Then I will go." + +"And you will not fail?" + +"No, I will not fail." + +She left the room without another word, while Romanoff returned to his +chair, and sat for some time immovable. His face was like a mask. His +deep impenetrable eyes were fixed on vacancy. + +"Yes, Polonius, you can come in. I can see that you are almost tired of +watching me. But my face tells you nothing, my little man." + +Polonius Slyme slinked into the room like a whipped cur. + +"Look here, little man," went on the Count, "I pay you to watch others, +not me. The moment you begin to spy on me, that moment you cease to be +my servant. Do you understand?" + +"But, indeed, your lordship----" + +"Do not try to deny. I know everything. I forgive you for this once; but +never again. Obey me blindly, unquestioningly, and all will be well with +you, but try to spy upon me, to discover anything about me, and the lost +souls in hell may pity you. Ah, I see yow understand." + +"Forgive me, my lord. I will obey you like a slave." + +"What do you think of her?" + +"She is magnificent, glorious! She can turn any man's brain. She is a +Circe, a Sybil, a Venus--no man with blood in his veins can resist her!" + +"That is your opinion, eh?" + +"I never saw such a creature before. And--and she has no conscience!" + +The Count laughed. "Now, Slyme, I have some more work for you." + +"To watch her!" he cried eagerly, rubbing his hands. + +"No, not yet. That may be necessary some time, but not now. I have other +work for you." + +"Yes, my lord." + +"To-morrow morning you will go to Surrey. I will give you all +particulars about the trains and the stations presently. You will go to +a place known as Wendover Park. Near one of the lodge gates of this +house is a pretty cottage. It was occupied, and probably still is, by a +man called Hugh Stanmore and his granddaughter. You must find out +whether he is still there, and learn all you can about them. Report all +to me. You understand?" + +"Perfectly, your Highness," replied Polonius, whose terminology in +relation to the Count was uncertain. + +"You will report to me." + +"Yes, certainly, my lord, everything." + +"Very well, now go." + +The night came on, and the room grew dark, but Count Romanoff did not +switch on the light. He sat alone in the dark thinking, thinking. + +"I have him now," he muttered presently. "Master, you shall have Richard +Faversham's soul." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +VOICES IN THE NIGHT + + +Dick Faversham was on his way to London. He was going there as the +Member for Eastroyd, and he was somewhat excited. He was excited for +several reasons. Naturally he was elated at being a Member of +Parliament, and he looked forward with pleasant anticipation to his +political life in the Metropolis, and to his experiences in the House of +Commons. But that was not all. This was his first visit to London since +he had experienced those strange happenings which we described some time +ago. As the train rushed on through the night he became oblivious to the +presence of his fellow-passengers in the recollection of the events +which were a mystery to him then, even as they were a mystery now. + +Especially did his mind revert to that wonderful experience in Staple +Inn. He had heard a voice although he saw nothing, and that voice had +meant a great deal to him. More than once he had wondered if he had done +right in being silent about what had taken place afterwards. Ought he +not to have gone to the police and told them what he had heard? But he +had not been able to make up his mind to do this. Somehow everything had +been associated with what had come to him in Staple Inn, and of that he +could not speak. It would be sacrilege to do so. Besides, it might not +have been necessary. From the fact that the traitors had left the house +so suddenly, he concluded that the police were cognizant of their +existence. + +But his eyes had been opened. That was why, when Olga Petrovic visited +him, he was unresponsive. And yet he was not sure. + +Should he ever see this beautiful woman again, he wondered? + +He was afraid of her even while he longed to see her. Even then he +recalled the tones of her voice, and the look in her eyes as she had +pleaded with him. He had felt himself yielding to her pleading, all the +barriers of his being seemed to be breaking down before the power of her +glorious womanhood. + +Then there was the coming of Hugh Stanmore and his granddaughter. They +were the last persons he had expected to see, and yet the sight of their +names seemed to break the spell which Olga Petrovic had cast over him. + +There seemed no reason why they should come, and their interview, +considering the circumstances under which he had seen them last was of a +very prosy nature. Hugh Stanmore had happened to meet with a man who was +a Government official, and who had told him of one Richard Faversham who +was one of a deputation to his department, and who had pleaded +passionately for certain things which the working-classes desired. This +led to his learning the name of his hotel, and to the visit which had +followed. + +Hugh Stanmore had scarcely referred to his life at Wendover, and seemed +to be in ignorance of Tony Riggleton's whereabouts. Dick wondered at +this after the interview, and reproached himself with not asking many +questions. At the time, however, he seemed to be indifferent. + +To Beatrice he spoke only a few words. She appeared to be shy and +diffident. If the truth must be told, she seemed ill at ease, and not at +all pleased that her grandfather had brought her there. She was far less +a child than when he had seen her at Wendover, and he had reflected that +she was neither so interesting nor so good-looking as she had been two +or three years before. Still, he was glad to see her, and he remembered +the pleasant smile she had given him when she had left the room. His +conversation with Hugh Stanmore had been almost entirely about his life +at Eastroyd, and the conditions which obtained there. + +He realised, too, that a subtle change had come over his opinions on +his return to Eastroyd. Not that he had less interest in the class whose +cause he had espoused; but he knew that he had been led to take larger +views. + +That was why some discontent had been felt among his most ardent +supporters. Even those who had worked hardest for him during the +election felt it incumbent upon them to raise a note of warning as they +accompanied him to the station that night. + +"It's all very well, Dick, lad," said one advanced Socialist, "but we +mun make a bold front. I don't hold with Bolshevism, or owt of that +sort; but the Capitalist is the enemy of the working man, and we mun put +those money-bags in their right place." + +It was a cold, dark, wintry morning when he arrived in London. The +station and the streets were almost empty, the vehicles were few, and he +felt cold and lonely. He had made no arrangements for his stay in the +Metropolis, but he felt sure that the manager of the hotel where he had +previously made his home would find him temporary accommodation. As it +was impossible to get a taxi, he left his luggage at the station, and +determined to walk. He knew the way well, and as the distance was only +about a mile, he started with comparative cheerfulness. + +As I have said, the streets were well-nigh deserted, and not a single +soul passed him as he made his way up Euston Road. Nevertheless he had +the feeling that he was being followed. More than once he looked around, +but could see no one. Several times, too, he felt sure he heard +following footsteps, but when he stopped there was silence. + +When he turned at St. Pancras Church he looked up and down the street, +but nothing suspicious met his gaze. A milkman's cart, a drayman's +waggon, and that was all. The street lamps threw a sickly light on the +cold wet road, and the houses were dark. London looked asleep. + +For some time after he had passed St. Pancras Church he heard nothing; +but, as he neared Woburn Square, he again heard footsteps. It seemed to +him, too, that he was surrounded by dark influences. Something sinister +and evil seemed to be surrounding him. He was not afraid, and his +nerves were steady, but his brain was filled with strange fancies. + +Almost unconsciously his mind reverted to Count Romanoff. He had seen +him only once since he had left Wendover Park, and the man was still an +enigma to him. He had a thousand times reflected on the strange +happening in the library there, but although he felt he had been saved +from something terrible, he had not definitely associated the Count with +anything supernatural. For Dick was not cast in a superstitious mould. + +The footsteps drew nearer, and again he looked around. Was it a fact, or +was it fancy that he saw a dark form which hurriedly passed from his +sight? + +He was aware a few seconds later that he was walking more rapidly, and +that something like fear was in his heart. + +"Listen." + +He heard the word plainly, and stopped. All was silent here. He saw that +he was in one of the several squares which exist in the neighbourhood, +but he was not sure which. He did not think it was Woburn Square, but it +might be Taviton Square. He was not intimately acquainted with that part +of London. + +"Yes, what is it? Who are you?" + +He spoke aloud, spoke almost unconsciously, but there were no answering +words. He was the only person there. He moved to a lamp and looked at +his watch; he had a vague idea that he wanted to know the time. The +watch pointed to half-past one. Evidently he had forgotten to wind it, +for he knew his train was due to arrive something after three, and that +it was late. + +He was about to start again when he thought he heard the words: + +"Go to Wendover." + +But there was nothing distinct. No voice reached him, and no one was in +sight. At that moment the wind wailed across the open space, and moaned +as it passed through the leafless branches of the trees. The wind seemed +to formulate the same words. + +"Go to Wendover." + +"Of course it's all fancy," he reflected. "I expect my nerves are +playing me tricks. I never knew I had any nerves; but I've been through +an exciting time. I've been making speeches, meeting committees, and +replying to deputations for the last fortnight, and I expect I'm about +done up. After all, fighting an election is no make-believe." + +A shiver passed through him. To say the least of it, even although it +might be pure fancy, there was something uncanny about it all, and he +could not help reflecting on his past experience. + +He did not move, but stood like one spellbound, listening to the wind as +it soughed its way through the shrubs and trees which grew in the centre +of the Square. + +"Who are you?" he asked again. "What do you want?" + +He was sure there was a voice this time. It rose above the wailing wind, +but he could see no one. + +"You are in danger--great danger!" + +"What danger? Who are you?" + +"'Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation.'" + +He recognised the words. They were spoken by One Whose Name he always +held in reverence, spoken to His disciples in a far back age, before the +knowledge of science and critical investigation had emerged from its +swaddling clothes. But they were spoken in a woman's voice, spoken in +almost wailing accents. + +His whole being was filled with a great awe. The voice, the words coming +to him, at such a time and in such a way, filled him with a great +wonder, solemnised him to the centre of his being. + +"If it were not a woman's voice, I might think it was He Himself who +spoke," he said in a hoarse whisper. + +Then he thought of the footsteps, thought of the ominous, sinister +influences which had surrounded him a few minutes before. + +"Lord, Lord Jesus Christ, help me!" + +He said the words involuntarily. They had passed his lips before he knew +he had spoken. + +Was there any answer to his prayer? He only knew that he did not feel +any fear, that a great peace came into his heart. He felt as he had +never felt before, that God was a great reality. Perhaps that was why he +was no longer lonely. There in the heart of the greatest city of the +world, there in the darkness of a winter night, he was filled with a +kind of consciousness that God was, that God cared, that he was not an +orphan for whom no one cared, but a child of the Universal Father. + +He looked up and saw the clouds swept across the sky. Here and there was +a break through which a star shone. Eyes of heaven, they seemed to him. +Yes, the spirit world was very near to him. Perhaps, perhaps--who +knew?--there were messengers of the Unseen all around him. + + "Earth is crammed with heaven, + And every common bush afire with God." + +Where had he heard those words? Ah yes, was it not Elizabeth Barrett +Browning who wrote them, wrote them while in Italy, where she sojourned +with her husband, the greatest poet of his time? + +Again he looked around him, but nothing could be seen by his natural +eyes. The houses, the trees, the gardens all lay wrapped in the gloom of +the cold and darkness of that wintry morning, there in the heart of +London. All the same it seemed that something had been born within him, +something which he could not define, and again he seemed to hear, as he +had heard years before, the glorious words which turned to naught the +ribald and trifling scepticism of men: + +"The Eternal God is thy Refuge, and underneath are the Everlasting +Arms." + +The sublimity of the message appealed to him. Surely no greater words +were ever spoken. They peopled the dark wintry heavens with angels, they +made everything possible. + +"Lord, tell me what to do." + +The prayer came naturally to his lips. It seemed to him that there was +nothing else for him to say. But there were no answering words. All was +silent, save for the soughing of the wind across the square. And yet I +am wrong. He did hear words; they might be born of his own +consciousness, and have no objective reality whatever, but again the +wind seemed to speak to him. + +"Go to Wendover." + +Why should he go to Wendover? He had no right to be there, and from the +rumours that he had heard, Tony Riggleton had turned the old house into +a scene of drunken and sensual orgies. But in answer to his question the +wailing wind seemed to reiterate, as if in a kind of dreary monotony, +the same words, "Go to Wendover, go to Wendover." + +Then suddenly everything became mundane. + +"Good-night, or good morning rather." + +It was a policeman who spoke, and who looked rather suspiciously at the +lonely looking young man. + +"Good morning," replied Dick; "it's not long to daylight is it?" + +"Another hour or two yet. Lost your way?" + +"I've come from King's Cross. I travelled by the midnight train, and +there were no conveyances to be got." + +"Ah, petrol's a bit scarce yet; but I hear we shall have more soon. +Anywhere you want to get?" + +"Yes, I'm going to Jones' Hotel." + +"That's close to the British Museum; and only a few minutes away. I +suppose your room's booked all right. The hotels are very crowded in +London just now." + +"That'll be all right. Good morning, and thank you!" + +"That's all right, sir. Go to the end of the square, turn to the right, +then take the second street to the left and you are there." + +A few minutes later Dick was at the hotel. The night porter knew him +well, and showed him into the smoke-room, where there was a good fire, +and comfortable arm-chairs. + +"You'll be all right here till breakfast, sir, won't you? After that you +can see the manager." + +Five minutes later Dick was asleep. + +A few hours later he met some of his political confreres, two of whom +begged him to lodge with them. + +It was not much of a place they assured him, but the best their money +would run to. "Four hundred a year's very little in London, and that +you'll find out before long," one of them assured him. + +"Every penny has to be looked after, and by living two or three together +we can do things cheaper." + +After seeing their lodgings, however, Dick determined to look around for +himself. He did not relish the idea of sharing apartments with others. +He wanted privacy, and he felt, although, like himself, these men were +"Labour Members," that he had little in common with them. + +"I thought of trying to get a small, cheap flat," he said. + +"Not to be thought of with our pay," was the laughing response. "Of +course you being a bachelor may have saved up a bit, or it may be that +you think you'll be able to make a few pounds by journalism." + +"Some do it, don't they?" he asked. + +"They all want to do it, that's why there's so little chance. But I hear +you are a bit of a swell, been to a public school and all that kind of +thing, so you may have friends at court. Done anything that way?" + +Dick shook his head. "Never," he replied; "but no one knows what he can +do till he tries." + +After considerable difficulty Dick happened upon a service flat which, +although it cost more than he had calculated upon, was so convenient, +and appealed to him so strongly, that he took it there and then. + +Indeed he felt a pleasant sense of proprietorship, as he sat alone in +his new home that night. The room was very small, but it was cosy. A +cheerful fire burnt in the grate, and the reading-lamp threw a grateful +light upon the paper he held in his hand. + +"I must get a writing-desk and some book-cases, and I shall be as right +as rain," he reflected. "This is princely as a sitting-room, and +although the bedroom is only a box, it's quite big enough for me." + +He closed his eyes with lazy contentment, and then began to dream of his +future. Yes, ambition was still strong within him, and the longing to +make a material, yes, an international, reputation was never so +insistent as now. He wondered if he could do it, wondered whether being +a Labour Member would ever lead to anything. + +"A voting machine at four hundred a year." + +He started up as though something had strung him. He remembered who had +said those words to him, remembered how they had wounded him at the time +they were spoken. Was that all he was after his hopes and dreams? He had +been a big man at Eastroyd. People had stopped in the streets to point +him out; but in London he was nobody. + +"A voting machine at four hundred a year!" + +Yes, but he would be more. He had proved that he had brains, and that he +could appeal to the multitude. He had his feet on the ladder now, +and---- + +His mind suddenly switched off. He was no longer in his newly acquired +flat, he was walking from King's Cross to Jones' Hotel, he was passing +through a lonely square. + +"Go to Wendover." + +How the words haunted him. Every time the wind blew he had heard them, +and---- + +He started to his feet. "Well, why not? I have nothing to do to-morrow, +and I can get there in a couple of hours." + +The next morning he eagerly made his way to Victoria Station. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +DICK HEARS STRANGE NEWS + + +"Good mornin', sir." + +The porter touched his cap and looked at Dick curiously. + +"Good morning, Wheelright. You are here still?" + +"Yes, sir. They took the other chap, and left no one in his place, so to +speak. So me and the stationmaster have had to do everything. I was sort +of superannuated, so to speak, when you was 'ere, so I had to take on my +old job when Ritter went. However, I'd 'ear that he'll soon be back." + +"Yes, the boys are coming home now." + +"And a good job, too. Not but what me and the stationmaster have carried +on, so to speak, and I'm as good a man as ever I was." + +Dick remembered old Wheelright well. He did odd jobs at the station +during his short stay at Wendover Park, and was known among the people +in the neighbourhood as "Old So-to-speak." He was also noted as an +inveterate gossip. + +"Comin' down to live 'ere again, so to speak?" he queried, looking at +Dick curiously. + +"No," replied Dick. "Just paying a short visit. I shall be returning by +the 4.20 at the latest." + +Wheelright shuffled on at Dick's side. He was much tempted to ask him +further questions, but seemed afraid. + +"You don't know where--where Squire Riggleton is, I suppose, sir? + +"Why do you ask that?" + +"I was wondering, that's all. There's been a good deal of talk about +him, so to speak. Some say he was took for the army just the same as if +he hadn't sixpence. I have heard he was took prisoner by the Germans, +too. But some people _will_ talk. Have you heard 'bout his being killed, +sir?" + +"No, I never heard that." + +"Ah." He looked at Dick questioningly, and then ventured further. "He +didn't do hisself much credit as a squire," he added. + +"Indeed." + +"No, there was nice carryings on, so I've heard. But then some people +will talk. However, there's no doubt that Mrs. Lawson, who had her two +daughters as servants there in your day, took them both away. It was no +place for respectable Christians to live, she said." + +Dick made no reply. He had just come by train, and was the only +passenger who alighted. Old Wheelright immediately recognised him. He +did not feel altogether at ease in listening to him while he discussed +his cousin, but was so interested that he let him go on talking. The +truth was that Dick did not know why he was there, except that he had +obeyed the command he had heard when walking from King's Cross. As he +stood there that day he was not sure whether he had heard a voice or +whether it was only an impression. But the words haunted him, and he +felt he could do no other than obey. Now he was here, however, he did +not know where to go, or what to do. He felt sensitive about going to +the house which he had thought was his, and asking for admission. The +action would call up too many painful memories. And yet he did not like +going back without once again seeing the home that had meant so much to +him. + +"You know that people have talked a lot about _you_, sir?" + +"I dare say." + +"And everybody was sorry when you left. It was all so funny. Young +Riggleton he came to the Hare and Hounds, and told the landlord all +about it." + +"Indeed." + +"Yes. I did hear that the London lawyers called him over the coals for +talking so much, so to speak. But some people will talk. However, as I'd +say, 'twasn't the lawyer's business. If Riggleton liked to talk, that's +his business. Still I s'pose he had a drop of drink in him, or p'r'aps +he mightn't a' done it. He told the landlord that he'd offered you a +good job if you'd stay, but as the landlord said, 'How could you expect +a gentleman like Mr. Faversham to stay as a servant where he'd been +master?' I suppose he did make the offer, sir?" + +"Is the same housekeeper at Wendover?" asked Dick, not noticing +Wheelright's questions. + +"Oh yes, bless you, sir, yes. I've been told she gave notice to leave +like the other servants; but Riggleton went away instead. He said he +couldn't stand living in a cemetery. That's what he called Wendover, +sir. He came back a few times, but only for a day or two. From what I +hear he hasn't showed his face there for years. All the same, it's kept +in good repair. I suppose the London lawyer do see to that." + +The old man went on retailing the gossip of the neighbourhood, but +beyond what I have recorded he said little that interested Dick. After +all, why should he care about stories concerning Anthony Riggleton, or +pay attention to the scandalous tales which had been afloat? He had no +doubt but that Mr. Bidlake would have given him all information about +his cousin, if he had called and asked him; but he had not gone. + +He made his way along the country lanes, scarcely seeing a single soul. +He was angry with himself for coming, and yet he knew that he had not +been able to help himself. He was there because he had been drawn there +by an irresistible impulse, or because he was under the power of +something, or someone whom he dared not disobey. + +The day was dark and cloudy, and the air was dank and cold. The trees +were leafless, not a flower appeared, and the whole countryside, which +had once appeared to him so glorious, now seemed grim and depressing. + +"Of course, I'm a fool," he muttered savagely, but still he trudged +along until he came to the lodge gates. How proud he had been when he +had first seen them! How his heart had thrilled at the thought that all +he saw was his own, his very own! But now he had no right there. He +might have been the veriest stranger. + +He had carefully avoided the entrance near which old Hugh Stanmore +lived. He did not want the old man to know of his visit. + +He was altogether unnoticed by the people who lived in the lodge, and a +few seconds later was hurrying up the drive. Yes, in spite of the +winter, in spite of the leafless trees, the place was very beautiful. +The noble avenue under which he was walking was very imposing, the +rhododendron, and a dozen other kinds of shrubs relieved the wintry +aspect. Besides, the woods were so restful, the fine park lands were the +finest he had ever seen. + +And he had thought they were all his. He for a short time had been +master of everything! + +Suddenly the house burst on his view, and with a cry, almost like a cry +of pain, he stood still, and looked long and yearningly. No wonder he +had loved it. It was all a country home should be. + +And it might have been his! If he had obeyed Romanoff; but no; even then +he felt thankful that he had not yielded to the man who tempted him. + +For a moment he thought of turning back. It would be too painful to go +and ask for permission to go in. But he did not turn back. As if urged +on by some unseen power he made his way towards the entrance. + +He had an eerie feeling in his heart as he approached the steps. He +called to mind his first visit there, when he had asked the lawyer if he +saw anything. For a moment he fancied he saw the outline of a shadowy +form as he saw it then. But there was nothing. The grey stone walls, +half hidden by ivy, stood before him as they stood then, but that +wondrous face, with pitiful pleading eyes, was not to be seen. + +He felt half disappointed at this. He could understand nothing, but he +had a feeling that it was the form of someone who loved him, someone +sent to protect him. + +At first he had fought the idea. He had told himself that he was too +matter-of-fact, that he had too much common sense to think of an optical +illusion as something supernatural; but as event after event took place +he could not help being possessed by the thought that he was under the +guardianship of something, someone who watched over him, helped him. He +never spoke about it to anyone; it was too sacred for discussion. + +But there was nothing. He heard no voice, saw no form, and a feeling +like disappointment crept into his heart. Dick Faversham was not a +morbid fellow, and he had a feeling of dislike for anything like +occultism. As for spiritualism, in the ordinary sense of the word, it +made no appeal to him. But this was different. Somehow he had a kind of +consciousness that the spirit world was all around him, and that the +Almighty Beneficence used the inhabitants of that spirit world to help +His children. + +No, there was nothing. His visit had been purposeless and vain, and he +would find his way back to the station. Then suddenly the door opened, +and the old housekeeper appeared. + +"It is, it _is_ Mr. Faversham!" + +But he did not speak. A weight seemed on his lips. + +"Come in, sir, come in." + +Before he realised what had taken place he stood in the entrance hall, +and the door closed behind him. + +"Are you come for good?" + +The housekeeper's voice was tremulous with excitement, and her eyes were +eagerly fastened on his face. + +Dick shook his head. "No, I'm only here for a few minutes." + +"But he's dead." + +"Who's dead?" + +"That man. The man Riggleton. Haven't you heard about it?" + +"No, I've not heard." + +"But there were rumours, and I thought you'd come to tell me they were +true. Oh, I am sorry, so sorry. I should love to have you here as master +again. It was such a joy to serve you. And that man, he nearly drove me +mad. He brought bad people here. He filled the house with a lot of low +men and women. And there were such goings on. I stood it as long as I +could, and then I told him I must leave the house at once. So did +several of the servants. He begged me to stop, he offered to double my +wages, but I told him I must go, that I was a respectable woman, and had +served only gentry who knew how to behave themselves. Then he said he +would leave himself, and he persuaded me to stay on. Didn't you hear, +sir?" + +"No, I did not hear. I went away to the North of England." + +"Oh, there were such stories. I suppose he threw away a fortune in +London." + +"Is he there now?" asked Dick. + +"I don't know. I asked Mr. Bidlake, but he would tell me nothing. The +last I heard was that he was forced into the army, and was killed." + +"How long was that ago?" + +"Several months now." + +"And you've heard nothing since?" + +"No, sir; nothing." + +"Well, I will go now." + +"But you'll stay for lunch? I'm not stinted in any way, and Mr. Bidlake +sends me a liberal allowance for the expenses of the house. I can easily +manage lunch, sir, and it would be such a joy to me." + +"You are very kind, and I appreciate it very much; but I really +couldn't--after what took place. I'll go to the Hare and Hounds and have +some bread and cheese." + +"Couldn't you, sir? I'm so sorry, and it's a long way to Lord +Huntingford's." + +"Yes, of course, that's out of the question." + +"But you must have lunch somewhere, and you couldn't go to the Hare and +Hounds." + +"Oh yes, I could. I dare say Blacketter would give me some bread and +cheese. That will be all I shall need." + +The housekeeper began to rub her eyes. "It's just awful," she sobbed. +"To think that you who were master here, and whom we all liked so much, +should have to go to a place like that. But I know. Mr. Stanmore is at +home; he'll be glad to welcome you there." + +"Mr. Stanmore is at home, is he?" + +"Yes, sir. He called here yesterday, and Miss Beatrice is at home too. +They were both here. Mr. Stanmore brought Sir George Weston over to see +the house." + +"Sir George Weston?" and Dick felt a strange sinking at his heart as he +heard the words. "I don't seem to remember the name." + +"He's from the west, sir, from Devonshire, I think. It has been said +that he came to see Miss Beatrice," and the housekeeper smiled +significantly. + +"You mean----" + +"I don't know anything, sir; it may be only servants' gossip. He's said +to be a very rich man, and has been serving in Egypt. Some say that he +came to discuss something about Egypt with Mr. Stanmore; but it was +noticed that he was very attentive to Miss Beatrice." + +"He's been staying at the cottage, then?" + +"For nearly a week, sir." + +"Is he there now?" + +"I don't know, sir. All I know is that he was here with them yesterday. +Mr. Stanmore brought a letter from Mr. Bidlake authorising me to show +them over the house." + +"Is Sir George a young man? You said he was in the army, didn't you?" +Dick could not understand why his heart was so heavy. + +"About thirty, I should think, sir. Yes, I believe he had a high command +in our Egyptian army. He's a great scholar too, and Mr. Stanmore said +that this house was the finest specimen of an Elizabethan house that he +knew of. A very pleasant gentleman too. It's not my business, but he'd +be a good match for Miss Beatrice, wouldn't he? Of course Mr. Stanmore +belongs to a very good family, but I suppose he's very poor, and Miss +Beatrice has hardly a chance of meeting anyone. You remember her, sir, +don't you? She was little more than a child when you were here, but +she's a very beautiful young lady now." + +The housekeeper was fairly launched now, and was prepared to discuss the +Stanmores at length, but Dick hurried away. He would have loved to have +gone over the house, but he dared not; besides, in a way he could not +understand, he longed to get into the open air, longed to be alone. + +"I hope, oh, I do hope that something'll happen," said the housekeeper +as he left the house; but what she did not tell him. + +A little later Dick found himself on the drive leading to Hugh +Stanmore's cottage. He had not intended to take this road, but when he +realised that he was in it, he did not turn back. Rather he hurried on +with almost feverish footsteps. + +Sir George Weston had been spending a week at the cottage, had he? Why? +Was it because he was an Egyptologist, and interested in Hugh Stanmore's +previous researches, or was he there because of Beatrice, as the +servants' gossip said? It was nothing to him, but he had an overwhelming +desire to know. Was Beatrice Stanmore a beautiful girl? She had not +appealed to him in this light when her grandfather brought her to see +him months before; but girls often blossomed into beauty suddenly. +Still, wasn't it strange that Weston should stay at the cottage a week? + +Of course he would not call. He was simply taking the longer road to the +station. Yes, he could plainly see the house through the trees, and---- + +"Is that Mr. Faversham? Well, this is a surprise; but I _am_ glad to see +you." + +It was old Hugh Stanmore who spoke, while Dick in a strangely nervous +way took the proffered hand. + +"Come to look at your old house, eh? I see you've come from that +direction." + +"Yes, I have been--talking with my old housekeeper," he stammered. + +"And you've never been here before since--you left?" + +Dick shook his head. + +"Well, well, life's a strange business, isn't it? But come in, my dear +fellow. You're just in time for lunch." + +Dick began to make excuses, but the other refused to listen, and they +entered the cottage together. + +"I'm afraid I couldn't presume upon your kindness so far." + +"Kindness! Nonsense. Of course you must. Besides, I see that you are a +Member of Parliament, and a Labour Member too. I must talk with you +about it. Lunch will be on the table in five minutes." + +"You are sure I shouldn't be bothering you?" He had an overwhelming +desire to stay. + +"Bother! What bother can there be? I'm only too delighted to see you. +Come in." + +They entered the cottage together. + +"Oh, by the way," went on Hugh Stanmore, as they entered a cosy +sitting-room, "let me introduce you to Sir George Weston." + +A strikingly handsome man of about thirty rose from an arm-chair and +held out his hand. He was in mufti; but it was impossible to mistake him +for anything but a soldier. Head erect, shoulders squared, and a +military bearing proclaimed him to be what he was. + +"Glad to see you, Mr. Faversham," said Sir George heartily "I suppose +you've come down to see----" He stopped abruptly. He felt he had made a +_faux pas_. + +"It's all right," said Dick with a laugh. He felt perfectly at ease now. +"Yes, I came to see the old place which years ago I thought was mine. +You've heard all about it, I've no doubt?" + +"Jolly hard luck," sympathised Sir George. "But anyhow you----" + +"Ah, here's Beatrice," broke in Hugh Stanmore. "Beatrice, my dear, +here's an old friend dropped in to lunch with us. You remember Mr. +Faversham, don't you?" + +The eyes of the two met, and then as their hands met Dick's friendly +feeling towards Sir George Weston left him. He could not tell why. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +BEATRICE CONFESSES + + +Dick Faversham saw at a glance that Beatrice Stanmore had ceased being a +child. She was barely twenty. She was girlish in appearance, and her +grandfather seemed to still regard her as a child. But her childhood had +gone, and her womanhood had come. Rather tall, and with a lissom form, +she had all a girl's movements, all a girl's sweetness, but the flash of +her eyes, the compression of her lips, the tones of her voice, all told +that she had left her childhood behind. But the first blush of her +womanhood still remained. She retained her child's naturalness and +winsomeness, even while she looked at the world through the eyes of a +woman. + +Dick was struck by her beauty too. When years before she had rushed into +the library at Wendover, almost breathless in her excitement, she had +something of the angularity, almost awkwardness, of half-development. +That had all gone. Every movement was graceful, natural. Perfect health, +health of body, health of mind had stamped itself upon her. She had no +suggestion of the cigarette-smoking, slang-talking miss who boasts of +her freedom from old-time conventions. You could not think of Beatrice +Stanmore sitting with men, smoking, sipping liqueurs, and laughing at +their jokes. She retained the virginal simplicity of childlikeness. All +the same she was a woman. But not a woman old beyond her years. Not a +woman who makes men give up their thoughts of the sacredness of +womanhood. + +No one could any more think of Beatrice Stanmore being advanced, or +"fast," than one could think of a rosebud just opening its petals to the +sun being "fast." + +She had none of the ripe beauty of Lady Blanche Huntingford, much less +the bold splendour of Olga Petrovic. She was too much the child of +nature for that. She was too sensitive, too maidenly in her thoughts and +actions. And yet she was a woman, with all a woman's charm. + +Here lay her power. She was neither insipid nor a prude. She dared to +think for herself, she loved beautiful dresses, she enjoyed pleasure and +gaiety; but all without losing the essential quality of +womanhood--purity and modesty. She reminded one of Russell Lowell's +lines: + + "A dog rose blushing to a brook + Ain't modester, nor sweeter." + +That was why no man, however blase, however cynical about women, could +ever associate her with anything loud or vulgar. She was not neurotic; +her healthy mind revolted against prurient suggestion either in +conversation or in novels. She was not the kind of girl who ogled men, +or practised unwomanly arts to attract their attention. No man, however +bold, would dream of taking liberties with her. But she was as gay as a +lark, her laughter was infectious, the flash of her eyes suggested all +kinds of innocent mischief and fun. She could hold her own at golf, was +one of the best tennis players in the district, and could ride with +gracefulness and fearlessness. + +Does someone say I am describing an impossible prodigy? No, I am trying +to describe a sweet, healthy, natural girl. I am trying to tell of her +as she appeared to me when I saw her first, a woman such as I believe +God intended all women to be, womanly, pure, modest. + +She was fair to look on too; fair with health and youth and purity. A +girl with laughing eyes, light brown hair, inclined to curl. A sweet +face she had, a face which glowed with health, and was unspoilt by +cosmetics. A tender, sensitive mouth, but which told of character, of +resolution and daring. A chin firm and determined, and yet delicate in +outline. This was Beatrice Stanmore, who, reared among the sweet Surrey +hills and valleys, was unsmirched by the world's traffic, and who +recoiled from the pollution of life which she knew existed. A girl +modern in many respects, but not too modern to love old-fashioned +courtesies, not too modern to keep holy the Sabbath Day, and love God +with simple faith. A religious girl, who never paraded religion, and +whose religion never made her monkish and unlovely, but was the joy and +inspiration of her life. + +"I'm so glad to see you, Mr. Faversham," she said. "I've often wondered +why you never came to Wendover." + +"In a way it was very hard to keep away," was Dick's reply. "On the +other hand, I had a kind of dread of seeing it again. You see, I had +learnt to love it." + +"I don't wonder. It's the dearest old house in the world. I should have +gone mad, I think, if I'd been in your place. It was just splendid of +you to take your reverse so bravely." + +"I had only one course before me, hadn't I?" + +"Hadn't you? I've often wondered." She gave him a quick, searching +glance as she spoke. "Are you staying here long?" + +"No, only a few hours. I return to London this afternoon. I came down +to-day just on impulse. I had no reason for coming." + +"Hadn't you? I'm glad you came." + +"So am I." + +There was a strange intensity in his tones, but he did not know why he +spoke with so much feeling. + +"Of course Granddad and I have often talked of you," she went on. "Do +you know when we called on you that day in London, I was disappointed in +you. I don't know why. You had altered so much. You did not seem at all +like you were when we saw you down here. I told Granddad so. But I'm so +glad you are Member of Parliament for Eastroyd, and so glad you've +called. There, the lunch is ready. Please remember, Mr. Faversham, that +I'm housekeeper, and am responsible for lunch. If you don't like it, I +shall be offended." + +She spoke with all the freedom and frankness of a child, but Dick was +not slow to recognise the fact that the child who had come to Wendover +when Romanoff was weaving a web of temptation around him, had become a +woman who could no longer be treated as a child. + +"Are you hungry, Sir George?" she went on, turning to her other visitor. +"Do you know, Mr. Faversham, that these two men have neglected me +shamefully? They have been so interested in rubbings of ancient +inscriptions, and writings on the tombs of Egyptian kings, that they've +forgotten that I've had to cudgel my poor little brains about what they +should eat. Housekeeping's no easy matter in these days." + +"That's not fair," replied Sir George. "It was Mr. Stanmore here, who +was so interested that he forgot all about meal-times." + +The soldier was so earnest that he angered Dick. "Why couldn't the fool +take what she said in the spirit of raillery?" he asked himself. + +"Adam over again," laughed Beatrice. "'The woman tempted me and I did +eat.' It's always somebody else's fault. Now then, Granddad, serve the +fish." + +It was a merry little party that sat down to lunch, even although Dick +did not seem inclined for much talk. Old Hugh Stanmore was in great +good-humour, while Beatrice had all the high spirits of a happy, healthy +girl. + +"You must stay a few hours now you are here, Mr. Faversham," urged the +old man presently. "There's not the slightest reason why you should go +back to town by that four something train. It's true, Sir George and I +are going over to Pitlock Rectory for a couple of hours, but we shall be +back for tea, and you and Beatrice can get on all right while we are +away." + +Sir George did not look at all delighted at the suggestion, but Beatrice +was warm in her support of it. + +"You really must, Mr. Faversham," she said. "I shall be alone all the +afternoon otherwise, for really I can't bear the idea of listening to +Mr. Stanhope, the Rector of Pitlock, prose about mummies and fossils and +inscriptions." + +"You know I offered to stay here," pleaded Sir George. + +"As though I would have kept you and Granddad away from your fossils," +she laughed. "Mr. Stanhope is a great scholar, a great Egyptologist, +and a great antiquary, and you said it would be your only chance of +seeing him, as you had to go to the War Office to-morrow. So you see, +Mr. Faversham, that you'll be doing a real act of charity by staying +with me. Besides, there's something I want to talk with you about. There +is really." + +Sir George did not look at all happy as, after coffee, he took his seat +beside old Hugh Stanmore, in the little motor-car, but Dick Faversham's +every nerve tingled with pleasure at the thought of spending two or +three hours alone with Beatrice. Her transparent frankness and +naturalness charmed him, the whole atmosphere of the cottage was so +different from that to which for years he had been accustomed. + +"Mr. Faversham," she said, when they had gone, "I want you to walk with +me to the great house, will you?" + +"Certainly," he said, wondering all the time why she wanted to go there. + +"You don't mind, do you? I know it must be painful to you, but--but I +want you to." + +"Of course I will. It's no longer mine--it never was mine, but it +attracts me like a magnet." + +Five minutes later they were walking up the drive together. Dick was +supremely happy, yet not knowing why he was happy. Everything he saw was +laden with poignant memories, while the thought of returning to the +house cut him like a knife. Yet he longed to go. For some little +distance they walked in silence, then she burst out suddenly. + +"Mr. Faversham, do you believe in premonitions?" + +"Yes." + +"So do I. It is that I wanted to talk with you about." + +He did not reply, but his mind flashed back to the night when he had sat +alone with Count Romanoff, and Beatrice Stanmore had suddenly and +without warning rushed into the room. + +"Do you believe in angels?" she went on. + +"I--I think so." + +"I do. Granddad is not sure about it. That is, he isn't sure that they +appear. Sir George is altogether sceptical. He pooh-poohs the whole +idea. He says there was a mistake about the Angels at Mons. He says it +was imagination, and all that sort of thing; but he isn't a bit +convincing. But I believe." + +"Yes." He spoke almost unconsciously. He had never uttered a word about +his own experiences to anyone, and he wondered if he should tell her +what he had seen and heard. + +"It was a kind of premonition which made me go to see you years ago," +she said quietly. "Do you remember?" + +"I shall never forget, and I'm very glad." + +"Why are you very glad?" + +"Because--because I'm sure your coming helped me!" + +"How did it help you?" + +"It helped me to see, to feel; I--I can't quite explain." + +"That man--Count Romanoff--is evil," and she shuddered as she spoke. + +"Why do you say so?" + +"I felt it. I feel it now. He was your enemy. Have you seen him since?" + +"Only once. I was walking through Oxford Circus. I only spoke a few +words to him; I have not seen him since." + +"Mr. Faversham, did anything important happen that night?" + +"Yes, that night--and the next." + +"Did that man, Count Romanoff, want you to do something which--which was +wrong? Forgive me for asking, won't you? But I have felt ever since that +it was so." + +"Yes." He said the word slowly, doubtfully. At that moment the old house +burst upon his view, and he longed with a great longing to possess it. +He felt hard and bitter that a man like Tony Riggleton should first have +made it a scene of obscene debauchery and then have left it. It seemed +like sacrilege that such a man should be associated with it. At that +moment, too, it seemed such a little thing that Romanoff had asked him +to do. + +"If I had done what he asked me, I might have been the owner of Wendover +Park now," he added. + +"But how could that be, if that man Riggleton was the true heir?" she +asked. + +"At that time there seemed--doubt. He made me feel that Riggleton had no +right to be there, and if I had promised the Count something, I might +have kept it." + +"And that something was wrong?" + +"Yes, it was wrong. Of course I am speaking to you in absolute +confidence," he added. "When you came you made me see things as they +really were." + +"I was sent," she said simply. + +"By whom?" + +"I don't know. And do you remember when I came the second time?" + +"Yes, I remember. I shall never forget." + +"I never felt like it before or since. Something seemed to compel me to +hasten to you. I got out the car in a few seconds, and I simply flew to +you. I have thought since that you must have been angry, that you must +have looked upon me as a mad girl to rush in on you the way I did. But I +could not help myself. That evil man, Romanoff, was angry with me too; +he would have killed me if he had dared. Do you remember that we talked +about angels afterwards?" + +"I remember." + +"They were all around us. I felt sure of it. I seemed to see them. +Afterwards, while I was sorry for you, I felt glad you had left +Wendover, glad that you were no longer its owner. I had a kind of +impression that while you were losing the world, you were saving your +soul." + +She spoke with all a child's simplicity, yet with a woman's earnestness. +She asked no questions as to what Romanoff had asked him to do in order +to keep his wealth; that did not seem to come within her scope of +things. Her thought was that Romanoff was evil, and she felt glad that +Dick had resisted the evil. + +"Do you believe in angels?" she asked again. + +"Sometimes," replied Dick. "Do you?" + +"I have no doubt about them. I know my mother often came to me." + +"How? I don't quite understand. You never saw her--in this world I +mean--did you?" + +"No. But she has come to me. For years I saw her in dreams. More than +once, years ago, when I woke up in the night, I saw her hovering over +me." + +"That must have been fancy." + +"No, it was not." She spoke with calm assurance, and with no suggestion +of morbidness or fear. "Why should I not see her?" she went on. "I am +her child, and if she had lived she would have cared for me, fended for +me, because she loved me. Why should what we call death keep her from +doing that still, only in a different way?" + +Dick was silent a few seconds. It did not seem at all strange. + +"No; there seems no real reason why, always assuming that there are +angels, and that they have the power to speak to us. But there is +something I would like to ask you. You said just now, 'I know that my +mother often came to me.' Has she ceased coming?" + +Beatrice Stanmore's eyes seemed filled with a great wonder, but she +still spoke in the same calm assured tones. + +"I have not seen her for three years," she said; "not since the day +after you left Wendover. She told me then that she was going farther +away for a time, and would not be able to speak to me, although she +would allow no harm to happen to me. Since that time I have never seen +her. But I know she loves me still. It may be that I shall not see her +again in this life, but sometime, in God's own good time, we shall +meet." + +"Are you a Spiritualist?" asked Dick, and even as he spoke he felt that +he had struck a false note. + +She shook her head decidedly. "No, I should hate the thought of using +mediums and that sort of thing to talk to my mother. There may be truth +in it, or there may not; but to me it seems tawdry, sordid. But I've no +doubt about the angels. I think there are angels watching over you. It's +a beautiful thought, isn't it?" + +"Isn't it rather morbid?" asked Dick. + +"Why should it be morbid? Is the thought that God is all around us +morbid? Why then should it be morbid to think of the spirits of those He +has called home being near to help us, to watch over us?" + +"No," replied Dick; "but if there are good angels why may there not be +evil ones?" + +"I believe there are," replied the girl. "I am very ignorant and simple, +but I believe there are. Did not Satan tempt our Lord in the wilderness? +And after the temptation was over, did not angels minister to Him?" + +"So the New Testament says." + +"Do you not believe it to be true?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +SIR GEORGE'S LOVE AFFAIR + + +The great house stood out boldly against the wintry sky, and Dick +Faversham could plainly see the window of the room where, years before, +he had taken the pen to sign the paper which would have placed him in +Count Romanoff's power. Like lightning his mind flashed back to the +fateful hour. He saw himself holding the pen, saw the words which +Romanoff had written standing clearly out on the white surface, saw +himself trying to trace the letters of his name, and then he felt the +hand on his wrist. It was only a light touch, but he no longer had the +power to write. + +Was it a moral impulse which had come to him, or was it some force which +paralysed his senses, and made him incapable of holding the pen? It +seemed to be both. He remembered having a loathing for the thing +Romanoff wanted him to do. Even then he felt like shuddering at the dark +influences which sapped his will-power, and made wrong seem like right. +But there was more than that. Some force _outside_ himself kept him from +writing. + +And he was glad. True, he was a poor man, and instead of owning the +stately mansion before him, he would presently return to his tiny flat, +where he would have to calculate about every sixpence he spent. But he +was free; he was master of his soul. He was a man of some importance +too. He was the Labour Member for Eastroyd; he had secured the +confidence of many thousands of working people, and his voice was +listened to with much respect by Labour leaders, and in Labour +conferences. + +But he was not quite satisfied. He did not want to be the representative +of one class only, but of all classes. He remembered that he had been +lately spoken of as being "too mealy-mouthed," and as "having too much +sympathy with the employers." + +"A voting machine at four hundred a year!" + +Romanoff's words still stung him, wounded him. He longed for a larger +life, longed to speak for all classes, longed to mingle with those of +his own upbringing and education. + +"What are you thinking of?" + +For the moment he had forgotten the girl at his side, almost forgotten +the subject they had been discussing. + +"Of many things," he replied. + +"You were thinking of that man, Count Romanoff." + +"Was I? Yes, I suppose I was. How did you know?" + +"Telepathy," she replied. "Shall we go back?" + +"If you will. Did you not say you wanted to go to the house?" + +"I don't think I do now. I'm afraid it would be painful to you. But, Mr. +Faversham, I'm glad I helped you; glad you do not own Wendover Park." + +"So am I," he replied; "the price would have been too terrible." + +She looked at him questioningly. She did not quite understand his words. + +"I wonder if you would think it an impertinence if I asked you to +promise me something," she said. + +"Nothing you could ask would be an impertinence," he responded eagerly; +"nothing." + +"That Count Romanoff is evil," she said, "evil; I am sure he is. I know +nothing about him, but I am sure of what I say. Will you promise to have +nothing to do with him? I think you will meet him again. I don't know +why, but I have a feeling that you will. That is why I wanted to say +this, and I wanted to say it in sight of the house which you love." + +"I promise," replied Dick. "It is very good of you to have so much +interest in me." + +"In a way, I don't know that I have very much interest," she said +simply; "and I'm afraid I'm acting on impulse. Granddad says that that +is my weakness." + +"I don't think it is a weakness. I'm not likely to see Count Romanoff +again; but I promise, gladly promise, that if I do I'll yield to him in +nothing. Is that what you mean?" + +"Yes, that's what I mean." + +Her humour suddenly changed. She seemed to have no further interest in +Wendover Park, or its possessor, whoever it might be, and their +conversation became of the most commonplace nature. They chatted about +the possibilities of peace, the future of Germany, and the tremendous +problems Britain would have to face, but all interest in the question +which had engrossed her mind seemed to have left her. Dick was to her +only an ordinary acquaintance who had casually crossed the pathway of +her life, and who might never do so again. Indeed, as presently they +reached the highroad, he thought she became cold and reserved, it might +seem, too, that he somewhat bored her. + +Presently they heard the sound of horses' hoofs coming toward them, and +they saw a lady on horseback. + +"That's Lady Blanche Huntingford," she said; "do you know her?" + +"I did know her slightly," replied Dick, who felt no excitement whatever +on seeing her. + +"Oh yes, of course you did. She's a great beauty, isn't she?" + +"I suppose so." Dick remembered how, in London months before, she had +refused to recognise him. + +For a moment Lady Blanche seemed surprised at seeing Dick. She +scrutinised him closely, as if she was not quite sure it was he. Then +her colour heightened somewhat, and with a nod which might have embraced +them both, she passed on. + +"We must get back to the house," Beatrice said; "Granddad and Sir George +will have returned by this time, and they will want their tea." + +"Sir George is leaving you to-morrow, isn't he?" asked Dick. + +"Yes," she replied, and Dick's heart grew heavy as he saw the look in +her eyes. He did not know why. + +"He's a great soldier, I suppose? I think I've been told so." + +"The greatest and bravest man in the army," she replied eagerly. "He's +simply splendid. It's not often that a soldier is a scholar, but +Granddad says there are few men alive who are greater authorities on +Egyptian questions." + +A feeling of antagonism rose in Dick's heart against Sir George Weston, +he felt angry that Beatrice should think so highly of him. + +"He's a Devonshire man, isn't he?" he asked. + +"Yes; he has a lovely old place down there. The house is built of grey +granite. It is very, very old, and it looks as though it would last for +hundreds and hundreds of years. It is situated on a wooded hillside, and +at the back, above the woods, is a vast stretch of moorland. In front is +a lovely park studded with old oaks." + +"You describe the place with great enthusiasm." There was envy in his +tones, and something more than envy. + +"Do I? I love Devonshire. Love its granite tors, its glorious hills and +valleys. No wonder it is called 'Glorious Devon.'" + +By the time they reached the cottage Sir George Weston and Hugh Stanmore +had returned, and tea was on the table. Sir George seemed somewhat +excited, while old Hugh Stanmore was anything but talkative. It might +seem as though, during the afternoon, the two had talked on matters of +greater interest than the tombs of Egyptian kings. + +When the time came for Dick to depart, Hugh Stanmore said he would walk +a little way with him. For a happy, and singularly contented man, he +appeared much disturbed. + +"I am so glad you came, Mr. Faversham," said Beatrice as she bade him +good-bye. "We had a lovely walk, hadn't we?" + +"Wonderful," replied Dick. "I shall never forget it." + +"And you'll not forget your promise, will you?" + +"No, I shall not forget it." + +"You will let us know, won't you, when you are going to speak in the +House of Commons? I shall insist on Granddad taking me to hear you." + +Sir George Weston looked from one to the other suspiciously. He could +not understand her interest in him. + +"What do you think of Weston?" asked Hugh Stanmore, when they had walked +some distance together. + +"I suppose he's a very fine soldier," evaded Dick. + +"Oh yes, there's no doubt about that. But how did he strike +you--personally?" + +"I'm afraid I didn't pay much attention to him. He seemed a pleasant +kind of man." Dick felt very non-committal. "Do you know him well?" + +"Yes; fairly well. I met him before the war. He and I were interested in +the same subjects. He has travelled a great deal in the East. Of course +I've known of his family all my life. A very old family which has lived +in the same house for generations. I think he is the eighth baronet. But +I was not thinking of that. I was thinking of him as a man. You'll +forgive my asking you, won't you, but do you think he could make my +little girl happy?" + +Dick felt a strange weight on his heart. He felt bitter too. + +"I am afraid my opinion would be of little value," he replied. "You see +I know nothing of him, neither for that matter am I well acquainted with +Miss Stanmore." + +"No, I suppose that's true, and perhaps I ought not to have asked you. I +often scold Beatrice for acting so much on impulse, while I am +constantly guilty of the same offence. But I don't look on you as a +stranger. Somehow I seem to know you well, and I wanted your opinion. I +can speak freely to you, can't I?" + +"Certainly." + +"He has asked me this afternoon if I'll consent to Beatrice becoming his +wife." + +Dick was silent. He felt he could not speak. + +"Of course, from a worldly standpoint it would be a good match," went on +Hugh Stanmore. "Sir George is a rich man, and has a fine reputation, not +only as a scholar and a soldier, but as a man. There has never been a +blemish on his reputation. He stands high in the county, and could give +my little girl a fine position." + +"Doubtless," and Dick hardly knew that he spoke. + +"I don't think I am a snob," went on the old man; "but such things must +weigh somewhat. I am not a pauper, but, as wealth is counted to-day, I +am a poor man. I am also old, and in the course of nature can't be here +long. That is why I am naturally anxious about my little Beatrice's +future. And yet I am in doubt." + +"About what?" + +"Whether he could make her happy. And that is everything as far as I am +concerned. Beatrice, as you must have seen, is just a happy child of +nature, and is as sensitive as a lily. To be wedded to a man who is +not--how shall I put it?--her affinity, her soul comrade, would be +lifelong misery to her. And unless I were sure that Sir George is that, +I would not think of giving my consent." + +"Aren't you forgetful of a very important factor?" asked Dick. + +"What is that?" + +"Miss Stanmore herself. In these days girls seem to take such matters +largely into their own hands. The consent of relations is regarded as a +very formal thing." + +"I don't think you understand, Faversham. Beatrice is not like the +common run of girls, and she and I are so much to each other that I +don't think for a moment that she would marry any man if I did not give +my sanction. In fact, I'm sure she wouldn't. She's only my +granddaughter, but she's all the world to me, while--yes, I am +everything to her. No father loved a child more than I love her. I've +had her since she was a little mite, and I've been father, mother, and +grandfather all combined. And I'd do anything, everything in my power +for her welfare. I know her--know her, Faversham; she's as pure and +unsullied as a flower." + +"But, of course, Sir George Weston has spoken to her?" + +"No, he hasn't. For one thing, he has very strict ideas about +old-fashioned courtesies, and, for another, he knows our relations to +each other." + +"Do you know her mind?--know whether she cares for him--in that way?" +asked Dick. + +"No, I don't. I do know that, a week ago, she had no thought of love for +any man. But, of course, I couldn't help seeing that during the past +week he has paid her marked attention. Whether she's been aware of it, I +haven't troubled to ascertain." + +In some ways this old man was almost as much a child as his +granddaughter, in spite of his long life, and Dick could hardly help +smiling at his simplicity. + +"Of course, I imagine she'll marry sometime," and Dick's voice was a +trifle hoarse as he spoke. + +"Yes," replied Hugh Stanmore. "That is natural and right. God intended +men and women to marry, I know that. But if they do not find their true +mate, then it's either sacrilege or hell--especially to the woman. +Marriage is a ghastly thing unless it's a sacrament--unless the man and +the woman feel that their unity is of God. Marriage ceremonies, and the +blessing of the Church, or whatever it is called, is so much mockery +unless they feel that their souls are as one. Don't you agree with me?" + +"Yes, I do. I suppose," he added, "you stipulate that whoever marries +her--shall--shall be a man of wealth?" + +"No, I shouldn't, except in this way. No man should marry a woman unless +he has the wherewithal to keep her. He would be a mean sort of fellow +who would drag a woman into want and poverty. But, of course, that does +not obtain in this case." + +"I'm afraid I can't help, or advise you," said Dick. "I'm afraid I'm a +bit of an outsider," and he spoke bitterly. "Neither do I think you will +need advice. Miss Stanmore has such a fine intuition that----" + +"Ah, you feel that!" broke in Hugh Stanmore almost excitedly. "Yes, yes, +you are right! I can trust her judgment rather than my own. Young as she +is, she'll choose right. Yes, she'll choose right! I think I'll go back +now. Yes, I'll go back at once. Our conversation has done me good, and +cleared my way, although I've done most of the talking. Good-night, +Faversham. I wish you well. I think you can do big things as a +politician; but I don't agree with you." + +"Don't agree with me? Why?" + +"I don't believe in these party labels. You are a party man, a Labour +man. I have the deepest sympathy with the toilers of the world. I have +been working for them for fifty years. Perhaps, too, the Labour Party is +the outcome of the injustice of the past. But all such parties have a +tendency to put class against class, to see things in a one-sided way, +to foster bitterness and strife. Take my advice and give up being a +politician." + +"Give up being a politician! I don't understand." + +"A politician in the ordinary sense is a party man; too often a party +hack, a party voting machine. Be more than a politician, be a statesman. +All classes of society are interdependent. We can none of us do without +the other. Capital and labour, the employer and the employee, all depend +on each other. All men should be brothers and work for the common +interest. Don't seek to represent a class, or to legislate for a class, +Faversham. Work for all the classes, work for the community as a whole. +And remember that Utopia is not created in a day. Good-night. Come and +see us again soon." + +Hugh Stanmore turned back, and left Dick alone. The young man felt +strangely depressed, strangely lonely. He pictured Hugh Stanmore going +back to the brightness and refinement of his little house, to be met +with the bright smiles and loving words of his grandchild, while he +plodded his way through the darkness. He thought, too, of Sir George +Weston, who, even then, was with Beatrice Stanmore. Perhaps, most likely +too, he was telling her that he loved her. + +He stopped suddenly in the road, his brain on fire, his heart beating +madly. A thousand wild fancies flashed through his brain, a thousand +undefinable hopes filled his heart. + +"No, it's impossible, blankly impossible!" he cried at length. "A +will-o'-the-wisp, the dream of a madman--a madman! Why, even now she may +be in his arms!" + +The thought was agony to him. Even yet he did not know the whole secret +of his heart, but he knew that he hated Sir George Weston, that he +wished he had urged upon old Hugh Stanmore the utter unfitness of the +great soldier as a husband for his grandchild. + +But how could he? What right had he? Besides, according to all +common-sense standards nothing could be more suitable. She was his equal +in social status, and every way fitted to be his wife, while he would be +regarded as the most eligible suitor possible. + +"A voting machine at four hundred a year!" + +Again those stinging words of Count Romanoff. And old Hugh Stanmore had +spoken in the same vein. "A party hack, a party voting machine!" + +And he could not help himself. He was dependent on that four hundred a +year. He dared ask no woman to be his wife. He had no right. He would +only drag her into poverty and want. + +All the way back to town his mind was filled with the hopelessness of +his situation. The fact that he had won a great victory at Eastroyd and +was a newly returned Member of Parliament brought him no pleasure. He +was a party hack, and he saw no brightness in the future. + +Presently Parliament assembled, and Dick threw himself with eagerness +into the excitement which followed. Every day brought new experiences, +every day brought new interests. + +But he felt himself hampered. If he only had a few hundreds a year of +his own. If only he could be free to live his own life, think his own +thoughts. Not that he did not agree with many of the ideas of his party. +He did. But he wanted a broader world, a greater freedom. He wanted to +love, and to be loved. + +Then a change came. On returning to his flat late one night he found a +letter awaiting him. On the envelope was a coroneted crest, and on +opening it he saw the name of Olga Petrovic. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +THE DAWN OF LOVE + + +The letter from Olga ran as follows: + + "DEAR MR. FAVERSHAM,--I have just discovered your address, and I + am writing to congratulate you on the fine position you have won. + It must be glorious to be a Member of the Mother of Parliaments, + to be a legislator in this great free country. I rejoice, too, + that you have espoused the cause of the toilers, the poor. It is + just what I hoped and expected of you. You will become great, my + friend; my heart tells me so. Your country will be proud of you. + + "I wonder whether, if in spite of your many interests and duties, + you will have time to visit a lonely woman? There are so many + things I would like to discuss with you. Do come if you can. I + shall be home to-morrow afternoon, and again on Friday. Will you + not have pity on me?--Yours, + + OLGA PETROVIC." + +Dick saw that her address was a fashionable street in Mayfair, and +almost unconsciously he pictured her in her new surroundings. She was no +longer among a wild-eyed, long-haired crew in the East End, but in the +centre of fashion and wealth. He wondered what it meant. He read the +letter a second time, and in a way he could not understand, he was +fascinated. There was subtle flattery in every line, a kind of clinging +tenderness in every sentence. + +No mention was made of their last meeting, but Dick remembered. She had +come to him after that wonderful experience in Staple Inn--on the +morning after his eyes had been opened to the facts about what a number +of Bolshevists wanted to do in England. His mind had been bewildered, +and he was altogether unsettled. He was afraid he had acted rudely to +her. He had thought of her as being associated with these people. If he +had yielded to her entreaties, and thrown himself into the plans she had +made, might he not have become an enemy to his country, to humanity? + +But what a glorious creature she was! What eyes, what hair, what a +complexion! He had never seen any woman so physically perfect. And, +added to all this, she possessed a kind of charm that held him, +fascinated him, made him think of her whether he would or not. + +And yet her letter did not bring him unmixed pleasure. In a way he could +not understand he was slightly afraid of her, afraid of the influence +she had over him. He could not mistake the meaning of her words at their +last meeting. She had made love to him, she had asked him to marry her. +It is true he had acted as though he misunderstood her, but what would +have happened if old Hugh Stanmore and Beatrice had not come? The very +mystery which surrounded her added to her charm. Who _was_ she? Why did +she go to the East End to live, and how did she possess the means to +live in Mayfair? + +He walked around his little room, thinking hard. For the last few days +his parliamentary duties had excited him, kept him from brooding; but +now in the quietness of the night he felt his loneliness, realised his +longing for society. His position as a Labour Member was perfectly +plain. His confreres were good fellows. Most of them were hard-headed, +thoughtful men who took a real interest in their work. But socially they +were not of his class. They had few interests in common, and he realised +it, even as they did. That was why they looked on him with a certain +amount of suspicion. What was to be his future then? A social gulf was +fixed between him and others whose equal he was, and whatever he did he +would be outside the circle of men and women whose tastes were similar +to his own. + +No, that was not altogether true. Hugh Stanmore and Beatrice treated him +as a friend. Beatrice! + +The very thought of her conjured up all sorts of fancies. He had not +heard from her, or of her since his visit to Wendover. Was she engaged +to Sir George Weston, he wondered? + +He knew now that he had never loved Lady Blanche Huntingford. He had +been attracted to her simply because of her looks, and her social +position. At the time she had appealed to him strongly, but that was +because he had regarded her as a means whereby he could attain to his +social ambitions. But a change had come over him since then--a subtle, +almost indescribable change. The strange events of his life had led him +to see deeper. And he knew he had no love for this patrician woman. When +he had seen her last she had not caused one heart-throb, he was almost +indifferent to her. + +But Beatrice! Why did the thought of her haunt him? Why was he angry +with Sir George Weston, and bitter at the idea of his marrying this +simple country girl? As for himself he could never marry. + +The following morning he wrote to Countess Olga Petrovic. It was a +courteous note saying that at present he was too engaged to call on her, +but he hoped that later he might have that pleasure. Then he plunged +into his work again. + +About a fortnight after his visit to Hugh Stanmore, a letter came to him +from the housekeeper at Wendover. He had told her his London address, +and she had taken advantage of her knowledge by writing. + +"There are all sorts of rumours here about Mr. Anthony Riggleton," she +wrote; "and we have all been greatly excited. Some soldiers have been in +the neighbourhood who declare that they know of a certainty that he is +dead. I thought it my duty to tell you this, sir, and that is my excuse +for the liberty I take in writing. + +"Perhaps, sir, you may also be interested to learn that Sir George +Weston and Miss Beatrice Stanmore are engaged to be married. As you may +remember, I told you when you were here that I thought they would make a +match of it. Of course she has done very well, for although the +Stanmores are a great family, Mr. Stanmore is a poor man, and Miss +Beatrice has nothing but what he can give her. It is said that the +wedding will take place in June." + +The letter made him angry. Of course he understood the old lady's +purpose in writing. She thought that if Anthony Riggleton died, the +estate might again revert to him, and she hoped he would find out and +let her know. She had grown very fond of him during his short sojourn +there, and longed to see him there as master again. But the letter made +him angry nevertheless. Then as he read it a second time he knew that +his anger was not caused by her interest in his future, but because of +her news about Beatrice Stanmore. The knowledge that she had accepted +this Devonshire squire made his heart sink like lead. It seemed to him +that the sky of his life had suddenly become black. + +Then he knew his secret; knew that he loved this simple country girl +with a consuming but hopeless love. He realised, too, that no one save +she had ever really touched his heart. That this was why Lady Blanche +Huntingford had passed out of his life without leaving even a ripple of +disappointment or sorrow. + +Oh, if he had only known before! For he had loved her as he had walked +by her side through Wendover Park; loved her when he had almost calmly +discussed her possible marriage with Sir George Weston. Even then he had +hated the thought of it, now he knew why His own heart was aching for +her all the time. + +But what would have been the use even if he had known? He was a +homeless, penniless man. He could have done nothing. He was not in a +position to ask any woman to be his wife. + +His mood became reckless, desperate. What mattered whatever he did? Were +not all his dreams and hopes so much madness? Had he not been altogether +silly about questions of right and wrong? Had he not been Quixotic in +not fighting for Wendover? Supposing he had signed that paper, what +could Romanoff have done? He almost wished--no, he didn't; but after +all, who could pass a final judgment as to what was right and wrong? + +While he was in this state of mind another letter came from Olga +Petrovic. + +"Why have you not visited me, my friend?" she wrote. "I have been +expecting you. Surely you could have found time to drop in for half an +hour. Besides, I think I could help you. Lord Knerdon was here yesterday +with one or two other Members of the Government. He expressed great +interest in you, and said he would like to meet you. Has he not great +influence? I shall be here between half-past three and six to-morrow, +and some people are calling whom I think you would like to know." + +Lord Knerdon, eh? Lord Knerdon was one of the most respected peers in +the country, and a man of far-reaching power. He would never call at the +house of an adventuress. Yes, he would go. + +The street in which Olga Petrovic had taken up her abode was made up of +great houses. Only a person of considerable wealth could live there. +This he saw at a glance. Also three handsome motor-cars stood at her +door. He almost felt nervous as his finger touched the bell. + +She received him with a smile of welcome, and yet there was a suggestion +of aloofness in her demeanour. She was not the woman he had seen at +Jones' Hotel long months before, when she had almost knelt suppliant at +his feet. + +"Ah, Mr. Faversham," she cried, and there was a suggestion of a foreign +accent in her tones, "I am pleased to see you. It is good of such a busy +man to spare a few minutes." + +A little later she had introduced him to her other visitors--men and +women about whose position there could not be a suggestion of doubt. At +least, such was his impression. She made a perfect hostess, too, and +seemed to be a part of her surroundings. She was a great lady, who met +on equal terms some of the best-known people in London. And she was +queen of them all. Even as she reigned over the motley crew in that +queer gathering in the East of London, so she reigned here in the +fashionable West. + +In a few minutes he found himself talking with people of whom he had +hitherto known nothing except their names, while Olga Petrovic watched +him curiously. Her demeanour to him was perfectly friendly, and yet he +had the feeling that she regarded him as a social inferior. He was +there, not because he stood on the same footing as these people, but on +sufferance. After all, he was a Labour Member. Socially he was an +outsider, while she was the grand lady. + +People condoled with her because her Russian estates had been stolen +from her by the Bolshevists, but she was still the Countess Olga +Petrovic, bearing one of the greatest names in Europe. She was still +rich enough to maintain her position in the wealthiest city in the +world. She was still a mystery. + +Dick remained for more than an hour. Although he would not admit it to +himself, he hoped that he might be able to have a few minutes alone with +her. But as some visitors went, others came. She still remained kind to +him; indeed, he thought she conveyed an interest in him which she did +not show to others. But he was not sure. There was a suggestion of +reserve in her friendliness; sometimes, indeed, he thought she was cold +and aloof. There were people there who were a hundred times more +important than he--people with historic names; and he was a nobody. +Perhaps that was why a barrier stood between them. + +And yet there were times when she dazzled him by a smile, or the turn of +a sentence. In spite of himself, she made him feel that it was a +privilege of no ordinary nature to be the friend of the Countess Olga +Petrovic. + +When at length he rose to go she made not the slightest effort to detain +him. She was courteously polite, and that was all. He might have been +the most casual stranger, to whom she used the most commonplace forms of +speech. Any onlooker must have felt that this Polish or Russian +Countess, whatever she might be, had simply a passing interest in this +Labour Member, that she had invited him to tea out of pure whim or +fancy, and that she would forget him directly he had passed the +doorstep. And yet there was a subtle something in her manner as she held +out her hand to him. Her words said nothing, but her eyes told him to +come again. + +"Must you go, Mr. Faversham? So pleased you were able to call. I am +nearly always home on Thursdays." + +That was all she said. But the pressure of her hand, the pleading of her +eyes, the smile that made her face radiant--these somehow atoned for the +coldness of her words. + +"Well, I've called," thought Dick as he left the house, "and I don't +intend to call again. I don't understand her; she's out of my world, and +we have nothing in common." + +But these were only his surface thoughts. At the back of his mind was +the conviction that Olga Petrovic had an interest in him beyond the +ordinary, that she thought of him as she thought of no other man. Else +why that confession months before? Why did she ask him to call? + +She was a wonderful creature, too. How tame and uninteresting the other +women were compared with her! Her personality dominated everything, made +everyone else seem commonplace. + +She captivated him and fascinated him even while something told him that +it was best for him that he should see nothing more of her. The mystery +that surrounded her had a twofold effect on him: it made him long to +know more about her even while he felt that such knowledge could bring +him no joy. + +But this she did. She kept him from brooding about Beatrice Stanmore, +for the vision of this unsophisticated English girl was constantly +haunting him, and the knowledge that his love for her was hopeless made +him almost desperate. He was a young man, only just over thirty, with +life all before him. Must he for ever and ever be denied of love, and +the joys it might bring to his life? If she had not promised herself to +Sir George Weston, all might be different. Yes, with her to help him and +inspire him, he would make a position for her; he would earn enough to +make a home for her. But she was not for him. She would soon be the wife +of another. Why, then, should he not crush all thoughts of her, and +think of this glorious woman, compared with whom Beatrice Stanmore was +only as a June rosebud to a tropical flower? + +A few days later he called on Olga Petrovic again. This time he spent a +few minutes alone with her. Only the most commonplace things were said, +and yet she puzzled him, bewildered him. One minute she was all smiles +and full of subtle charm, another he felt that an unfathomable gulf lay +between them. + +In their conversation, while he did not speak in so many words of the +time she had visited him at his hotel, he let her know that he +remembered it, and he quickly realised that the passionate woman who had +pleaded with him then was not the stately lady who spoke to him now. + +"Every woman is foolish at times," she said. "In hours of loneliness and +memory we are the creatures of passing fancies; but they are only +passing. I have always to remember that, in spite of the tragic +condition of my country, I have my duty to my race and my position." + +Later she said: "I wonder if I shall ever wed? Wonder whether duty will +clash with my heart to such a degree that I shall go back to my own +sphere, or stay here and only remember that I am a woman?" + +He wondered what she meant, wondered whether she wished to convey to him +that it might be possible for her to forsake all for love. + +But something, he could not tell what, made him keep a strong hold upon +himself. It had become a settled thought in his mind by this time that +at all hazards he must fight against his love for Beatrice Stanmore. To +love her would be disloyal to her; it would be wrong. He had no right to +think thoughts of love about one who had promised to be the wife of +another man. + +Yet his heart ached for her. All that was best in him longed for her. +Whenever his love for her was strongest, he longed only for the highest +in life, even while his conscience condemned him for thinking of her. + +Dick paid Olga Petrovic several visits. Nearly always others were there, +but he generally managed to be alone with her for a few minutes, and at +every visit he knew that she was filling a larger place in his life. + +His fear of her was passing away, too, for she was not long in showing +an interest in things that lay dear to his heart. She evidenced a great +desire to help him in his work; she spoke sympathetically about the +conditions under which the toilers of the world laboured. She revealed +fine intuitions, too. + +"Oh yes," she said on one occasion, "I love your country. It is +home--home! I am mad, too, when I think of my insane fancies of a year +ago. I can see that I was wrong, wrong, all wrong! Lawlessness, force, +anarchy can never bring in the new day of life and love. That can only +come by mutual forbearance, by just order, and by righteous discipline. +I was mad for a time, I think; but I was mad with a desire to help. Do +you know who opened my eyes, Mr. Faversham?" + +"Your own heart--your own keen mind," replied Dick. + +"No, my friend--no. It was you. You did not say much, but you made me +see. I believe in telepathy, and I saw with your eyes, thought with your +mind. Your eyes pierced the darkness, you saw the foolishness of my +dreams. And yet I would give my last penny to help the poor." + +"I'm sure you would," assented Dick. + +"Still, we must be governed by reason. And that makes me think, my +friend. Do you ever contemplate your own future?" + +"Naturally." + +"And are you always going to remain what you are now?" + +"I do not follow you." + +"I have thought much about you, and I have been puzzled. You are a man +with great ambitions--high, holy ambitions--but if you are not careful, +your life will be fruitless." + +Dick was silent. + +"Don't mistake me. I only mean fruitless comparatively. But you are +handicapped, my friend." + +"Sadly handicapped," confessed Dick. + +"Ah, you feel it. You are like a bird with one wing trying to fly. +Forgive me, but the best houses in London are closed to you; you are a +paid Labour Member of Parliament, and thus you represent only a +class--the least influential class. You are shut out from many of the +delights of life. Channels of usefulness and power are closed to you. +Oh, I know it is great to be a Labour Member, but it is greater to be +independent of all classes--to live for your ideals, to have enough +money to be independent of the world, to hold up your head as an equal +among the greatest and highest." + +"You diagnose a disease," said Dick sadly, "but you do not tell me the +remedy." + +"Don't I?" and Dick felt the glamour of her presence. "Doesn't your own +heart tell you that, my friend?" + +Dick felt a wild beating of his heart, but he did not reply. There was a +weight upon his tongue. + +A minute later she was the great lady again--far removed from him. + +He left the house dazzled, almost in love with her in spite of Beatrice +Stanmore, and largely under her influence. He had been gone only a few +minutes when a servant brought a card. + +"Count Romanoff," she read. "Show him here," she added, and there was a +look in her eyes that was difficult to understand. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +THE ETERNAL STRUGGLE + + +Count Romanoff was faultlessly dressed, and looked calm and smiling. + +"Ah, Countess," he said, "I am fortunate in finding you alone. But you +have had visitors, or, to be more exact, a visitor." + +"Yes; I have had visitors. I often have of an afternoon." + +"But he has been here." + +"Well, and what then?" + +The Count gazed at her steadily, and his eyes had a sinister gleam in +them. + +"I have come to have a quiet chat with you," he said--"come to know how +matters stand." + +"You want to know more than I can tell you." + +Again the Count scrutinised her closely. He seemed to be trying to read +her mind. + +"Olga," he said, "you don't mean to say that you have failed? He has +been in London some time now, and as I happen to know, he has been here +often. Has not the fish leaped to the bait? If not, what is amiss? +What?--Olga Petrovic, who has turned the heads of men in half the +capitals of Europe, and who has never failed to make them her slaves, +fail to captivate this yokel! I can't believe it." + +There was sullen anger in her eyes, and at that moment years seemed to +have been added to her life. + +"Beaten!" went on the Count, with a laugh--"Olga Petrovic beaten! That +is news indeed." + +"I don't understand," said the woman. "Something always seems to stand +between us. He seems to fear me--seems to be fighting against me." + +"And you have tried all your wiles?" + +"Listen, Count Romanoff, or whatever your name may be," and Olga +Petrovic's voice was hoarse. "Tell me what you want me to do with that +man." + +"Do? Make him your slave. Make him grovel at your feet as you have made +others. Make him willing to sell his soul to possess you. Weave your net +around him. Glamour him with your fiendish beauty. Play upon his hopes +and desires until he is yours." + +"Why should I?" + +"Because it is my will--because I command you." + +"And what if I have done all that and failed?" + +"You fail! I can't believe it. You have not tried. You have not +practised all your arts." + +"You do not understand," replied the woman. "You think you understand +that man; you don't." + +The Count laughed. "There was never a man yet, but who had his price," +he said. "With some it is one thing, with some it is another, but +all--all can be bought. There is no man but whose soul is for sale; that +I know." + +"And you have tried to buy Faversham's soul, and failed." + +"Because I mistook the thing he wanted most." + +"You thought he could be bought by wealth, position, and you arranged +your plans. But he was not to be bought. Why? You dangled riches, +position, and a beautiful woman before his eyes; but he would not pay +the price." + +"I chose the wrong woman," said the Count, looking steadily at Olga, +"and I did not reckon sufficiently on his old-fashioned ideas of +morality. Besides, I had no control over the woman." + +"And you think you have control over me, eh? Well, let that pass. I have +asked you to tell me why you wish to get this man in your power, and you +will not tell me. But let me tell you this: there is a strange power +overshadowing him. You say I must practise my arts. What if I tell you +that I can't?" + +"I should say you lie," replied the Count coolly. + +"I don't understand," she said, as if talking to herself. "All the time +when he is with me, I seem to be dealing with unseen forces--forces +which make me afraid, which sap my power." + +The Count looked thoughtful. + +"I thought I had captivated him when that German man brought him to the +East End of London," she went on. "I saw that I bewildered him--dazzled +him. He seemed fascinated by my picture of what he could become. His +imagination was on fire, and I could see that he was almost held in +thrall by the thought that he could be a kind of uncrowned king, while I +would be his queen. He promised to come to me again, but he didn't. Then +I went to see him at his hotel, and if ever a woman tempted a man, I +tempted him. I know I am beautiful--know that men are willing to become +slaves to me. And I pleaded with him. I offered to be his wife, and I +almost got him. I saw him yielding to me. Then suddenly he turned from +me. A servant brought him a card, and he almost told me to go." + +"You saw who these visitors were?" + +"Yes; an old man and a slip of a girl. I do not know who they were. +Since he has been living in London, I have watched my opportunities, and +he has been here. I have flattered him; I have piqued his curiosity. I +have been coy and reserved, and I have tried to dazzle him by smiles, by +hand pressures, and by shy suggestions of love. But I cannot pierce his +armour." + +"And you will give up? You will confess defeat?" + +The woman's eyes flashed with a new light. "You little know me if you +think that," she cried angrily. "At one time I--yes, I, Olga +Petrovic--thought I loved him. I confessed it to you, but now--now----" + +"Yes, now?" questioned the Count eagerly. + +"Now that thought is not to be considered. I will conquer him; I will +make him my slave. He shall be willing to sacrifice name, position, +future, anything, everything for me--_everything_." + +"Only, up to now, you've failed." + +"Because, because--oh, Romanoff, I don't understand. What is he? Only +just a commonplace sort of man--a man vulnerable at a hundred +points--and yet I cannot reach him." + +"Shall I tell you why?" asked the Count. + +"Tell me, tell me!" she cried. "Oh, I've thought, and thought. I've +tried in a hundred ways. I've been the grand lady with a great position. +I've been an angel of light who cares only for the beautiful and the +pure. I've appealed to his ambition--to his love for beautiful things. +I've tried to make him jealous, and I've nearly succeeded; but never +altogether. Yes; he is just a clever man, and very little more; but I +can't reach him. He baffles me. He does not drink, and so I cannot +appeal to that weakness. Neither is he the fast man about town that can +be caught in my toils. He honours, almost venerates, pure womanhood, +and----" + +"Tah!" interrupted the Count scornfully. + +"You do not believe it?" + +"Woman is always man's weak point--always!" + +"But not his--not in the way you think. I tell you, he venerates ideal +womanhood. He scorns the loud-talking, free-spoken women. He told me his +thought of woman was like what Wordsworth painted. At heart I think he +is a religious man." + +"Listen," said the Count, "I want to tell you something before I go. Sit +here; that's it," and he drew a chair close to his side. + +He spoke to her half earnestly, half cynically, watching her steadily +all the time. He noted the heaving of her bosom, the tremor of her lips, +the almost haunted look in her eyes, the smile of satisfied desire on +her face. + +"That is your plan of action," he concluded. "Remember, you play for +great stakes, and you must play boldly. You must play to win. There are +times when right and wrong are nothing to a man, and you must be willing +to risk everything. As for the rest, I will do it." + +Her face was suffused half with the flush of shame, half with excited +determination. + +"Very well," she said; "you shall be obeyed." + +"And I will keep my compact," said the Count. + +He left her without another word, and no sign of friendship passed +between them. + +When he reached the street, however, there was a look of doubt in his +eyes. He might have been afraid, for there was a kind of baffled rage on +his face. + +He stopped a passing taxi, and drove straight to his hotel. + +"Is he here?" he asked his valet as he entered his own room. + +"He is waiting, my lord." + +A minute later the little man who had visited him on the day after Dick +Faversham's return to Parliament appeared. + +"What report, Polonius?" asked Romanoff. + +"Nothing of great importance, I am afraid, my lord, but something." + +"Yes, what?" + +"He went to Wendover on the day I was unable to account for his +whereabouts." + +"Ah, you have discovered that, have you?" + +"Yes; I regret I missed him that day, but I trust I have gained your +lordship's confidence again." + +The Count reflected a few seconds. "Tell me what you know," he said +peremptorily. + +"He went down early, and had a talk with an old man at the station. Then +he walked to the house, and had a conversation with his old +housekeeper." + +"Do you know what was said?" + +"There was not much said. She told him there were rumours that Anthony +Riggleton was dead." + +The Count started as though a new thought had entered his mind; then he +turned towards his spy again. + +"He did not pay much attention to it," added Polonius, "neither did he +pay much attention to what she told him about Riggleton's doings at +Wendover." + +"Did he go through the house?" + +"No; he only stayed a few minutes, but he was seen looking very hard at +the front door, as though something attracted him. Then he returned by +another route, and had lunch with that old man who has a cottage near +one of the lodge gates." + +"Hugh Stanmore--yes, I remember." + +"After lunch he went through the park with the old man's granddaughter. +They were talking very earnestly." + +The Count leapt to his feet. + +"You saw this girl?" he asked. + +"Yes. A girl about twenty, I should think. Very pretty in a simple, +countrified way. She is very much loved among the cottage people. I +should say she's a very religious girl. I'm told that she has since +become engaged to be married to a Sir George Weston, who was a soldier +in Egypt." + +"Sir George Weston. Let me think. Yes; I remember. Ah, she is engaged to +be married to him, is she?" + +"That is the rumour. Sir George was staying at Stanmore's cottage at the +time of Faversham's visit. He left the day after." + +"And Faversham has not been there since?" + +"No, my lord." + +"Well, go on." + +"That is all I know." + +"Then you can go; you know my instructions. Remember, they must be +obeyed to the very letter." + +"They shall be--to the very letter." + +The Count entered another room, and opened a safe. From it he took some +papers, and read carefully. Then he sat thinking for a long time. +Presently he looked at his watch. + +Daylight had now gone, early as it was, for winter still gripped the +land. Some days there were suggestions of spring in the air, but they +were very few. The night was cold. + +The Count went to the window, and looked out over St. James's Park. +Great, black ominous-looking clouds rolled across the sky, but here and +there were patches of blue where stars could plainly be seen. He had +evidently made up his mind about something. + +His servant knocked at the door. + +"What time will your lordship dine?" + +"I shall not dine." + +"Very good, my lord." + +Count Romanoff passed into the street. For some time he walked, and +then, hailing a taxi-cab, drove to London Bridge. He did not drive +across the bridge, but stopped at the Cannon Street end. Having paid +the driver, he walked slowly towards the southern bank of the river. +Once he stood for more than a minute watching while the dark waters +rolled towards the sea. + +"What secrets the old river could tell if it could speak," he muttered; +"but all dark secrets--all dark." + +He found his way to the station, and mingled with the crowd there. + +Hours later he was nearly twenty miles from London, and he was alone on +a wide heath. Here and there dotted around the outskirts of the heath he +saw lights twinkling. + +The sky was brighter here; the clouds did not hang so heavily as in the +city, while between them he occasionally saw the pale crescent of a +waxing moon. All around him was the heath. + +He paid no heed to the biting cold, but walked rapidly along one of the +straight-cut roads through the heather and bushes. It was now getting +late, and no one was to be seen. There were only a few houses in the +district, and the inhabitants of these were doubtless ensconced before +cosy fires or playing games with their families. It was not a night to +be out. + +"What a mockery, what a miserable, dirty little mockery life is!" he +said aloud as he tramped along. "And what pigmies men are; what paltry, +useless things make up their lives! This is Walton Heath, and here I +suppose the legislators of the British Empire come to find their +amusement in knocking a golf-ball around. And men are applauded because +they can knock that ball a little straighter and a little farther than +someone else. But--but--and there comes the rub--these same men can +think--think right and wrong, do right and wrong. That fellow +Faversham--yes; what is it that makes him beat me?" + +Mile after mile he tramped, sometimes stopping to look at the sullen, +angry-looking clouds that swept across the sky, and again looking around +the heath as if trying to locate some object in which he was interested. + +Presently he reached a spot where the road cut through some woodland. +Dark pine trees waved their branches to the skies. In the near distance +the heath stretched away for miles, and although it was piercingly cold, +the scene was almost attractive. But here it was dark, gloomy, +forbidding. For some time he stood looking at the waving pine trees; it +might have been that he saw more than was plainly visible. + +"What fools, what blind fools men are!" he said aloud. "Their lives are +bounded by what they see, and they laugh at the spiritual world; they +scorn the suggestion that belting the earth are untold millions of +spirits of the dead. Here they are all around me. I can see them. I can +see them!" + +His eyes burnt red; his features were contorted as if by pain. + +"An eternal struggle," he cried--"just an eternal struggle between right +and wrong, good and evil--yes, good and evil! + +"And the good is slowly gaining the victory! Out of all the wild, mad +convulsions of the world, right is slowly emerging triumphant, the +savage is being subdued, and the human, the Divine, is triumphing." + +He lifted his right hand, and shook his fist to the heavens as if +defiantly. + +"I had great hopes of the War," he went on. "I saw hell let loose; I saw +the world mad for blood. Everywhere was the lust for blood; everywhere +men cried, 'Kill! kill!' And now it is over, and wrong is being +defeated--defeated!" + +He seemed to be in a mad frenzy, his voice shook with rage. + +"Dark spirits of hell!" he cried. "You have been beaten, beaten! Why, +even in this ghastly war, the Cross has been triumphant! Those +thousands, those millions of men who went out from this land, went out +for an ideal. They did not understand it, but it was so. They felt dimly +and indistinctly that they were fighting, dying, that others might live! +And some of the most heroic deeds ever known in the history of the world +were done. Men died for others, died for comradeship, died for duty, +died for country. Everywhere the Cross was seen! + +"And those fellows are not dead! They are alive! they have entered into +a greater life! + +"Why, even the ghastly tragedy of Russia, on which we built so much, +will only be the birth-pains which precede a new life! + +"Everywhere, everywhere the right, the good, is emerging triumphant!" + +He laughed aloud, a laugh of almost insane mockery. + +"But men are blind, blind! They do not realise the world of spirits that +is all around them, struggling, struggling. But through the ages the +spirits of the good are prevailing! + +"That is my punishment, my punishment spirits of hell, my punishment! +Day by day I see the final destruction of evil!" + +His voice was hoarse with agony. He might have been mad--mad with the +torture of despair. + +"All around me, all around me they live," he went on. "But I am not +powerless. I can still work my will. And Faversham shall be mine. I +swore it on the day he was born, swore it when his mother passed into +the world of spirits, swore it when his father joined her. What though +all creation is moving upwards, I can still drag him down, down into +hell! Yes, and she shall see him going down, she shall know, and then +she shall suffer as I have suffered. Her very heaven shall be made hell +to her, because she shall see her son become even what I have become!" + +He left the main road, and followed a disused drive through the wood. +Before long he came to a lonely house, almost hidden by the trees. A +dark gloomy place it was, dilapidated and desolate. Years before it had +perchance been the dwelling-place of some inoffensive respectable +householder who loved the quietness of the country. For years it was for +sale, and then it was bought by a stranger who never lived in it, but +let it fall into decay. + +Romanoff found his way to the main entrance of the house, and entered. +He ascended a stairway, and at length found his way to a room which was +furnished. Here he lit a curiously-shaped lamp. In half an hour the +place was warm, and suggested comfort. Romanoff sat like one deep in +thought. + +Presently he began to pace the room, uttering strange words as he +walked. He might have been repeating incantations, or weaving some +mystic charms. Then he turned out the lamp, and only the fire threw a +flickering light around the room. + +"My vital forces seem to fail me," he muttered; "even here it seems as +though there is good." + +Perspiration oozed from his forehead, and his face was as pale as death. + +Again he uttered wild cries; he might have been summoning unseen powers +to his aid. + +"They are here!" he shouted, and there was an evil joy in his face. Then +there was a change, fear came into his eyes. Looking across the room, he +saw two streaks of light in the form of a cross, while out of the +silence a voice came. + +"Cease!" said the Voice. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +HIS GUARDIAN ANGEL + + +Romanoff ceased speaking, and his eyes were fixed on the two streaks of +light. + +"Who are you? What do you want?" he asked. + +"I am here to bid you desist." + +"And who are you?" + +Slowly, between him and the light, a shadowy figure emerged. Second +after second its shape became more clearly outlined, until the form of a +woman appeared. But the face was obscure; it was dim and shadowy. + +Romanoff's eyes were fixed on the figure; but he uttered no sound. His +tongue was dry, and cleaved to the roof of his mouth. His lips were +parched. + +The face became plainer. Its lineaments were more clearly outlined. He +could see waves of light brown hair, eyes that were large and yearning +with a great tenderness and pity, yet lit up with joy and holy resolve. +A mouth tender as that of a child, but with all the firmness of mature +years. A haunting face it was, haunting because of its spiritual beauty, +its tenderness, its ineffable joy; and yet it was stern and strong. + +It was the face of the woman whom Dick Faversham had seen in the +smoke-room of the outward-bound vessel years before, the face that had +appeared to him at the doorway of the great house at Wendover. + +"You, you!" cried Romanoff at length. "You! Madaline?" + +"Yes!" + +"Why are you here?" + +"To plead with you, to beseech you to let my son alone." + +A change came over Romanoff's face as he heard the words. A new +strength seemed to have come to him. Confidence shone in his eyes, his +every feature spoke of triumph. + +"Your son! His son!" he cried harshly. "The son of the man for whom you +cast me into the outer darkness. But for him you might have been the +mother of _my_ son, and I--I should not have been what I am." + +"You are what you are because you have always yielded to the promptings +of evil," replied the woman. "That was why I never loved you--never +could love you." + +"But you looked at me with eyes of love until he came." + +"As you know, I was but a child, and when you came with your great name, +your great riches, you for a time fascinated me; but I never loved you. +I told you so before he came." + +"But I loved you," said Romanoff hoarsely. "You, the simple country +girl, fascinated me, the Russian noble. And I would have withheld +nothing from you. Houses, lands, position, a great name, all--all were +yours if you would have been my wife. But you rejected me." + +"I did not love you. I felt you were evil. I told you so." + +"What of that? I loved you. I swore I would win you. But you--you--a +simple country girl, poor, ignorant of the world's ways, resisted me, +me--Romanoff. And you married that insipid scholar fellow, leaving me +scorned, rejected. And I swore I would be revenged, living or dead. Then +your child was born and you died. I could not harm you, you were beyond +me, but your son lived. And I swore again. If I could not harm you, I +could harm him, I could destroy him. I gave myself over to evil for +that. I, too, have passed through the doorway which the world calls +death; but powers have been given me, powers to carry out my oath. While +his father was alive, I could do nothing, but since then my work has +been going forward. And I shall conquer, I shall triumph." + +"And I have come here to-night to plead with you on my son's behalf. He +has resisted wrong for a long time. Leave him in peace." + +"Never," cried Romanoff. "You passed into heaven, but your heaven shall +be hell, for your son shall go there. He shall become even as I am. His +joy shall be in evil." + +"Have you no pity, no mercy?" + +"None," replied Romanoff. "Neither pity nor mercy have a place in me. +You drove me to hell, and it is my punishment that the only joy which +may be mine is the joy of what you call evil." + +"Then have pity, have mercy on yourself." + +"Pity on myself? Mercy on myself? You talk in black ignorance." + +"No, I speak in light. Every evil you do only sinks you deeper in mire, +deeper in hell." + +"I cannot help that. It is my doom." + +"It is not your doom if you repent. If you turn your face, your spirit +to the light." + +"I cannot repent. I am of those who love evil. I hate mercy. I despise +pity." + +"Then I must seek to save him in spite of you." + +"You cannot," and a laugh of savage triumph accompanied his words. "I +have made my plans. Nothing which you can do will save him. He has been +given to me." + +For a few seconds there was tense unnatural silence. The room was full +of strange influences, as though conflicting forces were in opposition, +as though light and darkness, good and evil, were struggling together. + +"No, no, Madaline," went on Romanoff. "Now is my hour of triumph. The +son you love shall be mine." + +"Love is stronger than hate, good is stronger than evil," she replied. +"You are fighting against the Eternal Spirit of Good; you are fighting +against the Supreme Manifestation of that Goodness, which was seen two +thousand years ago on the Cross of Calvary." + +"The Cross of Calvary!" replied Romanoff, and his voice was hoarse; "it +is the symbol of defeat, of degradation, of despair. For two thousand +years it has been uplifted, but always to fail." + +"Always to conquer," was the calm reply. "Slowly but surely, age after +age, it has been subduing kingdoms, working righteousness, lifting man +up to the Eternal Goodness. It has through all the ages been overcoming +evil with good, and bringing the harmonies of holiness out of the +discord of sin." + +"Think of this war!" snarled Romanoff. "Think of Germany, think of +Russia! What is the world but a mad hell?" + +"Out of it all will Goodness shine. I cannot understand all, for full +understanding only belongs to the Supreme Father of Lights. But I am +sure of the end. Already the morning is breaking, already light is +shining out of the darkness. Men's eyes are being opened, they are +seeing visions and dreaming dreams. They are seeing the end of war, and +talking of Leagues of Nations, of the Brotherhood of the world." + +"But that does not do away with the millions who have died in battle. It +does not atone for blighted and ruined homes, and the darkness of the +world." + +"Not one of those who fell in battle is dead. They are all alive. I have +seen them, spoken to them. And the Eternal Goodness is ever with them, +ever bearing them up. They have done what they knew to be their duty, +and they have entered into their reward." + +"What, the Evil and the Good together?" sneered Romanoff. "That were +strange justice surely." + +"Shall not the Judge of all the Earth do Right? They are all in His +care, and His pity and His love are Infinite. That is why I plead with +you." + +"What, to spare your son? If what you say is true I am powerless. But I +am not. Wrong is stronger than right. I defy you." + +"Then is it to be a fight between us?" + +"If you will. He must be mine." + +"And what then?" There was ineffable sorrow in the woman's voice. "Would +you drag him into aeons of pain and anguish to satisfy your revenge?" + +"I would, and I will. What if right is stronger than wrong, as you say? +What if in the end right shall drag him through hell to heaven? I shall +still know that he has lived in hell, and thus shall I have my +revenge." + +"And I, who am his mother, am also his ministering angel, and it is my +work to save him from you." + +"And you are powerless--powerless, I tell you?" + +"All power is not given to us, but God has given His angels power to +help and save." + +"If you have such power, why am I not vanquished?" + +"Have you not been vanquished many times?" + +"Not once!" cried Romanoff. "Little by little I have been enveloping him +in my toils." + +"Think," replied the other. "When he was tossing on the angry sea, whose +arms bore him up? Think again, why was it when you and he were in the +library together at Wendover, and you tempted him to sell his soul for +gain;--whose hand was placed on his, and stopped him from signing the +paper which would have made him your slave?" + +"Was it you?" gasped Romanoff. + +"Think again. When the woman you selected sought to dazzle him with wild +dreams of power and ambition, and who almost blinded him to the truth, +what led him to discard the picture that came to him as inventions of +evil? Who helped to open his eyes?" + +"Then you--you," gasped Romanoff--"you have been fighting against me all +the time! It was you, was it?" + +"I was his mother, I am his mother; and I, who never intentionally did +you harm, plead with you again. I love him, even as all true mothers, +whether on earth or in the land of spirits, love their children. And I +am allowed to watch over him, to protect him, to help him. It is my joy +to be his guardian angel, and I plead with you to let him be free from +your designs." + +"And if I will--what reward will you give me?" + +"I will seek to help you from your doom--the doom which must be the lot +of those who persist in evil." + +"That is not enough. No, I will carry out my plans; I will drag him to +hell." + +"And I, if need be, will descend into hell to save him." + +"You cannot, you cannot!" and triumph rang in his voice. "I swore to +drag him to hell, swore that his soul should be given over to evil." + +The woman's face seemed to be drawn with pain, her eyes were filled with +infinite yearning and tenderness. She moved her lips as if in speech, +but Romanoff could distinguish no words. Then her form grew dimmer and +dimmer until there was only a shadowy outline of what had been clear and +distinct. + +"What do you say? I cannot hear!" and his voice was mocking. + +The man continued to look at the place where he had seen her, but, as +her form disappeared, the two shafts of light grew more and more +luminous. He saw the bright shining Cross distinctly outlined, and his +eyes burnt with a great terror. Then out of the silence, out of the wide +spaces which surrounded the house, out of the broad expanse of the +heavens, words came to him: + +"Underneath, _underneath_, UNDERNEATH are the Everlasting Arms." + +Fascinated, Romanoff gazed, seeing nothing but the shining outline of +the Cross, while the air seemed to pulsate with the great words I have +set down. + +Then slowly the Cross became more and more dim, until at length it +became invisible. The corner of the room which had been illumined by its +radiance became full of dark shadows. Silence became profound. + +"What does it mean?" he gasped. "She left me foiled, defeated, in +despair. But the Cross shone. The words filled everything." + +For more than a minute he stood like one transfixed, thinking, thinking. + +"It means this," he said presently, and the words came from him in +hoarse gasps, "it means that I am to have my way; it means that I shall +conquer him--drag him to hell; but that underneath hell are the +Everlasting Arms. Well, let it be so. I shall have had my revenge. The +son shall suffer what the mother made me suffer, and she shall suffer +hell, too, because she shall see her son in hell." + +He turned and placed more wood on the fire, then throwing himself in an +arm-chair he sat for hours, brooding, thinking. + +"Yes, Olga will do it," he concluded after a long silence. "The story of +the Garden of Eden is an eternal principle. 'The woman tempted me and I +did eat,' is the story of the world's sin. He is a man, with all a man's +passions, and she is a Venus, a Circe--a woman--and all men fall when a +woman tempts." + +All through the night he kept his dark vigils; there in the dark house, +with only flickering lights from the fire, he worked out his plans, and +schemed for the destruction of a man's soul. + +In the grey dawn of the wintry morning he was back in London again; but +although the servants looked at him questioningly when he entered his +hotel, as if wondering where he had been, he told no man of his doings. +All his experiences were secret to himself. + +During the next few days the little man Polonius seemed exceptionally +busy; three times he went to Wendover, where there seemed to be many +matters that interested him. Several times he made his way to the War +Office, where he appeared to have acquaintances, and where he asked many +questions. He also found his way to the block of buildings where Dick +Faversham's flat was situated, and although Dick never saw him, he +appeared to be greatly interested in the young man's goings out and his +comings in. He also went to the House of Commons, and made the +acquaintance of many Labour Members. Altogether Polonius's time was much +engaged. He went to Count Romanoff's hotel, too, but always late at +night, and he had several interviews with that personage, whom he +evidently held in great awe. + +More than a week after Romanoff's experiences at Walton Heath, Olga +Petrovic received a letter which made her very thoughtful. There was a +look of fear in her eyes as she read, as though it contained disturbing +news. + +And yet it appeared commonplace and innocent enough, and it contained +only a few lines. Perhaps it was the signature which caused her cheeks +to blanch, and her lips to quiver. + +This was how it ran: + + "DEAR OLGA,--You must get F. to take you to dinner on Friday + night next. You must go to the Moscow Restaurant, and be there + by 7.45 prompt. Please look your handsomest, and spare no pains + to be agreeable. When the waiter brings you liqueurs be + especially fascinating. Act on the Berlin plan. This is very + important, as a danger has arisen which I had not calculated + upon. The time for action has now come, and I need not remind + you how much success means to you. + + "ROMANOFF. + + "P.S.--Destroy this as you have destroyed all other correspondence + from me. I shall know whether this is done.--R." + + +This was the note which had caused Olga Petrovic's cheeks to pale. After +reading it again, she sat thinking for a long time, while more than once +her face was drawn as if by spasms of pain. + +Presently she went to her desk, and taking some scented notepaper, she +wrote a letter. She was evidently very particular about the wording, for +she tore up several sheets before she had satisfied herself. There was +the look of an evil woman in her eyes as she sealed it, but there was +something else, too; there was an expression of indescribable longing. + +The next afternoon Dick Faversham came to her flat and found Olga +Petrovic alone. He had come in answer to her letter. + +"Have I done anything to offend you, Mr. Faversham?" she asked, as she +poured out tea. + +"Offend me, Countess? I never thought of such a thing. Why do you ask?" + +"You were so cold, so distant when you were here last--and that was +several days ago." + +"I have been very busy," replied Dick. + +"While I have been very lonely." + +"Lonely! You lonely, Countess?" + +"Yes, very lonely. How little men know women. Because a number of silly, +chattering people have been here when you have called, you have +imagined that my life has been full of pleasure, that I have been +content. But I haven't a friend in the world, unless----" She lifted her +great languishing eyes to his for a moment, and sighed. + +"Unless what?" asked Dick. + +"Nothing, nothing. Why should you care about the loneliness of a woman?" + +"I care a great deal," replied Dick. "You have been very kind to me--a +lonely man." + +From that moment she became very charming. His words gave her the +opening she sought, and a few minutes later she had led him to the +channel of conversation which she desired. + +"You do not mind?" she said presently. "I know you are the kind of man +who finds it a bore to take a woman out to dinner. But there will be a +wonderful band at The Moscow, and I love music." + +"It will be a pleasure, a very great pleasure," replied Dick. + +"And you will not miss being away from the House of Commons for a few +hours, will you? I will try to be very nice." + +"As though you needed to try," cried Dick. "As though you could be +anything else." + +She looked half coyly, half boldly into his eyes. + +"To-morrow night then?" she said. + +"Yes, to-morrow night. At half-past seven I will be here." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +AT THE CAFE MOSCOW + + +During the few days which had preceded Dick's visit to the Countess +Olga's house, he had been very depressed. The excitement which he had at +first felt in going to the House of Commons as the Member for Eastroyd +had gone. He found, too, that the "Mother of Parliaments" was different +from what he had expected. + +The thing that impressed him most was the difficulty in getting anything +done. The atmosphere of the place was in the main lethargic. Men came +there for the first time, enthusiastic and buoyant, determined to do +great things; but weeks, months, years passed by, and they had done +nothing. In their constituencies crowds flocked to hear them, and +applauded them to the echo; but in the House of Commons they had to +speak to empty benches, and the few who remained to hear them, yawned +while they were speaking, and only waited because they wanted to catch +the Speaker's eye. + +Dick had felt all this, and much more. It seemed to him that as a +legislator he was a failure, and that the House of Commons was the most +disappointing place in the world. Added to this he was heart-sore and +despondent. His love for Beatrice Stanmore was hopeless. News of her +engagement to Sir George Weston had been confirmed, and thus joy had +gone out of his life. + +Why it was, Dick did not know; but he knew now that he had loved +Beatrice Stanmore from the first time he had seen her. He was constantly +recalling the hour when she first came into his life. She and her +grandfather had come to Wendover when he was sitting talking, with +Romanoff, and he remembered how the atmosphere of the room changed the +moment she entered. His will-power was being sapped, his sense of right +and wrong was dulled; yet no sooner did she appear than his will-power +came back, his moral perceptions became keen. + +It was the same at her second visit. He had been like a man under a +spell; he had become almost paralysed by Romanoff's philosophy of life, +helpless to withstand the picture he held before his eyes; yet on the +sudden coming of this bright-eyed girl everything had changed. She made +him live in a new world. He remembered going outside with her, and they +had talked about angels. + +How vivid it all was to him! Everything was sweeter, brighter, purer, +because of her. Her simple, childish faith, her keen intuition had made +his materialism seem so much foolishness. Her eyes pierced the dark +clouds; she was an angel of God, pointing upward. + +He knew the meaning of it now. His soul had found a kindred soul, even +although he had not known it; he had loved her then, although he was +unaware of the fact. But ever since he had learnt the secret of his +heart he had understood. + +But it was too late. He was helpless, hopeless. She had given her heart +to this soldier, this man of riches and position. Oh, what a mockery +life was! He had seen the gates of heaven, he had caught a glimpse of +what lay beyond, but he could not enter, and in his disappointment and +hopelessness, despair gnawed at his heart like a canker. + +Thus Dick Faversham was in a dangerous mood. That was why the siren-like +presence of Olga Petrovic acted upon his senses like an evil charm. Oh, +if he had only known! + +At half-past seven on the Friday night he called at her flat, and he had +barely entered the room before she came to him. Evidently she regarded +it as a great occasion, for she was resplendently attired. Yet not too +much so. Either she, or her maid, instinctively knew what exactly suited +her kind of beauty; for not even the most critical could have found +fault with her. + +What a glorious creature she was! Shaped like a goddess, her clothes +accentuated her charms. Evidently, too, she was intent on pleasing him. +Her face was wreathed in smiles, her eyes shone with dangerous +brightness. There was witchery, allurement in her presence--she was a +siren. + +Dick almost gave a gasp as he saw her. A girl in appearance, a girl with +all the winsomeness and attractiveness of youth, yet a woman with all a +woman's knowledge of man's weakness--a woman bent on being captivating. + +"Do I please your Majesty?" and her eyes flashed as the words passed her +lips. + +"Please me!" he gasped. "You are wonderful, simply wonderful." + +"I want you to be pleased," she whispered, and Dick thought he saw her +blush. + +They entered the motor-car together, and as she sat by his side he felt +as though he were in dreamland. A delicate perfume filled the air, and +the knowledge that he was going to dine with her, amidst brightness and +gaiety, made him forgetful of all else. + +They were not long in reaching The Moscow, one of the most popular and +fashionable restaurants in London. He saw at a glance, as he looked +around him, that the wealth, the beauty, the fashion of London were +there. The waiter led them to a table from which they could command +practically the whole room, and where they could be seen by all. But he +took no notice of this. He was almost intoxicated by the brilliance of +the scene, by the fascination of the woman who sat near him. + +"For once," she said, "let us forget dull care, let us be happy." + +He laughed gaily. "Why not?" he cried. "All the same, I wonder what my +constituents at Eastroyd would say if they saw me here?" + +She gave a slight shrug, and threw off the light gossamer shawl which +had somewhat hidden her neck and shoulders. Her jewels flashed back the +light which shone overhead, her eyes sparkled like stars. + +"Let us forget Eastroyd," she cried; "let us forget everything sordid +and sorrowing. Surely there are times when one should live only for +gladness, for joy. Is not the music divine? There, listen! Did I not +tell you that some of the most wonderful artists in London play here? +Do you know what it makes me think of?" + +"I would love to know," he responded, yielding to her humour. + +"But I must not tell you--I dare not. I am going to ask a favour of you, +my friend. Will you grant it, without asking me what it is?" + +"Of course I will grant it." + +"Oh, it is little, nothing after all. Only let me choose the wine +to-night." + +"Why not? I am no wine drinker, and am no judge of vintages." + +"Ah, but you must drink with me to-night. To-night I am queen, and you +are----" + +"Yes, what am I?" asked Dick with a laugh, as she stopped. + +"You are willing to obey your queen, aren't you?" + +"Who would not be willing to obey such a queen?" was his reply. + +The waiter hovered around them, attending to their slightest wants. Not +only was the restaurant noted as being a rendezvous for the beauty and +fashion of London, but it boasted the best _chef_ in England. Every dish +was more exquisite than the last, and everything was served in a way to +please the most captious. + +The dinner proceeded. Course followed course, while sweet music was +discoursed, and Dick felt in a land of enchantment. For once he gave +himself over to enjoyment--he banished all saddening thoughts. He was in +a world of brightness and song; every sight, every sound drove away dull +care. To-morrow he would have to go back to the grim realities of life; +but now he allowed himself to be swept along by the tide of laughter and +gaiety. + +"You seem happy, my friend," said the woman presently. "Never before did +I see you so free from dull care, never did I see you so full of the joy +of life. Well, why not? Life was given to us to be happy. Yes, yes, I +know. You have your work to do; but not now. I should feel miserable for +days if I thought I could not charm away sadness from you--especially +to-night." + +"Why to-night?" + +"Because it is the first time we have ever dined together. I should pay +you a poor compliment, shouldn't I, if when you took me to a place where +laughter abounded I did not bring laughter to your lips and joy to your +heart. Let us hope that this is the first of the many times we may dine +together. Yes; what are you thinking about?" + +"That you are a witch, a wonder, a miracle of beauty and of charm. +There, I know I speak too freely." + +He ceased speaking suddenly. + +"I love to hear you speak so. I would rather--but what is the matter?" + +Dick did not reply. His eyes were riveted on another part of the room, +and he had forgotten that she was speaking. Seated at a table not far +away were three people, two men and a woman. The men were Sir George +Weston and Hugh Stanmore. The woman was Beatrice Stanmore. Evidently the +lover had brought his fiancee and her grandfather there that night. It +seemed to Dick that Weston had an air of proprietorship, as he acted the +part of host. He watched while the baronet smiled on her and spoke to +her. It would seem, too, that he said something pleasant, for the girl +laughed gaily, and her eyes sparkled with delight. + +"You see someone you know?" and Olga Petrovic's eyes followed his gaze. +"Ah, you are looking at the table where that pretty but rather +countrified girl is sitting with the old man with the white hair, and +the other who looks like a soldier. Ah yes, you know them, my friend?" + +"I have seen them--met them," he stammered. + +"Ah, then you know who they are? I do not know them, they are strangers +to me; but I can tell you about them. Shall I?" + +"Yes." His eyes were still riveted on them, and he did not know he had +spoken. + +"The girl is the younger man's fiancee. They have lately become engaged. +Don't you see how he smiles on her? And look how she smiles back. She is +deeply in love with him, that is plain. There, don't you see--she has a +ring on her engagement finger. They are very happy. I think the man has +brought the girl and the old man here as a kind of celebration dinner. +Presently they will go to some place of amusement. She seems a poor +simpering thing; but they are evidently deeply in love with each other. +Tell me, am I not right?" + +Dick did not reply. What he had seen stung him into a kind of madness. +He was filled with reckless despair. What matter what he did, what +happened to him? Of course he knew of the engagement, but the sight of +them together unhinged his mind, kept him from thinking coherently. + +"You seem much interested in them, my friend; do you know them well? Ah, +they have finished dinner, I think. There, they are looking at us; the +girl is asking who we are, or, perhaps, she has recognised you." + +For a moment Dick felt his heart stop beating; yes, she was coming his +way. She must pass his table in order to get out. + +With a kind of despairing recklessness he seized the wineglass by his +side and drained it. He was hardly master of himself; he talked rapidly, +loudly. + +The waiter appeared with liqueurs. + +"Yes," cried the Countess, with a laugh; "I chose the wine--I must +choose the liqueurs also. It is my privilege." + +The waiter poured out the spirits with a deft hand, while the woman +laughed. Her eyes sparkled more brightly then ever; her face had a look +of set purpose. + +"This is the only place in London where one can get this liqueur," she +cried. "What is it? I don't know. But I am told it is exquisite. There! +I drink to you!" + +She lifted the tiny glass to her lips, while her eyes, large, black, +bold, seductive, dangerous, flashed into his. + +"Drink, my friend," she said, and her voice reached some distance around +her; "it is the drink of love, of _love_, the only thing worth living +for. Drain it to the bottom, and let us be happy." + +He lifted the glass, but ere it reached his lips he saw that Beatrice +Stanmore and her companions were close to him, and that she must have +heard what Olga Petrovic had said. In spite of the fact that he had +drunk of rich, strong wine, and that it tingled through his veins like +some fabled elixir, he felt his heart grow cold. He saw a look on the +girl's face which startled him--frightened him. But she was not looking +at him; her eyes were fixed on his companion. + +And he saw the expression of terror, of loathing, of horror. It made him +think of an angel gazing into the pit of hell. But Olga Petrovic seemed +unconscious of her presence. Her eyes were fixed on Dick's face. She +seemed to be pleading with him, fascinating him, compelling him to think +only of her. + +Meanwhile Hugh Stanmore and Sir George Weston hesitated, as if doubtful +whether they should speak. + +Dick half rose. He wanted to speak to Beatrice. To tell her--what, he +did not know. But he was not master of himself. He was dizzy and +bewildered. Perhaps it was because he was unaccustomed to drink wine, +and the rich vintage had flown to his head--perhaps because of +influences which he could not understand. + +"Beatrice--Miss Stanmore," he stammered in a hoarse, unnatural voice, so +hoarse and unnatural that the words were scarcely articulated, +"this--this _is_ a surprise." + +He felt how inane he was. He might have been intoxicated. What must +Beatrice think of him? + +But still she did not look at him. Her eyes were still fixed on Olga's +face. She seemed to be trying to read her, to pierce her very soul. Then +suddenly she turned towards Dick, who had dropped into his chair again, +and was still holding the tiny glass in his hand. + +"You do not drink, Dick," said Olga Petrovic, and her voice, though low +and caressing, was plainly to be heard. "You must drink, because I chose +it, and it is the drink of love--the only thing worth living for," and +all the time her eyes were fixed on his face. + +Almost unconsciously he turned towards her, and his blood seemed turned +to fire. Madness possessed him; he felt a slave to the charms of this +bewitching woman, even while the maiden for whom his heart longed with +an unutterable longing was only two or three yards from him. He lifted +the glass again, and the fiery liquid passed his lips. + +Again he looked at Beatrice, and it seemed to him that he saw horror and +disgust in her face. Something terrible had happened; it seemed to him +that he was enveloped in some form of black magic from which he could +not escape. + +Then rage filled his heart. The party passed on without further notice +of him, and he saw Beatrice speak to Sir George Weston. What she said to +him he did not know, but he caught a part of his reply. + +"I heard of her in Vienna. She had a curious reputation. Her _salon_ was +the centre of attraction to a peculiar class of men. Magnificent, +but----" + +That was all he heard. He was not sure he heard even that. There was a +hum of voices, and the sound of laughter everywhere, and so it was +difficult for him to be sure of what any particular person said. Neither +might the words apply to the woman at his side. + +Bewildered, he turned towards Olga again, caught the flash of her eyes' +wild fire, and was again fascinated by the bewildering seductiveness of +her charms. What was the matter with him? He did not seem master of +himself. Everything was strange--bewildering. + +Perhaps it was because of the wine he had drunk, perhaps because that +fiery liquid had inflamed his imagination; but it seemed to him that +nothing mattered. Right! Wrong! What were they? Mere abstractions, the +fancies of a diseased mind. Wild recklessness filled his heart. He had +seen Beatrice Stanmore smile on Sir George Weston, and he had heard the +woman at his side say that she, Beatrice, wore this Devonshire squire's +ring. + +Well, what then? Why should he care? + +And all the time Olga Petrovic was by his side. She had seemed +unconscious of Beatrice's presence; she had not noticed the look of +horror and loathing in the girl's eyes. She was only casting a spell on +him--a spell he could not understand. + +Then he had a peculiar sensation. This mysterious woman was bewitching +him. She was sapping his will even as Romanoff had sapped it years +before. Why did he connect them? + +"Countess," he said, "do you know Count Romanoff?" + +The woman hesitated a second before replying. + +"Dick," she said, "you must not call me Countess. You know my name, +don't you? Count Romanoff? No, I never heard of him." + +"Let us get away from here," he cried. "I feel as though I can't +breathe." + +"I'm so sorry. Let us go back home and spend the evening quietly. Oh, I +forgot. Sir Felix and Lady Fordham are calling at ten o'clock. You don't +mind, do you?" + +"No, no. I shall be glad to meet them." + +A few minutes later they were moving rapidly towards Olga Petrovic's +flat, Dick still excited, and almost irresponsible, the woman with a +look of exultant triumph on her face. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +THE SHADOW OF A GREAT TERROR + + +"Sit down, my friend. Sir Felix and Lady Fordham have not come; but what +matter? There, take this chair. Ah, you look like yourself again. Has it +ever struck you that you are a handsome man? No; I do not flatter. I +looked around The Moscow to-night, and there was not a man in the room +to compare with you--not one who looked so distinguished, so much--a +man. I felt so glad--so proud." + +He felt himself sink in the luxuriously upholstered chair, while she sat +at his feet and looked up into his face. + +"Now, then, you are king; you are seated on your throne, while I, your +slave, am at your feet, ready to obey your will. Is not that the story +of man and woman?" + +He did not answer He was struggling, struggling and fighting, and yet he +did not know against what he was fighting. Besides, he had no heart in +the battle. His will-power was gone; his vitality was lowered; he felt +as though some powerful narcotic were in his blood, deadening his +manhood, dulling all moral purpose. He was intoxicated by the influences +of the hour, careless as to what might happen to him, and yet by some +strange contradiction he was afraid. The shadow of a great terror rested +on him. + +And Olga Petrovic seemed to know--to understand. + +She started to her feet. "You have never heard me sing, have you? Ah no, +of course you have not. And has it not ever been in song and story that +the slave of her lord's will discoursed sweet music to him? Is there not +some old story about a shepherd boy who charmed away the evil spirits of +the king by music?" + +She sat at a piano, and began to play soft, dreamy music. Her fingers +scarcely touched the keys, and yet the room was filled with peculiar +harmonies. + +"You understand French, do you not, my friend? Yes; I know you do." + +She began to sing. What the words were he never remembered afterwards, +but he knew they possessed a strange power over him. They dulled his +fears; they charmed his senses; they seemed to open up long vistas of +beauty and delight. He seemed to be in a kind of Mohammedan Paradise, +where all was sunshine and song. + +How long she sung he could not tell; what she said to him he hardly +knew. He only knew that he sat in a luxuriously appointed room, while +this wonder of womanhood charmed him. + +Presently he knew that she was making love to him, and that he was +listening with eager ears. Not only did he seem to have no power to +resist her--he had no desire to do so. He did not ask whether she was +good or evil; he ceased to care what the future might bring forth. And +yet he had a kind of feeling that something was wrong, hellish--only it +did not matter to him. This woman loved him, while all other love was +impossible to him. + +Beatrice! Ah, but Beatrice had looked at him with horror; all her smiles +were given to another man--the man to whom she had promised to give +herself as his wife. What mattered, then? + +But there was a new influence in the room! It seemed to him as if a +breath of sweet mountain air had been wafted to him--air full of the +strength of life, sweet, pure life. The scales fell from his eyes and he +saw. + +The woman again sat at his feet, looking up at him with love-compelling +eyes, and he saw her plainly. But he saw more: the wrappings were torn +from her soul, and he beheld her naked spirit. + +He shuddered. What he saw was evil--evil. Instead of the glorious face +of Olga Petrovic, he saw a grinning skull; instead of the dulcet tones +of her siren-like voice, he heard the hiss of snakes, the croaking of a +raven. + +He was standing on the brink of a horrible precipice, while beneath him +was black, unfathomable darkness, filled with strange, noisome sounds. + +What did it mean? He still beheld the beauty--the somewhat Oriental +beauty of the room; he was still aware of the delicate odours that +pervaded it, while this woman, glorious in her queenly splendour, was at +his feet, charming him with words of love, with promises of delight; but +it seemed to him that other eyes, other powers of vision, were given to +him, and he saw beyond. + +Was that Romanoff's cynical, evil face? Were not his eyes watching them +with devilish expectancy? Was he not even then gloating over the loss of +his manhood, the pollution of his soul? + +"Hark, what is that?" + +"What, my friend? Nothing, nothing." + +"But I heard something--something far away." + +She laughed with apparent gaiety, yet there was uneasiness in her voice. + +"You heard nothing but my foolish confession, Dick. I love you, love +you! Do you hear? I love you. I tried to kill it--in vain. But what +matter? Love is everything--there is nothing else to live for. And you +and I are all the world. Your love is mine. Tell me, is it not so? And I +am yours, my beloved, yours for ever." + +But he only half heard her; forces were at work in his life which he +could not comprehend. A new longing came to him--the longing for a +strong, clean manhood. + +"Do you believe in angels?" he asked suddenly. + +Why the question passed his lips he did not know, but it sprung to his +lips without thought or effort on his part. Then he remembered. Beatrice +Stanmore had asked him that question weeks before down at Wendover Park. + +Angels! His mind became preternaturally awake; his memory flashed back +across the chasm of years. + +"Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them +who shall be heirs of salvation?" + +Yes; he remembered the words. The old clergyman had repeated them years +before, when he had seen the face of the woman which no other man could +see. + +Like lightning his mind swept down the years, and he remembered the +wonderful experiences which had had such a marked influence on his life. + +"Angels!" laughed the woman. "There are no angels save those on earth, +my friend. There is no life other than this, so let us be happy." + +"Look, look!" he cried, pointing to a part of the room which was only +dimly lit. "She is there, there! Don't you see? Her hand is pointing +upward!" + +Slowly the vision faded, and he saw nothing. + +Then came the great temptation of Dick Faversham's life. His will-power, +his manhood, had come back to him again, but he felt that he had to +fight his battle alone. His eyes were open, but because at his heart was +a gnawing despair, he believed there was nothing to live for save what +his temptress promised. + +She pleaded as only a woman jealous for her love, determined to triumph, +can plead. And she was beautiful, passionate, dangerous. Again he felt +his strength leaving him, his will-power being sapped, his horror of +wrong dulled. + +Still something struggled within him--something holy urged him to fight +on. His manhood was precious; the spark of the Divine fire which still +burnt refused to be extinguished. + +"Lord, have mercy upon me! Christ, have mercy upon me!" + +It was a part of the service he had so often repeated in the old school +chapel, and it came back to him like the memory of a dream. + +"Countess," he said, "I must go." + +"No, no, Dick," cried the woman, with a laugh. "Why, it is scarcely ten +o'clock." + +"I must go," he repeated weakly. + +"Not for another half an hour. I am so lonely." + +He was hesitating whether he should stay, when they both heard the sound +of voices outside--voices that might have been angry. A moment later the +door opened, and Beatrice Stanmore came in, accompanied by her +grandfather. + +"Forgive me," panted the girl, "but I could not help coming. Something +told me you were in great danger--ill--dying, and I have come." + +She had come to him just as she had come to him that night at Wendover +Park, and at her coming the power of Romanoff was gone. It was the same +now. As if by magic, he felt free from the charm of Olga Petrovic. The +woman was evil, and he hated evil. + +Again the eyes of Beatrice Stanmore were fixed on the face of Olga +Petrovic. She did not speak, but her look was expressive of a great +loathing. + +"Surely this is a strange manner to disturb one's privacy," said the +Countess. "I am at a loss to know to what I am indebted for this +peculiar attention. I must speak to my servants." + +But Beatrice spoke no word in reply to her. Turning towards Dick again, +she looked at him for a few seconds. + +"I am sorry I have disturbed you," she said. "Something, I do not know +what, told me you were in some terrible danger, and I went back to the +restaurant. A man there told us you had come here. I am glad I was +mistaken. Forgive me, I will go now." + +"I am thankful you came," said Dick. "I--I am going." + +"Good-night, Countess," he added, turning to Olga, and without another +word turned to leave the room. But Olga Petrovic was not in the humour +to be baffled. She rushed towards him and caught his arm. + +"You cannot go yet," she cried. "You must not go like this, Dick; I +cannot allow you. Besides, I want an explanation. These people, who are +they? Dick, why are they here?" + +"I must go," replied Dick sullenly. "I have work to do." + +"Work!" she cried. "This is not the time for work, but love--our love, +Dick. Ah, I remember now. This girl was at The Moscow with that soldier +man. They love each other. Why may we not love each other too? Stay, +Dick." + +But she pleaded in vain. The power of her spell had gone. Something +strong, virile, vital, stirred within him, and he was master of +himself. + +"Good-night, Countess," he replied. "Thank you for your kind invitation, +but I must go." + +He scarcely knew where he was going, and he had only a dim remembrance +of refusing to take the lift and of stumbling down the stairs. He +thought he heard old Hugh Stanmore talking with Beatrice, but he was not +sure; he fancied, too, that they were close behind him, but he was too +bewildered to be certain of anything. + +A few minutes later he was tramping towards his own humble flat, and as +he walked he was trying to understand the meaning of what had taken +place. + + * * * * * + +Olga Petrovic had been alone only a few seconds, when Count Romanoff +entered the room. Evidently he had been in close proximity all the time. +In his eyes was the look of an angry beast at bay; his face was +distorted, his voice hoarse. + +"And you have allowed yourself to be beaten--beaten!" he taunted. + +But the woman did not speak. Her hands were clenched, her lips +tremulous, while in her eyes was a look of unutterable sorrow. + +"But we have not come to the end of our little comedy yet, Olga," went +on Romanoff. "You have still your chance of victory." + +"Comedy!" she repeated; "it is the blackest tragedy." + +"Tragedy, eh? Yes; it will be tragedy if you fail." + +"And I must fail," she cried. "I am powerless to reach him, and yet I +would give my heart's blood to win his love. But go, go! Let me never +see your face again." + +"You will not get rid of me so easily," mocked the Count. "We made our +pact. I will keep my side of it, and you must keep yours." + +"I cannot, I tell you. Something, something I cannot understand, mocks +me." + +"You love the fellow still," said Romanoff. "Fancy, Olga Petrovic is +weak enough for that." + +"Yes, I love him," cried the woman--"I admit it--love him with every +fibre of my being. But not as you would have me love him. I have tried +to obey you; but I am baffled. The man's clean, healthy soul makes me +ashamed. God alone knows how ashamed I am! And it is his healthiness of +soul that baffles me." + +"No, it is not," snarled Romanoff. "It is because I have been opposed by +one of whom I was ignorant. That chit of a girl, that wayside flower, +whom I would love to see polluted by the filth of the world, has been +used to beat me. Don't you see? The fellow is in love with her. He has +been made to love her. That is why you have failed." + +Mad jealousy flashed into the woman's eyes. "He loves her?" she asked, +and her voice was hoarse. + +"Of course he does. Will you let him have her?" + +"He cannot. Is she not betrothed to that soldier fellow?" + +"What if she is? Was there not love in her eyes as she came here +to-night? Would she have come merely for Platonic friendship? Olga, if +you do not act quickly, you will have lost him--lost him for ever." + +"But I have lost him!" she almost wailed. + +"You have not, I tell you. Go to her to-night. Tell her that Faversham +is not the man she thinks he is. Tell her--but I need not instruct you +as to that. You know what to say. Then when he goes to her to explain, +as he will go, she will drive him from her, Puritan fool as she is, with +loathing and scorn! After that your turn will come again." + +For some time they talked, she protesting, he explaining, threatening, +cajoling, promising, and at length he overcame. With a look of +determination in her eyes, she left her flat, and drove to the hotel +where Romanoff told her that Hugh Stanmore and Beatrice were staying. + +Was Miss Beatrice Stanmore in the hotel? she asked when she entered the +vestibule. + +Yes, she was informed, Miss Stanmore had returned with her grandfather +only half an hour before. + +She took one of her visiting cards and wrote on it hastily. + +"Will you take it to her at once," she commanded the servant, and she +handed him the card. "Tell her that it is extremely urgent." + +"But it is late, your ladyship," protested the man; "and I expect she +has retired." + +Nevertheless he went. A look from the woman compelled obedience. A few +minutes later he returned. + +"Will you be pleased to follow me, your ladyship?" he said. "Miss +Stanmore will see you." + +Olga Petrovic followed him with a steady step, but in her eyes was a +look of fear. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +THE TRIUMPH OF GOOD + + +Beatrice Stanmore was sitting in a tiny room as the Countess Olga +Petrovic entered. It was little more than a dressing-room, and adjoined +her bedroom. She rose at Olga's entrance, and looked at the woman +intently. She was perfectly calm, and was far more at ease than her +visitor. + +"I hope you will pardon the liberty I have taken," and Olga spoke in +sweet, low tones; "but I came to plead for your forgiveness. I was +unutterably rude to you to-night, and I felt I could not sleep until I +was assured of your pardon." + +"Won't you sit down?" and Beatrice pointed to a chair as she spoke. "I +will ask my grandfather to come here." + +"But, pardon me," cried Olga eagerly, "could we not remain alone? I have +much to say to you--things which I can say to you only." + +"Then it was not simply to ask my pardon that you came?" retorted +Beatrice. "Very well, I will hear you." + +She was utterly different from the sensitive, almost timid girl whom +Dick Faversham had spoken to at Wendover. It was evident that she had no +fear of her visitor. She spoke in plain matter-of-fact terms. + +For a few seconds the older woman seemed to be at a loss what to say. +The young inexperienced girl disturbed her confidence, her +self-assurance. + +"I came to speak to you about Mr. Faversham," she began, after an +awkward silence. + +Beatrice Stanmore made no remark, but sat quietly as if waiting for her +to continue. + +"You know Mr. Faversham?" continued the woman. + +"Yes, I know him." + +"Forgive me for speaking so plainly; but you have an interest in him +which is more than--ordinary?" The words were half a question, half an +assertion. + +"I am greatly interested in Mr. Faversham--yes," she replied quietly. + +"Even though, acting on the advice of your grandfather, you have become +engaged to Sir George Weston? Forgive my speaking plainly, but I felt I +must come to you to-night, felt I must tell you the truth." + +Olga Petrovic paused as if waiting for Beatrice to say something, but +the girl was silent. She fixed her eyes steadily on the other's face, +and waited. + +"Mr. Faversham is not the kind of man you think he is." Olga Petrovic +spoke hurriedly and awkwardly, as though she found the words difficult +to say. + +Still Beatrice remained silent; but she kept her eyes steadily on the +other's face. + +"I thought I ought to tell you. You are young and innocent; you do not +know the ways of men. Mr. Faversham is not fit for you to associate +with." + +"And yet you dined with him to-night. You took him to your flat +afterwards." + +"But I am different from you. I am a woman of the world, and your +Puritan standard of morals has no weight or authority with me. Of +course," and again she spoke awkwardly, "I have no right to speak to +you, your world is different from mine, and you are a stranger to me; +but I have heard of you." + +"How? Through whom?" + +"Need you ask?" + +"I suppose you mean Mr. Faversham. Why should he speak to you about me?" + +"Some men are like that. They boast of their conquests, they glory +in--in----; but I need not say more. Will you take advice from a woman +who--who has suffered, and who, through suffering, has learnt to know +the world? It is this. Think no more of Richard Faversham. He--he is not +a good man; he is not fit to associate with a pure child like you." + +Beatrice Stanmore looked at the other with wonder in her eyes. There was +more than wonder, there was terror. It might be that the older woman had +frightened her. + +"Forgive me speaking like this," went on Olga, "but I cannot help +myself. Drive him from your mind. Perhaps there is not much romance in +the thought of marrying Sir George Weston, but I beseech you to do so. +He, at least, will shield you from the temptations, the evil of the +world. As for Faversham, if he ever tries to see you again, remember +that his very presence is pollution for such as you. Yes, yes, I know +what you are thinking of--but I don't matter. I live in a world of which +I hope you may always remain ignorant; but in which Faversham finds his +joy. You--you saw us together----" + +In spite of her self-control Beatrice was much moved. The crimson +flushes on her cheeks were followed by deathly pallor. Her lips +quivered, her bosom heaved as if she found it difficult to breathe. But +she did not speak. Perhaps she was too horrified by the other's words. + +"I know I have taken a fearful liberty with you," went on Olga; "but I +could not help myself. My life, whatever else it has done has made me +quick to understand, and when I watched you, I saw that that man had +cast an evil spell upon you. At first I felt careless, but as I watched +your face, I felt a great pity for you. I shuddered at the thought of +your life being blackened by your knowledge of such a man." + +"Does he profess love to you?" asked Beatrice quietly. + +Olga Petrovic gave a hard laugh. "Surely you saw," she said. + +"And you would warn me against him?" + +"Yes; I would save you from misery." + +For some seconds the girl looked at the woman's face steadily, then she +said, simply and quietly: + +"And are you, who seek to save me, content to be the woman you say you +are? You are very, very beautiful--are you content to be evil?" + +She spoke just as a child might speak; but there was something in the +tones of her voice which caused the other to be afraid. + +"You seem to have a kind heart," went on Beatrice; "you would save me +from pain, and--and evil. Have you no thought for yourself?" + +"I do not matter," replied the woman sullenly. + +"You think only of me?" + +"I think only of you." + +"Then look at me," and the eyes of the two met. "Is what you have told +me true?" + +"True!" + +"Yes, true. You were innocent once, you had a mother who loved you, and +I suppose you once had a religion. Will you tell me, thinking of the +mother who loved you, of Christ who died for you, whether what you say +about Mr. Faversham is true?" + +A change came over Olga Petrovic's face; her eyes were wide open with +terror and shame. For some seconds she seemed fighting with a great +temptation, then she rose to her feet. + +"No," she almost gasped; "it is not true!" She simply could not persist +in a lie while the pure, lustrous eyes of the girl were upon her. + +"Then why did you tell me?" + +"Because, oh, because I am mad! Because I am a slave, and because I am +jealous, jealous for his love, because, oh----!" She flung herself into +the chair again, and burst into an agony of tears. + +"Oh, forgive me, forgive me for deceiving you!" she sobbed presently. + +"You did not deceive me at all. I knew you were lying." + +"But--but you seemed--horrified at what I told you!" + +"I was horrified to think that one so young and beautiful like you +could--could sink so low." + +"Then you do not know what love is!" she cried. "Do you understand? I +love him--love him! I would do anything, anything to win him." + +"And if you did, could you make him happy?" + +"I make him happy! Oh, but you do not know." + +"Tell me," said Beatrice, "are you not the tool, the slave of someone +else? Has not Mr. Faversham an enemy, and are you not working for that +enemy?" + +Her clear, childlike eyes were fixed on the other's face; she seemed +trying to understand her real motives. Olga Petrovic, on the other hand, +regarded the look with horror. + +"No, no," she cried, "do not think that of me! I would have saved Dick +from him. I--I would have shielded him with my life." + +"You would have shielded him from Count Romanoff?" + +"Do not tell me you know him?" + +"I only know of him. He is evil, evil. Ah yes, I understand now. He sent +you here. He is waiting for you now." + +"But how do you know?" + +"Listen," said Beatrice, without heeding her question, "you can be a +happy woman, a good woman. Go back and tell that man that you have +failed, and that he has failed; then go back to your own country, and be +the woman God meant you to be, the woman your mother prayed you might +be." + +"I--I a happy woman--a good woman!" + +"Yes--I tell you, yes." + +"Oh, tell me so again, tell me--O great God, help me!" + +"Sit down," said Beatrice quietly; "let us talk. I want to help you." + +For a long time they sat and talked, while old Hugh Stanmore, who was +close by, wondered who his grandchild's visitor could be, and why they +talked so long. + +It was after midnight when Olga Petrovic returned to her flat, and no +sooner did she enter than Count Romanoff met her. + +"Well, Olga," he asked eagerly, "what news?" + +"I go back to Poland to-morrow, to my old home, to my own people." + +She spoke slowly, deliberately; her voice was hard and cold. + +He did not seem to understand. He looked at her questioningly for some +seconds without speaking. + +"You are mad, Olga," he said presently. + +"I am not mad." + +"This means then that you have failed. You understand the consequences +of failure?" + +"It means--oh, I don't know what it means. But I do know that that child +had made me long to be a good woman." + +"A good woman? Olga Petrovic a good woman!" he sneered. + +"Yes, a good woman. I am not come to argue with you. I only tell you +that you are powerless to hinder me." + +"And Faversham? Does Olga Petrovic mean that she confesses herself +beaten? That she will have her love thrown in her face, and not be +avenged?" + +"It means that if you like, and it means something more. Isaac Romanoff, +or whatever your real name may be, why you have sought to ruin that man +I don't know; but I know this: I have been powerless to harm him, and so +have you." + +"It means that you have failed--_you_!" he snarled. + +"Yes, and why? There has been a power mightier than yours against which +you have fought. Good, GOOD, has been working on his side, that is why +you have failed, why I have failed. O God of Goodness, help me!" + +"Stop that, stop that, I say!" His voice was hoarse, and his face was +livid with rage. + +"I will not stop," she cried. "I want to be a good woman--I will be a +good woman. That child whom I laughed at has seen a thousand times +farther into the heart of truth than I, and she is happy, happy in her +innocence, in her spotless purity, and in her faith in God. And I +promised her I would be a new woman, live a new life." + +"You cannot, you dare not," cried the Count. + +"But I will. I will leave the old bad past behind me." + +"And I will dog your every footstep. I will make such madness +impossible." + +"But you cannot. Good is stronger than evil. God is Almighty." + +"I hold you, body and soul, remember that." + +The woman seemed possessed of a new power, and she turned to the Count +with a look of triumph in her eyes. + +"Go," she cried, "in the name of that Christ who was the joy of my +mother's life, and who died that I might live--I bid you go. From +to-night I cease to be your slave." + +The Count lifted his hand as if to strike her, but she stood before him +fearless. + +"You cannot harm me," she cried. "See, see, God's angels are all around +me now! They stretch out their arms to help me." + +He seemed to be suffering agonies; his face was contorted, his eyes were +lurid, and he appeared to be struggling with unseen powers. + +"I will not yield," he cried; "not one iota will I yield. You are mine, +you swore to serve me--I claim my own." + +"The oath I took was evil, evil, and I break it. O eternal God, help me, +help me. Save me, save me, for Christ's sake." + +Romanoff seemed to hesitate what to do, then he made a movement as if to +move towards her, but was powerless to do so. The hand which he had +uplifted dropped to his side as if paralysed; he was in the presence of +a Power greater than his own. He passed out of the room without another +word. + +The next day the flat of Countess Olga Petrovic was empty, but no one +knew whither she had gone. + + * * * * * + +For more than a month after the scenes I have described, Dick Faversham +was confined to his room. He suffered no pain, but he was languid, weak, +and terribly depressed. An acquaintance who called to see him, shocked +by his appearance, insisted on sending for a doctor, and this gentleman, +after a careful examination, declared that while he was organically +sound, he was in a low condition, and utterly unfit for work. + +"You remind me of a man suffering from shell-shock," he said. "Have you +had any sudden sorrow, or anything of that sort?" + +Dick shook his head. + +"Anyhow, you are utterly unfit for work, that is certain," went on the +doctor. "What you need is absolute rest, cheerful companionship, and a +warm, sunny climate." + +"There's not much suggestion of a warm, sunny climate here," Dick said, +looking out of the window. + +"But I daresay it would be possible to arrange for a passport, so that +you might get to the South of France, or to Egypt," persisted the +doctor. + +"Yes; I might get a passport, but I've no money to get there." + +So Dick stayed on at his flat, and passed the time as best he could. By +and by the weather improved, and presently Dick was well enough to get +out. But he had no interest in anything, and he quickly grew tired. Then +a sudden, an almost overmastering desire came to him to go to Wendover. +There seemed no reason why he should go there, but his heart ached for a +sight of the old house. He pictured it as it was during the time he +spent there. He saw the giant trees in the park, the gay flowers in the +gardens, the stateliness and restfulness of the old mansion. The thought +of it warmed his heart, and gave him new hope. + +"Oh, if it were only mine again!" he reflected. + +He had heard that the rumours of Tony Riggleton's death were false, and +he was also told that although he had been kept out of England for some +time he would shortly return; but concerning that he could gather +nothing definite. + +Of Beatrice Stanmore he had heard nothing, and he had no heart to make +inquiries concerning her. He had many times reflected on her sudden +appearance at Olga Petrovic's flat, and had he been well enough he would +have tried to see her. More than once he had taken a pen in hand to +write to her, but he had never done so. What was the use? In spite of +her coming, he felt that she must regard him with scorn. He remembered +what Olga Petrovic had said in her presence. Besides, he was too weak, +too ill to make any effort whatever. + +But with the sudden desire to go to Wendover came also the longing to +see her--to explain. Of course she was the affianced wife of Sir George +Weston, but he wanted to stand well in her eyes; he wanted her to know +the truth. + +It was a bright, balmy morning when he started for Surrey, and +presently, when the train had left Croydon behind, a strange joy filled +his heart. After all, life was not without hope. He was a young man, and +in spite of everything he had kept his manhood. He was poor, and as yet +unknown, but he had obtained a certain position. Love was not for him, +nor riches, but he could work for the benefit of others. + +When the train stopped at Wendover station, he again found himself to be +the only passenger who alighted. As he breathed the pure, balmy air, and +saw the countryside beginning to clothe itself in its mantle of living +green, it seemed to him that new life, new energy, entered his being. +After all, it was good to be alive. + +Half an hour later he was nearing the park gates--not those which he had +entered on his first visit, but those near which Hugh Stanmore's cottage +was situated. He had taken this road without thinking. Well, it did not +matter. + +As he saw the cottage nestling among the trees, he felt his heart +beating wildly. He wondered if Beatrice was at home, wondered--a +thousand things. He longed to call and make inquiries, but of course he +would not. He would enter the park gates unseen, and make his way to the +great house. + +But he did not pass the cottage gate. Before he could do so the door +opened, and Beatrice appeared. Evidently she had seen him coming, for +she ran down the steps with outstretched hand. + +"I felt sure it was you," she said, "and--but you look pale--ill; are +you?" + +"I'm ever so much better, thank you," he replied. "So much so that I +could not refrain from coming to see Wendover again." + +"But you must come in and rest," she cried anxiously. "I insist on it. +Why did you not tell us you were ill?" + +Before he could reply he found himself within the cottage. + + + + +CHAPTER XL + +THE MINISTERING ANGEL + + +"Are you alone?" he managed to ask. + +"Yes; Granddad went out early. He'll be back in an hour or so. He has +been expecting to hear from you." + +How sweet and fair she looked! There was no suggestion of the exotic +beauty of Olga Petrovic; she adopted no artificial aids to enhance her +appearance. Sweet, pure air and exercise had tinted her cheeks; the +beauty of her soul shone from her eyes. She was just a child of nature, +and to Dick she was the most beautiful thing on God's earth. + +For a moment their eyes met, and then the love which Dick Faversham had +been fighting against for weeks surged like a mighty flood through his +whole being. + +"I must go--I must not stay here," he stammered. + +"But why? Granddad will be back soon." + +"Because----" Again he caught the flash of her eyes, and felt that the +whole world without her was haggard hopelessness. Before he knew what he +was saying he had made his confession. + +"Because I have no right to be here," he said almost angrily--"because +it is dishonourable; it is madness for me to stay." + +"But why?" she persisted. + +He could not check the words that passed his lips; he had lost control +over himself. + +"Don't you understand?" he replied passionately. "I have no right to be +here because I love you--love you more than my own life. Because you are +everything to me--_everything_--and you have promised to marry Sir +George Weston." + +"But I've not." She laughed gaily as she uttered the words. + +"You've not promised to----But--but----" + +"No, of course not. How could I? I do not love him. He is awfully nice, +and I'm very fond of him; but I don't love him. I could never think of +such a thing." + +She spoke quite naturally, and in an almost matter-of-fact way. She did +not seem to realise that her words caused Dick Faversham's brain to +reel, and his blood to rush madly through his veins. Rather she seemed +like one anxious to correct a mistake, but to have no idea of what the +correction meant to him. + +For a few seconds Dick did not speak. "She is only a child," he +reflected. "She does not understand what I have said to her. She does +not realise what my love for her means." + +But he was not sure of this. Something, he knew not what, told him she +_did_ know. Perhaps it was the flush on her cheeks, the quiver on her +lips, the strange light in her eyes. + +"You have not promised to marry Sir George Weston?" he asked hoarsely. + +"No, of course not." + +"But--he asked you?" + +"That is scarcely a fair question, is it?" + +"No, no, forgive me; it is not. But do you understand--what your words +mean to me?" + +She was silent at this. + +"I love you--love you," he went on. "I want you to be my wife." + +"I'm so glad," she said simply. + +"But do you understand?" cried Dick. He could not believe in his own +happiness, could not help thinking there must be some mistake. "This +means everything to me." + +"Of course I understand. I've known it for a long time, that is, I've +felt it must be so. And I've wondered why you did not come and tell me." + +"And you love me?" His voice was hoarse and tremulous. + +"Love you? Why--why do you think I--could be here like this--if I +didn't?" + +Still she spoke almost as a child might speak. There was no suggestion +of coquetry, no trying to appear surprised at his avowal. But there was +something more, something in the tone of her voice, in the light of her +eyes, in her very presence, that told Dick that deep was calling unto +deep, that this maiden, whose heart was the heart of a child, had +entered into womanhood, and knew its glory. + +"Aren't you glad, too?" she asked. + +"Glad! It seems so wonderful that I can't believe it! Half an hour ago +the world was black, hopeless, while now----; but there are things I +must tell you, things I've wanted to tell you ever since I saw you +last." + +"Is it about that woman?" + +"Yes, I wanted to tell you why I was with her; I wanted you to know that +she was nothing to me." + +"I knew all the time. But you were in danger--that was why I could not +help coming to you. You understand, don't you? I had the same kind of +feeling when that evil man was staying with you at the big house. He was +trying to harm you, and I came. And he was still trying to ruin you, why +I don't know, but he was using that woman to work his will. I felt it, +and I came to you." + +"How did you know?" asked Dick. He was awed by her words, solemnised by +the wondrous intuition which made her realise his danger. + +"I didn't know--I only felt. You see, I loved you, and I couldn't help +coming." + +Another time he would have asked her many questions about this, but now +they did not seem to matter. He loved, and was loved, and the fact +filled the world. + +"Thank God you came," he said reverently. "And, Beatrice, you will let +me call you Beatrice, won't you?" + +"Why, of course, you must, Dick." + +"May I kiss you?" he asked, and held out his arms. + +She came to him in all the sweet freshness of her young life and offered +him her pure young lips. Never had he known what joy meant as he knew it +then, never had he felt so thankful that in spite of dire temptation he +had kept his manhood clean. + +Closer and closer he strained her to his heart, while words of love and +of thankfulness struggled for expression. For as she laid her head on +his shoulder, and he felt the beating of her heart, his mind swept like +lightning over the past years, and he knew that angels of God had +ministered to him, that they had shielded him from danger, and helped +him in temptation. And this he knew also: while he had been on the brink +of ruin through a woman, it was also by a woman that he had been saved. +The thought of Beatrice Stanmore had been a power which had defied the +powers of evil, and enabled him to keep his manhood clean. + +Even yet the wonder of it all was beyond words, for he had come there +that morning believing that Beatrice was the promised wife of Sir George +Weston, and now, as if by the wave of some magician's wand, his beliefs +had been dispelled, and he had found her free. + +An hour before, he dared not imagine that this unspoilt child of nature +could ever think of him with love, and yet her face was pressed against +his, and she was telling him the simple story of her love--a love +unsullied by the world, a love unselfish as that of a mother, and as +strong as death. + +"But I am so poor," he stammered at length; "just a voting machine at +four hundred a year." + +"As though you could ever be that," she laughed. "You are going to do +great things, my love. You are going to live and work for the betterment +of the world. And I--I shall be with you all the time." + +He had much to tell her--a story so wonderful that it was difficult to +believe. But Beatrice believed it. The thought of an angel who had come +to him, warned him, guided him, and strengthened him, was not strange to +her. For her pure young eyes had pierced the barriers of materialism, +just as the light of the stars pierces the darkness of night. Because +her soul was pure, she knew that the angels of God were never far away, +and that the Eternal Goodness used them to minister to those who would +listen to their voices. + +Dick did not go to the great house that day. There seemed no reason why +he should. By lunch time old Hugh Stanmore returned and was met by the +two lovers. + +Of all they said to each other, and of the explanations that were made, +there is no need that I should write. Suffice to say that Hugh Stanmore +was satisfied. It is true he liked Sir George Weston, while the thought +that Beatrice might be mistress of his house was pleasant to him; true, +too, that Dick Faversham was poor. But he had no fears. He knew that +this young man's love was pure and strong, that he would never rest +until he had provided a home worthy of her, and that his grandchild's +future would be safe in his hands. + +When Dick left the cottage that night, it was on the understanding that +he would come back as soon as possible. Beatrice pleaded hard with him +not to go to London, but to stay at the cottage and be nursed back to +health and strength. But Dick had to make arrangements for a lengthened +stay away from his work, and to see some of his confreres, so, while his +heart yearned to remain near her, he looked joyfully forward to his +return. + +"And you go away happy, my love?" + +"The happiest man on earth. And you, my little maid?" + +"Oh, Dick, everything is as I hoped and prayed for." + +"And you loved me all the time?" + +"All the time; but I did not know it until----" + +"Until when?" + +"Until another man told me he wanted me." + +Dick was in dreamland as he returned to London. No sooner had he boarded +the train at Wendover than, as it seemed to him, he had arrived at +Victoria. As for the journey between that station and his flat he has no +remembrance to this day. + +"Oh, the wonder of it, the glad wonder of it!" he repeated again and +again. "Thank God--thank God!" + +Then, as if in fulfilment of an old adage, no sooner had he entered his +flat than another surprise awaited him. On his writing-table lay a long +blue envelope, which had been brought by hand that afternoon. Dick +broke the seal almost indifferently. What did he care about letters? +Then he saw the name of Bidlake, and his attention was riveted. + +This is what he read: + + "MY DEAR FAVERSHAM,--Forgive this unceremonious manner of writing, + but I fancy I am a little excited. Riggleton is dead, and thus it + comes about that the Faversham estates--or what is left of + them--revert to you. How it was possible for a man to squander so + much money and leave things in such a terrible mess in such a short + time it is difficult to say. But there it is. Still, a good deal is + left. Wendover Park, and all the lands attached remain untouched, + and a good deal of money can be scraped up. Will you call as soon + as possible on receipt of this, and I'll explain everything to you, + as far as I can.--With heartiest congratulations, yours faithfully, + + "JOHN BIDLAKE." + +Again and again Dick read this letter. He felt something like the lad of +the Eastern Story must have felt as he read. He would not have been +surprised if the Slave of the Lamp appeared, asking what his desires +were, so that they might be performed without delay. December had +changed into June in a single day. + +His joy can be better imagined than described. To know that this old +homestead was his again, to realise that he was no longer homeless and +poor was a gladness beyond words. But he no longer felt as he had felt +when he first saw Wendover. Then his thought had been of his own +aggrandisement, and the satisfaction of his ambitions. Now he rejoiced +because he could offer a home to the maiden he loved, and because he +could do for the world what for years he had dreamt of doing. + +But he was early at Mr. Bidlake's office the following morning. + +"No, no, there's no mistake this time," Mr. Bidlake assured him. "You +can enter into possession with a confident mind. Money! Yes, the fellow +wasted it like water, but you need not fear. You'll have more than you +need, in spite of increased income-tax and super-tax. Talk about romance +though, if ever there was a romance this is one." + +After spending two hours with the lawyer Dick went to the House of +Commons, where he made the necessary arrangements for a couple of weeks' +further absence. + +"Yes, we can manage all right," assented the Labour Member with whom he +spoke. "Not but what we shall be glad to have you back. There are big +things brewing. The working people must no longer be hewers of wood and +drawers of water. We must see to that." + +"Yes, we _will_ see to that," cried Dick. "But we must be careful." + +"Careful of what?" + +"Careful that we don't drift to Bolshevism, careful that we don't abuse +our power. We must show that we who represent the Democracy understand +our work. We must not think of one class only, but all the classes. We +must think of the Empire, the good of humanity." + +The other shook his head, "No mercy on capitalists," he cried. + +"On the other hand we must make capitalists do their duty," Dick +replied. "We must see to it that Capital and Labour work together for +the good of the whole community. There lies the secret of stable +government and a prosperous nation." + +It was late in the evening when Dick arrived at Hugh Stanmore's cottage, +so late indeed that the old man had given up hope of his coming; but +Beatrice rushed to him with a glad laugh. + +"I knew you would come," she said. "And now I am going to begin my work +as nurse right away. You must have a light supper and go to bed at once, +and to-morrow you must stay in bed all day." + +Dick shook his head. "And I am going to rebel," was his reply. "I am +going to sit up for at least two hours, while first thing to-morrow +morning I am going to take you to a house I have in my mind." + +"What house?" + +"A house I've settled on for our future home." + +"Dick, don't be foolish. You know we must not think of that for +months--years." + +"Mustn't we?" laughed Dick. "There, read that," and he handed her Mr. +Bidlake's letter. + +"But, Dick!" she cried as she read, "this, this is----" + +"Beautiful, isn't it?" Dick replied joyously. "Will you read it, sir?" +and he placed it in old Hugh Stanmore's hands. + +After that Beatrice no longer insisted that her lover must be treated as +an invalid. Hour after hour they sat talking, while the wonder of it all +never left them. + +The next morning broke bright and clear. Spring had indeed come, +gladsome joyous spring, heralded by the song of birds, by the +resurrection of a new life everywhere. + +"Will you go with us, Granddad?" asked Beatrice, as they prepared for +their visit. + +"No," said Hugh Stanmore; "I'll come across alone in a couple of hours." +He was a wise man. + +Neither of them spoke a word as they walked up the avenue towards the +great house. Perhaps their minds were both filled by the same +thoughts--thoughts too great for utterance. Above them the sun shone in +a great dome of cloudless blue, while around them all nature was putting +on her beautiful garments. + +Presently the old house burst upon their view. There it stood on a +slight eminence, while behind it great trees rose. Away from the front +of the building stretched grassy lawns and flower gardens, while beyond +was parkland, studded by giant trees. + +And still neither spoke. Hand in hand they walked towards the entrance +door, Dick gazing at it earnestly, as if looking for something. When +they had come within a dozen yards of it both, as if by mutual consent, +stood still. + +Was it fancy or was it real? Was it because expectancy was in both their +hearts, and their imagination on fire, or did they really see? + +This is what both of them told me they saw. + +Standing in the doorway, with hands outstretched as if in the attitude +of welcoming them, was the luminous figure of a woman. Her face was lit +up with holy joy, while in her eyes was no sorrow, no doubt, but a look +of ineffable happiness. + +For a few seconds she stood gazing on them, and Dick saw the look of +love in her eyes, saw the rapture that seemed to pervade her being. It +was the same face he had seen there before, the same love-lit eyes. + +She lifted her hands as if in benediction, and then slowly the figure +faded away. + +"It is my mother," whispered Dick. He had no remembrance of his mother, +but he knew it was she. He felt no fear, there was nothing to be fearful +about, rather a great joy filled his life. God had sent his angel to +tell him that all was well. + +The door stood open, and they entered the great silent hall together. No +one was in sight. He opened his arms, and she came to him. + +"Welcome home, my wife," he said. + + +THE END + + +PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED, EDINBURGH + + * * * * * + +_JOSEPH HOCKING'S GREAT WAR STORIES_ + + ALL FOR A SCRAP OF PAPER + THE CURTAIN OF FIRE + DEARER THAN LIFE + THE PATH OF GLORY + "THE POMP OF YESTERDAY" + TOMMY + TOMMY AND THE MAID OF ATHENS + THE PRICE OF A THRONE + + +_OTHER STORIES BY JOSEPH HOCKING_ + + FACING FEARFUL ODDS + O'ER MOOR AND FEN + THE WILDERNESS + ROSALEEN O'HARA + THE SOUL OF DOMINIC WILDTHORNE + FOLLOW THE GLEAM + DAVID BARING + THE TRAMPLED CROSS + THE MAN WHO ROSE AGAIN + + + HODDER AND STOUGHTON + WARWICK SQUARE, LONDON, E.C. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EVERLASTING ARMS*** + + +******* This file should be named 39218.txt or 39218.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/9/2/1/39218 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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