diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-05 20:06:29 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-05 20:06:29 -0800 |
| commit | 19ca2b8d9d4c499e7876ad1fb9883b68b4f13936 (patch) | |
| tree | 92bd93a05aff402a2d31538c29c3ffa437b89fe0 | |
| parent | bf65979813bb355718fb06371b435fcfc07be1e1 (diff) | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51946-0.txt | 4941 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51946-0.zip | bin | 82107 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51946-8.txt | 4940 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51946-8.zip | bin | 81506 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51946-h.zip | bin | 168574 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51946-h/51946-h.htm | 6356 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51946-h/images/0007.jpg | bin | 41798 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51946-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 41798 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51946-h/images/enlarge.jpg | bin | 789 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/old/51946-h.htm.2021-01-24 | 6355 |
13 files changed, 17 insertions, 22592 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..20e098e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51946 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51946) diff --git a/old/51946-0.txt b/old/51946-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4447ae2..0000000 --- a/old/51946-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4941 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Gray Eye or So, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you’ll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: A Gray Eye or So - In Three Volumes--Volume III - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51946] -Last Updated: November 15, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GRAY EYE OR SO *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -A GRAY EYE OR SO - -By Frank Frankfort Moore - -In Three Volumes--Volume III - -SIXTH EDITION - -London - -HUTCHINSON & CO., 34 PATERNOSTER ROW - -1893 - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - - - -A GRAY EYE OR SO. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII.--ON A KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD. - -|SHORTLY after noon he was with her. He had left his rooms without -touching a morsel of breakfast, and it was plain that such sleep as -he had had could not have been of a soothing nature. He was pale and -haggard; and she seemed surprised--not frightened, however, for her -love was that which casteth out fear--at the way he came to her--with -outstretched hands which caught her own, as he said, “My beloved--my -beloved, I have a strange word for you--a strange proposal to make. -Dearest, can you trust me? Will you marry me--to-morrow--to-day?” - -She scarcely gave a start. He was only conscious of her hands tightening -upon his own. She kept her eyes fixed upon his. The silence was long. -It was made the more impressive by the distinctness with which the -jocularity of the fishmonger’s hoy with the cook at the area railings, -was heard in the room. - -“Harold,” she said, in a voice that had no trace of distrust, “Harold, -you are part of my life--all my life! When I said that I loved you, -I had given myself to you. I will marry you any time you -please--to-morrow--to-day--this moment!” - -She was in his arms, sobbing. - -His “God bless you, my darling!” sounded like a sob also. - -In a few moments she was laughing through her tears. - -He was not laughing. - -“Now, tell me what you mean, my beloved,” said she, with a hand on each -of his shoulders. - -“Tell me what you mean by coming to frighten me like this. What has -happened?” - -“Nothing has happened, only I want to feel that you are my own--my own -beyond the possibility of being separated from me by any power on earth. -I do not want to take you away from your father’s house--I cannot offer -you any home. It may be years before we can live together as those who -love one another as we love, may live with the good will of heaven. I -only want you to become my wife in name, dearest. Our marriage must be -kept a secret.” - -“But my own love,” said she, “why should you wish to go through this -ceremony? Are we not united by the true bond of love? Can we be more -closely united than we are now? The strength of the marriage bond -is only strong in proportion as the love which is the foundation of -marriage is strong. Now, why should you wish for the marriage rite -before we are prepared to live for ever under the same roof?” - -“Why, why?” he cried passionately, as he looked into the depths of her -eyes. - -He left her and went across the room to one of the windows and looked -out. (It was the greengrocer’s boy who was now jocular with the cook at -the area railings.) - -“My Beatrice--” Harold had returned to her from his scrutiny of the -pavement. “My Beatrice, you have not seen all that I have seen in the -world. You do not know--you do not know me as I know myself. Why should -there come to me sometimes an unworthy thought--no, not a doubt--oh, I -have seen so much of the world, Beatrice, I feel that if anything should -come between us it would kill me. I must--I must feel that we are made -one--that there is a bond binding us together that nothing can sever.” - -“But, my Harold--no, I will not interpose any buts. You would not ask -me to do this if you had not some good reason. You say that you know the -world. I admit that I do not know it. I only know you, and knowing -you and loving you with all my heart--with all my soul--I trust you -implicitly--without a question--without the shadow of a doubt.” - -“God bless you, my love, my love! You will never have reason to regret -loving me--trusting me.” - -“It is my life--it is my life, Harold.” - -Once again he was standing at the window. This time he remained longer -with his eyes fixed upon the railings of the square enclosure. - -“It must be to-morrow,” he said, returning to her. “I shall come here at -noon. A few words spoken in this room and nothing can part us. You will -still call yourself by your own name, dearest, God hasten the day when -you can come to me as my wife in the sight of all the world and call -yourself by my name.” - -“I shall be here at noon to-morrow,” said she. - -“Unless,” said he, returning to her after he had kissed her forehead and -had gone to the door. “Unless”--he framed her face with his hands, -and looked down into the depths of her eyes.--“Unless, when you have -thought over the whole matter, you feel that you cannot trust me.” - -She laughed. - -“Ah, my love, my love, you do not know the world,” said he. - -He knew the world. - -Another man who knew the world was Pontius Pilate. - -This was why he asked “What is Truth?” - -Harold Wynne was in Archie Brown’s room in Piccadilly within half an -hour. - -Archie was at the Legitimate Theatre, Mr. Playdell said--Mr. Playdell -was seated at the dining-room table surrounded by papers. A trifling -difference of opinion had arisen between Mrs. Mowbray and her manager, -he added, and (with a smile) Archie had hurried to the theatre to set -matters right. - -“It is kind of you to call, Mr. Wynne,” continued Mr. Playdell. “But I -hope it is not to tell me that you regret the suggestion that you made -yesterday--that you do not see your way to write to your sister to -invite Archie to her place.” - -“I wrote to her the moment you left me,” said Harold. “Archie will -get his invitation this evening. It is not about him that I came here -to-day, Mr. Playdell. I came to see you. You asked me yesterday to -give you an opportunity of doing something for me. I can give you that -opportunity.” - -“And I promise you that I shall embrace it with gladness, Mr. Wynne,” - said Playdell, rising from the table. “Tell me how I can serve you and -you will find how ready I am.” - -“You still hold to your original principles regarding marriage, Mr. -Playdell?” - -“How could I do otherwise than hold to them, Mr. Wynne? They are the -result of thought; they are not merely a fad to gain notoriety. Let me -prove the position that I take up on this matter.” - -“You need not, Mr. Playdeil. I heard all your case when it was -published. I confess that I now think differently respecting you from -what I thought at that time. Will you perform the ceremony of marriage -between a lady who has promised to marry me and myself?” - -“There is only one condition that I make, Mr. Wynne. You must take an -oath that you consider the rite, as I perform it, to be binding upon -you, and that you will never recognize a divorce.” - -“I will take that oath willingly, Mr. Playdeil. I have promised my -_fiancée_ that we shall be with her at noon to-morrow. She will be -prepared for us. By the way, do you require a ring for the ceremony as -performed by you?” - -Mr. Playdeil looked grave--almost scandalized. - -“Mr. Wynne,” said he, “that question suggests to me a certain disbelief -on your part in the validity in the sight of heaven of the rite of -marriage as performed by a man with a full sense of his high office, -even though unfrocked by a Church that has always shown too great a -readiness to submit to secular guidance--secular restrictions in matters -that were originally, like marriage, purely spiritual. The Church -has not only submitted to civil restrictions in the matter of the -celebration of the holy rite of matrimony, but, while declaring at the -altar that God has joined them whom the Church has joined, and while -denying the authority of man to put them asunder, she recognizes the -validity of divorce. She will marry a man who has been divorced from -his wife, when he has duly paid the Archbishop a sum of money for -sanctioning what in the sight of God is adultery.” - -“My dear Mr. Playdell,” said Harold, “I recollect very clearly the able -manner in which you defended your--your--principles, when they were -called in question. I do not desire to call them in question now. I -believe in your sincerity in this matter and in other matters. I -shall drive here for you at half past eleven o’clock to-morrow. I need -scarcely say that I mean my marriage to be kept a secret.” - -“You may depend upon my good faith in that respect,” said Mr. Playdell. -“Mr. Wynne,” he added, impressively, “this land of ours will never be -a moral one so long as the Church is content to accept a Parliamentary -definition of morality. The Church ought certainly to know her own -business.” - -“There I quite agree with you,” said Harold. - -He refrained from asking Mr. Playdell if the Church, in dispensing with -his services as one of her priests, had not made an honest attempt to -vindicate her claims to know her own business. He merely said, “Half -past eleven to-morrow,” after shaking hands with Mr. Playdell, who -opened the door for him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX.--ON CONSCIENCE AND THE RING. - -|HAROLD WYNNE shut himself up in his rooms without even lunching. He -drew a chair in front of the fire and seated himself with the sigh of -relief that is given by a man who has taken a definite step in some -matter upon which he has been thinking deeply for some time. He sat -there all the day, gazing into the fire. - -Yes, he had taken the step that had suggested itself to him the previous -night. He had made up his mind to take advantage of the opportunity that -was afforded him of binding Beatrice to him by a bond which she at least -would believe incapable of rupture. The accident of his meeting with the -man whose views on the question of marriage had caused him to be thrust -out of the Church, and whose practices left him open to a criminal -prosecution, had suggested to him the means for binding to him the girl -whose truth he had no reason to doubt. - -He meant to perpetrate a fraud upon her. He had known of men entrapping -innocent girls by means of a mock marriage, and he had always regarded -such men as the most unscrupulous of scoundrels. He almost succeeded, -after a time, in quieting the whisperings by his conscience of the -word “fraud”--its irritating repetitions of this ugly word--by giving -prominence to the excellence of his intentions in the transaction which -he was contemplating. It was not a mock marriage--no, it was not, as -ordinary mock marriages, to be gone through in order to give a man -possession of the body of a woman, and to admit of his getting rid of -her when it would suit his convenience to do so. It was, he assured -his conscience, no mock marriage, since he was seeking it for no gross -purpose, but simply to banish the feeling of cold distrust which he had -now and again experienced. Had he not offered to free the girl from the -promise which she had given to him? Was that like the course which would -be adopted by a man endeavouring to take advantage of a girl by means -of a mock marriage? Was there anything on earth that he desired more -strongly than a real marriage with that same girl? There was nothing. -But it was, unfortunately, the case that a real marriage would mean ruin -to him; for he knew that his father would keep his word--when it suited -his own purpose--and refuse him his allowance upon the day that he -refused to sign a declaration to the effect that he was unmarried. - -The rite which Mr. Playdell had promised to perform between him and -Beatrice would enable him to sign the declaration with--well, with a -clear conscience. - -But in the meantime this same conscience continued gibing him upon his -defence of his conduct; asking him with an irritating sneer, if he would -mind explaining his position to the girl’s father?--if he was not simply -taking advantage of the peculiar circumstances of the girl’s life--of -the remarkable independence which she enjoyed, apparently with the -sanction of her father, to perpetrate a fraud upon her? - -For bad taste, for indelicacy, for vulgarity, for disregard of sound -argument--that is, argument that sounds well--and for general obstinacy, -there is nothing to compare with a conscience that remains in moderately -good working order. - -After all his straightforward reasoning during the space of two hours, -he sprang from his seat crying, “I’ll not do it--I’ll not do it!” - -He walked about his room for an hour, repeating every now and again the -words, “I’ll not do it--I’ll not do it!” - -In the course of another hour, he turned on his electric lamp, and wrote -a note of half a dozen lines to Mr Playdell, telling him that, on -second thoughts, he would not trouble him the next day. Then he wrote an -equally short note to Beatrice, telling her that he thought it would be -advisable to have a further talk with her before carrying out the plan -which he had suggested to her for the next day. He put each note into -its cover; but when about to affix stamps to them, he found that his -stamp-drawer was empty. This was not a serious matter; he was going -to his club to dine, and he knew that he could get stamps from the -hall-porter. - -He felt very much lighter at heart leaving his rooms than he had felt on -entering some hours before. He felt that he had been engaged in a severe -conflict, and that he had got the better of his adversary. - -At the door of the club he found Mr. Durdan standing somewhat vacantly. -He brightened up at the appearance of Harold. - -“I’ve just been trying to catch some companionable fellow to dine with -me,” he cried. - -“I’m sorry that I can’t congratulate you upon finding one,” said Harold. - -“Then I congratulate myself,” said Mr. Durdan, brightly. “You’re the -most companionable man that I know in town at present.” - -“Ah, then you’re not aware of the fact that Edmund Airey is here just -now,” said Harold with a shrewd laugh. - -“Edmund Airey? Edmund Airey?” said Mr. Durdan. “Let me tell you that -your friend Edmund Airey is----” - -“Don’t say it in the open air,” said Harold. - -“Come inside and make the revelation to me.” - -“Then you will dine with me? Good! My dear fellow, my medical man has -warned me times without number of the evil of dining alone, or with a -newspaper--even the _Telegraph_. It’s the beginning of dyspepsia, he -says; so I wait at the door any time I am dining here until I get hold -of the right man.” - -“If I can play the part of a priest and exorcise the demon that you’re -afraid of, you may reckon upon my services,” said Harold. “But to tell -you the truth, I’m a bit down myself to-night.” - -“What’s the matter with you--nothing serious?” said Mr. Durdan. - -“I’ve been working out some matters,” said Harold. - -“I know what’s the matter with you,” said the other. “That friend of -yours has been trying to secure you for the Government, and you were too -straightforward to be entrapped? Airey is a clever man--I don’t deny his -cleverness for a moment. Oh, yes; Mr. Airey is a very clever man.” It -seemed that he was now levelling an accusation against Mr. Airey that -his best friends would find difficulty in repudiating. “Yes, but you and -I, Wynne, are not to be caught by a phrase. The moment he fancied that I -was attracted to her--I say, fancied, mind--and that he fancied--it may -have been the merest fancy--that she was not altogether indifferent to -me, he forced himself forward, and I have good reason to believe that he -is now in town solely on her account. I give you my word, Wynne, I never -spoke a sentence to Miss Avon that all the world mightn’t hear. Oh, -there’s nothing so contemptible as a man like Airey--a fellow who is -attracted to a girl only when he sees that she is attracting other men. -Yes, I met a man yesterday who told me that Airey was in town. ‘Why -should he be in town now?’ I inquired. ‘There’s nothing going on in -town.’ He winked and said, ‘_cherchez la femme_’--he did upon my word. -Oh, the days of the Government are numbered. Will you try Chablis or -Sauterne?” - -Harold said that he rather thought that he would try Chablis. - -For another hour-and-a-half he was forced to listen to Mr. Durdan’s -prosing about the blunders of the Administration, and the designs of -Edmund Airey. He left the club without asking the hall-porter for any -stamps. - -He had made up his mind that he would not need any stamps that night. - -Before he reached his rooms he took out of the pocket of his overcoat -the two letters which he had written, and he tore them both into small -pieces. - -With the chatter of Mr. Durdan there had come back to him that feeling -of distrust. - -Yes, he would make sure of her. - -He unlocked one of the drawers in his writing-table and brought out -a small _boule_ case. When he had found--not without a good deal of -searching--the right key for the box, he opened it. It contained an -ivory miniature of his mother, in a Venetian mounting, a few jewels, and -two small rings. One of them was set with a fine chrysoprase cameo of -Eros, and surrounded by rubies. The other was an old _in memoriam_ ring. - -He picked up the cameo and scrutinized it attentively for some time, -slipping it down to the first joint of his little finger. He kept -turning it over for half an hour before he laid it on the desk and -relocked the box and the drawer. - -“It will be hers,” he said. “Would I use my mother’s ring for this -ceremony if I meant it to be a fraud--if I meant to take advantage of it -to do an injury to my beloved one? As I deal with her, so may God deal -with me when my hour comes.” It was a ring that had been left to him -with a few other trinkets by his mother, and he had now chosen it for -the ceremony which was to be performed the next day. - -Curiously enough, the fact of his choosing this ring did more to silence -the whispering jeers of his conscience than all his phrases of argument -had done. - -The next day he called for Mr. Playdell in a hansom, and shortly after -noon, the words of the marriage service of the Church of England had -been repeated in the Bloomsbury drawing-room by the man who had once -been a priest and who still wore the garb of a priest. He, at any rate, -did not consider the rite a mockery. - -Harold could not shake off the feeling that he was acting a part in a -dream. When it was all over he dropped into a chair, and his head fell -forward until his face was buried in his hands. - -It was left for Beatrice to comfort this sufferer in his hour of trial. - -Her hand--his mother’s ring was upon the third finger--was upon his -head, and he heard her low sympathetic voice saying, “My husband--my -husband--I shall be a true wife to you for ever and ever. We shall live -trusting one another for ever, my beloved!” - -They were alone in the room. He did not raise his face from his hands -for a long time. She knelt beside where he was sitting and put her head -against his. - -In an instant he had clasped her passionately. He held her close to him, -looking into her eyes. - -“Oh, my love, my love,” he cried. “What am I that you should have given -to me that divine gift of your love? What am I that I should have asked -you to do this for my sake? Was there ever such love as yours, Beatrice? -Was there ever such baseness as mine? Will you forgive me, Beatrice?” - -“Only once,” said she, “I felt that--I scarcely know what I felt, -dear--I think it was that your hurrying on our marriage showed--was it a -want of trust?” - -“I was a fool--a fool!” he said bitterly. “The temptation to bind you to -me was too great to be resisted. But now--oh, Beatrice, I will give up -my life to make you happy!” - - - - -CHAPTER XL.--ON SOCIETY AND THE SEAL. - -|THE next afternoon when Harold called upon Beatrice, he found her with -two letters in her hand. The first was a very brief one from her father, -letting her know that he would have to remain in Dublin for at least -a fortnight longer; the second was from Mrs. Lampson--she had paid -Beatrice a ten minutes’ visit the previous day--inviting her to stay for -a week at Abbeylands, from the following Tuesday. - -“What am I to do in the matter, my husband--you see how quickly I have -come to recognize your authority?” she cried, while he glanced at his -sister’s invitation. - -“My dearest, you had better recognize the duty of a wife in this and -other matters, by pleasing yourself,” said he. - -“No,” said she. “I will only do what you advise me. That, you should see -as a husband--I see it clearly as a wife--will give me a capital chance -of throwing the blame on you in case of any disappointment. Oh, yes, you -may be certain that if I go anywhere on your recommendation and fail to -enjoy myself, all the blame will be laid at your door. That’s the way -with wives, is it not?” - -“I can’t say,” said he. “I’ve never had one from whom to get any hints -that would enable me to form an opinion.” - -“Then what did you mean by suggesting to me that it was wife-like to -please myself?” said she, with an affectation of shrewdness that was -extremely charming. - -“I’ve seen other men’s wives now and again,” said he. “It was a great -privilege.” - -“And they pleased themselves?” - -“They did not please me, at any rate. I don’t see why you shouldn’t go -down to my sister’s place next week. You should enjoy yourself.” - -“You will be there?” - -He shook his head. - -“I was to have been there,” said he; “but when I promised to go I had -not met you. When I found that you were to be in town, I told Ella, my -sister, that it was impossible for me to join her party.” - -“Of course that decides the matter,” said she. “I must remain here, -unless you change your mind and go to Abbeylands.” - -He remained thoughtful for a few moments, and then he turned to where -she was opening the old mahogany escritoire. - -“I particularly want you to go to my sister’s,” he said. “A reason has -just occurred to me--a very strong reason, why you should accept the -invitation, especially as I shall not be there.” - -“Oh, no,” said she, “I could not go without you.” - -“My dear Beatrice, where is that wifely obedience of which you mean to -be so graceful an exponent?” said he, standing behind her with a hand on -each of her shoulders. “The fact is, dearest, that far more than you -can imagine depends on your taking this step. It is necessary to throw -people--my relations in particular--off the notion that something came -of our meeting at Castle Innisfail. Now, if you were to go to Abbeylands -while it was known that I had excused myself, you can understand what -the effect would be.” - -“The effect, so far as I’m concerned, would be that I should be -miserable, all the time I was away from you.” - -“The effect would be, that those people who may have been joining our -names together, would feel that they have been a little too precipitate -in their conclusions.” - -“That seems a very small result for so much self-sacrifice on our part, -Harold.” - -“It’s not so small as it may seem to you. I see now how important -it would be to me--to both of us--if you were to go for a week to -Abbeylands while I remain in town.” - -“Then of course I’ll go. Yes, dear; I told you that I would trust you -for ever. I placed all my trust in you yesterday. How many people would -condemn me for marrying you in such indecent haste--that is what they -would call it--and without a word of consultation with my father either? -When I showed my trust in you at that time--the most important in -my life--you may, I think, have confidence that I will trust you in -everything. Yes, I’ll go.” - -He had turned away from her. How could he face her when she was talking -in this way about her trust in him? - -“There has never been trust like yours, my beloved,” said he, after a -pause. “You will never regret it for a moment, my love--never, never!” - -“I know it--I know it,” said she. - -“The fact is, Beatrice,” said he, after another pause, “my relatives -think that if I were to marry Helen Craven I should be doing a -remarkably good stroke of business. They were right: it would be a good -stroke--of business.” - -“How odd,” cried Beatrice. She had become thoroughly interested. “I -never thought of such a possibility at Castle Innisfail. She is nice, I -think; only she does not know how to dress.” - -In an instant there came to his memory Mrs. Mowbray’s cynical words -regarding the extent of a woman’s forgiveness. - -“The question of being nice or of dressing well does not make any -difference so far as my friends are concerned,” said he. “All that is -certain is that Helen Craven has several thousands of pounds a year, and -they think that I should be satisfied with that.” - -“And so you should,” she cried, with the light of triumph in her eyes. -“I wonder if Mr. Airey knew what the wishes of your relatives were in -this matter. I should like to know that, because I now recollect that -he suggested something in that way when we talked together about you one -evening at the Castle.” - -“Edmund Airey gave me the strongest possible advice on the subject,” - said Harold. “Yes, he advised me to ask Helen Craven to be my wife. More -than that--I only learnt it a few days ago--so soon as you appeared at -the Castle, and he saw--he sees things very quickly--that I was in love -with you, he thought that if he were to interest you greatly, and -that if you found out that he was wealthy and distinguished, you might -possibly decline to fall in love with me, and so----” - -“And so fall in love with him?” she cried, starting up from her chair -at the desk. “I see now all that he meant. He meant that I should be -interested in him--I was, too, greatly interested in him--and that I -should be attracted to him, and away from you. But all the time he had -no intention of allowing himself to be attracted by me to the point -of ever asking me to marry him. In short, he was amusing himself at my -expense. Oh, I see it all now. I must confess that, now and again, I -wondered what Mr. Airey meant by placing himself so frequently by my -side. I felt flattered--I admit that I felt flattered. Can you imagine -anything so cruel as the purpose that he set himself to accomplish?” - -Her face had become pale. This only gave emphasis to the flashing of her -eyes. She was in a passion of indignation. - -“Edmund Airey and his tricks were defeated,” said Harold in a low voice. -“Yes, we have got the better of him, Beatrice, so much is certain.” - -“But the cruelty of it--the cruelty--oh, what does it matter now?” she -cried. Then her paleness vanished into a delicate roseate flush, as she -gave a laugh, and said, “After all, I believe that my indignation is due -only to my wounded vanity. Yes, all girls are alike, Harold. Our vanity -is our dominant quality.” - -“It is not so with you, Beatrice,” he said. “I know you truly, my dear. -I know that you would be as indignant if you heard of the same trickery -being carried on in respect of another girl.” - -“I would--I know I would,” she cried. “But what does it matter? As you -say, I--we--have defeated this Mr. Airey, so that my vanity at least can -find sweet consolation in reflecting that we have been cleverer than he -was. I don’t suppose that he could imagine anyone existing cleverer than -himself.” - -“Yes, I think that we have got the better of him,” said Harold. He was -a little surprised to find that she felt so strongly on the subject of -Edmund’s attitude in regard to herself. He did not think it wise to tell -her that that attitude was due to the timely suggestion of Helen. He -could not bring himself to do so. He felt that his doing so would be -to place himself on a level with the man who gives his wife during the -first year of their married life, a circumstantial account of the -many wealthy and beautiful young women who were anxious--to a point of -distraction--to marry him. - -He felt that there was no need for him to say anything about Helen--he -almost wished that he had said nothing about Edmund. - -“We got the better of him,” he said a second time. “Never mind Edmund -Airey. You must go to Abbeylands and amuse yourself. You will most -likely meet with Archie Brown there. Archie is the plainest looking and -probably the richest man of his age in England. He is to be made the -subject of an experiment at Abbeylands.” - -“Is he to be vivisected?” said she. She was now neither pale nor -roseate. She was herself once more. - -“There’s no need to vivisect poor Archie,” said he. “Everyone knows that -there’s nothing particular about Archie. No; we are merely trying a new -cure for him. He has not been in a very healthy state lately.” - -“If he is delicate, I suppose he will be thrown a good deal with us--the -females, the incapables--while the pheasant-shooting is going on.” - -“You will see how matters are managed at Abbeylands,” said Harold. “If -you find that Archie is attracted toward any girl who is distinctly -nice, you might--how does a girl assist her weaker sister to make up her -mind to look with friendly eyes upon such a one as Archie?” - -“Let me see,” said she. “Wouldn’t the best way be for girl number one to -look with friendly eyes on him herself?” - -Harold lay back on his chair and laughed at first; then he gazed at her -in wonder. - -“You are cleverer than Edmund Airey and Helen Craven when they combine -their wisdom,” said he. “Your woman’s instinct is worth more than their -experience.” - -“I never knew what the instincts of a woman were before this morning,” - said she. “I never felt that I had any need to exercise the instinct -of defence. I suppose the young seal, though it has never been in the -water, jumps in by instinct should it be attacked. Oh, yes, I dare say I -could swim as well as most girls of my age.” - -It was only when he had returned to his rooms that he fully comprehended -the force of her parable of the young seal. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI.--ON DRY CHAMPAGNE AND A CRISIS. - -|THE next morning Archie drove one of his many machines round to -Harold’s rooms and broke in upon him before he had finished his -breakfast. - -“Hallo, my tarty chip,” cried Archie; “what’s the meaning of this?” - -He threw on the table an envelope addressed to him in the handwriting of -Mrs. Lampson. - -“What’s the meaning of what?” said Harold. “Have you got beyond the -restraint of Mr. Playdell alcoholically, that you ask me what’s the -meaning of that envelope?” - -“I mean what does the inside mean?” said Archie. - -“I’m sure you know better than I do, if you’ve read what’s inside it.” - -“Oh, you’re like one of the tarty chips in the courts that cross-examine -other tarty chips until their faces are blue,” said Archie. “There’s -no show for that sort of thing here. So just open the envelope and see -what’s inside.” - -“How can I do that and eat my kidneys?” said Harold. “I wish to heavens -you wouldn’t come here bothering me when I’m trying to get through a -tough kidney and a tougher leading article. What’s the matter with the -letter, Archie, my lad?” - -“It’s all right,” said Archie. “It’s an invite from your sister for -a big shoot at Abbeylands. What does it mean--that’s what I’d like to -know? Does it mean that decent people are going to make me the apple of -their eye, after all?” - -“I don’t think it goes quite so far as that,” said Harold. “I expect it -means that my sister has come to the end of her discoveries and she’s -forced to fall back on you.” - -“Oh, is that all?” Archie looked disappointed. “All? Isn’t it enough?” - said Harold. “Why, you’re in luck if you let her discover you. I knew -that her atheists couldn’t hold out. She used them up too quickly. One -should he economical of one’s genuine atheists nowadays.” - -“Great Godfrey! does she take me for an atheist?” shouted Archie. - -“Did you ever hear of an atheist shooting pheasants?” said Harold. “Not -likely. An atheist is a man that does nothing except talk, and talks -about nothing except himself. Now, you’re asked to the shoot, aren’t -you?” - -“That’s in the invite anyway.” - -“Of course. And that shows that you’re not taken for an atheist.” - -“I’m glad of that. I draw the line at atheism,” Archie replied with a -smile. - -“I hope you’ll have a good time among the pheasants.” - -“Do you suppose that I’ll go?” - -“I’m sure you will. I may have thought you a bit of a fool before I came -to know you, Archie--” - -“And since you heard that I had taken the Legitimate.” - -“Well, yes, even after that masterpiece of astuteness. But I would never -think that you’d be fool enough to throw away this chance.” - -“Chance--chance of what?” - -“Of getting among decent people. I told you that my sister has nothing -but decent people when there’s a shoot--there’s no Coming Man in -anything among the house-party. Yes, it’s sure to be comfortable. It’s -the very thing for you.” - -“Is it? I’m not so certain about it. The people there are pretty sure to -allude in a friendly spirit to my red hair.” - -“Well, yes, I think you may depend upon that. That means that you’ll get -on so well among them that they will take an interest in your -personality. If you get on particularly well with them they may even -allude to the simplicity of your mug. If they do that, you may be -certain that you are a great social success.” - -Archie mused. - -It was in this musing spirit that he took in a contemplative way a lump -of sugar out of the sugar bowl, turned it over between his fingers as -though it was something altogether new to him. Then he threw the lump up -to the ceiling, his face became one mouth, and the sugar disappeared. - -“I think I’ll go,” he said, as he crunched the lump. “Yes, I’ll be -hanged if I don’t go.” - -“That’s more than probable,” said Harold. - -“Yes, I’d like to clear off for a bit from this kennel.” - -“What kennel?” - -“This kennel--London. Do you go the length of denying that London’s a -kennel?” - -“I don’t do anything of the sort.” - -“You’d best not. I was thinking if a run to Australia, or California, or -Timbuctoo would not be healthy just now.” - -“Oh.” - -“Yes, I made up my mind yesterday, that if I don’t have better hands -soon, I’ll chuck up the whole game. That’s the sort of new potatoes that -I am.” - -“The Legitimate?” - -“The Legitimate be frizzled! Am I to continue paying for the suppers -that other tarty chips eat? That’s what I want you to tell me. You know -what a square deal is, Wynne, as well as most people.” - -“I believe I do.” - -“Well, then, you can tell me if I’m to pay for dry champagne for her -guests.” - -“Whose guests?” - -“Great Godfrey! haven’t I been telling you? Mrs. Mowbray’s guests. Who -else’s would they be? Do you mean to tell me that, in addition to giving -people free boxes at the Legitimate every night to see W. S. late of -Stratford upon Avon, it’s my business to supply dry champagne all round -after the performance?” - -“Well,” said Harold, “to speak candidly to you, I’ve always been of -the opinion that the ideal proprietor of a theatre is one who supplies -really comfortable stalls free, and has really sound champagne handed -round at intervals during the performance. I also frankly admit that -I haven’t yet met with any manager who quite realized my ideas in this -matter. Archie, my lad, the sooner you get down to Abbeylands the better -it will be for yourself.” - -“I’ll go. Mind you, I don’t cry off when I know the chaps that she asks -to supper--I’ll flutter the dimes for anyone I know; but I’m hanged if -I do it for the chaps that chip in on her invite. They’ll not draw cards -from my pack, Wynne. No, I’ll see them in the port of Hull first. That’s -the sort of new potatoes that I am.” - -“Give me your hand, Archie,” cried Harold. “I always thought you nothing -better than a millionaire, but I find that you’re a man after all.” - -“I’ll make things hum at the Legitimate yet,” said Archie--his voice was -fast approaching the shouting stage. “I’ll send them waltzing round. I -thought once upon a time that, when she laid her hand upon my head -and said, ‘Poor old Archie,’ I could go on for ever--that to see the -decimals fluttering about her would be the loveliest sight on earth -for the rest of my life. But I’m tired of that show now, Wynne. Great -Godfrey! I can get my hair smoothed down at a barber’s for sixpence, and -yet I believe that she charged me a thousand pounds for every time she -patted my head. A decimal for a pat--a pat!” - -“You could buy the whole Irish nation for less money, according to some -people’s ideas--but they’re wrong,” said Harold. - -“Wynne,” said Archie, solemnly. “I’ve been going it blind for some time. -Shakespeare’s a fraud. I’ll shoot those pheasants.” - -He had picked up his hat, and in another minute Harold saw him sending -his pair of chestnuts down the street at a pace that showed a creditable -amount of self-restraint on the part of Archie. - -Three days afterwards Harold got a letter from Mrs. Lampson, giving him -a number of commissions to execute for her--delicate matters that could -not be intrusted to any one except a confidential agent. The postscript -mentioned that Archie Brown had arrived a few days before and had -charmed every one with his shyness. On this account she could scarcely -believe, she said, that he was a millionaire. She added that Lady -Innisfail and her daughter had just arrived at Abbeylands, that the Miss -Avon about whom she had inquired, had accepted her invitation and was -coming to Abbeylands on the next day; and finally, Mrs. Lampson said -that her father was dull enough to make people believe that he was -really reformed. He was inquiring when Miss Avon was coming, and he -shared the fate of all men (and women) who were unfortunate enough to -be reformed: he had become deadly dull. Lady Innisfail had assured her, -however, that it was very rarely that a Hardened Reprobate permanently -reformed--even with the incentive of acute rheumatism--before he was -sixty-five, so that it would be unwise to be despondent about -Lord Fotheringay. If this was so--and Lady Innisfail was surely an -authority--Mrs. Lampson said that she looked forward to such a lapse on -the part of her father as would restore him to the position of interest -which he had always occupied in the eyes of the world. - -Harold lay back in his chair and laughed heartily at the reference made -by his sister to the shyness of Archie, and also to the fact of Norah -Innisfail’s sitting at the table with the Young Reprobate as well as the -Old. He wondered if the conversation had yet turned upon the management -of the Legitimate Theatre. - -It was after he had lunched on the next Tuesday that Harold received -this letter--written by his sister the previous day. He had passed -an hour with Beatrice, who was to start by the four-twenty train for -Abbeylands station. He had said goodbye to her for a week, and already -he was feeling so lonely that he was soon pacing his room calling -himself a fool for having elected to remain in town while she was to go. - -He thought how they might have had countless strolls through the fine -park at Abbeylands--through the picturesque ruins of the old Abbey--on -the banks of the little trout stream. Instead of being by her side among -those interesting scenes, he would have to remain--he had been foolish -enough to make the choice--in the neighbourhood of nothing more joyous -than St. James’s Palace. - -This was bad enough; but not merely would he be away from the landscapes -at Abbeylands, the elements of life in those landscapes would be -represented by Beatrice and Another. - -Yes; she would certainly appear with someone at her side--in the place -he might have occupied if he had not been such a fool. - -An hour had passed before he had got the better of his impulse to call -a hansom and drive to the railway terminus and take a seat beside her in -the train. When the clock had struck four, and it was therefore too late -for him to entertain the idea of going with her, he became more inclined -to take a reasonable view of the situation. - -“I was right.” he said, as he seated himself in front of the fire, -and stared into the smouldering coals. “Yes, I was right. No one must -suspect that we are--bound to one another”--the words were susceptible -of a sufficiently liberal interpretation. “The penetration of Edmund -Airey will be at fault for the first time, and the others who had so -many suspicions at Castle Innisfail, will find themselves completely at -fault.” - -He began to think how, though he had been cruelly dealt with by Fate in -some respects--in respect of his own father, for instance, and also in -respect of his own poverty--he had still much to be thankful for. - -He was beloved by the loveliest woman whom he had ever seen--the only -woman for whom he had ever felt a passion. And the peculiar position -which she occupied, had enabled him to see her every day and to kiss her -exquisite face--there was none to make him afraid. Such obstacles in the -way of a lover’s freedom as the Average Father, the Vigilant Mother -and the Athletic Brother he had never encountered. And then a curious -circumstance--the thought of Beatrice as a part of the landscapes around -Abbeylands caused him to lay special emphasis upon this--had enabled him -to bind the girl to him with a bond which in her eyes at least--yes, in -his eyes too, by heaven, he felt--was not susceptible of being loosened. - -Yes, the ways of Providence were wonderful, he felt. If he had not met -Mr. Playdell.... and so forth. - -But now Beatrice was his own. She might stray through the autumn -woods by the side of Edmund Airey or any man whom she might meet at -Abbeylands; she would feel upon her finger the ring that he had placed -there--the ring that---- - -He sprang to his feet with a sudden cry. - -“Good God! the Ring! the Ring!” - -He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It pointed to four-seventeen. - -He pulled out his watch. It pointed to four-twenty-two. - -He rushed to the sofa where an overcoat was lying. He had it on him in a -moment. He snatched up a railway guide and stuffed it into his pocket. - -In another minute he was in a hansom, driving as fast as the hansomeer -thought consistent with public safety--a trifle over that which the -police authorities thought consistent with public safety--in the -direction of the Northern Railway terminus. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII.--ON THE RING AND THE LOOK. - -|HE tried, while in the hansom, to unravel the mysteries of the system -by which passengers were supposed to reach Brackenshire. He found the -four-twenty train from London indicated in its proper order. This was -the train by which he had invariably travelled to Abbeylands--it was the -last train in the day that carried passengers to Abbeylands Station, for -the station was on a short branch line, the junction being Mowern. - -On reaching the terminus he lost no time in finding a responsible -official--one whose chastely-braided uniform looked repressful of tips. - -“I want to get to Mowern Junction before the four-twenty train from here -goes on to Abbeylands. Can I do it?” said Harold. - -“Next train to the Junction five-thirty-two, sir,” said the official. - -“That’s too late for me,” said Harold. “The train leaves the Junction -for Abbeylands a quarter of an hour after arriving at Mowern. Is there -no local train that I might manage to catch that would bring me to the -Junction?” - -“None that would serve your purpose, sir.” - -Harold clearly saw how it was that this company could never get their -dividend over four per cent. - -“Why is there so long a wait at Mowern?” he asked. - -“Waits for Ditchford Mail, sir.” - -“And at what time does a train start for Ditch-ford?” - -“Can’t tell, sir. Ditchford is on the Nethershire system--they have -running powers over our line to Mowern.” - -Harold whipped out his guide, and found Ditch-ford in the index. By an -inspiration he turned at once to the page devoted to the Nethershire -service of trains. He found that, by an exquisite system of timing the -trains, it was possible to reach a station a mile from Ditchford on the -one line, just six minutes after the departure of the last local train -to Ditchford on the other line. It took a little ingenuity, no doubt, -on the part of the Directors of both lines to accomplish this, but still -they managed to do it. - -“I beg pardon, sir,” said an official wearing a uniform that suggested -tolerance of views in the matter of tips--the more important official -had moved away. “I beg pardon, sir. Why not take the four-fifty-five -to Mindon, and change into the Ditchford local train--that’ll reach the -junction four minutes before the express? I know it, sir. I was -stationed at change into the Ditchford local train--that’ll reach the -junction four minutes before the express? I know it, sir. I was -stationed at that part of the system.” - -To glance at the clock, and to perceive that he had time enough to drive -to the Nethershire terminus, and to transfer a coin to the unconscious -but not reluctant hand of the official of the liberal views, occupied -Harold but a moment. At four-fifty-five he was in the Nethershire train -on his way to Mindon. - -He had not waited to verify the man’s statement as to the trains, but -in the railway carriage he did so, and he found that the beautiful -complications of the two systems were at least susceptible of the -interpretation put on them. - -For the next two hours Harold felt that he could devote himself, if -he had the mind, to the problem of the ring that had been so suddenly -suggested to him. - -It did not require him to spend more than the merest fraction of this -time in order to convince him that the impulse upon which he had acted, -was one that he would have been a fool to repress. - -The ring which he had put on her finger, and which she had worn -since, and would most certainly wear--he had imagined her doing so--at -Abbeylands, could not fail to be recognized both by his father and his -sister. It had belonged to his mother, and it was unique. It had flashed -upon him suddenly that, unless he was content that his father and sister -should learn that he had given her that ring, it would be necessary for -him to prevent Beatrice from wearing it even for an hour at Abbeylands. - -Apart altogether from the question of the circumstances under which he -had put the ring upon her finger--circumstances which he had good reason -for desiring to conceal--the fact that he had given to her the object -which he valued most highly in the world, and which his father and -sister knew that he so valued, would suggest to both these persons as -much as would ruin him. - -His father would, he knew, be extremely glad to discover some pretext to -cut off the last penny of his allowance; and assuredly he would regard -this gift of the ring as an ample pretext for adopting such a course of -action. Indeed, Lord Fotheringay had never been at a loss for a pretext -for reducing his son’s allowance; and now that he was posing--with -but indifferent success, as Harold had learned from Mrs. Lampson’s -postscript--as a Reformed Sinner, he would, his son knew, think that, -in cutting off his son’s allowance, he was only acting consistently with -the traditions of Reformed Sinners. - -The Reformed Sinner is usually a sinner whose capacity to enjoy the -pleasures of sin has become dulled, and thus he is intolerant of the -sins of others, and particularly intolerant of the capacity of others to -enjoy sin. This is why he reduces the allowances of his children. Like -the man who advances to the position of teetotal lecturer, after having -served for some time as the teetotal lecturer’s Example, he knows all -about the evil which he means to combat--to be more exact, which he -means his children to combat. - -All this Harold knew perfectly well. He knew that the only difference -that the reform of his father would make to him, was that, while his -father had formerly cut down his allowance with a courteously worded -apology, he would now stop it altogether without an apology. - -How could he have failed to remember, when he put that ring upon her -finger, how great were the chances that it would be seen there by his -father or his sister? - -This was the question which occupied his thoughts for the first hour -of his journey. He lay back looking out on the gray October landscapes -through which the train rushed--the wood glowing in crimson and brown -like a mighty smouldering furnace--the groups of children picking -blackberries on the embankments--the canal boat moving slowly along the -gray waterway--and he asked himself how he had been such a fool as to -overlook the likelihood of the ring being seen on her hand by his father -or his sister. - -The truth was, that he had at that time not considered the possibility -of her going to Abbey-lands. He knew that Mrs. Lampson intended inviting -her; but he felt certain that, when she heard that he was not going, she -would not accept the invitation. She would not have accepted it, if it -had not suddenly occurred to him that the fact of her going while he -remained in town would be to his advantage. - -Would he be in time to prevent the disaster which he foresaw would occur -if she appeared in the drawing-room at Abbeylands wearing the ring? - -He looked at his watch. The train was three minutes late in reaching -several of the stations on its route, and it was delayed for another -three minutes when there was only a single line of rails. How would -it be possible for the train to make up so great a loss during the -remainder of the journey? - -He reminded the guard at one of many intolerable stoppages, that the -train was long behind its time. The guard could not agree with him, it -was only about seven minutes late, he assured Harold. - -On it went, and it seemed as if the engine-driver had a clearer sense of -his responsibilities than the guard, for during the next thirty miles, -he managed to save over two minutes. All this Harold noticed with more -interest than he had ever taken in the details of any railway journey. - -When at last Mindon was reached, and he left the train to change into -the one which was to carry him on to the Junction, he found that this -train had not yet come up. Here was another point to be considered. -Would the train come up in time? - -He was not left for long in suspense. The long row of lighted carriages -ran up to the platform before he had been waiting for two minutes, and -in another two minutes the train was steaming away with him. - -He looked at his watch once more, and then he was able to give himself -a rest, for he saw that unless some accident were to happen, he would be -at Mowern Junction before the train should leave for Abbeylands Station -on the branch line. - -In running into the Junction, the train went past the platform of the -branch line. A number of carriages were there, and at the side glass of -one compartment he saw the profile of Beatrice. - -The little cry that she gave, when he opened the door of the compartment -and spoke her name, had something of terror as well as delight in it. - -“Harold! How on earth--” she began. - -“I have a rather important message for you,” he said. “Will you take a -turn with me on the platform? There is plenty of time. The train does -not start for six minutes.” - -She was out of the carriage in a moment. “Mr. Wynne has a message for -me--it is probably from Mrs. Lampson,” she said to her maid, who was in -the same compartment. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII.--ON THE SON OF APHRODITE. - -|WHAT can be the matter? How did you manage to come here? You must have -travelled by the same train as we came by. Oh, Harold, my husband, I am -so glad to see you. You have changed your mind--you are coming on with -me? Oh, I see it all now. You meant all along to give me this delightful -surprise.” - -The words came from her in a torrent as she put her hand on his arm--he -could feel the ring on her finger. - -“No, no,” said he; “everything remains as it was this morning. I only -wish that I were going on with you. Providentially something occurred to -me when I was sitting alone after lunch. That is why I came. I managed -to catch a train that brought me here just now--the train I was in ran -past this platform and I saw your face.” - -“What can have occurred to you that you could not tell me in a letter?” - she asked, her face still bearing the look of glad surprise that had -come to it when she had heard the sound of his voice. - -“We shall have to go into a waiting-room, or--better still--an empty -carriage,” said he. “I see several men whom I know, and--worse luck! -women--they are on their way to Abbeylands, and if they saw us together -in this confidential way, they would never cease chattering when they -arrived. We shall get into a compartment--there is one that still -remains unlighted, it will be the best for our purpose; there will be no -chance of a prying face appearing at the window.” - -“Shall we have time?” she asked. - -“Plenty of time. By getting into the carriage you will run no chance of -being left behind--the worst that can happen is that I may be carried on -with you.” - -“The worst? Oh, that is the best--the best.” They had strolled to the -end of the platform where it was dimly lighted, and in an instant, -apparently unobserved by anyone, they had got into an unlighted -compartment at the rear of the train, and Harold shut the door -quietly, so as not to attract the attention of the three or four men in -knickerbockers who were stretching their legs on the platform until the -train was ready to start. - -“We are fortunate,” said he. “Those men outside will be your -fellow-guests for the week. None of them will think of glancing into -a dark carriage; but if one of them does so, he will be nothing the -wiser.” - -“And now--and now,” she cried. - -“And now, my dearest, you remember the ring that I put upon your -finger?” - -“This ring? Do you think it likely that I have forgotten it already?” - she whispered. - -“No, no, dearest; it was I who forgot it,” he said. “It was I who forgot -that my father and my sister are perfectly certain to recognize that -ring if you wear it at Abbeylands: they will be certain to see it on -your linger, and they will question you as to how it came into your -possession.” - -“Of course they will,” she said, after a pause. “You told me that it was -a ring that belonged to your mother. There can only be one such ring in -the world. Oh, they could not fail to recognize it. The little chubby -wicked Eros surrounded by the rubies--I have looked at the design every -day--every night--sometimes the firelight gleaming upon the circle of -rubies has made them seem to me a band of blood. Was that the idea of -the artist who made the design, I wonder--a circle of blood with the god -Eros in the centre.” - -She had taken off her glove, and had laid the hand with the ring in one -of his hands. - -He had never felt her hand so soft and warm before. His hand became -hot through holding hers. His heart was beating as it had never beaten -before. - -The force of his grasp pressed the sharply cut cameo into his flesh. The -image of that wicked little god, the son of Aphrodite, was stamped upon -him. It seemed as if some of his blood would mingle with the blood that -sparkled and beat within the heart of the rubies. - -He had forgotten the object of his mission to her. Still holding her -hand with the ring, he put his arm under the sealskin coat that reached -to her feet, and held her close to him while he kissed her as he had -never before kissed her. - -Suddenly he seemed to recollect why he was with her. He had not hastened -down from London for the sake of the kiss. - -“My beloved, my beloved!” he murmured--each word sounded like a sob--“I -should like to remain with you for ever.” - -She did not say a word. She did not need to say a word. He could feel -the tumult of her heart, and she knew it. - -“For God’s sake, Beatrice, let me speak to you,” he said. - -It was a strange entreaty. His arm was about her, his hand was holding -one of hers, she was simply passive by his side; and yet he implored of -her to let him speak to her. - -It was some moments before she could laugh, however; which was also -strange, for the humour of the matter which called for that laugh, was -surely capable of being appreciated by her immediately. - -She gave a laugh and then a sigh. - -The carriage was dark, but a stray gleam of light from a side platform -now and again came upon her face, and her features were brought into -relief with the clearness and the whiteness of a lily in a jungle. - -As she gave that laugh--or was it a sigh?--he started, perceiving that -the expression of her features was precisely that which the artist in -the antique had imparted to the features of the little chrysoprase Eros -in the centre of that blood-red circle of the ring. - -“Why do you laugh, Beatrice?8 said he. - -“Did I laugh, Harold?” said she. “No--no--I think--yes, I think it was a -sigh--or was it you who sighed, my love?” - -“God knows,” said he. “Oh, the ring--the ring!” - -“It feels like a band of burning metal,” she said. - -“It is almost a pain for me to wear it. Have you not heard of the -curious charms possessed by rings, Harold--the strange spells which they -carry with them? The ring is a mystery--a mystic symbol. It means what -has neither beginning nor ending--it means perfection--completeness--it -means love--love’s completeness.” - -“That is what your ring must mean to us, my beloved,” said he. “Whether -you take it from your finger or let it remain there, it will still mean -the completeness of such love as is ours.” - -“And I am to take it off, Harold?” - -“Only so long as you stay at Abbeylands, Beatrice. What does it matter -for one week? You will see, dearest, how my plans--my hopes--must -certainly he destroyed if that ring is seen on your finger by my father -or my sister. It is not for the sake of my plans only that I wish you to -refrain from wearing it for a week; it is for your sake as well.” - -“Would they fancy that I had stolen it, dear?” she asked, looking up to -his face with a smile. - -“They might fancy worse things than that, Beatrice,” said he. “Do -not ask me. You may be sure that I am advising you aright--that the -consequences of that ring being recognized on your finger would be more -serious than you could understand.” - -“Did I not say something to you a few days ago about the completeness of -my trust in you, Harold?” she whispered. “Well, the ring is the symbol -of this completeness also. I trust you implicitly in everything. I have -given myself up to you. I will do whatever you may tell me. I will not -take the ring off until I reach Abbeylands, but I shall take it off -then, and only replace it on my finger every night.” - -“My darling, my darling! Such love as you have given to me is God’s best -gift to the world.” - -He had committed himself to an opinion practically to the same effect -upon more than one previous occasion. - -And now, as then, the expression of that opinion was followed by a long -silence, as their faces came together. - -“Beatrice,” he said, in a tremulous voice. - -“Harold.” - -“I shall go on with you to Abbeylands. Come what may, we shall not now -be separated.” - -But they were separated that very instant. The carriage was flooded with -light--the chastened flood that comes from an oil lamp inserted in a -hollow in the roof--and they were no longer in each others arms. They -heard the sound of the porter’s feet on the roof of the next carriage. - -“It is so good of you to come,” said she. - -There was now perhaps three inches of a space separating them. - -“Good?” said he. “I’m afraid that’s not the word. We shall be under one -roof.” - -“Yes,” she said slowly, “under one roof.” - -“Tickets for Ashmead,” intoned a voice at the carriage window. - -“We are for Abbeylands Station,” said Harold. - -“Abb’l’ns,” said the guard. “Why, sir, you know the Abb’l’ns train -started six minutes ago.” - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV.--ON THE SHORTCOMINGS OF A SYSTEM. - -|HAROLD was out of the compartment in a moment. Did the guard mean that -the train had actually left for Abbeylands? It had left six minutes -before, the guard explained, and the station-master added his guarantee -to the statement. - -Harold looked around--from platform to platform--as if he fancied that -there was a conspiracy between the officials to conceal the train. - -How could the train leave without taking all its carriages with it? - -It did nothing of the kind, the station-master said, firmly but -respectfully. - -The guard went on with his business of cutting neat triangles out of -the tickets of the passengers in the carriages that were alongside the -platform--passengers bound for Ashmead. - -“But I--we--my--my wife and I got into one of the carriages of the -Abbeylands train,” said Harold, becoming indignant, after the fashion -of his countrymen, when they have made a mistake either on a home or -foreign railway. “What sort of management is it that allows one -portion of a train to go in one direction and another part in another -direction?” - -“It’s our system, sir,” said the official. “You see, sir, there’re never -many passengers for either the Abbeyl’n’s”--being a station-master he -did not do an unreasonable amount of clipping in regard to the -names--“or the Ashm’d branch, so the Staplehurst train is divided--only -we don’t light the lamps in the Ashm’d portion until we’re ready to -start it. Did you get into a carriage that had a lamp, sir?” - -“I’ve seen some bungling at railway stations before now,” said Harold, -“but bang me if I ever met the equal of this.” - -“This isn’t properly speaking a station, sir, it’s a junction,” said -the official, mildly, but with the force of a man who has said the last -word. - -“That simply means that greater bungling may be found at a junction than -at a station,” said Harold. “Is it not customary to give some notice -of the departure of a train at a junction as well as a station, my good -man?” - -The official became reasonably irritated at being called a good man. - -“The train left for Abbeyl’n’s according to reg’lation, sir,” said he. -“If you got into a compartment that had no lamp----” - -“Oh, I’ve no time for trifling,” said Harold. “When does the next train -leave for Abbey-lands?” - -“At eight-sixteen in the morning,” said the official. - -“Great heavens! You mean to say that there’s no train to-night?” - -“You see, if a carriage isn’t lighted, sir, we----” - -The man perceived the weakness of Harold’s case--from the standpoint -of a railway official--and seemed determined not to lose sight of it. -“Contributory negligence” he knew to be the most valuable phrase that a -railway official could have at hand upon any occasion. - -“And how do you expect us to go on to Abbeylands to-night?” asked -Harold. - -“There’s a very respectable hotel a mile from the junction, sir,” said -the man. “Ruins of the Priory, sir--dates back to King John, page 84 -_Tourist’s Guide to Brackenshire_.” - -“Oh,” said Harold, “this is quite preposterous.” He went to where -Beatrice was seated watching, with only a moderate amount of interest, -the departure of five passengers for Ashmead. - -“Well, dear?” said she, as Harold came up. - -“For straightforward, pig-headed stupidity I’ll back a railway company -against any institution in the world,” said he. “The last train has -left for Abbeylands. Did you ever know of such stupidity? And yet the -shareholders look for six per cent, out of such a system.” - -“Perhaps,” said she timidly--“perhaps we were in some degree to blame.” - -He laughed. It was so like a woman to suggest the possibility of some -blame attaching to the passengers when a railway company could be -indicted. To the average man such an idea is as absurd as beginning to -argue with a person at whom one is at liberty to swear. - -“It seems that there is a sort of hotel a mile away,” said he. “We -cannot be starved, at any rate.” - -“And I--you--we shall have to stay there?” said she. - -He gave a sort of shrug--an Englishman’s shrug--about as like the real -thing as an Englishman’s bow, or a Chinaman’s cheer. - -“What can we do?” said he. “When a railway company such as this--oh, -come along, Beatrice. I am hungry--hungry--hungry!” - -He caught her by the arm. - -“Yes, Harold--husband,” said she. - -He started. - -“Husband! Husband!” he said. “I never thought of that. Oh, my -beloved--my beloved!” - -He stood irresolute for a moment. - -Then he gave a curious laugh, and she felt his hand tighten upon her arm -for a moment. - -“Yes,” he whispered. “You heard the words that--that man said while our -hands were together? ‘Whom God hath joined’--God--that is Love. Love -is the bond that binds us together. Every union founded on Love is -sacred--and none other is sacred--in the sight of heaven.” - -“And you do not doubt my love,” she said. - -“Doubt it? oh, my Beatrice, I never knew what it was before now.” They -left the station together, after he had written and despatched in her -name a telegram to her maid, directing her to explain to Mrs. Lampson -that her mistress had unfortunately missed the train, but meant to go by -the first one in the morning. - -By chance a conveyance was found outside, and in it they drove to the -Priory Hotel which, they were amazed to find, promised comfort as well -as picturesqueness. - -It was a long ivy-covered house, and bore every token of being a portion -of the ancient Priory among the ruins of which it was standing. Great -elms were in front of the house, and on one side there were apple trees, -and at the other there was a garden reaching almost to where a ruined -arch was held together by its own ivy. - -As they were in the act of entering the porch, a ray of moonlight -gleamed upon the ruins, and showed the trimmed grass plots and neat -gravel walks among the cloisters. - -Harold pointed out the picturesque effect to Beatrice, and they stood -for some moments before entering the house. - -The old waiter, whose moderately white shirt front constituted a very -distinctive element of the hall with its polished panels of old oak, did -not bustle forward when he saw them admiring the ruins. - -“Upon my word,” said Harold, entering, “this is a place worth seeing. -That touch of moonlight was very effective.” - -“Yes, sir,” said the waiter; “I’m glad you’re pleased with it. We try to -do our best in this way for our patrons. Mrs. Mark will be glad to know -that you thought highly of our moonlight, sir.” - -The man was only a waiter, but he was as solemn as a butler, as he -opened the door of a room that seemed ready to do duty as a coffee-room. -It had a low groined ceiling, and long narrow windows. - -An elderly maid was lighting candles in sconces round the walls. - -“Really,” said Harold, “we may be glad that the bungling at the junction -brought us here.” - -“Yes, sir,” said the man with waiter-like acquiescence; “they do bungle -things sometimes at that junction.” - -“We were on our way to Abbeylands,” said Harold, “but those idiots on -the platform allowed us to get into the wrong carriages--the carriages -that were going to Ashmead. We shall stay here for the night. The -station-master recommended us to go here, and I’m much obliged to him. -It’s the only sensible--” - -“Yes, sir: he’s a brother to Mrs. Mark--Mrs. Mark is our proprietor,” - said the waiter. - -“_Mrs_. Mark,” said Harold. - -“Yes, sir: she’s our proprietor.” - -Harold thought that, perhaps, when the owner of an hotel was a woman, -she might reasonably be called the proprietor. - -“Oh, well, perhaps a maid might show my--my wife to a room, while I see -what we can get for dinner--supper, I suppose we should call it.” - -The middle-aged woman who was lighting the candles came forward smiling, -as she adroitly extinguished the wax taper by the application of her -finger and thumb. With her Beatrice disappeared. - -Harold quite expected that he was about to come upon the weak element -in the management of this picturesque inn. But when he found that a cold -pheasant as well as some hot fish was available for supper, he admitted -that the place was perfect. There was no wine card, but the old waiter -promised a Champagne for which, he said, Mr. Lampson, of Abbeylands, had -once made an offer. - -“That will do for us very well,” said Harold. “Mr. Lampson would -not make an offer for anything--wine least of all--of which he was -uncertain.” - -The waiter went off in the leisurely style that was only consistent with -the management of an establishment that dated back to King John; and in -a few minutes Beatrice appeared, having laid aside her sealskin coat, -and her hat. - -How exquisite she seemed as she stood for an instant in the subdued -light at the door! - -And she was his. - - - - -CHAPTER XLV.--ON MOONLIGHT AND MORALS. - -|SHE was his. - -He felt the joy of it as she stood at the door in her beautifully -fitting travelling dress. - -The thought sent an exultant glow through his veins, as he looked at her -from where he was standing at the hearth. (There was no “cosy corner” - abomination.) - -She was his. - -He went forward to meet her, and put out both his hands to her. - -She placed a hand in each of his. - -“How delightfully warm you are,” she said. “You were standing at the -fire.” - -“Yes,” he said. “I was at the fire; in addition, I was also thinking -that you are mine.” - -“Altogether yours now,” she said looking at him with that trustful smile -which should have sent him down on his knees before her, but which did -not do more than cause his eyes to look at her throat instead of gazing -straight into her eyes. - -They seated themselves on one of the old window-seats, and talked face -to face, listlessly watching the old waiter lay a white cloth on a -portion of the black oak table. - -When they had eaten their fish and pheasant--Harold wondered if the -latter had come from the Abbeylands’ preserves, and if Archie Brown had -shot it--they returned to the window-seat, and there they remained for -an hour. - -He had thrown all reserve to the winds. He had thrown all forethought to -the winds. He had thrown all fear of God and man to the winds. - -She was his. - -The old waiter re-entered the room and laid on the table a flat bedroom -candlestick with a box of matches. - -“Can I get you anything before I go to bed, sir?” he inquired. - -“I require nothing, thank you,” said Harold. - -“Very good, sir,” said the waiter. “The candles in the sconces will burn -for another hour. If that will not be long enough--” - -“It will be quite long enough. You have made us extremely comfortable, -and I wish you goodnight,” said Harold. - -“Good-night, sir. Good-night, madam.” - -This model servitor disappeared. They heard the sound of his shoes upon -the stairs. - -“At last--at last!” whispered Harold, as he put an arm on the deep -embrasure of the window behind her. - -She let her shapely head fall back until it rested on his shoulder. Then -she looked up to his face. - -“Who could have thought it?” she cried. “Who could have predicted that -evening when I stood on the cliffs and sent my voice out in that wild -way across the lough, that we should be sitting here to-night?” - -“I knew it when I got down to the boat and drew your hands into mine by -that fishing-line,” said he. “When the moon showed me your face, I knew -that I had seen the face for which I had been searching all my life. -I had caught glimpses of that face many times in my life. I remember -seeing it for a moment when a great musician was performing an -incomparable work--a work the pure beauty of which made all who listened -to it weep. I can hear that music now when I look upon your face. It -conveys to me all that was conveyed to me by the music. I saw it -again when, one exquisite dawn, I went into a garden while the dew was -glistening over everything. There came to me the faint scent of violets. -I thought that nothing could be lovelier; but in another moment, the -glorious perfume of roses came upon me like a torrent. The odour of the -roses and the scent of the violets mingled, and before my eyes floated -your face. When the moonlight showed me your face on that night beside -the Irish lough I felt myself wondering if it would vanish.” - -“It has come to stay,” she whispered, in a way that gave the sweetest -significance to the phrase that has become vulgarized. - -“It came to stay with me for ever,” he said. “I knew it, and I felt -myself saying, ‘Here by God’s grace is the one maid for me.’” - -He did not falter as he looked down upon her face--he said the words -“God’s grace” without the least hesitancy. - -The moonlight that had been glistening on the ivy of the broken arches -of the ancient Priory, was now shining through the diamond panes of -the window at which they were sitting. As her head lay back it was -illuminated by the moon. Her hair seemed delicate threads of spun glass -through which the light was shining. - -One of the candles flared up for a moment in its socket, then dwindled -away to a single spark and then expired. - -“You remember?” she whispered. - -“The seal-cave,” he said. “I have often wondered how I dared to tell you -that I loved you.” - -“But you told me the truth.” - -“The truth. No, no; I did not love you then as I regard loving now. Oh, -my Beatrice, you have taught me what ‘tis to love. There is nothing in -the world but love, it is life--it is life!” - -“And there are none in the world who love as you and I do.” - -His face shut out the moonlight from hers. There was a long silence -before she said, “It was only when you had parted from me every day that -I knew what you were to me, Harold. Ah, those bitter moments! Those sad -Good-byes--sad Good-nights out of the moonlight from hers. There was a -long silence before she said, “It was only when you had parted from me -every day that I knew what you were to me, Harold. Ah, those bitter -moments! Those sad Good-byes--sad Good-nights!” - -“They are over, they are over!” he cried. The lover’s triumph rang -through his words. “They are over. We have come to the night when no -more Good-nights shall be spoken. What do I say? No more Good-nights? -You know what a poet’s heart sang--a poet over whose head the waters of -passion had closed? I know the song that came from his heart--beloved, -the pulses of his heart beat in every line:” - - - “‘Good-night! ah, no, the hour is ill - -‘ That severs those it should unite: - -‘ Let us remain together still, - - Then it will be good night. - - - ”’ How can I call the lone night good, - - Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight? - - Be it not said--thought--understood; - - Then it will be good night. - - - “‘To hearts that near each other move - -‘ From evening close to morning light, - - The night is good because, oh, Love, - - They never say Good-night.’” - - -His whispering of the last lines was very tremulous. Her eyes were -closed and her lips were parted with the passing of a sigh--a sigh that -had something of a sob about it. Then both her arms were flung round his -neck, and he felt her face against his. Then.... he was alone. - -How had she gone? - -Whither had she gone? - -How long had he been alone? - -He got upon his feet, and looked in a dazed way around the room. - -Had it all been a dream? Was it only in fancy that she had been in his -arms? Had he been repeating Shelley’s poem in the hearing of no one? - -He opened a glass door by which access was had to the grounds of the old -Priory, and stood, surpliced by the moonlight, beside the ruined arch -where an oriel window had once been. He turned and looked at the house. -It was black against the clear sky that overflowed with light, but one -window above the room where he had been sitting was illuminated. - -It had no drapery--he could see through it half way into the room -beyond. - -Just above where a silver sconce with three lighted candles hung from -the wall, he could see that the black panel bore in high relief a carved -Head of the Virgin, surrounded with lilies. - -He kept his eyes fixed upon that carving until--until.... - -There came before his eyes in that room the Temptation of Saint Anthony. - -His eyes became dim looking at her loveliness, shining with dazzling -whiteness beneath the light of the candles. - -He put his hands before his eyes and staggered to the door through which -he had passed. There he stood, his breath coming in sobs, with his hand -on the handle of the door. - -There was not a sound in the night. Heaven and earth were breathlessly -watching the struggle. - -It was the struggle between Heaven and Hell for a human soul. - -The man’s fingers fell from the handle of the door. He clasped his hands -across the ivy of the wall and bowed his head upon them. - -Only for a few moments, however. Then, with a cry of agony, he started -up, and with his clasped hands over his eyes, fled--madly--blindly--away -from the house. - -Before he had gone far, he tripped and fell over a stone--he only fell -upon his knees, but his hands were clutching at the ground. - -When he recovered himself, he found that he was on his knees at the foot -of an ancient prostrate Cross. - -He stared at it, and some time had passed before there came from his -parched lips the cry, “Christ have mercy upon me!” - -He bowed his head to the Cross, and his lips touched the cold, damp -stone. - -This was not the kiss to which he had been looking forward. - -He sprang to his feet and fled into the distance. - -She was saved! - -And he--he had saved his soul alive! - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI.--ON A BED OF LOGS. - - -|ONWARD he fled, he knew not whither; he only knew that he was flying -for the safety of his soul. - -He passed far beyond the limits of the Priory grounds, but he did not -reach the high road. He crossed a meadow and came upon a trout stream. -He walked beside it for an hour. At the end of that time there was no -moonlight to glitter upon its surface. Clouds had come over the sky and -drops of rain were beginning to fall. - -He crossed the stream by a little bridge, and reached the border of a -wood. It was now long past midnight. He had been walking for two hours, -but he had no consciousness of weariness. It was not until the rain was -streaming off his hair that he recollected that he had no hat. But on -still he went through the darkness and the rain, as though he were being -pursued, and that every step he took was a step toward safety. - -He came upon a track that seemed to lead through the wood, and upon this -track he went for several miles. The ground was soft, and at some places -the rain had turned it into a morass. The autumn leaves lay in drifts, -sodden and rotting. Into more than one of these he stumbled, and when he -got upon his feet again, the damp leaves and the mire were clinging to -him. - -For three more hours he went on by the winding track through the wood. -In the darkness he strayed from it frequently, but invariably found it -again and struggled on, until he had passed right through the wood and -reached a high road that ran beside it. - -As though he had been all the night wandering in search for this road, -so soon as he saw it he cried, “Thank God, thank God!” - -But something else may have been in his mind beyond the satisfaction of -coming upon the road. - -At the border of the wood where the track broadened out, there was a -woodcutter’s rough shed. It was piled up with logs of various sizes, and -with trimmed boughs awaiting the carts to come along the road to carry -them away. He entered the shed, and, overpowered with weariness, sank -down upon a heap of boughs; his head found a resting place in a forked -branch and in a moment he was sound asleep. - -His head was resting upon the damp bark of the trimmed branch, when it -might have been close to that whiteness which he had seen through the -window. - -True; but his soul was saved. - -He awoke, hearing the sound of voices around him. - -The cold light of a gray, damp day was struggling with the light that -came from a fire of faggots just outside, and the shed was filled with -the smoke of the burning wood. The sound of the crackling of the small -branches came to his ears with the sound of the voices. - -He raised his head, and looked around him in a dazed way. He did not -realize for some time the strange position in which he found himself. -Suddenly he seemed to recall all that had occurred, and once more he -said, “Thank God, thank God!” - -Three men were standing in the shed before him. Two of them held -bill-hooks in a responsible way; the third had the truncheon of a -constable. He also wore the helmet of a constable. - -The men with the bill-hooks seemed preparing to repel a charge. They -stood shoulder to shoulder with their implements breast high. - -The man with the truncheon seemed willing to trust a great deal to them, -whether in regard to attack or defence. - -“Well, you’re awake, my gentleman,” said the man with the truncheon. - -The speech seemed a poor enough accompaniment to such a show of -strength, aggressive or defensive, as was the result of the muster in -the shed. - -“Yes, I believe I’m awake,” said Harold. “Is the morning far advanced?” - -“That’s as may be,” said the truncheon-holder, shrewdly, and after a -pause of considerable duration. - -“You’re not the man to compromise yourself by a hasty statement,” said -Harold. - -“No,” said the man, after another pause. - -“May I ask what is the meaning of this rather imposing demonstration?” - said Harold. - -“Ay, you may, maybe,” replied the man. “But it’s my business to tell -you that--” here he paused and inflated his lungs and person -generally-- “that all you say now will be used as evidence against -you.” - -“That’s very official,” said Harold. “Does it mean that you’re a -constable?” - -“That it do; and that you’re in my charge now. Close up, bill-hooks, and -stand firm,” the man added to his companions. - -“Don’t trumle for we,” said one of the billhook-holders. - -“You see there’s no use broadening vi’lent-like,” said the -truncheon-holder. - -“That’s clear enough,” said Harold. “Would it be imprudent for me to -inquire what’s the charge against me?” - -“You know,” said the policeman. - -“Come, my man,” said Harold; “I’m not disposed to stand this farce any -longer. Can’t you see that I’m no vagrant--that I haven’t any of your -logs concealed about me. What part of the country is this? Where’s the -nearest telegraph office?” - -“No matter what’s the part,” said the constable; “I’ve arrested you -before witnesses of full age, and I’ve cautioned you according to the -Ack o’ Parliament.” - -“And the charge?” - -“The charge is the murder.” - -“Murder--what murder?” - -“You know--the murder of the Right Honourable Lord Fotheringay.” - -“What!” shouted Harold. “Lord--oh, you’re mad! Lord Fotheringay is my -father, and he’s staying at Abbeylands. What do you mean, you idiot, by -coming to me with such a story?” The policeman winked in by no means a -subtle way at the two men with the bill-hooks; he then looked at Harold -from head to foot, and gave a guffaw. - -“The son of his lordship--the murdered man--you heard that, friends, -after I gave the caution according to the Ack o’ Parliament?” he said. - -“Ay, ay, we heard--leastways to that effeck,” replied one of the men. - -“Then down it goes again him,” said the constable. “He’s a -gentleman-Jack tramp--and that’s the worst sort--without hat or head -gear, and down it goes that he said he was his lordship’s son.” - -“For God’s sake tell me what you mean by talking of the murder of Lord -Fotheringay,” said Harold. “There can be no truth in what you said. Oh, -why do I wait here talking to this idiot?” He took a few steps toward one -end of the shed. The men raised their bill-hooks, and the constable made -an aggressive demonstration with his truncheon. - -Against Stupidity the gods fight in vain, but now and again a man with -good muscles can prevail against it. Harold simply dealt a kick upon -the heavy handle of the bill-hook nearest to him, and it swung round -and caught in the stomach the second man, who immediately dropped his -implement. He needed both hands to press against his injured person. - -The constable ran to the other end of the shed and blew his whistle. - -Harold went out in the opposite direction and got upon the high road; -but before he had quite made up his mind which way to go, he heard the -clatter of a horse galloping. He saw that a mounted constable was coming -up, and he also noticed with a certain amount of interest, that he was -drawing a revolver. - -Harold stood in the centre of the road and held up his hand. - -One of the few occasions when a man of well developed muscles, if he is -wise, thinks himself no better than the gods, is when Stupidity is in -the act of drawing a revolver. - -“Are you the sergeant of constabulary?” Harold inquired, when the man -had reined in. He still kept his revolver handy. - -“Yes, I’m the sergeant of constabulary. Who are you, and what are you -doing here?” said the man. - -“He’s the gentleman-Jack tramp that the lads found asleep in the shed, -sergeant,” said the constable, who had hurried forward with the naked -truncheon. “The lads came on him hiding here, when they were setting -about their day’s work. They ran for me, and that’s why I sent for you. -I’ve arrested him and cautioned him. He was nigh clearing off just now, -but I never took an eye off him. Is there a reward yet, sergeant?” - -“Officer,” said Harold. “I am Lord Fotheringay’s son. For God’s -sake tell me if what this man says is true--is Lord Fotheringay -dead--murdered?” - -“He’s dead. You seem to know a lot about it, my gentleman,” said the -sergeant. “You’re charged with his murder. If you make any attempt at -resistance, I’ll shoot you down like a dog.” - -The man had now his revolver is his right hand. Harold looked first at -him, and then at the foolish man with the truncheon. He was amazed. What -could the men mean? How was it that they did not touch their helmets to -him? He had never yet been addressed by a policeman or a railway porter -without such a token of respect. What was the meaning of the change? - -This was really his first thought. - -His mind was not in a condition to do more than speculate upon this -point. It was not capable of grasping the horrible thing suggested by -the men. - -He stood there in the middle of the road, dazed and speechless. It was -not until he had casually looked down and had seen the condition of his -feet and legs and clothes that, passing from the amazed thought of -the insolence of the constables, into the amazement produced by his -raggedness--he was apparently covered with mire from head to foot--the -reason of his treatment flashed upon him; and in another instant every -thought had left him except the thought that his father was dead. His -head fell forward on his chest. He felt his limbs give way under him. -He staggered to the low hank at the side of the road and managed to seat -himself. He supported his head on his hands, his elbows resting on his -knees. - -There he remained, the four men watching him; for the interest which -attaches to a distinguished criminal in the eyes of ignorant rustics, is -almost as great as that which he excites among the leaders of society, -who scrutinize him in the dock through opera glasses, and eat _pâté de -foie gras_ sandwiches beside the judge. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII.--ON THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. - -|SOME minutes had passed before Harold had sufficiently recovered to be -able to get upon his feet. He could now account for everything that -had happened. His father must have been found dead under suspicious -circumstances the previous day, and information had been conveyed to the -county constabulary. The instinct of the constabulary being to connect -all crime with tramps, and his own appearance, after his night of -wandering, as well as the conditions under which he had been found, -suggesting the tramp, he had naturally been arrested. - -He knew that he could only suffer some inconvenience for an hour or so. -But what would be the sufferings of Beatrice? - -“The circumstances under which I am found are suspicious enough to -justify my arrest,” he said to the mounted man. “I am Lord Fotheringay’s -son.” - -“Gammon! but it’ll be took down,” said the constable with the truncheon. - -“Hold your tongue, you fool!” cried the sergeant to his subordinate. - -“I can, of course, account for every movement of mine, yesterday and the -day before,” said Harold. “What hour is the crime supposed to have taken -place? It must have been after four o’clock, or I should have received a -telegram from my sister, Mrs. Lampson. I left London shortly before five -last evening.” - -“If you can prove that, you’re all right,” said the sergeant. “But -you’ll have to give us your right name.” - -“You’ll find it on the inside of my watch,” said Harold. - -He slipped the watch from the swivel clasp and handed it to the -sergeant. - -“You’re a fool!” said the sergeant, looking at the hack of the watch. -“This is a watch that belonged to the murdered man. It has a crown over -a crest, and arms with supporters.” - -“Of course,” said Harold. “I forgot that it was my father’s watch -before he gave it to me.” The sergeant smiled. The constable and the two -bill-hook men guffawed. - -“Give me the watch,” said Harold. - -The sergeant slipped it into his own pocket. - -“You’ve put a rope round your neck this minute,” said he. “Handcuffs, -Jonas.” - -The constable opened the small leathern pouch on his belt. Harold’s -hands instinctively clenched. The sergeant once more whipped his -revolver out of its case. - -“It has never occurred before this minute,” said the constable. - -“What do you mean? Where’s the handcuffs?” cried the sergeant. - -“Never before,” said the constable, “I took them out to clean them -with sandpaper, sergeant--emery and oil’s recommended, but give me -sandpaper--not too fine but just fine enough. Is there any man in the -county that can show as bright a pair of handcuffs as myself, sergeant? -You know.” - -“Show them now,” said the sergeant. - -“You’ll have to come to the house with me, for there they be to be,” - replied the constable. “Ay, but I’ve my truncheon.” - -“Which way am I to go with you?” said Harold. “You don’t think that I’m -such a fool as to make the attempt to resist you? I can’t remain here -all day. Every moment is precious.” - -“You’ll be off soon enough, my good man,” said the sergeant. “Keep -alongside my horse, and if you try any game on with me, I’ll be equal to -you.” He wheeled his horse and walked it in the direction whence he had -come. Harold kept up with it, thinking his thoughts. The man with the -truncheon and the two men who had wielded the billhooks marched in file -beside him. Marching in file had something official about it. - -It was a strange procession that appeared on the shining wet road, -with the dripping autumn trees on each side, and the gray sodden clouds -crawling up in the distance. - -How was he to communicate with her? How was he to let Beatrice know that -she was to return to London immediately? - -That was the question which occupied all his thoughts as he walked -with bowed head along the road. The thought of the position which he -occupied--the thought of the tragic incident which had aroused the -vigilance of the constable--the desire to learn the details of the -terrible thing that had occurred--every thought was lost in that -question: - -“How am I to prevent her from going on to Abbeylands?” - -Was it possible that she might learn at the hotel early in the morning, -that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered? When the news of the murder had -spread round the country--and it seemed to have done so from the course -that the woodcutters had adopted on coming upon him asleep--it would -certainly be known at the hotel. If so, what would Beatrice do? - -Surely she would take the earliest train back to London. - -But if she did not hear anything of the matter, would she then remain at -the hotel awaiting his return? - -What would she think of him? What would she think of his desertion of -her at that supreme moment? - -Can a woman ever forgive such an act of desertion? Could Beatrice ever -forgive his turning away from her love? - -Was he beginning to regret that he had fled away from the loveliest -vision that had ever come before his eyes? - -Did Saint Anthony ever wish that he had had another chance? - -If for a single moment Harold Wynne had an unworthy thought, assuredly -it did not last longer than a single moment. - -“Whatever may happen now--whether she forgives me or forsakes me--thank -God--thank God!” - -This was what his heart was crying out all the time that he walked along -the road with bowed head. He felt that he had been strong enough to save -her--to save himself. - -The procession had scarcely passed over more than a quarter of a mile of -the road, when a vehicle appeared some distance ahead. - -“Steady,” said the sergeant. “It’s the Major in his trap. I sent a -mounted man for him. You’ll be in trouble about the handcuffs, Jonas, my -man.” - -“Maybe the murderer would keep his hands together to oblige us,” - suggested the constable. - -“I’ll not be a party to deception,” said his superior. “Halt!” - -Harold looked up and saw a dog-cart just at hand. It was driven by a -middle-aged gentleman, and a groom was seated behind. Harold had an -impression that he had seen the driver previously, though he could -not remember when or where he had done so. He rather thought he was an -officer whom he had met at some place abroad. - -The dog-cart was pulled up, and the officials saluted in their own way, -as the gentleman gave the reins to his groom and dismounted. - -“An arrest, sir,” said the sergeant. “The two woodcutters came upon him -hiding in their shed at dawn, and sent for the constable. Jonas, -very properly, sent for me, and I despatched a man for you, sir. When -arrested, he made up a cock-and-bull story, and a watch, supposed to be -his murdered lordship’s, was found concealed about his person. It’s now -in my possession.” - -“Good,” said the stranger. Then he subjected Harold to a close scrutiny. - -“I know now where I met you,” said Harold. “You are Major Wilson, the -Chief Constable of the County, and you lunched with us at Abbeylands two -years ago.” - -“What! Mr. Wynne!” cried the man. “What on earth can be the meaning of -this? Your poor father--” - -“That is what I want to learn,” said Harold eagerly. “Is it more than a -report--that terrible thing?” - -“A report? He was found at six o’clock last evening by a keeper on the -outskirts of one of the preserves.” - -“A bullet--an accident? he may have been out shooting,” said Harold. - -“A knife--a dagger.” - -Harold turned away. - -“Remain where you are, sergeant,” said Major Wilson. “Let me have a word -with you, Mr. Wynne,” he added to Harold. - -“Certainly,” said Harold. His voice was shaky. “I wonder if you chance -to have a flask of brandy in your cart. You can understand that I’m not -quite--” - -“I’m sorry that I have no brandy,” said Major Wilson. “Perhaps you -wouldn’t mind sitting on the bank with me while you explain--if you -wish--I do not suggest that you should--I suppose the constables -cautioned you.” - -“Amply,” said Harold. “I find that I can stand. I don’t suppose that any -blame attaches to them for arresting me. I am, I fear, very disreputable -looking. The fact is that I was stupid enough to miss the train from -Mowern junction last night, and I went to the Priory Hotel. I came out -when the night was fine, without my hat, and I---- had reasons of my own -for not wishing to return to the hotel. I got into the wood and wandered -for several hours along a track I found. I got drenched, and taking -shelter in the woodcutters’ shed, I fell asleep. That is all I have to -say. I have not the least idea what part of the country this is: I must -have walked at least twenty miles through the night.” - -“You are not a mile from the Priory Hotel,” said Major Wilson. - -“That is impossible,” cried Harold. “I walked pretty hard for five -hours.” - -“Through the wood?” - -“I practically never left the track.” - -“You walked close upon twenty miles, but you walked round the wood -instead of through it. That track goes pretty nearly round Garstone -Woods. Mr. Wynne, this is the most unfortunate occurrence I ever heard -of or saw in my life.” - -“Pray do not fancy for a moment that, so far as I am concerned, I shall -be inconvenienced for long,” said Harold. “It is a shocking thing for a -son to be suspected even for a moment of the murder of his own father; -but sometimes a curious combination of circumstances----” - -“Of course--of course, that is just it. Do not blame me, I beg of you. -Did you leave London yesterday?” - -“Yes, by the four-fifty-five train.” - -“Have you a portion of your ticket to Abbeylands?” - -“I took a return ticket to Mowern. I gave one portion of it to the -collector, the return portion is in my pocket.” - -He produced the half of his ticket. Major Wilson examined the date, and -took a memorandum of the number stamped upon it. - -“Did you speak to anyone at the junction on your arrival?” he then -inquired. - -“I’m afraid that I abused the station-master for allowing the train to -go to Abbeylands without me,” said Harold. “That was at ten minutes past -seven o’clock. Oh, you need not fear for me. I made elaborate inquiries -from the railway officials in London between half past four and the hour -of the train’s starting. I also spoke to the station-master at Mindon, -asking him if he was certain that the train would arrive at the junction -in time.” Major Wilson’s face brightened. Before it had been somewhat -overcast. - -“A telegram, as a matter of form, will be sufficient to clear up -everything,” said Major Wilson. “Yes, everything except--wasn’t that -midnight walk of yours a very odd thing, Mr. Wynne?” - -“Yes,” said Harold, after a pause. “It was extremely odd. So odd that -I know that you will pardon my attempting to explain it--at least just -now. You will, I think, be satisfied if you have evidence that I was in -London yesterday afternoon. I am anxious to go to my sister without -delay. Surely some clue must be forthcoming as to the ruffian who did -the deed.” - -“The only clue--if it could be termed a clue--is the sheath of the -dagger,” replied Major Wilson. “It is the sheath of an ordinary belt -dagger, such as is commonly worn by the peasantry in Southern Italy and -Sicily. Lord Fotheringay lived a good deal abroad. Do you happen to know -if he became involved in any quarrel in Italy--if there was any reason -to think that his life had been threatened?” - -Harold shook his head. - -“My poor father returned from abroad a couple of months ago, and joined -Lady Innisfail’s party in Ireland. I have only seen him once in -London since then. He must have been followed by some one who fancied -that--that--” - -“That he had been injured by your father?” - -“That is what I fear. But my father never confided his suspicions--if he -had any on this matter--to me.” - -They had walked some little way up the road. They now returned slowly -and silently. - -A one-horse-fly appeared in the distance. When it came near, Harold -recognized it as the one in which he had driven with Beatrice from the -station to the hotel. - -“If you will allow me,” said Harold to Major Wilson, “I will send to the -hotel for my overcoat and hat.” - -“Do so by all means,” said Major Wilson. “There is a decent little -inn some distance on the road, where you will be able to get a brush -down--you certainly need one. I’ll give my sergeant instructions to send -some telegrams at the junction.” - -“Perhaps you will kindly ask him to return to me my watch,” said Harold. -“I don’t suppose that he will need it now.” - -Harold stopped the fly, and wrote upon a card of his own the following -words, “_A shocking thing has happened that keeps me from you. My poor -father is dead. Return to town by first train._” - -He instructed the driver to go to the Priory Hotel and deliver the card -into the hand of the lady whom he had driven there the previous evening, -and then to pay Harold’s bill, drive the lady to the junction, and -return with the overcoat and hat to the inn on the road. - -Harold gave the man a couple of sovereigns, and the driver said that he -would be able easily to convey the lady to the junction in time for the -first train. - -While the sergeant went away to send the Chief Constable’s telegrams, -Major Wilson and Harold drove off together in the dog-cart--the man with -the truncheon and the men who had carried the bill-hooks respectfully -saluted as the vehicle passed. - -In the course of another half hour, Harold was in the centre of a cloud -of dust, produced by the vigorous action of an athlete at the little -inn, who had been engaged to brush him down. When he caught sight of -himself in a looking-glass on entering the inn, Harold was as much -amazed as he had been when he heard from the Chief Constable that he had -been wandering round the wood all night. He felt that he could not blame -the woodcutters for taking him for a tramp. - -He managed to eat some breakfast, and then he fly came up with his -overcoat and hat. He spoke only one sentence to the driver. - -“You brought her to the train?” - -“Yes, sir. She only waited to write a line. Here it is, sir.” - -He handed Harold an envelope. - -Inside was a sheet of paper. - -“_Dearest--dearest--You have all my sympathy--all my love. Come to me -soon._” - -These were the words that he read in the handwriting of Beatrice. - -He was in a bedroom when he read them. He sat down on the side of the -bed and burst into tears. - -It was ten years since he had wept. - -Then he buried his face in his hands and said a prayer. - -It was ten years since he had prayed. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII--ON MURDER AS A SOCIAL INCIDENT. - -|THIS is not the story of a murder. However profitable as well as -entertaining it would be to trace through various mysteries, false -alarms, and intricacies the following up of a clue by the subtle -intelligence of a detective, until the rope is around the neck of the -criminal, such profit and entertainment must be absent from this story -of a man’s conquest of the Devil within himself. Regarding the incident -of the murder of Lord Fotheringay much need not be said. - -The sergeant appeared at the inn with replies to the telegrams that -he had been instructed to send to the railway officials, and they were -found to corroborate all the statements made by Harold. A ticket of the -number of that upon the one which Harold still retained, had been issued -previous to the departure of the four-fifty-five train from London. - -“Of course, I knew what the replies would be,” said Major Wilson. “But -you can understand my position.” - -“Certainly I can,” said Harold. “It needs no apology.” - -They drove to the junction together to catch the train to Abbeylands -station. An astute officer from Scotland Yard had been telegraphed for, -to augment the intelligence of the County Constabulary Force in the -endeavour to follow up the only clue that was available, and Major -Wilson was to travel with the London officer to the scene of the crime. - -In a few minutes the London train came up, and the passengers for -the Abbeylands line crossed to the side platform. Among them Harold -perceived his own servant. The man was dressed in black, and carried a -portmanteau and hat-box. He did not see his master until he had reached -the platform. Then he walked up to Harold, laid down the portmanteau -and endeavoured--by no means unsuccessfully--to impart some -emotion--respectful emotion, and very respectful sympathy, into the act -of touching his hat. - -“I heard the sad news, my lord,” said the man, “and I took the liberty -of packing your lordship’s portmanteau and taking the first train to -Abbeylands. I took it for granted that you would be there, my lord.” - -“You acted wisely, Martin,” said Harold. “I will ask you not to make any -change in addressing me for some days, at least.” - -“Very good, my lord--I mean, sir,” said the man. - -He had not acquired for more than a minute the new mode of address, and -yet he had difficulty in relinquishing it. - -Abbeylands was empty of the guests who, up to the previous evening, had -been within its walls. From the mouth of the gamekeeper, who had found -the body of Lord Fotheringay, Harold learned a few more particulars -regarding his ghastly discovery, but they were of no importance, though -the astute Scotland Yard officer considered them--or pretended to -consider them--to be extremely valuable. - -For a week the detectives were very active, and the newspapers announced -daily that they had discovered a clue, and that an arrest might be -looked for almost immediately. - -No arrest took place, however; the detectives returned to their -head-quarters, and the mild sensation produced by the heading of a -newspaper column, “The Murder of Lord Fotheringay” was completely -obliterated by the toothsome scandal produced by the appearance of a -music-hall artist as the co-respondent in a Duchess’s divorce case. It -was eminently a case for sandwiches and plovers’ eggs; and the costumes -which the eaters of these portable comestibles wore, were described -in detail by those newspapers which everyone abuses and--reads. The -middle-aged rheumatic butterfly was dead and buried; and though many -theories were started--not by Scotland Yard, however--to account for -his death, no arrests were made. Whoever the murderer was, he remained -undetected. (A couple of years had passed before Harold heard a highly -circumstantial story about the appearance of a foreign gentleman with -extremely dark eyes and hair, in the neighbourhood of Castle Innisfail, -inquiring for Lord Fotheringay a few days after Lord Fotheringay had -left the Castle). - -Mrs. Lampson, the only daughter of the deceased peer, had received so -severe a shock through the tragic circumstances of her father’s death, -that she found it necessary to take a long voyage. She started for Samoa -with her husband in his steam yacht. It may be mentioned incidentally, -however, that, as the surface of the Bay of Biscay was somewhat ruffled -when the yacht was going southward, it was thought advisable to change -the cruise to one in the Mediterranean. Mrs. Lampson turned up on the -Riviera in the spring, and, after entertaining freely there for some -time, an article appeared above her signature in a leading magazine -deploring the low tone of society at Monte Carlo and on the Riviera -generally. - -It was in the railway carriage on their way to London from -Abbeylands--the exact time was when Harold was in the act of repeating -the stanzas from Shelley--that Helen Craven and Edmund Airey conversed -together, sitting side by side for the purpose. - -“He is Lord Fotheringay now,” remarked Miss Craven, thoughtfully. - -Edmund looked at her with something of admiration in his eyes. The young -woman who, an hour or two after being shocked at the news of a tragedy -enacted at the very door of the house where she had been a guest, could -begin to discuss its social bearing, was certainly a young woman to be -wondered at--that is, to be admired. - -“Yes,” said Edmund, “he is now Lord Fotheringay, whatever that means.” - -“It means a title and an income, does it not?” said she. - -“Yes, a sort of title and, yes, a sort of income,” said he. - -“Either would be quite enough to marry and live on,” said Helen. - -“He contrived to live without either up to the present.” - -“Yes, poorly.” - -“Not palatially, certainly, but still pleasantly.” - -“Will he ask her to marry him now, do you think?” - -“Her?” - -“Yes, you know--Beatrice Avon.” - -“Oh--I think that--that I should like to know what you think about it.” - -“I think he will ask her.” - -“And that she will accept him?” - -She did not know how much thought he had been giving to this question -during some hours--how eagerly he was waiting her reply. - -“No.” she said; “I believe that she will not accept him, because she -means to accept you--if you give her a chance.” - -The start that he gave was very well simulated. Scarcely so admirable -from a standpoint of art was the opening of his eyes accompanied by a -little exclamation of astonishment. - -“Why are you surprised?” she said, as if she was surprised at his -surprise--so subtly can a clever young woman flatter the cleverest of -men. - -He shook his head. - -“I am surprised because I have just heard the most surprising -sentence that ever came upon my ears. That is saying a good deal--yes, -considering how much we have talked together.” - -“Why should it be surprising?” she said. “Did you not call upon her in -town?” - -“Yes, I called upon her,” he replied, wondering how she had come to know -it. (She had merely guessed it.) - -“That would give her hope.” - -“Hope?” - -“Hope. And it was this hope that induced her to accept Mrs. Lampson’s -invitation, although she must have known that Mrs. Lampson’s brother -was not to be of the party. I have often wondered if it was you or Lord -Fotheringay who asked Mrs. Lampson to invite her?” - -“It was I,” said Edmund. - -Her eyes brightened--so far as it was possible for them to brighten. - -“I wonder if she came to know that,” said Helen musingly. “It would be -something of a pity if she did not know it.” - -“For that matter, nearly everything that happens is a pity,” said he. - -“Not everything,” said she. “But it is certainly a pity that the person -who had the bad taste to stab poor Lord Fotheringay did not postpone his -crime for at least one day. You would in that case have had a chance of -returning by the side of Beatrice Avon instead of by the side of some -one else.” - -“Who is infinitely cleverer,” said Edmund. - -At this point their conversation ended--at least so far as Harold and -Beatrice were concerned. - -Helen felt, however, that even that brief exchange of opinions had been -profitable. Her first thought on hearing of the ghastly discovery of -the gamekeeper, was that all her striving to win Harold had been in -vain--that all her contriving, by the help of Edmund Airey, had been to -no purpose. Harold would now be free to marry Beatrice Avon--or to ask -her to marry him; which she believed was much the same thing. - -But in the course of a short time she did not feel so hopeless. She -believed that Edmund Airey only needed a little further flattery to -induce him to resume his old attitude in regard to Beatrice; and the -result of her little chat with him in the train showed her not merely -that, in regard to flattery, he was pretty much as other men, only, of -course, he required it to be subtly administered--but also that he had -no intention of allowing his compact in regard to Beatrice to expire -with their departure from Castle Innisfail. He admitted having called -upon her in London, and this showed Helen very plainly that his attitude -in respect of Beatrice was the result of a rather stronger impulse -than the desire to be of service to her, Helen, in accordance with -the suggestions which she had ventured to make during her first frank -interview with him. - -She made up her mind that he would not require in future to be -frequently reminded of that frank interview. She knew that there exists -a more powerful motive for some men’s actions than a desire to forward -the happiness of their fellow-men. - -This was her reflection at the precise moment that Harold’s face was -bent down to the face of Beatrice, while he whispered the words that -thrilled her. - -As for Edmund Airey, he, too, had his thoughts, and, like Helen, he -considered himself quite capable of estimating the amount of importance -to be attached to such an incident as the murder of Lord Fotheringay, -as a factor in the solution of any problem that might suggest itself. -A murder is, of course, susceptible of being regarded from a social -standpoint. The murder of Lord Fotheringay, for instance, had broken up -what promised to be an exceedingly interesting party at Abbeylands. A -murder is very provoking sometimes; and when Edmund Airey heard Lady -Innisfail complain to Archie Brown--Archie had become a great friend -of hers--of the irritating features of that incident--when he heard -an uncharitable man declare that it was most thoughtless of Lord -Fotheringay to get a knife stuck into his ribs just when the pheasants -were at their best, he could not but feel that his own reflections were -very plainly expressed. - -He had not been certain of himself during the previous two months. For -the first time in his life he did not see his way clearly. It was -in order to improve his vision that he had begged Mrs. Lampson--with -infinite tact, she admitted to her brother--to invite Beatrice to -Abbeylands. He rather thought that, before the visit of Beatrice -should terminate, he would be able to see his way clearly in certain -directions. - -But now, owing to the annoying incident that had occurred, the -opportunity was denied him of improving his vision in accordance -with the prescription which he had prepared to effect this purpose; -therefore---- - -He had reached this point in his reflections when the special train, -which Mr. Lampson had chartered to take his guests back to town, ran -alongside the platform at the London terminus. - -This was just the moment when Harold looked up to the window from the -Priory grounds and saw that vision of white glowing beauty. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIX.--ON THE ADVANTAGES OF CONFESSION. - -|HE stood silent, without taking a step into the room, when the door had -been closed behind him. - -With a cry she sprang from her seat in front of the fire and put out her -hands to him. - -Still he did not move a step toward her. He remained at the door. - -Something of fear was upon her face as she stood looking at him. He was -pale and haggard and ghostlike. She could not but perceive how strongly -the likeness to his father, who had been buried the previous day, -appeared upon his face now that it was so worn and haggard--much more so -than she had ever seen his father’s face. - -“Harold--Harold--my beloved!” she cried, and there was something of fear -in her voice. “Harold--husband--” - -“For God’s sake, do not say that, Beatrice!” - -His voice was hoarse and quite unlike the voice that had whispered the -lines of Shelley, with his face within the halo of moonlight that had -clung about her hair. - -She was more frightened still. Her hands were clasped over her -heart--the lamplight gleamed upon the blood-red circle of rubies on the -one ring that she wore--it had never left her finger. - -He came into the room. She only retreated one step. - -“For God’s sake, Beatrice, do not call me husband! I am not your -husband!” - -She came toward him; and now the look of fear that she had worn, became -one of sympathy. Her eyes were full of tears as she said, “My poor -Harold, you have all the sympathy--the compassion--the love of my heart. -You know it.” - -“Yes,” he said, “I know it. I know what is in your heart. I know its -purity--its truth--its sweetness--that is why I should never have come -here, knowing also that I am unworthy to stand in your presence.” - -“You are worthy of all--all--that I can give you.” - -“Worthy of contempt--contempt--worthy of that for which there is no -forgiveness. Beatrice, we have not been married. The form through which -we went in this room was a mockery. The man whom I brought here was not -a priest. He was guilty of a crime in coming here. I was guilty of a -crime in bringing him.” - -She looked at him for a few moments, and then turned away from him. - -She went without faltering in the least toward the chair that still -remained in front of the fire. But before she had taken more than a -few steps toward it, she looked back at him--only for a second or two, -however; then she reached the chair and seated herself in it with her -back to him. She looked into the fire. - -There was a long silence before he spoke again. - -“I think I must have been mad,” he said. “Mad to distrust you. It was -only when I was away from you that madness came upon me. The utter -hopelessness of ever being able to call you mine took possession of me, -body and soul, and I felt that I must bind you to me by some means. An -accident suggested the means to me. God knows, Beatrice, that I meant -never to take advantage of your belief that we were married. But when -I felt myself by your side in the train--when I felt your heart beating -against mine that night--I found myself powerless to resist. I was -overcome. I had cast honour, and truth, yes, and love--the love that -exists for ever without hope of reward--to the winds. Thank God--thank -God that I awoke from my madness. The sight which should have made me -even more powerless to resist, awoke me to a true sense of the life -which I had been living for some hours, and by God’s grace I was strong -enough to fly.” - -Again there was a long silence. He could see her finely-cut profile as -she sat upright, looking into the fire. He saw that her features had -undergone no change whatever while he was speaking. It seemed as if his -recital had in no respect interested her. - -The silence was appalling. - -She put out her hand and took from a small table beside her, the hook -which apparently she had been reading when he had entered. She turned -over the leaves as if searching for the place at which she had been -interrupted. - -He came beside her. - -“Have you no word for me--no word of pity--of forgiveness--of farewell?” - he said. - -She had apparently found her place. She seemed to be reading. - -“Beatrice, Beatrice, I implore of you--one word--one word--any word!” - -He had clutched her arm as he fell on his knees passionately beside her. -The book dropped to the floor. She was on her feet at the same instant. - -“Oh God--oh God, what have I done that I should be the victim of these -men?” she cried, not in a strident voice, but in a low tone, tremulous -with passion. “One man thinks it a good thing to amuse himself by -pretending that I interest him, and another whom I trusted as I would -have trusted my God, endeavours to ruin my life--and he has done it--he -has done it! My life is ruined!” - -She had never looked at him while he was speaking to her. She had not -been able for some time to comprehend the full force of the revelation -he had made to her; but so soon as she had felt his hand upon her arm, -she seemed in a moment to understand all. - -Now she looked at him as he knelt at her feet with his head bowed down -to the arm of the chair in which she had been sitting--she looked down -upon him; and then with a cry as of physical pain, she flung herself -wildly upon a sofa, sobbing hysterically. - -He was beside her in a moment. - -“Oh, Beatrice, my love, my love, tell me what reparation I can make,” he -cried. “Beatrice, have pity upon me! Do not say that I have ruined your -life. It was only because I could not bear the thought that there was -a chance of losing you, that I did what I did. I could not face that, -Beatrice!” - -She still lay there, shaken with sobs. He dared not put his hand upon -her. He dared not touch one of her hands with his. He could only stand -there by her side. Every sob that she gave was like a dagger’s thrust -to him. He suffered more during those moments than his father had done -while the hand of the assassin was upon him. - -The long silence was broken only by her sobs. - -“Beatrice--Beatrice, you will say one word to me--one word, Beatrice, -for God’s sake!” - -Some moments had passed while she struggled hard to control herself. - -It was long before she was successful. - -“Go--go--go!” she cried, without raising her head from the satin cushion -of the sofa. “Oh, Harold, Harold, go!” - -“I will go,” he said, after another long pause. “I will go. But I leave -here all that I love in the world--all that I shall ever love. I was -false to myself once--only once; I shall never be so again. I shall -never cease loving you while I live, Beatrice. I never loved you as I do -now.” - -She made no sign. - -Even when she heard the door of the room open and close, she did not -rise. - -And the fire burnt itself out, and the lamp burnt itself out, but still -she lay there in her tears. - - - - -CHAPTER L.--ON CONSOLATION AS A FINE ART. - - -|HIS worst forebodings had come to pass. That was the one feeling which -Harold had on leaving her. - -He had scarcely ventured to entertain a hope that the result of his -interview with her and of his confession to her would be different. - -He knew her. - -That was why he had gone to her without hope. He knew that her nature -was such as made it impossible for her to understand how he could have -practised a fraud upon her; and he knew that understanding is the first -step toward forgiving. - -Still, there ever pervades the masculine mind an idea that there is no -limit to a woman’s forgiveness. - -The masculine mind has the best of reasons for holding fast to this -idea. It is the result of many centuries of experience of woman--of many -centuries of testing the limits of woman’s forgiveness. The belief that -there is nothing that a woman will not forgive in a man whom she loves, -is the heritage of man--just as the heritage of woman is to believe -that nothing that is done by a man whom she loves, stands in need of -forgiveness. - -Thus it is that men and women make (occasionally) excellent companions -for one another, and live together (frequently) in harmony. - -Thus it was that, in spite of the fact that his reason and his knowledge -of the nature of Beatrice assured him that his confession of the fraud -in which he had participated against her would not be forgiven by her, -there still remained in the mind of Harold Wynne a shadowy hope that she -might yet be as other women, who, understanding much, forgive much. - -He left her presence, feeling that she was no as other women are. - -That was the only grain of comfort that remained with him. He loved her -more than he had ever done before, because she was not as other women -are. - -She could not understand how that cold distrust had taken possession of -him. - -She knew nothing of that world in which he had lived all his life--a -world quite full of worldliness--and therefore she could not understand -how it was that he had sought to bind her to him beyond the possibility -(as he meant her to think) of ever being separated from him. She -had laid all her trust in him. She had not even claimed from him the -privilege of consulting with someone--her father or someone with whom -she might be on more confidential terms--regarding the proposition which -he had made to her. No, she had trusted him implicitly, and yet he had -persevered in regarding her as belonging to the worldly ones among whom -he had lived all his life. - -He had lost her. - -He had lost her, and he deserved to lose her. This was his thought as -he walked westward. He had not the satisfaction of feeling that he was -badly treated. - -The feeling on the part of a man that he has been badly treated by a -woman, usually gives him much greater satisfaction than would result -from his being extremely well treated by the same, or, indeed, by any -other woman. - -But this blessed consciousness of being badly treated was denied to -Harold Wynne. He had been the ill-treater, not the ill-treated. He -reflected how he had taken advantage of the peculiar circumstances of -the girl’s life--upon the absence of her father--upon her own trustful -innocence--to carry out the fraud which he had perpetrated upon her. -Under ordinary circumstances and with a girl of an ordinary stamp, such -a fraud would have been impossible. He was well aware that a girl living -under the conditions to which most girls are subjected, would have -laughed in his face had he suggested the advisability of marrying him -privately. - -Yes, he had taken a cruel advantage of her and of the freedom which she -enjoyed, to betray her; and the feeling that he had lost her did not -cause him more bitterness than deserved to fall to his lot. - -One bitterness of reflection was, however, spared to him, and this was -why he cried again, as he threw himself into a chair, “Thank God--thank -God!” - -He had not been seated for long, before his servant entered with a card. - -“I told the lady that you were not seeing any one, my lord,” said -Martin. - -“The lady?” - -Not for a single instant did it occur to his mind that Beatrice had come -to him. - -“Yes, my lord; Miss Craven,” said Martin, handing him the card. “But she -said that perhaps you would see her.” - -“_Only for a minute_,” were the words written in pencil on Miss Craven’s -card. - -“Yes, I will certainly see Miss Craven,” said Harold. - -“Very good, my lord.” - -She stood at the door. The light outside was very low; so was the light -in the room. - -Between two dim lights was where Helen looked her best. A fact of which -she was well aware. - -She seemed almost pretty as she stood there. - -She had made up pale, which she considered appropriately sympathetic on -her part. And, indeed, there can scarcely be a difference of opinion on -this point. - -In delicate matters of taste like this she rarely-made a mistake. - -“It was so good of you to come,” said he, taking her hand. - -“I could not help it, Harold,” said she. - -“Mamma is in the brougham; she desired me to convey to you her deepest -sympathy.” - -“I am indeed touched by her thoughtfulness,” said Harold. “You will tell -her so.” - -“Mamma is not very strong,” said Helen. “She would not come in with me. -She, too, has suffered deeply. But I felt that I must tell you face to -face how terribly shocked we were--how I feel for you with all my heart. -We have always been good friends--the best of friends, Harold--at least, -I do not know where I should look in the world for another such friend -as you.” - -“Yes, we were always good friends, Helen,” said he; “and I hope that we -shall always remain so.” - -“We shall--I feel that we shall, Harold,” said she. - -Her eyes were overflowing with tears, as she put out a hand to him--a -hand which he took and held between both his own, but without speaking a -word. “I felt that I must go to you if only for a moment--if only to say -to you as I do now, ‘I feel for you with all my heart. You have all my -sympathy.’ That is all I have to say. I knew you would allow me to see -you, and to give you my message. Good-bye.” - -“You are so good--so kind--so thoughtful,” said he. “I shall always feel -that you are my friend--my best friend, Helen.” - -“And you may always trust in my friendship--my--my--friendship,” said -she. “You will come and see us soon--mamma and me. We should be so glad. -Lady Innisfail wanted me to go with her to Netherford Hall--several of -your sister’s party are going with Lady Innisfail; but of course I could -not think of going. I shall go nowhere for some time--a long time, I -think. We shall be at home whenever you call, Harold.” - -“And you may be certain that I shall call soon,” said he. “Pray tell -Mrs. Craven how deeply touched--how deeply grateful I am for -her kindness. And you--you know that I shall never forget your -thoughtfulness, Helen.” - -Her eyes were still glistening as he took her hand and pressed it. She -looked at him through her tears; her lips moved, but no words came. She -turned and went down the stairs. He followed her for a few steps, and -then Martin met her, opened the hall-door, and saw her put into the -brougham by her footman. - -“Well,” said her mother, when the brougham got upon the wood pavement. -“Well, did you find the poor orphan in tears and comfort him?” Mrs. -Craven was not devoid of an appreciation of humour of a certain form. -She had lived in Birmingham for several years of her life. - -“Dear mamma,” said Helen, “I think you may always trust to me to know -what is right to do upon all occasions. My visit was a success. I knew -that it would be a success. I know Harold Wynne.” - -“I know one thing,” said Mrs. Craven, “and that is, that he will never -marry you. Whatever Harold Wynne might have done, Lord Fotheringay will -never marry you, my dear. Make up your mind to that.” - -Her daughter laughed in the way that a daughter laughs at a prophetic -mother clad in sables, with a suspicion of black velvet and beads -underneath. - - - - -CHAPTER LI.--ON THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE AND OTHERS. - -|DURING the next few days Harold had numerous visitors. A man cannot -have his father murdered without attracting a considerable amount of -attention to himself. Cards “_With deepest sympathy_” were left upon him -by the hundred, and the majority of those sympathizers drove away to -say to their friends at their clubs what a benefactor to society was the -person who had run that knife into the ribs of Lord Fotheringay. Some -suggested that a presentation should be got up for that man; and when -someone asked what the police meant by taking so much trouble to find -the man, another ventured to formulate the very plausible theory that -they were doing so in order to force him to give sittings to an eminent -sculptor for a statue of himself with the knife in his hand, to be -erected by public subscription outside the House of Lords. - -“Yes; _pour encourager les autres!_” said one of the sympathizers. - -Another of the sympathizers inquired where were the Atheists now? - -It was generally admitted that, as an incentive to orthodoxy, the tragic -end of Lord Fotheringay could scarcely be over-estimated. - -It threw a flood of light upon the Ways of Providence. - -The Scotland Yard people at first regarded the incident from such a -standpoint. - -They assumed that Providence had decreed a violent death to Lord -Fotheringay, in order to give the detective force an opportunity of -displaying their ingenuity. - -They had many interviews with Harold, and they asked him a number of -questions regarding the life of his father, his associates, and his -tastes. - -They wondered if he had an enemy. - -They feared that the deed was the work of an enemy; and they started the -daring theory that if they only had a clue to this supposititious enemy -they would be on the track of the assassin. - -After about a week of suchlike theorizing, they were not quite so sure -of Providence. - -Some newspapers interested in the Ways of Providence, declared through -the medium of leading articles, that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered -in order that the world might be made aware of the utter incapacity of -Scotland Yard, and the necessity for the reorganization of the detective -force. - -Other newspapers--they were mostly the organs of the Opposition--sneered -at the Home Secretary. - -Mr. Durdan was heard to affirm in the solitude of the smoking-room of -his club, that the days of the Government were numbered. - -Then Harold had also to receive daily visits from the family lawyers; -and as family lawyers take more interest in the affairs of the family -than any of its members, he found these visits very tiresome; only he -was determined to find out what was his exact position financially, and -to do so involved the examination of the contents of several tin boxes, -as well as the columns of some bank books. On the whole, however, the -result of his researches under the guidance of the lawyers was worth the -trouble that they entailed. - -He found that he would be compelled to live on an income of twelve -thousand pounds a year, if he really wished--as he said he did--to make -provision for the paying off of certain incumbrances, and of keeping in -repair a certain mansion on the borders of a Welsh county. - -Having lived for several years upon an allowance of something under -twelve hundred pounds a year, he felt that he could manage to subsist on -twelve thousand. This was the thought that came to him automatically, so -soon as he had discovered his financial position. His next thought was -that, by his own folly, he had rendered himself incapable of enjoying -this sudden increase in revenue. - -If he had only been patient--if he had only been trustful for one week -longer! - -He felt very bitterly on the subject of his folly--his cruelty--his -fraud; the fact being that he entertained some preposterous theory of -individual responsibility. - -He had never had inculcated on him the principles of heredity, otherwise -he would have understood fully that he could no more have avoided -carrying out a plan of deception upon a woman, than the pointer -puppy--where would the Evolutionists be without their pointer -puppy?--can avoid pointing. - -Whether the adoption of the scientific explanation of what he had done -would have alleviated his bitterness or not, is quite another question. -The philosophy that accounts for suffering does not go the length of -relieving suffering. The science that gives the gout a name that few -persons can pronounce, does not prevent an ordinary gouty subject from -swearing; which seems rather a pity. - -Among the visitors whom Harold saw in these days was Edmund Airey. Mr. -Airey did not think it necessary to go through the form of expressing -his sympathy for his friend’s bereavement. His only allusion to the -bereavement was to be found in a sneer at Scotland Yard. - -Could he do anything for Harold, he wondered. If he could do anything, -Harold might depend on his doing it. - -Harold said, “Thank you, old chap, I don’t think I can reasonably ask -you to work out for me, in tabulated form, the net value of leases that -have yet to run from ten to sixty years.” - -“Therein the patient must minister to himself,” said Edmund. “I suppose -it is, after all, only a question of administration. If you want any -advice--well, you have asked my advice before now. You have even gone -the length of taking my advice--yes, sometimes. That’s more than the -majority of people do--unless my advice bears out their own views. -Advice, my dear Harold, is the opinion asked by one man of another when -he has made up his mind what course to adopt.” - -“I have always found your counsel good,” said Harold. “You know men and -their motives. I have often wondered if you knew anything about women.” - -Mr. Airey smiled. It was rather ridiculous that anyone so well -acquainted with him as Harold was, should make use of a phrase that -suggested a doubt of his capacity. - -“Women--and their motives?” said he. - -“Quite so,” said Harold. “Their motives. You once assured me that there -was no such thing as woman in the abstract. Perhaps, assuming that that -is your standpoint, you may say that it is ridiculous to talk of the -motives of woman; though it would be reasonable--at least as reasonable -as most talk of women--to speak of the motives of a woman.” - -“What woman do you speak of?” said Edmund, quickly. - -“I speak as a fool--broadly,” said Harold. “I feel myself to be a fool, -when I reflect upon the wisdom of those stories told to us by Brian -the boatman. The first was about a man who defrauded the revenue of the -country, the other was about a cow that got jammed in the doorway of an -Irish cabin. There was some practical philosophy in both those stories, -and they put all questions of women and their motives out of our heads -while Brian was telling them.” - -“There’s no doubt about that,” said Edmund. - -“By the way, didn’t you ask me for my advice on some point during one of -those days on the Irish lough?” - -“If I did, I’m certain that I received good counsel from you,” said -Harold. - -“You did. But you didn’t take it,” said Edmund, with a laugh. - -“I told you once that you hadn’t given me time. I tell you so again,” - said Harold. - -“Has she been to see you within the past few days? asked Edmund. - -“You understand women--and their motives,” said Harold. “Yes, Miss -Craven was here. By the way, talking of motives, I have often wondered -why you suggested to my sister that Miss Avon would make an agreeable -addition to the party at Abbeylands.” - -Not for a second did Edmund Airey change colour--not for a second did -his eyes fall before the searching glance of his friend. - -“The fact was,” said he--and he smiled as he spoke--“I was under the -impression that your father--ah, well, if he hadn’t that mechanical -rectitude of movement which appertains chiefly to the walking doll -and other automata, he had still many good points. He told me upon one -occasion that it was his intention to marry Miss Avon. I was amused.” - -“And you wanted to be amused again? I see. I think that I, too, am -beginning to understand something of men--and their motives,” remarked -Harold. - -“If you make any progress in that direction, you might try and fathom -the object of the Opposition in getting up this agitation about Siberia. -They are going to arouse the country by descriptions of the horrors of -exile in Siberia. They want to make the Government responsible for what -goes on there. And the worst of it is that they’ll do it, too. Do you -remember Bulgaria?” - -“Perfectly. The country is a fool. The Government will need a strong -programme to counteract the effects of the Siberian platform.” - -“I’m trying to think out something at the present moment. Well, -good-bye. Don’t fail to let me know if I can do anything for you.” - -He had been gone some time before Harold smiled--not the smile of a man -who has been amused at something that has come under his notice, but the -sad smile of a man who has found that his sagacity has not been at fault -when he has thought the worst about one of his friends. - -There are times when a certain imperturbability of demeanour on the part -of a man who has been asked a sudden searching question, conveys as -much to the questioner as his complete collapse would do. The perfect -composure with which Edmund had replied to his sudden question regarding -his motive in suggesting to Mrs. Lampson--with infinite tact--that -Beatrice Avon might be invited to Abbeylands, told Harold all that he -had an interest to know. - -Edmund Airey’s acquaintance with men--and women--had led him to feel -sure that Mrs. Lamp-son would tell her brother of the suggestion made -by him, Edmund; and also that her brother would ask him if he had any -particular reason for making that suggestion. This was perfectly plain -to Harold; and he knew that his friend had been walking about for some -time with that answer ready for the question which had just been put to -him. - -“He is on his way to Beatrice at the present moment,” said Harold, while -that bitter smile was still upon his features. - -And he was right. - - - - -CHAPTER LII.--ON THE FLUSH, THE FOOL, AND FATE. - -|MR. AIREY had called on Beatrice since his return from that melancholy -entertainment at Abbeylands, but he had not been fortunate enough to -find her at home. Now, however, he was more lucky. She had already two -visitors with her in the big drawing-room, when Mr. Airey was announced. - -He could not fail to notice the little flush upon her face as he -entered. He noticed it, and it was extremely gratifying to him to do so; -only he hoped that her visitors were not such close observers as he -knew himself to be. He would not have liked them--whoever they were---to -leave the house with the impression that he was a lover. If they were -close observers and inclined to gossip, they might, he felt, consider -themselves justified in putting so liberal an interpretation upon her -quick flush as he entered. - -He did not blush: he had been a Member of Parliament for several years. - -Yes, she was clearly pleased to see him, and her manifestation of -pleasure made him assured that he had never seen a lovelier girl. It was -so good of him not to forget her, she declared. He feared that her flush -would increase, and suggest the peony rather than the peach. But he -quickly perceived that she had recovered from the excitement of his -sudden appearance, and that, as a matter of fact, she was becoming pale -rather than roseate. - -He noticed this when her visitors--they were feeble folk, the head of a -department in the Museum and his sister--had left the house. - -“It is delightful to be face to face with you once more,” he said. “I -seem to hear the organ-music of the Atlantic now that I am beside you -again.” - -She gave a little laugh--did he detect something of scorn in its -ring?--as she said, “Oh, no; it is the sound of the greater ocean that -we have about us here. It is the tide of the affairs of men that flows -around us.” - -No, her laugh could have had nothing of scorn about it. - -“I cannot think of you as borne about on this full tide,” said he. “I -see you with your feet among the purple heather--I wonder if there was a -sprig of white about it--along the shores of the Irish lough. I see you -in the midst of a flood of sunset-light flowing from the west, making -the green one red.” - -She saw that sunset. He was describing the sunset that had been -witnessed from the deck of the yacht returning from the seal-hunt beyond -the headlands. Did he know why she got up suddenly from her seat and -pretended to snuff one of the candles on the mantelshelf? Did he know -how close the tears were to her eyes as she gave another little laugh? - -“So long as you do not associate me with Mr. Durdan’s views on the Irish -question, I shall be quite satisfied,” said she. “Poor Mr. Durdan! How -he saw a bearing upon the Irish question in all the phenomena of Nature! -The sunset--the sea--the clouds--all had more or less to do with the -Irish question.” - -“And he was not altogether wrong,” said Edmund. “Mr. Durdan is a man -of scrupulous inaccuracy, as a rule, but he sometimes stumbles across a -truth. The sea and sky are eternal, and the Irish question----” - -“Is the rock upon which the Government is to be wrecked, I believe,” - said she. “Oh, yes; Mr. Durdan confided in me that the days of the -Government are numbered.” - -“He became confidential on that topic to a considerable number of -persons,” said Edmund. - -“And we are confidential on Mr. Durdan as a topic,” said she. - -“We have talked confidentially on more profitable topics, have we not?” - said he. - -“We have talked confidently at least.” - -“And confidingly, I hope. I told you all my aspirations, Miss Avon.” - -“All?” - -“Well, perhaps, I made some reservations.” - -“Oh.” - -“Perhaps I shall tell you confidentially of some other aspirations of -mine--some day.” - -He spoke slowly and with an emphasis and suggestiveness that could not -be overlooked. - -“And you will speak confidently on that subject, I am sure.” - -She was lying back in her chair, with the firelight fluttering over her. -The firelight was flinging rose leaves about her face. - -That was what the effect suggested to him. - -He noticed also how beautiful was the effect of the light shining -through her hair. That was an effect which had been noticed before. - -She turned her eyes suddenly upon him, when he did not reply to her -word, “confidently.” - -He repeated the word. - -“Confidently--confidently;” then he shook his head. “Alas! no. A man who -speaks confidently on the subject of his aspirations--on the subject of -a supreme aspiration--is a fool.” - -“And yet I remember that you assured me upon one occasion that man was -master of his fate,” said she. - -“Did I?” said he. “That must have been when you first appeared among us -at Castle Innisfail. I have learned a great deal since then.” - -“For example?” said she. - -“Modesty in making broad statements where Fate is concerned,” he -replied, with scarcely a pause. - -She withdrew her eyes from his face, and gave a third laugh, closely -resembling in its tone her first--that one which caused him to wonder if -there was a touch of scorn in its ripple. - -He looked at her very narrowly. She was certainly the loveliest thing -that he had ever seen. Could it be possible that she was leading him on? - -She had certainly never left herself open to the suspicion of leading -him on when at Castle Innis-fail--among the purple heather or the -crimson sunsets about which he had been talking--and yet he had been -led on. He had a suspicion now that he was in peril. He had so fine an -understanding of woman and her motives, that he became apprehensive of -the slightest change. He was, in respect of woman, what a thermometer is -when aboard a ship that is approaching an iceberg. He was appreciative -of every change--of every motive. - -“I was looking forward to another pleasant week near you,” said he, and -his remark somehow seemed to have a connection with what he had been -saying--had he not been announcing an acquirement of modesty?--“Yes, if -you had been with us at Abbeylands you might have become associated in -my mind with the glory of the colour of an autumn woodland. But it was, -of course, fortunate for you that you got the terrible news in time to -prevent your leaving town.” - -He felt that she had become suddenly excited. There was no ignoring the -rising and falling of the lace points that lay upon the bosom of her -gown. The question was: did her excitement proceed from what he had -said, or from what she fancied he was about to say? - -It was a nice question. - -But he bore out his statement regarding his gain in modesty, by assuming -that she had been deeply affected by the story of the tragic end of Lord -Fotheringay, so that she could not now hear a reference to it without -emotion. - -“I wonder if you care for German Opera,” said he. There could scarcely -be even the most subtle connection between this and his last remark. -She looked at him with something like surprise in her eyes when he had -spoken. Only to some minds does a connection between criminality and -German Opera become apparent. - -“German Opera, Mr. Airey?” - -“Yes. The fact is that I have a box for the winter season at the Opera -House, and my cousin, Mrs. Carroll, means to go to every performance, -I believe; she is an enthusiast on the subject of German Opera--she has -even sat out a performance of ‘Parsifal’--and I know that she is eager -to make converts. She would be delighted to call upon you when she -returns from Brighton.” - -“It is so kind of you to think of me. I should love to go. You will be -there--I mean, you will be able to come also, occasionally?” - -He looked at her. He had risen from his seat, being about to take leave -of her. She had also risen, but her eyes drooped as she exclaimed, “You -will be there?” - -She did not fail to perceive the compromising sequence of her phrases, -“I should love to go. You will be there?” She was looking critically at -the toe of her shoe, turning it about so that she could make a thorough -examination of it from every standpoint. Her hands, too, were busy tying -knots on the girdle of her gown. - -He felt that it would be cruel to let her see too plainly that he was -conscious of that undue frankness of hers; so he broke the awkward -silence by saying--not quite casually, of course, but still in not too -pointed a way, “Yes, I shall be there, occasionally. Not that my -devotion will be for German Opera, however.” The words were well chosen, -he felt. They were spoken as the legitimate sequence to those words that -she had uttered in that girlish enthusiasm, which was so charming. Only, -of course, being a man, he could choose his words. They were -artificial--the result of a choice; whereas it was plain that she could -not choose but utter the phrases that had come from her. She was a girl, -and so spoke impulsively and from her heart. - -“Meantime,” said she--she had now herself almost under control again, -and was looking at him with a smile upon her face as she put out her -hand to meet his. “Meantime, you will come again to see me? My father is -greatly occupied with his history, otherwise he also would, I know, be -very pleased to see you.” - -“I hope that you will be pleased,” said he. “If so, I will -call--occasionally--frequently.” - -“Frequently,” said she, and once again--but only for a moment this -time--she scrutinized her foot. - -“Frequently,” said he, in a low tone. Being a man he could choose his -tones as well as his words. - -He went away with a deep satisfaction dwelling within him--the -satisfaction of the clever man who feels that he has not only spoken -cleverly, but acted cleverly--which is quite a different thing. - -Later on he felt that he need not have been in such a hurry calling -upon her. He had gone to her directly after visiting Harold. He had -been under the impression that he would do well to see her and make his -proposal to her regarding the German Opera season without delay. The -moment that he had heard of Lord Fotheringay’s death, it had occurred to -him that he would do well to lose no time in paying her a visit. After -due consideration, he had thought it advisable to call upon Harold in -the first instance. He had done so, and the result of his call was to -make him feel that he should not any longer delay his visit to Beatrice. - -Now, as has been said, he felt that he need not have been in such a -hurry. - -“_I should love to go--you will be there_.” - -Yes, those were the words that had sprung from her heart. The sequence -of the phrases had not been the result of art or thought. - -He had clearly under-estimated the effect of his own personality upon -an impressionable girl who had a great historian for a father. The days -that he had passed by her side--carrying out the compact which he had -made with Helen Craven--had produced an impression upon her far more -powerful than he had believed it possible to produce within so short a -space of time. - -In short, she was his. - -That is what he felt within an hour of parting from her; and all his -resources of modesty and humility were unequal to the task of changing -his views on this point. - -Was he in love with her? - -He believed her to be the most beautiful woman whom he had ever seen. - - - - -CHAPTER LIII.--ON A SUPREME ASPIRATION. - -|IT was commonly reported that Mr. Durdan had stated with some degree of -publicity that the days of the Government were numbered. - -There were a good many persons who were ready to agree with him before -the month of December had passed; for the agitation on the subject of -Siberia was spreading through the length and breadth of the land. -The active and observant Leader of the Opposition knew the people of -England, Scotland, and perhaps--so far as they allowed themselves to -be understood--of Wales, thoroughly. Of course Ireland was out of the -question altogether. - -Knowing the people so well, he only waited for a sharp frost to open his -campaign. He was well aware that it would be ridiculous to commence an -agitation on the subject of Siberia unless in a sharp frost. To try -to move the constituencies while the water-pipes in their dwellings -remained intact, would be a waste of time. It is when his pipes are -burst that the British householder will join in any agitation that may -be started. The British farmer invariably turns out the Government after -a bad harvest; and there can be but little doubt that a succession of -wet summers would make England republican. - -It was because all the water-pipes in England were burst, that the -atrocities in Bulgaria stirred the great sympathetic heart of this -England of ours, and the strongest Government that had existed for years -became the most unpopular. A strong Government may survive a year of -great commercial depression; but the strongest totters after a wet -summer, and none has ever been known to survive a frost that bursts the -household water-pipes. - -The campaign commenced when the thermometer fell to thirty-two degrees -Fahrenheit. That was the time to be up and doing. In every quarter the -agitation made itself felt. - -“The sympathetic pulse of the nation was not yet stilled,” we were -told. “Six years of inefficient Government had failed to crush down the -manhood of England,” we were assured. “The Heart was still there--it was -beating still; and wherever the Heart of an Englishman beats there was -found a foe--a determined, resolute foe--nay, an irresistible foe, to -tyranny, and what tyranny had the world ever known that was equal -to that which sent thousands and tens of thousands of noble men and -women--women--women--to a living death among the snows of Siberia? -Could any one present form an idea of the horrors of a Siberian winter?” - (Cries of “Yes, yes,” from householders whose water-pipes had burst.) -“Well, in the name of our common humanity--in the name of our common -sympathies--in the name of England (cheers)--England, mind you, with her -fleet, that in spite of six years of gross mismanagement on the part -of the Government, was still the mistress of the main--(loud cheers) -England, mind you, whose armies had survived the shocking incapacity -of a Government that had refused a seven-hours day to the artisans at -Woolwich and Aldershot--(tremendous cheers) in the name of this grand -old England of ours let those who were responsible for Siberia--that -blot upon the map of Europe”--(the agitator is superior to -geography)--“let them be told that their day is over. Let the Government -that can look with callous eyes upon such horrors as are enacted among -the frosts and snows of Siberia be told that its day is over (cheers). -Did anyone wish to know something of these horrors?” [‘Yes, yes!’) -“Well, here was a book written by a correspondent to a New York journal, -and which, consequently, was entitled to every respect”.... and so -forth. - -That was the way the opponents of the Government talked at every -meeting. And in the course of a short time they had successfully mixed -up the labour question, the army and navy retrenchment question, the -agricultural question, and several other questions, with the stories of -Siberian horrors, and the aggregate of evil was laid to the charge of -the Government. - -The friends of the Government were at their wits’ end to know how to -reply to this agitation. Some foolish ones endeavoured to make out -that England was not responsible for what was done in Siberia. But this -sophistry was too shallow for the people whose water-pipes were burst, -and those who were responsible for it were hooted on every platform. - -It was at this critical time that the Prime Minister announced at a -Dinner at which he was entertained, that, while the Government was fully -sensible of the claims of Siberia, he felt certain that he was only -carrying out the desire of the people of England, in postponing -consideration of this vast question until a still greater question -had been settled. After long and careful deliberation, Her Majesty’s -Ministers had resolved to submit to the country a programme the first -item of which was the Conversion of the Jews. - -The building where this announcement was made rang with cheers. The -friends of the Government no longer looked gloomy. In a few days -they knew that the Nonconformist Conscience would be awake, and as a -political factor, the Nonconformist Conscience cannot be ignored. A -Government that had for its policy the Conversion of the Jews would be -supported by England--this great Christian England of ours. - -“My Lords and Gentlemen,” said the Prime Minister, “the contest on which -we are about to enter is very limited in its range. It is a contest of -England and Religion against the Continent and Atheism. My Lords and -Gentlemen, come what may, Her Majesty’s Ministers will be on the side of -Religion.” - -It was felt that this timely utterance had saved the Government. - -It was not to be expected that, when these tremendous issues were -broadening out, Mr. Edmund Airey should have much time at his disposal -for making afternoon calls; still he managed to visit Beatrice Avon -pretty frequently--much more frequently than he had ever visited anyone -in all his life. The season of German Opera was a brilliant one, and -upon several occasions Beatrice appeared in Mr. Airey’s box by the -side of the enthusiastic lady, who was pointed out in society as having -remained in her stall from the beginning to the end of “Parsifal.” - Mr. Airey never missed a performance at which Beatrice was present. He -missed all the others. - -Only once did he venture to introduce Harold’s name in her drawing-room. -He mentioned having seen him casually in the street, and then he watched -her narrowly as he said, “By the way, I have never come upon him here. -Does he not call upon you?” - -There was only a little brightening of her eyes--was it scorn?--as -she replied: “Is it not natural that Lord Fotheringay should be a very -different person from Mr. Harold Wynne? Oh, no, he never calls now.” - -“I have heard several people say that they had found him greatly -changed, poor fellow!” said Edmund. - -“Greatly changed--not ill?” she said. - -He wondered if the tone in which she spoke suggested anxiety--or was it -merely womanly curiosity? - -“Oh, no; he seems all right; but it is clear that his father’s death and -the circumstances attending it affected him deeply.” - -“It gave him a title at any rate.” - -The suspicion of scorn was once more about her voice. Its tone no longer -suggested anxiety for the health of Lord Fotheringay. - -“You are too hard on him, Beatrice,” said Edmund. She had come to be -Beatrice to him for more than a week--a week in which he had been twice -in her drawing-room, and in which she had been twice in his opera box. - -“Too hard on him?” said she. “How is it possible for you to judge what -is hard or the opposite on such a point?” - -“I have always liked Harold,” said he; “that is why I must stand up for -him.” - -“Ah, that is your own kindness of heart,” said she. “I remember how you -used to stand up for him at Castle Innisfail. I remember that when you -told me how wretchedly poor he was, you were very bitter against the -destiny that made so good a fellow poor, while so many others, not -nearly so good, were wealthy.” - -“I believe I did say something like that. At any rate I felt that. Oh, -yes, I always felt that I must stand up for him; so even now I insist on -your not being too hard on him.” - -He laughed, and so did she--yes, after a little pause. - -“Come again--soon,” she said, as she gave him her hand, which he -retained for some moments while he looked into her eyes--they were more -than usually lustrous--and said, - -“Oh, yes, I will come again soon. Don’t you remember what I said to you -in this room--it seems long ago, we have come to be such close friends -since--what I said about my aspirations--my supreme aspiration?” - -“I remember it,” said she--her voice was very low. - -“I have still to reveal it to you, Beatrice,” said he. - -Then he dropped her hand and was gone. - -He made another call the same afternoon. He drove westward to the -residence of Helen Craven and her mother, and in the drawing-room he -found about a dozen people drinking tea, for Mrs. Craven had a large -circle. - -It took him some time to get beside Helen; but a very small amount of -manoeuvring on her part was sufficient to secure comparative privacy for -him and herself in a dimly-lighted part of the great room--an alcove -that made a moderately valid excuse for a Moorish arch and hangings. - -“The advice that I gave to you was good,” said he. - -“Your advice was that I should make no move whatever,” said she. “That -could not be hard advice to take, if he were disposed to make any move -in my direction. But, as I told you, he only called once, and then we -were out. Have you learned anything?” - -“I have learned that whomsoever she marries, she will never marry Harold -Wynne,” said Edmund. - -“Great heavens! You have found this out? Are you certain? Men are so apt -to rush at conclusions.” - -“Yes; some men are. I have always preferred the crawling process, though -it is the slower.” - -“That is a confession--crawling! But how have you found out that she -will not marry him?” - -“He has treated her very badly.” - -“That has got nothing whatever to do with the question. Heavens! If -women declined to marry the men that treat them badly, the statistics of -spinsterhood would be far more alarming than they are at present.” - -“She will not marry him.” - -“Will she marry you?” - -Miss Craven had sprung to her feet. She was in a nervous condition, and -it was intensified by his irritating reiteration of the one statement. - -“Will she marry you?” she cried, in a voice that had a strident ring -about it. “Will she marry you?” - -“I think it highly probable,” said he. - -She looked at him in silence for a long time. - -“Let us return to the room,” said she. - -They went through the Moorish arch back to the drawing-room. - - - - -CHAPTER LIV.--ON THE DECAY OF THE PAT AS A POWER. - -|IT was a few days after Edmund Airey had made his revelation--if it -was a revelation--to Helen Craven, that Harold received a visitor in -the person of Archie Brown. The second week in January had now come. The -season of German Opera was over, and Parliament was about to assemble; -but neither of these matters was engrossing the attention of Archie. -That he was in a state of excitement anyone could see, and before he had -even asked after Harold’s health, he cried, “I’ve fired out the lot of -them, Harry; that’s the sort of new potatoes I am.” - -“The lot of what?” asked Harold. - -“Don’t you know? Why, the lot of Legitimists,” said Archie. - -“The Legitimists? My dear Archie, you don’t surely expect me to believe -that you possess sufficient political power to influence the fortunes of -a French dynasty.” - -“French dynasty be grilled. I said the Legitimists--the actors, the -carpenters, the gasmen, the firemen, the check-takers, Shakespeare, and -Mrs. Mowbray of the Legitimate Theatre. I’ve fired out the lot of them, -and be hanged to them!” - -“Oh, I see; you’ve fired out Shakespeare?” - -“He’s eternally fired out, so far as I’m concerned. Why should I end my -days in a workhouse because a chap wrote plays a couple of hundred years -ago--may be more?” - -“Why, indeed? And so you fired him out?” - -“I’ve made things hum at the Legitimate this morning”--Archie had once -spent three months in the United States--“and now I’ve made the lot of -them git. I’ve made W. S. git.” - -“And Mrs. Mowbray?” - -“She gits too.” - -“She’ll do it gracefully. Archie, my man, you’re not wanting in -courage.” - -“What courage was there needed for that?”--Archie had picked up a quill -pen and was trying, but with indifferent success, to balance it on the -toe of his boot, as he leant back in a chair. “What courage is needed to -tell a chap that’s got hold of your watch chain that the time has come -for him to drop it? Great Godfrey! wasn’t I the master of the lot of -them? Do you fancy that the manager was my master? Do you fancy that -Mrs. Mowbray was my--I mean, do you think that I’m quite an ass?” - -“Well, no,” said Harold--“not quite.” - -“Do you suppose that my good old dad had any Scruples about firing out a -crowd of navvies when he found that they didn’t pay? Not he. And do you -suppose that I haven’t inherited some of his good qualities?” - -“And when does the Legitimate close its doors?” - -“This day week. Those doors have been open too long already. -Seventy-five pounds for the Widow’s champagne for the Christmas -week--think of that, Harry. Mrs. Mowbray’s friends drink nothing but -Clicquot. She expects me to pay for her entertainments, and calls it -Shakespeare. If you grabbed a chap picking your pocket, and he explained -to the tarty chips at Bow Street that his initials were W. S. would he -get off? Don’t you believe it, Harry.” - -“Nothing shall induce me.” - -“The manager’s only claim to have earned his salary is that he has been -at every theatre in London, and has so got the biggest list of people to -send orders to, so as to fill the house nightly. It seems that the most -valuable manager is the one who has the longest list of people who will -accept orders. That’s theatrical enterprise nowadays. They say it’s the -bicycle that has brought it about.” - -“Anyhow you’ve quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? Give me your hand; Archie. -You’re a man.” - -“Quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? It was about time. She went to pat my -head again to-day, when there was a buzz in the manager’s office. She -didn’t pat my head, Harry--the day is past for pats, and so I told her. -The day is past when she could butter me with her pats. She gave me a -look when I said that--if she could give such looks on the stage she’d -crowd the house--and then she cried, ‘Nothing on earth shall induce me -ever to speak to you again.’ ‘I ask nothing better,’ said I. After that -she skipped. I promised Norah that I’d do it, and I have done it.” - -“You promised whom?” - -“Norah. Great Godfrey! you don’t mean to say that you haven’t heard that -Norah Innisfail and I are to be married?” - -“Norah--Innisfail--and--you--you?” - -Harold lay back in his chair and laughed. The idea of the straightlaced -Miss Innisfail marrying Archie Brown seemed very comical to him. - -“What are you laughing about?” said Archie. “You shouldn’t laugh, -considering that it was you that brought it about.” - -“I? I wish that I had no more to reproach myself with; but I can’t for -the life of me see how--” - -“Didn’t you get Mrs. Lampson to invite me to Abbeylands, and didn’t I -meet Norah there, bless her! At first, do you know, I fancied that I was -getting fond of her mother?” - -“Oh, yes; I can understand that,” said Harold, who was fully acquainted -with the systems which Lady Innisfail worked with such success. - -“But, bless your heart! it was all motherly kindness on Lady Innisfail’s -part--so she explained when--ah--later on. Then I went with her to Lord -Innisfail’s place at Netherford and--well, there’s no explaining these -things. Norah is the girl for me! I’ve felt a better man for knowing -her, Harry. It’s not every girl that a chap can say that of--mostly the -other way. Lord Innisfail heard something about the Legitimate business, -and he said that it was about time I gave it up; I agreed with him, and -I’ve given it up.” - -“Archie,” said Harold, “you’ve done a good morning’s work. I was going -to advise you never to see Mrs. Mowbray again--never to grant her an -interview--she’s an edged tool--but after what you’ve done, I feel that -it would be a great piece of presumption on my part to offer you any -advice.” - -“Do you know what it is?” said Archie, in a low and very confidential -voice: “I’m not quite so sure of her character as I used to be. I know -you always stood up for her.” - -“I still believe that she never had more than one lover at a time,” said -Harold. - -“Was that seventy-five pound’s worth of the Widow swallowed by one lover -in a week?” asked Archie. “Oh, I’m sick of the whole concern. Don’t you -mention Shakespeare to me again.” - -“I won’t,” said Harold. “But it strikes me that Shakespeare is like -Madame Roland’s Liberty.” - -“Whose Liberty?” - -“Madame Roland’s.” - -“Oh, she’s a dressmaker of Bond Street, I suppose. They’re all Madames -there. I dare say I’ve got a bill from her to pay with the rest of them. -Mrs. Mowbray has dealt with them all. Now I’m off. I thought I’d drop -in and tell you all that happened, as you’re accountable for my meeting -Norah.” - -“You will give her my best regards and warmest congratulations,” said -Harold. “Accept the same yourself.” - -“You had a good time at their Irish place yourself, hadn’t you?” said -Archie. “How was it that you didn’t fall in love with Norah when you -were there? That’s what has puzzled me. How is it that every tarty chip -didn’t want to marry her? Oh, I forgot that you--well, wasn’t there a -girl with lovely eyes in Ireland?” - -“You have heard of Irish girls and their eyes,” said Harold. - -“She had wonderful gray eyes,” said Archie. Harold became grave. “Oh, -yes, Norah has a pair of eyes too, and she keeps them wide open. She -told me a good deal about their party in Ireland. She took it for -granted that you--” - -“Archie,” said Harold, “like a good chap don’t you ever talk about that -to me again.” - -“All right, I’ll not,” said Archie. “Only, you see, I thought that you -wouldn’t mind now, as everyone says that she’s going to marry Airey, the -M.P. for some place or other. I knew that you’d be glad to hear that I’d -fired out the Legitimate.” - -“So I am--very glad.” - -Archie was off, having abandoned as futile his well-meant attempts to -balance the quill on the toe first of one boot, then of the other. - -He was off, and Harold was standing at the window, watching him -gathering up his reins and sending his horses at a pretty fair pace into -the square. - -It had fallen--the blow had fallen. She was going to marry Edmund Airey. - -Could he blame her? - -He felt that he had treated her with a baseness that deserved the -severest punishment--such punishment as was now in her power to inflict. -She had trusted him with all her heart--all her soul. She had given -herself up to him freely, and he had made her the victim of a fraud. -That was how he had repaid her for her trustfulness. - -He did not stir from the window for hours. He thought of her without any -bitterness--all his bitterness was divided between the thoughts of his -own cruelty and the thoughts of Edmund Airey’s cleverness. He did not -know which was the more contemptible; but the conclusion to which he -came, after devoting some time to the consideration of the question of -the relative contemptibility of the two, was that, on the whole, Edmund -Airey’s cleverness was the more abhorrent. - -But Archie Brown, after leaving St. James’s, drove with his customary -rapidity to Connaught Square, to tell of his achievement to Norah. - -Miss Innisfail, while fully recognizing the personal obligations of -Archie to the Shakesperian drama, had agreed with her father that this -devotion should not be an absorbing one. She had had a hint or two that -it absorbed a good deal of money, and though she had been assured by -Archie that no one could say a word against Mrs. Mowbray’s character, -yet, like Harold--perhaps even better than Harold--she knew that Mrs. -Mowbray was an extremely well-dressed woman. She listened with interest -to Archie’s account of how he had accomplished that process of “firing -out” in regard to the Legitimate artists; and when he had told her all, -she could not help wondering if Mrs. Mowbray would be quite as well -dressed in the future as she had been in the past. - -Archie then went on to tell her how he had called upon Harold, and how -Harold had congratulated him. - -“You didn’t forget to tell him that people are saying that Mr. Airey is -going to marry Miss Avon?” said Norah. - -“Have I ever forgotten to carry out one of your commissions?” he asked. - -“Good gracious! You didn’t suggest that you were commissioned by me to -tell him that?” - -“Not likely. That’s not the sort of new potatoes I am. I was on the -cautious side, and I didn’t even mention the name of the girl.” He did -not think it necessary to say that the reason for his adoption of this -prudent course was that he had forgotten the name of the girl. “No, but -when I told him that Airey was going to marry her, he gave me a look.” - -“A look? What sort of a look?” - -“I don’t know. The sort of a look a chap would give to a surgeon who had -just snipped off his leg. Poor old Harry looked a bit cut up. Then he -turned to me and said as gravely as a parson--a bit graver than some -parsons--that he’d feel obliged to me if I’d never mention her name -again.” - -“But you hadn’t mentioned her name, you said.” - -“Neither I had. He didn’t mention it either. I can only give you an idea -of what he said, I won’t take my oath about the exact words. But I’ll -take my oath that he was more knocked down than any chap I ever came -across.” - -“I knew it,” said Norah. “He’s in love with her still. Mamma says he’s -not; but I know perfectly well that he is. She doesn’t care a scrap for -Mr. Airey.” - -“How do you know that?” - -“I know it.” - -“Oh.” - - - - -CHAPTER LV.--ON SHAKESPEARE AND ARCHIE BROWN. - -|IT was early on the same afternoon that Beatrice Avon received -intimation of a visitor--a lady, the butler said, who gave the name of -Mrs. Mowbray. - -“I do not know any Mrs. Mowbray, but, of course, I’ll see her,” was the -reply that Beatrice gave to the inquiry if she were at home. - -“Was it possible,” she thought, “that her visitor was the Mrs. -Mowbray whose portraits in the character of Cymbeline were in all the -illustrated papers?” - -Before Beatrice, under the impulse of this thought, had glanced at -herself in a mirror--for a girl does not like to appear before a woman -of the highest reputation (for beauty) with hair more awry than is -consistent with tradition--her mind was set at rest. There may have been -many Mrs. Mowbrays in London, but there was only one woman with such a -figure, and such a face. - -She looked at Beatrice with undisguised interest, but without speaking -for some moments. Equally frank was the interest that was apparent -on the face of Beatrice, as she went forward to meet and to greet her -visitor. - -She had heard that Mrs. Mowbray’s set of sables had cost -someone--perhaps even Mrs. Mowbray herself--seven hundred guineas. - -“Thank you, I will not sit down,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “I feel that I must -apologize for this call.” - -“Oh, no,” said Beatrice. - -“Oh, yes; I should,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “I will do better, however, for -I will make my visit a short one. The fact is, Miss Avon, I have heard -so much about you during the past few months from--from--several people, -I could not help being interested in you--greatly interested indeed.” - -“That was very kind of you,” said Beatrice, wondering what further -revelation was coming. - -“I was so interested in you that I felt I must call upon you. I used to -know Lady Innisfail long ago.” - -“Was it Lady Innisfail who caused you to be interested in me?” asked -Beatrice. - -“Well, not exactly,” said Mrs. Mowbray; “but it was some of Lady -Innisfail’s guests--some who were entertained at the Irish Castle. -I used also to know Mrs. Lampson--Lord Fotheringay’s daughter. How -terrible the blow of his death must have been to her and her brother.” - -“I have not seen Mrs. Lampson since,” said Beatrice, “but--” - -“You have seen the present Lord Fotheringay? Will you let me say that -I hope you have seen him--that you still see him? Do not think me -a gossiping, prying old woman--I suppose I am old enough to be your -mother--for expressing the hope that you will see him, Miss Avon. He is -the best man on earth.” - -Beatrice had flushed the first moment that her visitor had alluded to -Harold. Her flush had not decreased. - -“I must decline to speak with you on the subject of Lord Fotheringay, -Mrs. Mowbray,” said Beatrice, somewhat unequally. - -“Do not say that,” said Mrs. Mowbray, in the most musical of pleading -tones. “Do not say that. You would make me feel how very gross has been -my effrontery in coming to you.” - -“No, no; please do not think that,” cried Beatrice, yielding, as every -human being could not but yield, to the lovely voice and the gracious -manner of Mrs. Mowbray. What would be resented as a gross piece of -insolence on the part of anyone else, seemed delicately gracious coming -from Mrs. Mowbray. Her insolence was more acceptable than another -woman’s compliment. She knew to what extent she could draw upon her -resources, both as regards men and women. It was only in the case of a -young cub such as Archie that she now and again overrated her powers of -fascination. She knew that she would never pat Archie’s red head again. - -“Yes, you will let me speak to you, or I shall feel that you regard my -visit as an insolent intrusion.” - -Beatrice felt for the first time in her life that she could fully -appreciate the fable of the Sirens. She felt herself hypnotized by that -mellifluous voice--by the steady sympathetic gaze of the lovely eyes -that were resting upon her face. - -“He is so fond of you,” Mrs. Mowbray went on. “There is no lover’s -quarrel that will not vanish if looked at straight in the face. Let -me look at yours, my dear child, and I will show you how that demon -of distrust can be exorcised.” Beatrice had become pale. The word -_distrust_ had broken the spell of the Siren. - -“Mrs. Mowbray,” said she, “I must tell you again that on no -consideration--on no pretence whatever shall I discuss Lord Fotheringay -with you.” - -“Why not with me, my child?” said Mrs. Mowbray. “Because I distrust -you--no I don’t mean that. I only mean that--that you have given me no -reason to trust you. Why have you come to me in this way, may I ask -you? It is not possible that you came here on the suggestion of Lord -Fotheringay.” - -“No; I only came to see what sort of girl it is that Mr. Airey is going -to marry,” said Mrs. Mowbray, with a wicked little smile. - -Beatrice was no longer pale. She stood with clenched hands before Mrs. -Mowbray, with her eyes fixed upon her face. - -Then she took a step toward the bell rope. “One moment,” said Mrs. -Mowbray. “Do you expect to marry Edmund Airey?” - -Beatrice turned, and looked again at her visitor. If the girl had been -less feminine she would have gone on to the bell rope, and have pulled -it gently. She did nothing of the sort. She gave a laugh, and said, “I -shall marry him if I please.” - -She was feminine. - -So was Mrs. Mowbray. - -“Will you?” she said. “Do you fancy for a moment--are you so infatuated -that you can actually fancy that I--I--Gwendoline Mowbray, will allow -you--you--to take Edmund Airey away from me? Oh, the child is mad--mad!” - -“Do you mean to tell me,” said Beatrice, coming close to her, “that -Edmund Airey is--is--a lover of yours?” - -“Ah,” said Mrs. Mowbray, smiling, “you do not live in our world, my -child.” - -“No, I do not,” said Beatrice. “I now see why you have come to me -to-day.” - -“I told you why.” - -“Yes; you told me. Edmund Airey has been your lover.” - -“_Has been?_ My child, it is only when I please that a lover of mine -becomes associated with a past tense. I have not yet allowed Edmund -Airey to associate with my ‘have beens.’ It was from him that I learned -all about you. He alluded to you in his letters to me from Ireland -merely as ‘a gray eye or so.’ You still mean to marry him?” - -“I still mean to do what I please,” said Beatrice. She had now reached -the bell rope and she pulled it very gently. - -“You are an extremely beautiful young person,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “But -you have not been able to keep close to you a man like Harold Wynne--a -man with a perfect genius for fidelity. And yet you expect--” - -Here the door was opened by the butler. Mrs. Mowbray allowed her -sentence to dwindle away into the conventionalities of leave-taking with -a stranger. - -Beatrice found herself standing with flushed cheeks and throbbing heart -at the door through which her visitor had passed. - -It was somewhat remarkable that the most vivid impression which she -retained of the rather exciting series of scenes in which she had -participated, was that Mrs. Mowbray’s sables were incomparably the -finest that she had ever seen. - -Mrs. Mowbray could scarcely have driven round the great square before -the butler inquired if Miss Avon was at home to Miss Innisfail. In -another minute Norah Innisfail was embracing her with the warmth of a -true-hearted girl who comes to tell another of her engagement to marry -an eligible man, or a handsome man, let him be eligible or otherwise. - -“I want to be the first to give you the news, my dearest Beatrice,” said -Norah. “That is why I came alone. I know you have not heard the news.” - -“I hear no news, except about things that do not interest me in the -least,” said Beatrice. - -“My news concerns myself,” said Norah. - -“Then it’s sure to interest me,” cried Beatrice. - -“It’s so funny! But yet it’s very serious,” said Norah. “The fact is -that I’m going to marry Archie Brown.” - -“Archie Brown?” said Beatrice. “I hope he is the best man in the -world--he should be, to deserve you, my dear Norah.” - -“I thought perhaps you might have known him,” said Norah. “I find that -there are a good many people still who do not know Archie Brown, -in spite of the Legitimate Theatre and all that he has done for -Shakespeare.” - -“The Legitimate Theatre. Is that where Mrs. Mowbray acts?” - -“Only for another week. Oh, yes, Archie takes a great interest in -Shakespeare. He meant the Legitimate Theatre to be a monument to the -interest he takes in Shakespeare, and so it would have been, if the -people had only attended properly, as they should have done. Archie is -very much disappointed, of course; but he says, very rightly, that the -Lord Chamberlain isn’t nearly particular enough in the plays that he -allows to be represented, and so the public have lost confidence in the -theatres--they are never sure that something objectionable will not be -played--and go to the Music Halls, which can always be trusted. Archie -says he’ll turn the Legitimate into a Music Hall--that is, if he can’t -sell the lease.” - -“Whether he does so or not, I congratulate you with all my heart, my -dearest Norah.” - -“If you had come down to Abbeylands in time--before that awful thing -happened--you would have met Archie. We met him there. Mamma took a -great fancy to him at once, and I think that I must have done the same. -At any rate I did when he came to stay with us. He’s such a good fellow, -with red hair--not the sort that the old Venetian painters liked, but -another sort. Strictly speaking some of his features--his mouth, for -instance--are too large, but if you look at him in one position, when -he has his face turned away from you, he’s quite--quite--ah--quite -curious--almost nice. You’ll like him, I know.” - -“I’m sure of it,” said Beatrice. - -“Yes; and he’s such a friend of Harold Wynne’s,” continued the -artful Norah. “Why, what’s the matter with you, Beatrice? You are as -pale--dearest Beatrice, you and I were always good friends. You know -that I always liked Harold.” - -“Do not talk about him, Norah.” - -“Why should I not talk about him? Tell me that.” - -“He is gone--gone away.” - -“Not he. He’s too wretched to go away anywhere. Archie was with him -to-day, and when he heard that--well, the way some people are talking -about you and Mr. Airey, he had not a word to throw to a dog--Archie -told me so.” - -“Oh, do not talk of him, Norah.” - -“Why should I not?” - -“Because--ah, because he’s the only one worth talking about, and now -he’s gone from me, and I’ll never see him again--never, never again!” - Before she had come to the end of her sentence, Beatrice was lying -sobbing on the unsympathetic cushion of the sofa--the same cushion that -had absorbed her tears when she had told Harold to leave her. - -“My dearest Beatrice,” whispered Norah, kneeling beside her, with her -face also down a spare corner of the cushion, “I have known how you were -moping here alone. I’ve come to take you away. You’ll come down with us -to our place at Netherford. There’s a lake with ice on it, and there’s -Archie, and many other pretty things. Oh, yes, you’ll come, and we’ll -all be happy.” - -“Norah,” cried Beatrice, starting up almost wildly, “Mr. Airey will be -here in half an hour to ask me to marry him. He wrote to say that he -would be here, and I know what he means.” Mr. Airey did call in half an -hour, and he found Beatrice--as he felt certain she should--waiting to -receive him, wearing a frock that he admired, and lace that he approved -of. - -But in the meantime Beatrice and Norah had had a few words together -beyond those just recorded. - - - - -CHAPTER LVI.--ON THE BITTER CRY. - -|EDMUND AIREY drank his cup of tea which Beatrice poured out for him, -and while doing so, he told her of the progress that was being made -by the agitation of the Opposition and the counter agitation of the -Government. There was no disguising the fact that the country--like the -fool that it was--had been caught by the bitter cry from Siberia. There -was nothing like a bitter cry, Edmund said, for catching hold of -the country. If any cry was only bitter enough it would succeed. -Fortunately, however, the Government, in its appeal against the Atheism -of the Continent, had also struck a chord that vibrated through the -length and breadth of England and Scotland. The Government orators were -nightly explaining that no really sincere national effort had ever been -made to convert the Jews. To be sure, some endeavours had been made from -time to time to effect this great object--in the days of Isaac of York -the gridiron and forceps had been the auxiliaries of the Church to bring -about the conversion of the Hebrew race; and, more recently, the potent -agency of drawing-room meetings and a house-to-house collection had been -resorted to; but the results had been disappointing. Statistics were -forthcoming--nothing impresses the people of Great Britain more than a -long array of figures, Edmund Airey explained--to show that, whereas, on -any part of the West coast of Africa where rum was not prohibited, for -one pound sterling 348 negroes could be converted--the rate was 0.01 -where rum was prohibited--yet for a subscription of five pounds, one -could only depend on 0.31 of the Jewish race--something less than half -an adult Hebrew--being converted. The Government orators were asking how -long so scandalous a condition of affairs was to be allowed to continue, -and so forth. - -Oh, yes, he explained, things were going on merrily. In three days -Parliament would meet, and the Opposition had drafted their Amendment -to the Address, “That in the opinion of this House no programme of -legislation can be considered satisfactory that does not include a -protest against the horrors daily enacted in Siberia.” - -If this Amendment were carried it would, of course, be equivalent to -a Vote of Censure upon the Government, and the Ministers would be -compelled to resign, Edmund explained to Beatrice. - -She was very attentive, and when he had completed a clever account of -the political machinery by which the operations of the Nonconformist -Conscience are controlled, she said quietly, “My sympathies are -certainly with Siberia. I hope you will vote for that Amendment.” - -He laughed in his superior way. - -“That is so like a girl,” said he. “You are carried away by your -sympathies of the moment. You do not wait to reason out any question.” - -“I dare say you are right,” said she, smiling. “Our conscience is not -susceptible of those political influences to which you referred just -now.” - -“‘They are dangerous guides--the feelings’,” said he, “at least from a -standpoint of politics.” - -“But there are, thank God, other standpoints in the world from which -humanity may be viewed,” said she. - -“There are,” said he. “And I also join with you in saying, ‘thank God!’ -Do you fancy that I am here to-day--that I have been here so frequently -during the past two months, from a political motive, Beatrice?” - -“I cannot tell,” she replied. “Have you not just said that the feelings -are dangerous guides?” - -“They lead one into danger,” said he. “There can be no doubt about -that.” - -“Have you ever allowed them to lead you?” she asked, with another smile. - -“Only once, and that is now,” said he. “With you I have thrown away -every guide but my feelings. A few months ago I could not have believed -it possible that I should do so. But with God and Woman all things -are possible. That is why I am here to-day to ask you if you think it -possible that you could marry me.” - -She had risen to her feet, not by a sudden impulse, but slowly. She was -not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed upon some imaginary point beyond -him. She was plainly under the influence of some very strong feeling. A -full minute had passed before she said, “You should not have come to me -with that request, Mr. Airey. - -“Why should I not? Do you think that I am here through any other impulse -than that of my feelings?” - -“How can I tell?” she said, and now she was looking at him. “How can I -tell which you hold dearer--political advancement, or my love?” - -“How can you doubt me for a moment, Beatrice?” he said -reproachfully--almost mournfully. “Why am I waiting anxiously for your -acceptance of my offer, if I do not hold your love more precious than -all other considerations in the world?” - -“Do you so hold it?” - -“Indeed I do.” - -“Then I have told you that my sympathies are altogether with Siberia. -Vote for the Amendment of the Opposition.” - -“What can you mean, Beatrice?” - -“I mean that if you vote for the Amendment, you will have shown me that -you are capable of rising above mere party considerations. I don’t make -this the price of my love, remember. I don’t make any compact to marry -you if you adopt the course that I suggest. I only say that you will -have proved to me that your words are true--that you hold something -higher than political expediency.” - -She looked at him. - -He looked at her. - -There was a long pause. - -“You are unreasonable. I cannot do it,” he said. - -“Good-bye,” said she. - -He looked at the hand which she had thrust out to him, but he did not -take it. - -“You really mean me to vote against my party?” said he. - -“What other way can you prove to me that you are superior to party -considerations?” said she. - -“It would mean self-effacement politically,” said he. “Oh, you do not -appreciate the gravity of the thing.” - -He turned abruptly away from her and strode across the room. - -She remained silent where he had left her. - -“I did not think you capable of so cruel a caprice as this,” he -continued, from the fireplace. “You do not understand the consequences -of my voting against my party.” - -“Perhaps I do not,” said she. “But I have given you to understand the -consequences of not doing so.” - -“Then we must part,” said he, approaching her. “Good-bye,” said she, -once more. - -He took her hand this time. He held it for a moment irresolutely, then -he dropped it. - -“Are you really in earnest, Beatrice?” said he. “Do you really mean to -put me to this test?” - -“I never was more in earnest in my life,” said she. “Think over the -matter--let me entreat of you to think over it,” he said, earnestly. - -“And you will think over it also?” - -“Yes, I will think over it. Oh, Beatrice, do not allow yourself to be -carried away by this caprice. It is unworthy of you.” - -“Do not be too hard on me, I am only a woman,” said she, very meekly. - -She was only a woman. He felt that very strongly as he walked away. - -And yet he had told Harold that he had great hope of Woman, by reason of -her femininity. - -And yet he had told Harold that he understood Woman and her motives. - -“Papa,” said Beatrice, from the door of the historian’s study. “Papa, -Mr. Edmund Airey has just been here to ask me to marry him.” - -“That’s right, my dear,” said the great historian. “Marry him, or anyone -else you please, only run away and play with your dolls now. I’m very -busy.” - -This was precisely the answer that Beatrice expected. It was precisely -the answer that anyone might have expected from a man who permitted such -a _ménage_ as that which prevailed under his roof. - - - - -CHAPTER LVII.--ON THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. - -|THE next day Beatrice went with Norah Innisfail and her mother to their -home in Nethershire. Two days afterwards the Legitimate Theatre closed -its doors, and Parliament opened its doors. The Queen’s Speech was read, -and a member of the Opposition moved the Amendment relating to Siberia. -The Debate on the Address began. - -On the second night of the debate Edmund Airey called at the historian’s -house and, on asking for Miss Avon, learned that she was visiting -Lady Innisfail in Nethershire. On the evening of the fourth day of the -debate--the Division on the Amendment was to be taken that night--he -drove in great haste to the same house, and learned that Miss Avon was -still in Nethershire, but that she was expected home on the following -day. - -He partook of a hasty dinner at his club, and, writing out a telegram, -gave it to a hall-porter to send to the nearest telegraph office. - -The form was addressed to Miss Avon, in care of Lord Innisfail, -Netherford Hall, Netherford, Nethershire, and it contained the following -words, “_I will do it. Edmund_.” - -He did it. - -He made a brief speech amid the cheers of the Opposition and the howls -of the Government party, acknowledging his deep sympathy with the -unhappy wretches who were undergoing the unspeakable horrors of a -Siberian exile, and thus, he said he felt compelled, on conscientious -grounds (ironical cheers from the Government) to vote for the Amendment. - -He went into the lobby with the Opposition. - -It was an Irish member who yelled out “Judas!” - -The Government was defeated by a majority of one vote, and there was a -“scene” in the House. - -Some time ago an enterprising person took up his abode in the midst -of an African jungle, in order to study the methods by which baboons -express themselves. He might have spared himself that trouble, if he had -been present upon the occasion of a “scene” in the House of Commons. -He would, from a commanding position in the Strangers’ Gallery, have -learned all that he had set his heart upon acquiring--and more. - -It was while the “scene” was being enacted that Edmund Airey had put -into his hand the telegraph form written out by himself in his club. - -“_Telegraph Office at Netherford closes at 6 p.m_.,” were the words that -the hall-porter had written on the back of the form. - -The next day he drove to the historian’s, and inquired if Miss Avon had -returned. - -She was in the drawing-room, the butler said. - -With triumph--a sort of triumph--in his heart, and on his face, he -ascended the staircase. - -He thought that he had never before seen her look so beautiful. Surely -there was triumph on her face as well! It was glowing, and her eyes were -more lustrous even than usual. She had plainly just returned, for she -had on a travelling dress. - -“Beatrice, you saw the newspapers? You saw that I have done it?” he -cried, exultantly. - -“Done what?” she inquired. “I have seen no newspaper to-day.” - -“What? Is it possible that you have not heard that I voted last night -for the Amendment?” he cried. - -“I heard nothing,” she replied. - -“I wrote a telegram last evening, telling you that I meant to do it, but -it appears that the office at Netherford closes at six, so it could -not be sent. I did not know how much you were to me until yesterday, -Beatrice.” - -“Stop,” she said. “I was married to Harold Wynne an hour ago.” - -He looked at her for some moments, and then dropped into a chair. - -“You have made a fool of me,” he said. - -“No,” she said. “I could not do that. If I had got your telegram in time -last evening I would have replied to it, telling you that, whatever step -you took, it would not bring you any nearer to me. Harold Wynne, you -see, came to me again. I had promised to marry him when we were together -at that seal-hunt, but--well, something came between us.” - -“And you revenged yourself upon me? You made a fool of me!” - -“If I had tried to do so, would it have been remarkable, Mr. Airey? -Supposing that I had been made a fool of by the compact into which you -entered with Miss Craven, who would have been to blame? Was there ever a -more shameful compact entered into by a clever man and a clever woman to -make a victim of a girl who believed that the world was overflowing -with sincerity? I was made acquainted with the nature of that compact of -yours, Mr. Airey, but I cannot say that I have yet learned what are the -terms of your compact--or is it a contract?--with Mrs. Mowbray. Still, I -know something. And yet you complain that I have made a fool of you.” - -He had completely recovered himself before she had got to the end of her -little speech. He had wondered how on earth she had become acquainted -with the terms of his compact with Helen. When, however, she referred -to Mrs. Mowbray, he felt sure that it was Mrs. Mowbray who had betrayed -him. - -He was beginning to learn something of women and their motives. - -“Nothing is likely to be gained by this sort of recrimination,” said he, -rising. “You have ruined my career.” - -She laughed, not bitterly but merrily, he knew all along that she had -never fully appreciated the gravity of the step which she had compelled -him--that was how he put it--to take. She had not even had the interest -to glance at a newspaper to see how he had voted. But then she had -not read the leading articles in the Government organs which were -plentifully besprinkled with his name printed in small capitals. That -was his one comforting thought. - -She laughed. - -“Oh, no, Mr. Airey,” said she. “Your career is not ruined. Clever men -are not so easily crushed, and you are a very clever man--so clever as -to be able to make me clever, if that were possible.” - -“You have crushed me,” he said. “Good-bye.” - -“If I wished to crush you I should have married you,” said she. “No -woman can crush a man unless she is married to him. Good-bye.” - -The butler opened the door. “Is my husband in yet?” she asked of the -man. - -“His lordship has not yet returned, my lady,” said the butler, who had -once lived in the best families--far removed from literature--and who -was, consequently, able to roll off the titles with proper effect. - -“Then you will not have an opportunity of seeing him, I’m afraid,” she -said, turning to Mr. Airey. - -“I think I already said good-bye, Lady Fotheringay.” - -“I do believe that you did. If I did not, however, I say it now. -Good-bye, Mr. Airey.” - -He got into a hansom and drove straight to Helen Craven’s house. It was -the most dismal drive he had ever had. He could almost fancy that the -message boys in the streets were, in their accustomed high spirits, -pointing to him with ridicule as the man who had turned his party out of -office. - -Helen Craven was in her boudoir. She liked receiving people in that -apartment. She understood its lights. - -He found that she had read the newspapers. - -She stared at him as he entered, and gave him a limp hand. - -“What on earth did you mean by voting--” she began. - -“You may well ask,” said he. “I was a fool. I was made a fool of by that -girl. She made me vote against my party.” - -“And she refuses to marry you now?” - -“She married Harold Wynne an hour ago.” - -Helen Craven did not fling herself about when she heard this piece of -news. She only sat very rigid on her little sofa. - -“Yes,” resumed Edmund. “She is ill-treated by one man, but she marries -him, and revenges herself upon another! Isn’t that like a woman? She has -ruined my career.” - -Then it was that Helen Craven burst into a long, loud, and very -unmusical laugh--a laugh that had a suspicion of a shrill shriek about -some of its tones. When she recovered, her eyes were full of the tears -which that paroxysm of laughter had caused. - -“You are a fool, indeed!” said she. “You are a fool if you cannot see -that your career is just beginning. People are talking of you to-day -as the Conscientious One--the One Man with a Conscience. Isn’t the -reputation for a Conscience the beginning of success in England?” - -“Helen,” he cried, “will you marry me? With our combined money we can -make ourselves necessary to any party. Will you marry me?” - -“I will,” she said. “I will marry you with pleasure--now. I will marry -anyone--now.” - -“Give me your hand, Helen,” he cried. “We understand one another--that -is enough to start with. And as for that other--oh, she is nothing but a -woman after all!” - -He never spoke truer words. - -But sometimes when he is alone he thinks that she treated him badly. - -Did she? - -THE END. - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg’s A Gray Eye or So, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GRAY EYE OR SO *** - -***** This file should be named 51946-0.txt or 51946-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/4/51946/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the -Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the -phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the - United States, you’ll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain -Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation.” - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right -of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. - -The Foundation’s principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/51946-0.zip b/old/51946-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index eb1acde..0000000 --- a/old/51946-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51946-8.txt b/old/51946-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a3721d2..0000000 --- a/old/51946-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4940 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Gray Eye or So, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: A Gray Eye or So - In Three Volumes--Volume III - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51946] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GRAY EYE OR SO *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -A GRAY EYE OR SO - -By Frank Frankfort Moore - -In Three Volumes--Volume III - -SIXTH EDITION - -London - -HUTCHINSON & CO., 34 PATERNOSTER ROW - -1893 - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - - - -A GRAY EYE OR SO. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII.--ON A KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD. - -|SHORTLY after noon he was with her. He had left his rooms without -touching a morsel of breakfast, and it was plain that such sleep as -he had had could not have been of a soothing nature. He was pale and -haggard; and she seemed surprised--not frightened, however, for her -love was that which casteth out fear--at the way he came to her--with -outstretched hands which caught her own, as he said, "My beloved--my -beloved, I have a strange word for you--a strange proposal to make. -Dearest, can you trust me? Will you marry me--to-morrow--to-day?" - -She scarcely gave a start. He was only conscious of her hands tightening -upon his own. She kept her eyes fixed upon his. The silence was long. -It was made the more impressive by the distinctness with which the -jocularity of the fishmonger's hoy with the cook at the area railings, -was heard in the room. - -"Harold," she said, in a voice that had no trace of distrust, "Harold, -you are part of my life--all my life! When I said that I loved you, -I had given myself to you. I will marry you any time you -please--to-morrow--to-day--this moment!" - -She was in his arms, sobbing. - -His "God bless you, my darling!" sounded like a sob also. - -In a few moments she was laughing through her tears. - -He was not laughing. - -"Now, tell me what you mean, my beloved," said she, with a hand on each -of his shoulders. - -"Tell me what you mean by coming to frighten me like this. What has -happened?" - -"Nothing has happened, only I want to feel that you are my own--my own -beyond the possibility of being separated from me by any power on earth. -I do not want to take you away from your father's house--I cannot offer -you any home. It may be years before we can live together as those who -love one another as we love, may live with the good will of heaven. I -only want you to become my wife in name, dearest. Our marriage must be -kept a secret." - -"But my own love," said she, "why should you wish to go through this -ceremony? Are we not united by the true bond of love? Can we be more -closely united than we are now? The strength of the marriage bond -is only strong in proportion as the love which is the foundation of -marriage is strong. Now, why should you wish for the marriage rite -before we are prepared to live for ever under the same roof?" - -"Why, why?" he cried passionately, as he looked into the depths of her -eyes. - -He left her and went across the room to one of the windows and looked -out. (It was the greengrocer's boy who was now jocular with the cook at -the area railings.) - -"My Beatrice--" Harold had returned to her from his scrutiny of the -pavement. "My Beatrice, you have not seen all that I have seen in the -world. You do not know--you do not know me as I know myself. Why should -there come to me sometimes an unworthy thought--no, not a doubt--oh, I -have seen so much of the world, Beatrice, I feel that if anything should -come between us it would kill me. I must--I must feel that we are made -one--that there is a bond binding us together that nothing can sever." - -"But, my Harold--no, I will not interpose any buts. You would not ask -me to do this if you had not some good reason. You say that you know the -world. I admit that I do not know it. I only know you, and knowing -you and loving you with all my heart--with all my soul--I trust you -implicitly--without a question--without the shadow of a doubt." - -"God bless you, my love, my love! You will never have reason to regret -loving me--trusting me." - -"It is my life--it is my life, Harold." - -Once again he was standing at the window. This time he remained longer -with his eyes fixed upon the railings of the square enclosure. - -"It must be to-morrow," he said, returning to her. "I shall come here at -noon. A few words spoken in this room and nothing can part us. You will -still call yourself by your own name, dearest, God hasten the day when -you can come to me as my wife in the sight of all the world and call -yourself by my name." - -"I shall be here at noon to-morrow," said she. - -"Unless," said he, returning to her after he had kissed her forehead and -had gone to the door. "Unless"--he framed her face with his hands, -and looked down into the depths of her eyes.--"Unless, when you have -thought over the whole matter, you feel that you cannot trust me." - -She laughed. - -"Ah, my love, my love, you do not know the world," said he. - -He knew the world. - -Another man who knew the world was Pontius Pilate. - -This was why he asked "What is Truth?" - -Harold Wynne was in Archie Brown's room in Piccadilly within half an -hour. - -Archie was at the Legitimate Theatre, Mr. Playdell said--Mr. Playdell -was seated at the dining-room table surrounded by papers. A trifling -difference of opinion had arisen between Mrs. Mowbray and her manager, -he added, and (with a smile) Archie had hurried to the theatre to set -matters right. - -"It is kind of you to call, Mr. Wynne," continued Mr. Playdell. "But I -hope it is not to tell me that you regret the suggestion that you made -yesterday--that you do not see your way to write to your sister to -invite Archie to her place." - -"I wrote to her the moment you left me," said Harold. "Archie will -get his invitation this evening. It is not about him that I came here -to-day, Mr. Playdell. I came to see you. You asked me yesterday to -give you an opportunity of doing something for me. I can give you that -opportunity." - -"And I promise you that I shall embrace it with gladness, Mr. Wynne," -said Playdell, rising from the table. "Tell me how I can serve you and -you will find how ready I am." - -"You still hold to your original principles regarding marriage, Mr. -Playdell?" - -"How could I do otherwise than hold to them, Mr. Wynne? They are the -result of thought; they are not merely a fad to gain notoriety. Let me -prove the position that I take up on this matter." - -"You need not, Mr. Playdeil. I heard all your case when it was -published. I confess that I now think differently respecting you from -what I thought at that time. Will you perform the ceremony of marriage -between a lady who has promised to marry me and myself?" - -"There is only one condition that I make, Mr. Wynne. You must take an -oath that you consider the rite, as I perform it, to be binding upon -you, and that you will never recognize a divorce." - -"I will take that oath willingly, Mr. Playdeil. I have promised my -_fiance_ that we shall be with her at noon to-morrow. She will be -prepared for us. By the way, do you require a ring for the ceremony as -performed by you?" - -Mr. Playdeil looked grave--almost scandalized. - -"Mr. Wynne," said he, "that question suggests to me a certain disbelief -on your part in the validity in the sight of heaven of the rite of -marriage as performed by a man with a full sense of his high office, -even though unfrocked by a Church that has always shown too great a -readiness to submit to secular guidance--secular restrictions in matters -that were originally, like marriage, purely spiritual. The Church -has not only submitted to civil restrictions in the matter of the -celebration of the holy rite of matrimony, but, while declaring at the -altar that God has joined them whom the Church has joined, and while -denying the authority of man to put them asunder, she recognizes the -validity of divorce. She will marry a man who has been divorced from -his wife, when he has duly paid the Archbishop a sum of money for -sanctioning what in the sight of God is adultery." - -"My dear Mr. Playdell," said Harold, "I recollect very clearly the able -manner in which you defended your--your--principles, when they were -called in question. I do not desire to call them in question now. I -believe in your sincerity in this matter and in other matters. I -shall drive here for you at half past eleven o'clock to-morrow. I need -scarcely say that I mean my marriage to be kept a secret." - -"You may depend upon my good faith in that respect," said Mr. Playdell. -"Mr. Wynne," he added, impressively, "this land of ours will never be -a moral one so long as the Church is content to accept a Parliamentary -definition of morality. The Church ought certainly to know her own -business." - -"There I quite agree with you," said Harold. - -He refrained from asking Mr. Playdell if the Church, in dispensing with -his services as one of her priests, had not made an honest attempt to -vindicate her claims to know her own business. He merely said, "Half -past eleven to-morrow," after shaking hands with Mr. Playdell, who -opened the door for him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX.--ON CONSCIENCE AND THE RING. - -|HAROLD WYNNE shut himself up in his rooms without even lunching. He -drew a chair in front of the fire and seated himself with the sigh of -relief that is given by a man who has taken a definite step in some -matter upon which he has been thinking deeply for some time. He sat -there all the day, gazing into the fire. - -Yes, he had taken the step that had suggested itself to him the previous -night. He had made up his mind to take advantage of the opportunity that -was afforded him of binding Beatrice to him by a bond which she at least -would believe incapable of rupture. The accident of his meeting with the -man whose views on the question of marriage had caused him to be thrust -out of the Church, and whose practices left him open to a criminal -prosecution, had suggested to him the means for binding to him the girl -whose truth he had no reason to doubt. - -He meant to perpetrate a fraud upon her. He had known of men entrapping -innocent girls by means of a mock marriage, and he had always regarded -such men as the most unscrupulous of scoundrels. He almost succeeded, -after a time, in quieting the whisperings by his conscience of the -word "fraud"--its irritating repetitions of this ugly word--by giving -prominence to the excellence of his intentions in the transaction which -he was contemplating. It was not a mock marriage--no, it was not, as -ordinary mock marriages, to be gone through in order to give a man -possession of the body of a woman, and to admit of his getting rid of -her when it would suit his convenience to do so. It was, he assured -his conscience, no mock marriage, since he was seeking it for no gross -purpose, but simply to banish the feeling of cold distrust which he had -now and again experienced. Had he not offered to free the girl from the -promise which she had given to him? Was that like the course which would -be adopted by a man endeavouring to take advantage of a girl by means -of a mock marriage? Was there anything on earth that he desired more -strongly than a real marriage with that same girl? There was nothing. -But it was, unfortunately, the case that a real marriage would mean ruin -to him; for he knew that his father would keep his word--when it suited -his own purpose--and refuse him his allowance upon the day that he -refused to sign a declaration to the effect that he was unmarried. - -The rite which Mr. Playdell had promised to perform between him and -Beatrice would enable him to sign the declaration with--well, with a -clear conscience. - -But in the meantime this same conscience continued gibing him upon his -defence of his conduct; asking him with an irritating sneer, if he would -mind explaining his position to the girl's father?--if he was not simply -taking advantage of the peculiar circumstances of the girl's life--of -the remarkable independence which she enjoyed, apparently with the -sanction of her father, to perpetrate a fraud upon her? - -For bad taste, for indelicacy, for vulgarity, for disregard of sound -argument--that is, argument that sounds well--and for general obstinacy, -there is nothing to compare with a conscience that remains in moderately -good working order. - -After all his straightforward reasoning during the space of two hours, -he sprang from his seat crying, "I'll not do it--I'll not do it!" - -He walked about his room for an hour, repeating every now and again the -words, "I'll not do it--I'll not do it!" - -In the course of another hour, he turned on his electric lamp, and wrote -a note of half a dozen lines to Mr Playdell, telling him that, on -second thoughts, he would not trouble him the next day. Then he wrote an -equally short note to Beatrice, telling her that he thought it would be -advisable to have a further talk with her before carrying out the plan -which he had suggested to her for the next day. He put each note into -its cover; but when about to affix stamps to them, he found that his -stamp-drawer was empty. This was not a serious matter; he was going -to his club to dine, and he knew that he could get stamps from the -hall-porter. - -He felt very much lighter at heart leaving his rooms than he had felt on -entering some hours before. He felt that he had been engaged in a severe -conflict, and that he had got the better of his adversary. - -At the door of the club he found Mr. Durdan standing somewhat vacantly. -He brightened up at the appearance of Harold. - -"I've just been trying to catch some companionable fellow to dine with -me," he cried. - -"I'm sorry that I can't congratulate you upon finding one," said Harold. - -"Then I congratulate myself," said Mr. Durdan, brightly. "You're the -most companionable man that I know in town at present." - -"Ah, then you're not aware of the fact that Edmund Airey is here just -now," said Harold with a shrewd laugh. - -"Edmund Airey? Edmund Airey?" said Mr. Durdan. "Let me tell you that -your friend Edmund Airey is----" - -"Don't say it in the open air," said Harold. - -"Come inside and make the revelation to me." - -"Then you will dine with me? Good! My dear fellow, my medical man has -warned me times without number of the evil of dining alone, or with a -newspaper--even the _Telegraph_. It's the beginning of dyspepsia, he -says; so I wait at the door any time I am dining here until I get hold -of the right man." - -"If I can play the part of a priest and exorcise the demon that you're -afraid of, you may reckon upon my services," said Harold. "But to tell -you the truth, I'm a bit down myself to-night." - -"What's the matter with you--nothing serious?" said Mr. Durdan. - -"I've been working out some matters," said Harold. - -"I know what's the matter with you," said the other. "That friend of -yours has been trying to secure you for the Government, and you were too -straightforward to be entrapped? Airey is a clever man--I don't deny his -cleverness for a moment. Oh, yes; Mr. Airey is a very clever man." It -seemed that he was now levelling an accusation against Mr. Airey that -his best friends would find difficulty in repudiating. "Yes, but you and -I, Wynne, are not to be caught by a phrase. The moment he fancied that I -was attracted to her--I say, fancied, mind--and that he fancied--it may -have been the merest fancy--that she was not altogether indifferent to -me, he forced himself forward, and I have good reason to believe that he -is now in town solely on her account. I give you my word, Wynne, I never -spoke a sentence to Miss Avon that all the world mightn't hear. Oh, -there's nothing so contemptible as a man like Airey--a fellow who is -attracted to a girl only when he sees that she is attracting other men. -Yes, I met a man yesterday who told me that Airey was in town. 'Why -should he be in town now?' I inquired. 'There's nothing going on in -town.' He winked and said, '_cherchez la femme_'--he did upon my word. -Oh, the days of the Government are numbered. Will you try Chablis or -Sauterne?" - -Harold said that he rather thought that he would try Chablis. - -For another hour-and-a-half he was forced to listen to Mr. Durdan's -prosing about the blunders of the Administration, and the designs of -Edmund Airey. He left the club without asking the hall-porter for any -stamps. - -He had made up his mind that he would not need any stamps that night. - -Before he reached his rooms he took out of the pocket of his overcoat -the two letters which he had written, and he tore them both into small -pieces. - -With the chatter of Mr. Durdan there had come back to him that feeling -of distrust. - -Yes, he would make sure of her. - -He unlocked one of the drawers in his writing-table and brought out -a small _boule_ case. When he had found--not without a good deal of -searching--the right key for the box, he opened it. It contained an -ivory miniature of his mother, in a Venetian mounting, a few jewels, and -two small rings. One of them was set with a fine chrysoprase cameo of -Eros, and surrounded by rubies. The other was an old _in memoriam_ ring. - -He picked up the cameo and scrutinized it attentively for some time, -slipping it down to the first joint of his little finger. He kept -turning it over for half an hour before he laid it on the desk and -relocked the box and the drawer. - -"It will be hers," he said. "Would I use my mother's ring for this -ceremony if I meant it to be a fraud--if I meant to take advantage of it -to do an injury to my beloved one? As I deal with her, so may God deal -with me when my hour comes." It was a ring that had been left to him -with a few other trinkets by his mother, and he had now chosen it for -the ceremony which was to be performed the next day. - -Curiously enough, the fact of his choosing this ring did more to silence -the whispering jeers of his conscience than all his phrases of argument -had done. - -The next day he called for Mr. Playdell in a hansom, and shortly after -noon, the words of the marriage service of the Church of England had -been repeated in the Bloomsbury drawing-room by the man who had once -been a priest and who still wore the garb of a priest. He, at any rate, -did not consider the rite a mockery. - -Harold could not shake off the feeling that he was acting a part in a -dream. When it was all over he dropped into a chair, and his head fell -forward until his face was buried in his hands. - -It was left for Beatrice to comfort this sufferer in his hour of trial. - -Her hand--his mother's ring was upon the third finger--was upon his -head, and he heard her low sympathetic voice saying, "My husband--my -husband--I shall be a true wife to you for ever and ever. We shall live -trusting one another for ever, my beloved!" - -They were alone in the room. He did not raise his face from his hands -for a long time. She knelt beside where he was sitting and put her head -against his. - -In an instant he had clasped her passionately. He held her close to him, -looking into her eyes. - -"Oh, my love, my love," he cried. "What am I that you should have given -to me that divine gift of your love? What am I that I should have asked -you to do this for my sake? Was there ever such love as yours, Beatrice? -Was there ever such baseness as mine? Will you forgive me, Beatrice?" - -"Only once," said she, "I felt that--I scarcely know what I felt, -dear--I think it was that your hurrying on our marriage showed--was it a -want of trust?" - -"I was a fool--a fool!" he said bitterly. "The temptation to bind you to -me was too great to be resisted. But now--oh, Beatrice, I will give up -my life to make you happy!" - - - - -CHAPTER XL.--ON SOCIETY AND THE SEAL. - -|THE next afternoon when Harold called upon Beatrice, he found her with -two letters in her hand. The first was a very brief one from her father, -letting her know that he would have to remain in Dublin for at least -a fortnight longer; the second was from Mrs. Lampson--she had paid -Beatrice a ten minutes' visit the previous day--inviting her to stay for -a week at Abbeylands, from the following Tuesday. - -"What am I to do in the matter, my husband--you see how quickly I have -come to recognize your authority?" she cried, while he glanced at his -sister's invitation. - -"My dearest, you had better recognize the duty of a wife in this and -other matters, by pleasing yourself," said he. - -"No," said she. "I will only do what you advise me. That, you should see -as a husband--I see it clearly as a wife--will give me a capital chance -of throwing the blame on you in case of any disappointment. Oh, yes, you -may be certain that if I go anywhere on your recommendation and fail to -enjoy myself, all the blame will be laid at your door. That's the way -with wives, is it not?" - -"I can't say," said he. "I've never had one from whom to get any hints -that would enable me to form an opinion." - -"Then what did you mean by suggesting to me that it was wife-like to -please myself?" said she, with an affectation of shrewdness that was -extremely charming. - -"I've seen other men's wives now and again," said he. "It was a great -privilege." - -"And they pleased themselves?" - -"They did not please me, at any rate. I don't see why you shouldn't go -down to my sister's place next week. You should enjoy yourself." - -"You will be there?" - -He shook his head. - -"I was to have been there," said he; "but when I promised to go I had -not met you. When I found that you were to be in town, I told Ella, my -sister, that it was impossible for me to join her party." - -"Of course that decides the matter," said she. "I must remain here, -unless you change your mind and go to Abbeylands." - -He remained thoughtful for a few moments, and then he turned to where -she was opening the old mahogany escritoire. - -"I particularly want you to go to my sister's," he said. "A reason has -just occurred to me--a very strong reason, why you should accept the -invitation, especially as I shall not be there." - -"Oh, no," said she, "I could not go without you." - -"My dear Beatrice, where is that wifely obedience of which you mean to -be so graceful an exponent?" said he, standing behind her with a hand on -each of her shoulders. "The fact is, dearest, that far more than you -can imagine depends on your taking this step. It is necessary to throw -people--my relations in particular--off the notion that something came -of our meeting at Castle Innisfail. Now, if you were to go to Abbeylands -while it was known that I had excused myself, you can understand what -the effect would be." - -"The effect, so far as I'm concerned, would be that I should be -miserable, all the time I was away from you." - -"The effect would be, that those people who may have been joining our -names together, would feel that they have been a little too precipitate -in their conclusions." - -"That seems a very small result for so much self-sacrifice on our part, -Harold." - -"It's not so small as it may seem to you. I see now how important -it would be to me--to both of us--if you were to go for a week to -Abbeylands while I remain in town." - -"Then of course I'll go. Yes, dear; I told you that I would trust you -for ever. I placed all my trust in you yesterday. How many people would -condemn me for marrying you in such indecent haste--that is what they -would call it--and without a word of consultation with my father either? -When I showed my trust in you at that time--the most important in -my life--you may, I think, have confidence that I will trust you in -everything. Yes, I'll go." - -He had turned away from her. How could he face her when she was talking -in this way about her trust in him? - -"There has never been trust like yours, my beloved," said he, after a -pause. "You will never regret it for a moment, my love--never, never!" - -"I know it--I know it," said she. - -"The fact is, Beatrice," said he, after another pause, "my relatives -think that if I were to marry Helen Craven I should be doing a -remarkably good stroke of business. They were right: it would be a good -stroke--of business." - -"How odd," cried Beatrice. She had become thoroughly interested. "I -never thought of such a possibility at Castle Innisfail. She is nice, I -think; only she does not know how to dress." - -In an instant there came to his memory Mrs. Mowbray's cynical words -regarding the extent of a woman's forgiveness. - -"The question of being nice or of dressing well does not make any -difference so far as my friends are concerned," said he. "All that is -certain is that Helen Craven has several thousands of pounds a year, and -they think that I should be satisfied with that." - -"And so you should," she cried, with the light of triumph in her eyes. -"I wonder if Mr. Airey knew what the wishes of your relatives were in -this matter. I should like to know that, because I now recollect that -he suggested something in that way when we talked together about you one -evening at the Castle." - -"Edmund Airey gave me the strongest possible advice on the subject," -said Harold. "Yes, he advised me to ask Helen Craven to be my wife. More -than that--I only learnt it a few days ago--so soon as you appeared at -the Castle, and he saw--he sees things very quickly--that I was in love -with you, he thought that if he were to interest you greatly, and -that if you found out that he was wealthy and distinguished, you might -possibly decline to fall in love with me, and so----" - -"And so fall in love with him?" she cried, starting up from her chair -at the desk. "I see now all that he meant. He meant that I should be -interested in him--I was, too, greatly interested in him--and that I -should be attracted to him, and away from you. But all the time he had -no intention of allowing himself to be attracted by me to the point -of ever asking me to marry him. In short, he was amusing himself at my -expense. Oh, I see it all now. I must confess that, now and again, I -wondered what Mr. Airey meant by placing himself so frequently by my -side. I felt flattered--I admit that I felt flattered. Can you imagine -anything so cruel as the purpose that he set himself to accomplish?" - -Her face had become pale. This only gave emphasis to the flashing of her -eyes. She was in a passion of indignation. - -"Edmund Airey and his tricks were defeated," said Harold in a low voice. -"Yes, we have got the better of him, Beatrice, so much is certain." - -"But the cruelty of it--the cruelty--oh, what does it matter now?" she -cried. Then her paleness vanished into a delicate roseate flush, as she -gave a laugh, and said, "After all, I believe that my indignation is due -only to my wounded vanity. Yes, all girls are alike, Harold. Our vanity -is our dominant quality." - -"It is not so with you, Beatrice," he said. "I know you truly, my dear. -I know that you would be as indignant if you heard of the same trickery -being carried on in respect of another girl." - -"I would--I know I would," she cried. "But what does it matter? As you -say, I--we--have defeated this Mr. Airey, so that my vanity at least can -find sweet consolation in reflecting that we have been cleverer than he -was. I don't suppose that he could imagine anyone existing cleverer than -himself." - -"Yes, I think that we have got the better of him," said Harold. He was -a little surprised to find that she felt so strongly on the subject of -Edmund's attitude in regard to herself. He did not think it wise to tell -her that that attitude was due to the timely suggestion of Helen. He -could not bring himself to do so. He felt that his doing so would be -to place himself on a level with the man who gives his wife during the -first year of their married life, a circumstantial account of the -many wealthy and beautiful young women who were anxious--to a point of -distraction--to marry him. - -He felt that there was no need for him to say anything about Helen--he -almost wished that he had said nothing about Edmund. - -"We got the better of him," he said a second time. "Never mind Edmund -Airey. You must go to Abbeylands and amuse yourself. You will most -likely meet with Archie Brown there. Archie is the plainest looking and -probably the richest man of his age in England. He is to be made the -subject of an experiment at Abbeylands." - -"Is he to be vivisected?" said she. She was now neither pale nor -roseate. She was herself once more. - -"There's no need to vivisect poor Archie," said he. "Everyone knows that -there's nothing particular about Archie. No; we are merely trying a new -cure for him. He has not been in a very healthy state lately." - -"If he is delicate, I suppose he will be thrown a good deal with us--the -females, the incapables--while the pheasant-shooting is going on." - -"You will see how matters are managed at Abbeylands," said Harold. "If -you find that Archie is attracted toward any girl who is distinctly -nice, you might--how does a girl assist her weaker sister to make up her -mind to look with friendly eyes upon such a one as Archie?" - -"Let me see," said she. "Wouldn't the best way be for girl number one to -look with friendly eyes on him herself?" - -Harold lay back on his chair and laughed at first; then he gazed at her -in wonder. - -"You are cleverer than Edmund Airey and Helen Craven when they combine -their wisdom," said he. "Your woman's instinct is worth more than their -experience." - -"I never knew what the instincts of a woman were before this morning," -said she. "I never felt that I had any need to exercise the instinct -of defence. I suppose the young seal, though it has never been in the -water, jumps in by instinct should it be attacked. Oh, yes, I dare say I -could swim as well as most girls of my age." - -It was only when he had returned to his rooms that he fully comprehended -the force of her parable of the young seal. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI.--ON DRY CHAMPAGNE AND A CRISIS. - -|THE next morning Archie drove one of his many machines round to -Harold's rooms and broke in upon him before he had finished his -breakfast. - -"Hallo, my tarty chip," cried Archie; "what's the meaning of this?" - -He threw on the table an envelope addressed to him in the handwriting of -Mrs. Lampson. - -"What's the meaning of what?" said Harold. "Have you got beyond the -restraint of Mr. Playdell alcoholically, that you ask me what's the -meaning of that envelope?" - -"I mean what does the inside mean?" said Archie. - -"I'm sure you know better than I do, if you've read what's inside it." - -"Oh, you're like one of the tarty chips in the courts that cross-examine -other tarty chips until their faces are blue," said Archie. "There's -no show for that sort of thing here. So just open the envelope and see -what's inside." - -"How can I do that and eat my kidneys?" said Harold. "I wish to heavens -you wouldn't come here bothering me when I'm trying to get through a -tough kidney and a tougher leading article. What's the matter with the -letter, Archie, my lad?" - -"It's all right," said Archie. "It's an invite from your sister for -a big shoot at Abbeylands. What does it mean--that's what I'd like to -know? Does it mean that decent people are going to make me the apple of -their eye, after all?" - -"I don't think it goes quite so far as that," said Harold. "I expect it -means that my sister has come to the end of her discoveries and she's -forced to fall back on you." - -"Oh, is that all?" Archie looked disappointed. "All? Isn't it enough?" -said Harold. "Why, you're in luck if you let her discover you. I knew -that her atheists couldn't hold out. She used them up too quickly. One -should he economical of one's genuine atheists nowadays." - -"Great Godfrey! does she take me for an atheist?" shouted Archie. - -"Did you ever hear of an atheist shooting pheasants?" said Harold. "Not -likely. An atheist is a man that does nothing except talk, and talks -about nothing except himself. Now, you're asked to the shoot, aren't -you?" - -"That's in the invite anyway." - -"Of course. And that shows that you're not taken for an atheist." - -"I'm glad of that. I draw the line at atheism," Archie replied with a -smile. - -"I hope you'll have a good time among the pheasants." - -"Do you suppose that I'll go?" - -"I'm sure you will. I may have thought you a bit of a fool before I came -to know you, Archie--" - -"And since you heard that I had taken the Legitimate." - -"Well, yes, even after that masterpiece of astuteness. But I would never -think that you'd be fool enough to throw away this chance." - -"Chance--chance of what?" - -"Of getting among decent people. I told you that my sister has nothing -but decent people when there's a shoot--there's no Coming Man in -anything among the house-party. Yes, it's sure to be comfortable. It's -the very thing for you." - -"Is it? I'm not so certain about it. The people there are pretty sure to -allude in a friendly spirit to my red hair." - -"Well, yes, I think you may depend upon that. That means that you'll get -on so well among them that they will take an interest in your -personality. If you get on particularly well with them they may even -allude to the simplicity of your mug. If they do that, you may be -certain that you are a great social success." - -Archie mused. - -It was in this musing spirit that he took in a contemplative way a lump -of sugar out of the sugar bowl, turned it over between his fingers as -though it was something altogether new to him. Then he threw the lump up -to the ceiling, his face became one mouth, and the sugar disappeared. - -"I think I'll go," he said, as he crunched the lump. "Yes, I'll be -hanged if I don't go." - -"That's more than probable," said Harold. - -"Yes, I'd like to clear off for a bit from this kennel." - -"What kennel?" - -"This kennel--London. Do you go the length of denying that London's a -kennel?" - -"I don't do anything of the sort." - -"You'd best not. I was thinking if a run to Australia, or California, or -Timbuctoo would not be healthy just now." - -"Oh." - -"Yes, I made up my mind yesterday, that if I don't have better hands -soon, I'll chuck up the whole game. That's the sort of new potatoes that -I am." - -"The Legitimate?" - -"The Legitimate be frizzled! Am I to continue paying for the suppers -that other tarty chips eat? That's what I want you to tell me. You know -what a square deal is, Wynne, as well as most people." - -"I believe I do." - -"Well, then, you can tell me if I'm to pay for dry champagne for her -guests." - -"Whose guests?" - -"Great Godfrey! haven't I been telling you? Mrs. Mowbray's guests. Who -else's would they be? Do you mean to tell me that, in addition to giving -people free boxes at the Legitimate every night to see W. S. late of -Stratford upon Avon, it's my business to supply dry champagne all round -after the performance?" - -"Well," said Harold, "to speak candidly to you, I've always been of -the opinion that the ideal proprietor of a theatre is one who supplies -really comfortable stalls free, and has really sound champagne handed -round at intervals during the performance. I also frankly admit that -I haven't yet met with any manager who quite realized my ideas in this -matter. Archie, my lad, the sooner you get down to Abbeylands the better -it will be for yourself." - -"I'll go. Mind you, I don't cry off when I know the chaps that she asks -to supper--I'll flutter the dimes for anyone I know; but I'm hanged if -I do it for the chaps that chip in on her invite. They'll not draw cards -from my pack, Wynne. No, I'll see them in the port of Hull first. That's -the sort of new potatoes that I am." - -"Give me your hand, Archie," cried Harold. "I always thought you nothing -better than a millionaire, but I find that you're a man after all." - -"I'll make things hum at the Legitimate yet," said Archie--his voice was -fast approaching the shouting stage. "I'll send them waltzing round. I -thought once upon a time that, when she laid her hand upon my head -and said, 'Poor old Archie,' I could go on for ever--that to see the -decimals fluttering about her would be the loveliest sight on earth -for the rest of my life. But I'm tired of that show now, Wynne. Great -Godfrey! I can get my hair smoothed down at a barber's for sixpence, and -yet I believe that she charged me a thousand pounds for every time she -patted my head. A decimal for a pat--a pat!" - -"You could buy the whole Irish nation for less money, according to some -people's ideas--but they're wrong," said Harold. - -"Wynne," said Archie, solemnly. "I've been going it blind for some time. -Shakespeare's a fraud. I'll shoot those pheasants." - -He had picked up his hat, and in another minute Harold saw him sending -his pair of chestnuts down the street at a pace that showed a creditable -amount of self-restraint on the part of Archie. - -Three days afterwards Harold got a letter from Mrs. Lampson, giving him -a number of commissions to execute for her--delicate matters that could -not be intrusted to any one except a confidential agent. The postscript -mentioned that Archie Brown had arrived a few days before and had -charmed every one with his shyness. On this account she could scarcely -believe, she said, that he was a millionaire. She added that Lady -Innisfail and her daughter had just arrived at Abbeylands, that the Miss -Avon about whom she had inquired, had accepted her invitation and was -coming to Abbeylands on the next day; and finally, Mrs. Lampson said -that her father was dull enough to make people believe that he was -really reformed. He was inquiring when Miss Avon was coming, and he -shared the fate of all men (and women) who were unfortunate enough to -be reformed: he had become deadly dull. Lady Innisfail had assured her, -however, that it was very rarely that a Hardened Reprobate permanently -reformed--even with the incentive of acute rheumatism--before he was -sixty-five, so that it would be unwise to be despondent about -Lord Fotheringay. If this was so--and Lady Innisfail was surely an -authority--Mrs. Lampson said that she looked forward to such a lapse on -the part of her father as would restore him to the position of interest -which he had always occupied in the eyes of the world. - -Harold lay back in his chair and laughed heartily at the reference made -by his sister to the shyness of Archie, and also to the fact of Norah -Innisfail's sitting at the table with the Young Reprobate as well as the -Old. He wondered if the conversation had yet turned upon the management -of the Legitimate Theatre. - -It was after he had lunched on the next Tuesday that Harold received -this letter--written by his sister the previous day. He had passed -an hour with Beatrice, who was to start by the four-twenty train for -Abbeylands station. He had said goodbye to her for a week, and already -he was feeling so lonely that he was soon pacing his room calling -himself a fool for having elected to remain in town while she was to go. - -He thought how they might have had countless strolls through the fine -park at Abbeylands--through the picturesque ruins of the old Abbey--on -the banks of the little trout stream. Instead of being by her side among -those interesting scenes, he would have to remain--he had been foolish -enough to make the choice--in the neighbourhood of nothing more joyous -than St. James's Palace. - -This was bad enough; but not merely would he be away from the landscapes -at Abbeylands, the elements of life in those landscapes would be -represented by Beatrice and Another. - -Yes; she would certainly appear with someone at her side--in the place -he might have occupied if he had not been such a fool. - -An hour had passed before he had got the better of his impulse to call -a hansom and drive to the railway terminus and take a seat beside her in -the train. When the clock had struck four, and it was therefore too late -for him to entertain the idea of going with her, he became more inclined -to take a reasonable view of the situation. - -"I was right." he said, as he seated himself in front of the fire, -and stared into the smouldering coals. "Yes, I was right. No one must -suspect that we are--bound to one another"--the words were susceptible -of a sufficiently liberal interpretation. "The penetration of Edmund -Airey will be at fault for the first time, and the others who had so -many suspicions at Castle Innisfail, will find themselves completely at -fault." - -He began to think how, though he had been cruelly dealt with by Fate in -some respects--in respect of his own father, for instance, and also in -respect of his own poverty--he had still much to be thankful for. - -He was beloved by the loveliest woman whom he had ever seen--the only -woman for whom he had ever felt a passion. And the peculiar position -which she occupied, had enabled him to see her every day and to kiss her -exquisite face--there was none to make him afraid. Such obstacles in the -way of a lover's freedom as the Average Father, the Vigilant Mother -and the Athletic Brother he had never encountered. And then a curious -circumstance--the thought of Beatrice as a part of the landscapes around -Abbeylands caused him to lay special emphasis upon this--had enabled him -to bind the girl to him with a bond which in her eyes at least--yes, in -his eyes too, by heaven, he felt--was not susceptible of being loosened. - -Yes, the ways of Providence were wonderful, he felt. If he had not met -Mr. Playdell.... and so forth. - -But now Beatrice was his own. She might stray through the autumn -woods by the side of Edmund Airey or any man whom she might meet at -Abbeylands; she would feel upon her finger the ring that he had placed -there--the ring that---- - -He sprang to his feet with a sudden cry. - -"Good God! the Ring! the Ring!" - -He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It pointed to four-seventeen. - -He pulled out his watch. It pointed to four-twenty-two. - -He rushed to the sofa where an overcoat was lying. He had it on him in a -moment. He snatched up a railway guide and stuffed it into his pocket. - -In another minute he was in a hansom, driving as fast as the hansomeer -thought consistent with public safety--a trifle over that which the -police authorities thought consistent with public safety--in the -direction of the Northern Railway terminus. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII.--ON THE RING AND THE LOOK. - -|HE tried, while in the hansom, to unravel the mysteries of the system -by which passengers were supposed to reach Brackenshire. He found the -four-twenty train from London indicated in its proper order. This was -the train by which he had invariably travelled to Abbeylands--it was the -last train in the day that carried passengers to Abbeylands Station, for -the station was on a short branch line, the junction being Mowern. - -On reaching the terminus he lost no time in finding a responsible -official--one whose chastely-braided uniform looked repressful of tips. - -"I want to get to Mowern Junction before the four-twenty train from here -goes on to Abbeylands. Can I do it?" said Harold. - -"Next train to the Junction five-thirty-two, sir," said the official. - -"That's too late for me," said Harold. "The train leaves the Junction -for Abbeylands a quarter of an hour after arriving at Mowern. Is there -no local train that I might manage to catch that would bring me to the -Junction?" - -"None that would serve your purpose, sir." - -Harold clearly saw how it was that this company could never get their -dividend over four per cent. - -"Why is there so long a wait at Mowern?" he asked. - -"Waits for Ditchford Mail, sir." - -"And at what time does a train start for Ditch-ford?" - -"Can't tell, sir. Ditchford is on the Nethershire system--they have -running powers over our line to Mowern." - -Harold whipped out his guide, and found Ditch-ford in the index. By an -inspiration he turned at once to the page devoted to the Nethershire -service of trains. He found that, by an exquisite system of timing the -trains, it was possible to reach a station a mile from Ditchford on the -one line, just six minutes after the departure of the last local train -to Ditchford on the other line. It took a little ingenuity, no doubt, -on the part of the Directors of both lines to accomplish this, but still -they managed to do it. - -"I beg pardon, sir," said an official wearing a uniform that suggested -tolerance of views in the matter of tips--the more important official -had moved away. "I beg pardon, sir. Why not take the four-fifty-five -to Mindon, and change into the Ditchford local train--that'll reach the -junction four minutes before the express? I know it, sir. I was -stationed at change into the Ditchford local train--that'll reach the -junction four minutes before the express? I know it, sir. I was -stationed at that part of the system." - -To glance at the clock, and to perceive that he had time enough to drive -to the Nethershire terminus, and to transfer a coin to the unconscious -but not reluctant hand of the official of the liberal views, occupied -Harold but a moment. At four-fifty-five he was in the Nethershire train -on his way to Mindon. - -He had not waited to verify the man's statement as to the trains, but -in the railway carriage he did so, and he found that the beautiful -complications of the two systems were at least susceptible of the -interpretation put on them. - -For the next two hours Harold felt that he could devote himself, if -he had the mind, to the problem of the ring that had been so suddenly -suggested to him. - -It did not require him to spend more than the merest fraction of this -time in order to convince him that the impulse upon which he had acted, -was one that he would have been a fool to repress. - -The ring which he had put on her finger, and which she had worn -since, and would most certainly wear--he had imagined her doing so--at -Abbeylands, could not fail to be recognized both by his father and his -sister. It had belonged to his mother, and it was unique. It had flashed -upon him suddenly that, unless he was content that his father and sister -should learn that he had given her that ring, it would be necessary for -him to prevent Beatrice from wearing it even for an hour at Abbeylands. - -Apart altogether from the question of the circumstances under which he -had put the ring upon her finger--circumstances which he had good reason -for desiring to conceal--the fact that he had given to her the object -which he valued most highly in the world, and which his father and -sister knew that he so valued, would suggest to both these persons as -much as would ruin him. - -His father would, he knew, be extremely glad to discover some pretext to -cut off the last penny of his allowance; and assuredly he would regard -this gift of the ring as an ample pretext for adopting such a course of -action. Indeed, Lord Fotheringay had never been at a loss for a pretext -for reducing his son's allowance; and now that he was posing--with -but indifferent success, as Harold had learned from Mrs. Lampson's -postscript--as a Reformed Sinner, he would, his son knew, think that, -in cutting off his son's allowance, he was only acting consistently with -the traditions of Reformed Sinners. - -The Reformed Sinner is usually a sinner whose capacity to enjoy the -pleasures of sin has become dulled, and thus he is intolerant of the -sins of others, and particularly intolerant of the capacity of others to -enjoy sin. This is why he reduces the allowances of his children. Like -the man who advances to the position of teetotal lecturer, after having -served for some time as the teetotal lecturer's Example, he knows all -about the evil which he means to combat--to be more exact, which he -means his children to combat. - -All this Harold knew perfectly well. He knew that the only difference -that the reform of his father would make to him, was that, while his -father had formerly cut down his allowance with a courteously worded -apology, he would now stop it altogether without an apology. - -How could he have failed to remember, when he put that ring upon her -finger, how great were the chances that it would be seen there by his -father or his sister? - -This was the question which occupied his thoughts for the first hour -of his journey. He lay back looking out on the gray October landscapes -through which the train rushed--the wood glowing in crimson and brown -like a mighty smouldering furnace--the groups of children picking -blackberries on the embankments--the canal boat moving slowly along the -gray waterway--and he asked himself how he had been such a fool as to -overlook the likelihood of the ring being seen on her hand by his father -or his sister. - -The truth was, that he had at that time not considered the possibility -of her going to Abbey-lands. He knew that Mrs. Lampson intended inviting -her; but he felt certain that, when she heard that he was not going, she -would not accept the invitation. She would not have accepted it, if it -had not suddenly occurred to him that the fact of her going while he -remained in town would be to his advantage. - -Would he be in time to prevent the disaster which he foresaw would occur -if she appeared in the drawing-room at Abbeylands wearing the ring? - -He looked at his watch. The train was three minutes late in reaching -several of the stations on its route, and it was delayed for another -three minutes when there was only a single line of rails. How would -it be possible for the train to make up so great a loss during the -remainder of the journey? - -He reminded the guard at one of many intolerable stoppages, that the -train was long behind its time. The guard could not agree with him, it -was only about seven minutes late, he assured Harold. - -On it went, and it seemed as if the engine-driver had a clearer sense of -his responsibilities than the guard, for during the next thirty miles, -he managed to save over two minutes. All this Harold noticed with more -interest than he had ever taken in the details of any railway journey. - -When at last Mindon was reached, and he left the train to change into -the one which was to carry him on to the Junction, he found that this -train had not yet come up. Here was another point to be considered. -Would the train come up in time? - -He was not left for long in suspense. The long row of lighted carriages -ran up to the platform before he had been waiting for two minutes, and -in another two minutes the train was steaming away with him. - -He looked at his watch once more, and then he was able to give himself -a rest, for he saw that unless some accident were to happen, he would be -at Mowern Junction before the train should leave for Abbeylands Station -on the branch line. - -In running into the Junction, the train went past the platform of the -branch line. A number of carriages were there, and at the side glass of -one compartment he saw the profile of Beatrice. - -The little cry that she gave, when he opened the door of the compartment -and spoke her name, had something of terror as well as delight in it. - -"Harold! How on earth--" she began. - -"I have a rather important message for you," he said. "Will you take a -turn with me on the platform? There is plenty of time. The train does -not start for six minutes." - -She was out of the carriage in a moment. "Mr. Wynne has a message for -me--it is probably from Mrs. Lampson," she said to her maid, who was in -the same compartment. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII.--ON THE SON OF APHRODITE. - -|WHAT can be the matter? How did you manage to come here? You must have -travelled by the same train as we came by. Oh, Harold, my husband, I am -so glad to see you. You have changed your mind--you are coming on with -me? Oh, I see it all now. You meant all along to give me this delightful -surprise." - -The words came from her in a torrent as she put her hand on his arm--he -could feel the ring on her finger. - -"No, no," said he; "everything remains as it was this morning. I only -wish that I were going on with you. Providentially something occurred to -me when I was sitting alone after lunch. That is why I came. I managed -to catch a train that brought me here just now--the train I was in ran -past this platform and I saw your face." - -"What can have occurred to you that you could not tell me in a letter?" -she asked, her face still bearing the look of glad surprise that had -come to it when she had heard the sound of his voice. - -"We shall have to go into a waiting-room, or--better still--an empty -carriage," said he. "I see several men whom I know, and--worse luck! -women--they are on their way to Abbeylands, and if they saw us together -in this confidential way, they would never cease chattering when they -arrived. We shall get into a compartment--there is one that still -remains unlighted, it will be the best for our purpose; there will be no -chance of a prying face appearing at the window." - -"Shall we have time?" she asked. - -"Plenty of time. By getting into the carriage you will run no chance of -being left behind--the worst that can happen is that I may be carried on -with you." - -"The worst? Oh, that is the best--the best." They had strolled to the -end of the platform where it was dimly lighted, and in an instant, -apparently unobserved by anyone, they had got into an unlighted -compartment at the rear of the train, and Harold shut the door -quietly, so as not to attract the attention of the three or four men in -knickerbockers who were stretching their legs on the platform until the -train was ready to start. - -"We are fortunate," said he. "Those men outside will be your -fellow-guests for the week. None of them will think of glancing into -a dark carriage; but if one of them does so, he will be nothing the -wiser." - -"And now--and now," she cried. - -"And now, my dearest, you remember the ring that I put upon your -finger?" - -"This ring? Do you think it likely that I have forgotten it already?" -she whispered. - -"No, no, dearest; it was I who forgot it," he said. "It was I who forgot -that my father and my sister are perfectly certain to recognize that -ring if you wear it at Abbeylands: they will be certain to see it on -your linger, and they will question you as to how it came into your -possession." - -"Of course they will," she said, after a pause. "You told me that it was -a ring that belonged to your mother. There can only be one such ring in -the world. Oh, they could not fail to recognize it. The little chubby -wicked Eros surrounded by the rubies--I have looked at the design every -day--every night--sometimes the firelight gleaming upon the circle of -rubies has made them seem to me a band of blood. Was that the idea of -the artist who made the design, I wonder--a circle of blood with the god -Eros in the centre." - -She had taken off her glove, and had laid the hand with the ring in one -of his hands. - -He had never felt her hand so soft and warm before. His hand became -hot through holding hers. His heart was beating as it had never beaten -before. - -The force of his grasp pressed the sharply cut cameo into his flesh. The -image of that wicked little god, the son of Aphrodite, was stamped upon -him. It seemed as if some of his blood would mingle with the blood that -sparkled and beat within the heart of the rubies. - -He had forgotten the object of his mission to her. Still holding her -hand with the ring, he put his arm under the sealskin coat that reached -to her feet, and held her close to him while he kissed her as he had -never before kissed her. - -Suddenly he seemed to recollect why he was with her. He had not hastened -down from London for the sake of the kiss. - -"My beloved, my beloved!" he murmured--each word sounded like a sob--"I -should like to remain with you for ever." - -She did not say a word. She did not need to say a word. He could feel -the tumult of her heart, and she knew it. - -"For God's sake, Beatrice, let me speak to you," he said. - -It was a strange entreaty. His arm was about her, his hand was holding -one of hers, she was simply passive by his side; and yet he implored of -her to let him speak to her. - -It was some moments before she could laugh, however; which was also -strange, for the humour of the matter which called for that laugh, was -surely capable of being appreciated by her immediately. - -She gave a laugh and then a sigh. - -The carriage was dark, but a stray gleam of light from a side platform -now and again came upon her face, and her features were brought into -relief with the clearness and the whiteness of a lily in a jungle. - -As she gave that laugh--or was it a sigh?--he started, perceiving that -the expression of her features was precisely that which the artist in -the antique had imparted to the features of the little chrysoprase Eros -in the centre of that blood-red circle of the ring. - -"Why do you laugh, Beatrice?8 said he. - -"Did I laugh, Harold?" said she. "No--no--I think--yes, I think it was a -sigh--or was it you who sighed, my love?" - -"God knows," said he. "Oh, the ring--the ring!" - -"It feels like a band of burning metal," she said. - -"It is almost a pain for me to wear it. Have you not heard of the -curious charms possessed by rings, Harold--the strange spells which they -carry with them? The ring is a mystery--a mystic symbol. It means what -has neither beginning nor ending--it means perfection--completeness--it -means love--love's completeness." - -"That is what your ring must mean to us, my beloved," said he. "Whether -you take it from your finger or let it remain there, it will still mean -the completeness of such love as is ours." - -"And I am to take it off, Harold?" - -"Only so long as you stay at Abbeylands, Beatrice. What does it matter -for one week? You will see, dearest, how my plans--my hopes--must -certainly he destroyed if that ring is seen on your finger by my father -or my sister. It is not for the sake of my plans only that I wish you to -refrain from wearing it for a week; it is for your sake as well." - -"Would they fancy that I had stolen it, dear?" she asked, looking up to -his face with a smile. - -"They might fancy worse things than that, Beatrice," said he. "Do -not ask me. You may be sure that I am advising you aright--that the -consequences of that ring being recognized on your finger would be more -serious than you could understand." - -"Did I not say something to you a few days ago about the completeness of -my trust in you, Harold?" she whispered. "Well, the ring is the symbol -of this completeness also. I trust you implicitly in everything. I have -given myself up to you. I will do whatever you may tell me. I will not -take the ring off until I reach Abbeylands, but I shall take it off -then, and only replace it on my finger every night." - -"My darling, my darling! Such love as you have given to me is God's best -gift to the world." - -He had committed himself to an opinion practically to the same effect -upon more than one previous occasion. - -And now, as then, the expression of that opinion was followed by a long -silence, as their faces came together. - -"Beatrice," he said, in a tremulous voice. - -"Harold." - -"I shall go on with you to Abbeylands. Come what may, we shall not now -be separated." - -But they were separated that very instant. The carriage was flooded with -light--the chastened flood that comes from an oil lamp inserted in a -hollow in the roof--and they were no longer in each others arms. They -heard the sound of the porter's feet on the roof of the next carriage. - -"It is so good of you to come," said she. - -There was now perhaps three inches of a space separating them. - -"Good?" said he. "I'm afraid that's not the word. We shall be under one -roof." - -"Yes," she said slowly, "under one roof." - -"Tickets for Ashmead," intoned a voice at the carriage window. - -"We are for Abbeylands Station," said Harold. - -"Abb'l'ns," said the guard. "Why, sir, you know the Abb'l'ns train -started six minutes ago." - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV.--ON THE SHORTCOMINGS OF A SYSTEM. - -|HAROLD was out of the compartment in a moment. Did the guard mean that -the train had actually left for Abbeylands? It had left six minutes -before, the guard explained, and the station-master added his guarantee -to the statement. - -Harold looked around--from platform to platform--as if he fancied that -there was a conspiracy between the officials to conceal the train. - -How could the train leave without taking all its carriages with it? - -It did nothing of the kind, the station-master said, firmly but -respectfully. - -The guard went on with his business of cutting neat triangles out of -the tickets of the passengers in the carriages that were alongside the -platform--passengers bound for Ashmead. - -"But I--we--my--my wife and I got into one of the carriages of the -Abbeylands train," said Harold, becoming indignant, after the fashion -of his countrymen, when they have made a mistake either on a home or -foreign railway. "What sort of management is it that allows one -portion of a train to go in one direction and another part in another -direction?" - -"It's our system, sir," said the official. "You see, sir, there're never -many passengers for either the Abbeyl'n's"--being a station-master he -did not do an unreasonable amount of clipping in regard to the -names--"or the Ashm'd branch, so the Staplehurst train is divided--only -we don't light the lamps in the Ashm'd portion until we're ready to -start it. Did you get into a carriage that had a lamp, sir?" - -"I've seen some bungling at railway stations before now," said Harold, -"but bang me if I ever met the equal of this." - -"This isn't properly speaking a station, sir, it's a junction," said -the official, mildly, but with the force of a man who has said the last -word. - -"That simply means that greater bungling may be found at a junction than -at a station," said Harold. "Is it not customary to give some notice -of the departure of a train at a junction as well as a station, my good -man?" - -The official became reasonably irritated at being called a good man. - -"The train left for Abbeyl'n's according to reg'lation, sir," said he. -"If you got into a compartment that had no lamp----" - -"Oh, I've no time for trifling," said Harold. "When does the next train -leave for Abbey-lands?" - -"At eight-sixteen in the morning," said the official. - -"Great heavens! You mean to say that there's no train to-night?" - -"You see, if a carriage isn't lighted, sir, we----" - -The man perceived the weakness of Harold's case--from the standpoint -of a railway official--and seemed determined not to lose sight of it. -"Contributory negligence" he knew to be the most valuable phrase that a -railway official could have at hand upon any occasion. - -"And how do you expect us to go on to Abbeylands to-night?" asked -Harold. - -"There's a very respectable hotel a mile from the junction, sir," said -the man. "Ruins of the Priory, sir--dates back to King John, page 84 -_Tourist's Guide to Brackenshire_." - -"Oh," said Harold, "this is quite preposterous." He went to where -Beatrice was seated watching, with only a moderate amount of interest, -the departure of five passengers for Ashmead. - -"Well, dear?" said she, as Harold came up. - -"For straightforward, pig-headed stupidity I'll back a railway company -against any institution in the world," said he. "The last train has -left for Abbeylands. Did you ever know of such stupidity? And yet the -shareholders look for six per cent, out of such a system." - -"Perhaps," said she timidly--"perhaps we were in some degree to blame." - -He laughed. It was so like a woman to suggest the possibility of some -blame attaching to the passengers when a railway company could be -indicted. To the average man such an idea is as absurd as beginning to -argue with a person at whom one is at liberty to swear. - -"It seems that there is a sort of hotel a mile away," said he. "We -cannot be starved, at any rate." - -"And I--you--we shall have to stay there?" said she. - -He gave a sort of shrug--an Englishman's shrug--about as like the real -thing as an Englishman's bow, or a Chinaman's cheer. - -"What can we do?" said he. "When a railway company such as this--oh, -come along, Beatrice. I am hungry--hungry--hungry!" - -He caught her by the arm. - -"Yes, Harold--husband," said she. - -He started. - -"Husband! Husband!" he said. "I never thought of that. Oh, my -beloved--my beloved!" - -He stood irresolute for a moment. - -Then he gave a curious laugh, and she felt his hand tighten upon her arm -for a moment. - -"Yes," he whispered. "You heard the words that--that man said while our -hands were together? 'Whom God hath joined'--God--that is Love. Love -is the bond that binds us together. Every union founded on Love is -sacred--and none other is sacred--in the sight of heaven." - -"And you do not doubt my love," she said. - -"Doubt it? oh, my Beatrice, I never knew what it was before now." They -left the station together, after he had written and despatched in her -name a telegram to her maid, directing her to explain to Mrs. Lampson -that her mistress had unfortunately missed the train, but meant to go by -the first one in the morning. - -By chance a conveyance was found outside, and in it they drove to the -Priory Hotel which, they were amazed to find, promised comfort as well -as picturesqueness. - -It was a long ivy-covered house, and bore every token of being a portion -of the ancient Priory among the ruins of which it was standing. Great -elms were in front of the house, and on one side there were apple trees, -and at the other there was a garden reaching almost to where a ruined -arch was held together by its own ivy. - -As they were in the act of entering the porch, a ray of moonlight -gleamed upon the ruins, and showed the trimmed grass plots and neat -gravel walks among the cloisters. - -Harold pointed out the picturesque effect to Beatrice, and they stood -for some moments before entering the house. - -The old waiter, whose moderately white shirt front constituted a very -distinctive element of the hall with its polished panels of old oak, did -not bustle forward when he saw them admiring the ruins. - -"Upon my word," said Harold, entering, "this is a place worth seeing. -That touch of moonlight was very effective." - -"Yes, sir," said the waiter; "I'm glad you're pleased with it. We try to -do our best in this way for our patrons. Mrs. Mark will be glad to know -that you thought highly of our moonlight, sir." - -The man was only a waiter, but he was as solemn as a butler, as he -opened the door of a room that seemed ready to do duty as a coffee-room. -It had a low groined ceiling, and long narrow windows. - -An elderly maid was lighting candles in sconces round the walls. - -"Really," said Harold, "we may be glad that the bungling at the junction -brought us here." - -"Yes, sir," said the man with waiter-like acquiescence; "they do bungle -things sometimes at that junction." - -"We were on our way to Abbeylands," said Harold, "but those idiots on -the platform allowed us to get into the wrong carriages--the carriages -that were going to Ashmead. We shall stay here for the night. The -station-master recommended us to go here, and I'm much obliged to him. -It's the only sensible--" - -"Yes, sir: he's a brother to Mrs. Mark--Mrs. Mark is our proprietor," -said the waiter. - -"_Mrs_. Mark," said Harold. - -"Yes, sir: she's our proprietor." - -Harold thought that, perhaps, when the owner of an hotel was a woman, -she might reasonably be called the proprietor. - -"Oh, well, perhaps a maid might show my--my wife to a room, while I see -what we can get for dinner--supper, I suppose we should call it." - -The middle-aged woman who was lighting the candles came forward smiling, -as she adroitly extinguished the wax taper by the application of her -finger and thumb. With her Beatrice disappeared. - -Harold quite expected that he was about to come upon the weak element -in the management of this picturesque inn. But when he found that a cold -pheasant as well as some hot fish was available for supper, he admitted -that the place was perfect. There was no wine card, but the old waiter -promised a Champagne for which, he said, Mr. Lampson, of Abbeylands, had -once made an offer. - -"That will do for us very well," said Harold. "Mr. Lampson would -not make an offer for anything--wine least of all--of which he was -uncertain." - -The waiter went off in the leisurely style that was only consistent with -the management of an establishment that dated back to King John; and in -a few minutes Beatrice appeared, having laid aside her sealskin coat, -and her hat. - -How exquisite she seemed as she stood for an instant in the subdued -light at the door! - -And she was his. - - - - -CHAPTER XLV.--ON MOONLIGHT AND MORALS. - -|SHE was his. - -He felt the joy of it as she stood at the door in her beautifully -fitting travelling dress. - -The thought sent an exultant glow through his veins, as he looked at her -from where he was standing at the hearth. (There was no "cosy corner" -abomination.) - -She was his. - -He went forward to meet her, and put out both his hands to her. - -She placed a hand in each of his. - -"How delightfully warm you are," she said. "You were standing at the -fire." - -"Yes," he said. "I was at the fire; in addition, I was also thinking -that you are mine." - -"Altogether yours now," she said looking at him with that trustful smile -which should have sent him down on his knees before her, but which did -not do more than cause his eyes to look at her throat instead of gazing -straight into her eyes. - -They seated themselves on one of the old window-seats, and talked face -to face, listlessly watching the old waiter lay a white cloth on a -portion of the black oak table. - -When they had eaten their fish and pheasant--Harold wondered if the -latter had come from the Abbeylands' preserves, and if Archie Brown had -shot it--they returned to the window-seat, and there they remained for -an hour. - -He had thrown all reserve to the winds. He had thrown all forethought to -the winds. He had thrown all fear of God and man to the winds. - -She was his. - -The old waiter re-entered the room and laid on the table a flat bedroom -candlestick with a box of matches. - -"Can I get you anything before I go to bed, sir?" he inquired. - -"I require nothing, thank you," said Harold. - -"Very good, sir," said the waiter. "The candles in the sconces will burn -for another hour. If that will not be long enough--" - -"It will be quite long enough. You have made us extremely comfortable, -and I wish you goodnight," said Harold. - -"Good-night, sir. Good-night, madam." - -This model servitor disappeared. They heard the sound of his shoes upon -the stairs. - -"At last--at last!" whispered Harold, as he put an arm on the deep -embrasure of the window behind her. - -She let her shapely head fall back until it rested on his shoulder. Then -she looked up to his face. - -"Who could have thought it?" she cried. "Who could have predicted that -evening when I stood on the cliffs and sent my voice out in that wild -way across the lough, that we should be sitting here to-night?" - -"I knew it when I got down to the boat and drew your hands into mine by -that fishing-line," said he. "When the moon showed me your face, I knew -that I had seen the face for which I had been searching all my life. -I had caught glimpses of that face many times in my life. I remember -seeing it for a moment when a great musician was performing an -incomparable work--a work the pure beauty of which made all who listened -to it weep. I can hear that music now when I look upon your face. It -conveys to me all that was conveyed to me by the music. I saw it -again when, one exquisite dawn, I went into a garden while the dew was -glistening over everything. There came to me the faint scent of violets. -I thought that nothing could be lovelier; but in another moment, the -glorious perfume of roses came upon me like a torrent. The odour of the -roses and the scent of the violets mingled, and before my eyes floated -your face. When the moonlight showed me your face on that night beside -the Irish lough I felt myself wondering if it would vanish." - -"It has come to stay," she whispered, in a way that gave the sweetest -significance to the phrase that has become vulgarized. - -"It came to stay with me for ever," he said. "I knew it, and I felt -myself saying, 'Here by God's grace is the one maid for me.'" - -He did not falter as he looked down upon her face--he said the words -"God's grace" without the least hesitancy. - -The moonlight that had been glistening on the ivy of the broken arches -of the ancient Priory, was now shining through the diamond panes of -the window at which they were sitting. As her head lay back it was -illuminated by the moon. Her hair seemed delicate threads of spun glass -through which the light was shining. - -One of the candles flared up for a moment in its socket, then dwindled -away to a single spark and then expired. - -"You remember?" she whispered. - -"The seal-cave," he said. "I have often wondered how I dared to tell you -that I loved you." - -"But you told me the truth." - -"The truth. No, no; I did not love you then as I regard loving now. Oh, -my Beatrice, you have taught me what 'tis to love. There is nothing in -the world but love, it is life--it is life!" - -"And there are none in the world who love as you and I do." - -His face shut out the moonlight from hers. There was a long silence -before she said, "It was only when you had parted from me every day that -I knew what you were to me, Harold. Ah, those bitter moments! Those sad -Good-byes--sad Good-nights out of the moonlight from hers. There was a -long silence before she said, "It was only when you had parted from me -every day that I knew what you were to me, Harold. Ah, those bitter -moments! Those sad Good-byes--sad Good-nights!" - -"They are over, they are over!" he cried. The lover's triumph rang -through his words. "They are over. We have come to the night when no -more Good-nights shall be spoken. What do I say? No more Good-nights? -You know what a poet's heart sang--a poet over whose head the waters of -passion had closed? I know the song that came from his heart--beloved, -the pulses of his heart beat in every line:"= - - -```"'Good-night! ah, no, the hour is ill - -'```That severs those it should unite: - -'``Let us remain together still, - -````Then it will be good night.= - - -```"' How can I call the lone night good, - -`````Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight? - -```Be it not said--thought--understood; - -````Then it will be good night.= - - -```"'To hearts that near each other move - -'```From evening close to morning light, - -```The night is good because, oh, Love, - -````They never say Good-night.'"= - - -His whispering of the last lines was very tremulous. Her eyes were -closed and her lips were parted with the passing of a sigh--a sigh that -had something of a sob about it. Then both her arms were flung round his -neck, and he felt her face against his. Then.... he was alone. - -How had she gone? - -Whither had she gone? - -How long had he been alone? - -He got upon his feet, and looked in a dazed way around the room. - -Had it all been a dream? Was it only in fancy that she had been in his -arms? Had he been repeating Shelley's poem in the hearing of no one? - -He opened a glass door by which access was had to the grounds of the old -Priory, and stood, surpliced by the moonlight, beside the ruined arch -where an oriel window had once been. He turned and looked at the house. -It was black against the clear sky that overflowed with light, but one -window above the room where he had been sitting was illuminated. - -It had no drapery--he could see through it half way into the room -beyond. - -Just above where a silver sconce with three lighted candles hung from -the wall, he could see that the black panel bore in high relief a carved -Head of the Virgin, surrounded with lilies. - -He kept his eyes fixed upon that carving until--until.... - -There came before his eyes in that room the Temptation of Saint Anthony. - -His eyes became dim looking at her loveliness, shining with dazzling -whiteness beneath the light of the candles. - -He put his hands before his eyes and staggered to the door through which -he had passed. There he stood, his breath coming in sobs, with his hand -on the handle of the door. - -There was not a sound in the night. Heaven and earth were breathlessly -watching the struggle. - -It was the struggle between Heaven and Hell for a human soul. - -The man's fingers fell from the handle of the door. He clasped his hands -across the ivy of the wall and bowed his head upon them. - -Only for a few moments, however. Then, with a cry of agony, he started -up, and with his clasped hands over his eyes, fled--madly--blindly--away -from the house. - -Before he had gone far, he tripped and fell over a stone--he only fell -upon his knees, but his hands were clutching at the ground. - -When he recovered himself, he found that he was on his knees at the foot -of an ancient prostrate Cross. - -He stared at it, and some time had passed before there came from his -parched lips the cry, "Christ have mercy upon me!" - -He bowed his head to the Cross, and his lips touched the cold, damp -stone. - -This was not the kiss to which he had been looking forward. - -He sprang to his feet and fled into the distance. - -She was saved! - -And he--he had saved his soul alive! - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI.--ON A BED OF LOGS. - - -|ONWARD he fled, he knew not whither; he only knew that he was flying -for the safety of his soul. - -He passed far beyond the limits of the Priory grounds, but he did not -reach the high road. He crossed a meadow and came upon a trout stream. -He walked beside it for an hour. At the end of that time there was no -moonlight to glitter upon its surface. Clouds had come over the sky and -drops of rain were beginning to fall. - -He crossed the stream by a little bridge, and reached the border of a -wood. It was now long past midnight. He had been walking for two hours, -but he had no consciousness of weariness. It was not until the rain was -streaming off his hair that he recollected that he had no hat. But on -still he went through the darkness and the rain, as though he were being -pursued, and that every step he took was a step toward safety. - -He came upon a track that seemed to lead through the wood, and upon this -track he went for several miles. The ground was soft, and at some places -the rain had turned it into a morass. The autumn leaves lay in drifts, -sodden and rotting. Into more than one of these he stumbled, and when he -got upon his feet again, the damp leaves and the mire were clinging to -him. - -For three more hours he went on by the winding track through the wood. -In the darkness he strayed from it frequently, but invariably found it -again and struggled on, until he had passed right through the wood and -reached a high road that ran beside it. - -As though he had been all the night wandering in search for this road, -so soon as he saw it he cried, "Thank God, thank God!" - -But something else may have been in his mind beyond the satisfaction of -coming upon the road. - -At the border of the wood where the track broadened out, there was a -woodcutter's rough shed. It was piled up with logs of various sizes, and -with trimmed boughs awaiting the carts to come along the road to carry -them away. He entered the shed, and, overpowered with weariness, sank -down upon a heap of boughs; his head found a resting place in a forked -branch and in a moment he was sound asleep. - -His head was resting upon the damp bark of the trimmed branch, when it -might have been close to that whiteness which he had seen through the -window. - -True; but his soul was saved. - -He awoke, hearing the sound of voices around him. - -The cold light of a gray, damp day was struggling with the light that -came from a fire of faggots just outside, and the shed was filled with -the smoke of the burning wood. The sound of the crackling of the small -branches came to his ears with the sound of the voices. - -He raised his head, and looked around him in a dazed way. He did not -realize for some time the strange position in which he found himself. -Suddenly he seemed to recall all that had occurred, and once more he -said, "Thank God, thank God!" - -Three men were standing in the shed before him. Two of them held -bill-hooks in a responsible way; the third had the truncheon of a -constable. He also wore the helmet of a constable. - -The men with the bill-hooks seemed preparing to repel a charge. They -stood shoulder to shoulder with their implements breast high. - -The man with the truncheon seemed willing to trust a great deal to them, -whether in regard to attack or defence. - -"Well, you're awake, my gentleman," said the man with the truncheon. - -The speech seemed a poor enough accompaniment to such a show of -strength, aggressive or defensive, as was the result of the muster in -the shed. - -"Yes, I believe I'm awake," said Harold. "Is the morning far advanced?" - -"That's as may be," said the truncheon-holder, shrewdly, and after a -pause of considerable duration. - -"You're not the man to compromise yourself by a hasty statement," said -Harold. - -"No," said the man, after another pause. - -"May I ask what is the meaning of this rather imposing demonstration?" -said Harold. - -"Ay, you may, maybe," replied the man. "But it's my business to tell -you that--" here he paused and inflated his lungs and person -generally-- "that all you say now will be used as evidence against -you." - -"That's very official," said Harold. "Does it mean that you're a -constable?" - -"That it do; and that you're in my charge now. Close up, bill-hooks, and -stand firm," the man added to his companions. - -"Don't trumle for we," said one of the billhook-holders. - -"You see there's no use broadening vi'lent-like," said the -truncheon-holder. - -"That's clear enough," said Harold. "Would it be imprudent for me to -inquire what's the charge against me?" - -"You know," said the policeman. - -"Come, my man," said Harold; "I'm not disposed to stand this farce any -longer. Can't you see that I'm no vagrant--that I haven't any of your -logs concealed about me. What part of the country is this? Where's the -nearest telegraph office?" - -"No matter what's the part," said the constable; "I've arrested you -before witnesses of full age, and I've cautioned you according to the -Ack o' Parliament." - -"And the charge?" - -"The charge is the murder." - -"Murder--what murder?" - -"You know--the murder of the Right Honourable Lord Fotheringay." - -"What!" shouted Harold. "Lord--oh, you're mad! Lord Fotheringay is my -father, and he's staying at Abbeylands. What do you mean, you idiot, by -coming to me with such a story?" The policeman winked in by no means a -subtle way at the two men with the bill-hooks; he then looked at Harold -from head to foot, and gave a guffaw. - -"The son of his lordship--the murdered man--you heard that, friends, -after I gave the caution according to the Ack o' Parliament?" he said. - -"Ay, ay, we heard--leastways to that effeck," replied one of the men. - -"Then down it goes again him," said the constable. "He's a -gentleman-Jack tramp--and that's the worst sort--without hat or head -gear, and down it goes that he said he was his lordship's son." - -"For God's sake tell me what you mean by talking of the murder of Lord -Fotheringay," said Harold. "There can be no truth in what you said. Oh, -why do I wait here talking to this idiot?" He took a few steps toward one -end of the shed. The men raised their bill-hooks, and the constable made -an aggressive demonstration with his truncheon. - -Against Stupidity the gods fight in vain, but now and again a man with -good muscles can prevail against it. Harold simply dealt a kick upon -the heavy handle of the bill-hook nearest to him, and it swung round -and caught in the stomach the second man, who immediately dropped his -implement. He needed both hands to press against his injured person. - -The constable ran to the other end of the shed and blew his whistle. - -Harold went out in the opposite direction and got upon the high road; -but before he had quite made up his mind which way to go, he heard the -clatter of a horse galloping. He saw that a mounted constable was coming -up, and he also noticed with a certain amount of interest, that he was -drawing a revolver. - -Harold stood in the centre of the road and held up his hand. - -One of the few occasions when a man of well developed muscles, if he is -wise, thinks himself no better than the gods, is when Stupidity is in -the act of drawing a revolver. - -"Are you the sergeant of constabulary?" Harold inquired, when the man -had reined in. He still kept his revolver handy. - -"Yes, I'm the sergeant of constabulary. Who are you, and what are you -doing here?" said the man. - -"He's the gentleman-Jack tramp that the lads found asleep in the shed, -sergeant," said the constable, who had hurried forward with the naked -truncheon. "The lads came on him hiding here, when they were setting -about their day's work. They ran for me, and that's why I sent for you. -I've arrested him and cautioned him. He was nigh clearing off just now, -but I never took an eye off him. Is there a reward yet, sergeant?" - -"Officer," said Harold. "I am Lord Fotheringay's son. For God's -sake tell me if what this man says is true--is Lord Fotheringay -dead--murdered?" - -"He's dead. You seem to know a lot about it, my gentleman," said the -sergeant. "You're charged with his murder. If you make any attempt at -resistance, I'll shoot you down like a dog." - -The man had now his revolver is his right hand. Harold looked first at -him, and then at the foolish man with the truncheon. He was amazed. What -could the men mean? How was it that they did not touch their helmets to -him? He had never yet been addressed by a policeman or a railway porter -without such a token of respect. What was the meaning of the change? - -This was really his first thought. - -His mind was not in a condition to do more than speculate upon this -point. It was not capable of grasping the horrible thing suggested by -the men. - -He stood there in the middle of the road, dazed and speechless. It was -not until he had casually looked down and had seen the condition of his -feet and legs and clothes that, passing from the amazed thought of -the insolence of the constables, into the amazement produced by his -raggedness--he was apparently covered with mire from head to foot--the -reason of his treatment flashed upon him; and in another instant every -thought had left him except the thought that his father was dead. His -head fell forward on his chest. He felt his limbs give way under him. -He staggered to the low hank at the side of the road and managed to seat -himself. He supported his head on his hands, his elbows resting on his -knees. - -There he remained, the four men watching him; for the interest which -attaches to a distinguished criminal in the eyes of ignorant rustics, is -almost as great as that which he excites among the leaders of society, -who scrutinize him in the dock through opera glasses, and eat _pt de -foie gras_ sandwiches beside the judge. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII.--ON THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. - -|SOME minutes had passed before Harold had sufficiently recovered to be -able to get upon his feet. He could now account for everything that -had happened. His father must have been found dead under suspicious -circumstances the previous day, and information had been conveyed to the -county constabulary. The instinct of the constabulary being to connect -all crime with tramps, and his own appearance, after his night of -wandering, as well as the conditions under which he had been found, -suggesting the tramp, he had naturally been arrested. - -He knew that he could only suffer some inconvenience for an hour or so. -But what would be the sufferings of Beatrice? - -"The circumstances under which I am found are suspicious enough to -justify my arrest," he said to the mounted man. "I am Lord Fotheringay's -son." - -"Gammon! but it'll be took down," said the constable with the truncheon. - -"Hold your tongue, you fool!" cried the sergeant to his subordinate. - -"I can, of course, account for every movement of mine, yesterday and the -day before," said Harold. "What hour is the crime supposed to have taken -place? It must have been after four o'clock, or I should have received a -telegram from my sister, Mrs. Lampson. I left London shortly before five -last evening." - -"If you can prove that, you're all right," said the sergeant. "But -you'll have to give us your right name." - -"You'll find it on the inside of my watch," said Harold. - -He slipped the watch from the swivel clasp and handed it to the -sergeant. - -"You're a fool!" said the sergeant, looking at the hack of the watch. -"This is a watch that belonged to the murdered man. It has a crown over -a crest, and arms with supporters." - -"Of course," said Harold. "I forgot that it was my father's watch -before he gave it to me." The sergeant smiled. The constable and the two -bill-hook men guffawed. - -"Give me the watch," said Harold. - -The sergeant slipped it into his own pocket. - -"You've put a rope round your neck this minute," said he. "Handcuffs, -Jonas." - -The constable opened the small leathern pouch on his belt. Harold's -hands instinctively clenched. The sergeant once more whipped his -revolver out of its case. - -"It has never occurred before this minute," said the constable. - -"What do you mean? Where's the handcuffs?" cried the sergeant. - -"Never before," said the constable, "I took them out to clean them -with sandpaper, sergeant--emery and oil's recommended, but give me -sandpaper--not too fine but just fine enough. Is there any man in the -county that can show as bright a pair of handcuffs as myself, sergeant? -You know." - -"Show them now," said the sergeant. - -"You'll have to come to the house with me, for there they be to be," -replied the constable. "Ay, but I've my truncheon." - -"Which way am I to go with you?" said Harold. "You don't think that I'm -such a fool as to make the attempt to resist you? I can't remain here -all day. Every moment is precious." - -"You'll be off soon enough, my good man," said the sergeant. "Keep -alongside my horse, and if you try any game on with me, I'll be equal to -you." He wheeled his horse and walked it in the direction whence he had -come. Harold kept up with it, thinking his thoughts. The man with the -truncheon and the two men who had wielded the billhooks marched in file -beside him. Marching in file had something official about it. - -It was a strange procession that appeared on the shining wet road, -with the dripping autumn trees on each side, and the gray sodden clouds -crawling up in the distance. - -How was he to communicate with her? How was he to let Beatrice know that -she was to return to London immediately? - -That was the question which occupied all his thoughts as he walked -with bowed head along the road. The thought of the position which he -occupied--the thought of the tragic incident which had aroused the -vigilance of the constable--the desire to learn the details of the -terrible thing that had occurred--every thought was lost in that -question: - -"How am I to prevent her from going on to Abbeylands?" - -Was it possible that she might learn at the hotel early in the morning, -that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered? When the news of the murder had -spread round the country--and it seemed to have done so from the course -that the woodcutters had adopted on coming upon him asleep--it would -certainly be known at the hotel. If so, what would Beatrice do? - -Surely she would take the earliest train back to London. - -But if she did not hear anything of the matter, would she then remain at -the hotel awaiting his return? - -What would she think of him? What would she think of his desertion of -her at that supreme moment? - -Can a woman ever forgive such an act of desertion? Could Beatrice ever -forgive his turning away from her love? - -Was he beginning to regret that he had fled away from the loveliest -vision that had ever come before his eyes? - -Did Saint Anthony ever wish that he had had another chance? - -If for a single moment Harold Wynne had an unworthy thought, assuredly -it did not last longer than a single moment. - -"Whatever may happen now--whether she forgives me or forsakes me--thank -God--thank God!" - -This was what his heart was crying out all the time that he walked along -the road with bowed head. He felt that he had been strong enough to save -her--to save himself. - -The procession had scarcely passed over more than a quarter of a mile of -the road, when a vehicle appeared some distance ahead. - -"Steady," said the sergeant. "It's the Major in his trap. I sent a -mounted man for him. You'll be in trouble about the handcuffs, Jonas, my -man." - -"Maybe the murderer would keep his hands together to oblige us," -suggested the constable. - -"I'll not be a party to deception," said his superior. "Halt!" - -Harold looked up and saw a dog-cart just at hand. It was driven by a -middle-aged gentleman, and a groom was seated behind. Harold had an -impression that he had seen the driver previously, though he could -not remember when or where he had done so. He rather thought he was an -officer whom he had met at some place abroad. - -The dog-cart was pulled up, and the officials saluted in their own way, -as the gentleman gave the reins to his groom and dismounted. - -"An arrest, sir," said the sergeant. "The two woodcutters came upon him -hiding in their shed at dawn, and sent for the constable. Jonas, -very properly, sent for me, and I despatched a man for you, sir. When -arrested, he made up a cock-and-bull story, and a watch, supposed to be -his murdered lordship's, was found concealed about his person. It's now -in my possession." - -"Good," said the stranger. Then he subjected Harold to a close scrutiny. - -"I know now where I met you," said Harold. "You are Major Wilson, the -Chief Constable of the County, and you lunched with us at Abbeylands two -years ago." - -"What! Mr. Wynne!" cried the man. "What on earth can be the meaning of -this? Your poor father--" - -"That is what I want to learn," said Harold eagerly. "Is it more than a -report--that terrible thing?" - -"A report? He was found at six o'clock last evening by a keeper on the -outskirts of one of the preserves." - -"A bullet--an accident? he may have been out shooting," said Harold. - -"A knife--a dagger." - -Harold turned away. - -"Remain where you are, sergeant," said Major Wilson. "Let me have a word -with you, Mr. Wynne," he added to Harold. - -"Certainly," said Harold. His voice was shaky. "I wonder if you chance -to have a flask of brandy in your cart. You can understand that I'm not -quite--" - -"I'm sorry that I have no brandy," said Major Wilson. "Perhaps you -wouldn't mind sitting on the bank with me while you explain--if you -wish--I do not suggest that you should--I suppose the constables -cautioned you." - -"Amply," said Harold. "I find that I can stand. I don't suppose that any -blame attaches to them for arresting me. I am, I fear, very disreputable -looking. The fact is that I was stupid enough to miss the train from -Mowern junction last night, and I went to the Priory Hotel. I came out -when the night was fine, without my hat, and I---- had reasons of my own -for not wishing to return to the hotel. I got into the wood and wandered -for several hours along a track I found. I got drenched, and taking -shelter in the woodcutters' shed, I fell asleep. That is all I have to -say. I have not the least idea what part of the country this is: I must -have walked at least twenty miles through the night." - -"You are not a mile from the Priory Hotel," said Major Wilson. - -"That is impossible," cried Harold. "I walked pretty hard for five -hours." - -"Through the wood?" - -"I practically never left the track." - -"You walked close upon twenty miles, but you walked round the wood -instead of through it. That track goes pretty nearly round Garstone -Woods. Mr. Wynne, this is the most unfortunate occurrence I ever heard -of or saw in my life." - -"Pray do not fancy for a moment that, so far as I am concerned, I shall -be inconvenienced for long," said Harold. "It is a shocking thing for a -son to be suspected even for a moment of the murder of his own father; -but sometimes a curious combination of circumstances----" - -"Of course--of course, that is just it. Do not blame me, I beg of you. -Did you leave London yesterday?" - -"Yes, by the four-fifty-five train." - -"Have you a portion of your ticket to Abbeylands?" - -"I took a return ticket to Mowern. I gave one portion of it to the -collector, the return portion is in my pocket." - -He produced the half of his ticket. Major Wilson examined the date, and -took a memorandum of the number stamped upon it. - -"Did you speak to anyone at the junction on your arrival?" he then -inquired. - -"I'm afraid that I abused the station-master for allowing the train to -go to Abbeylands without me," said Harold. "That was at ten minutes past -seven o'clock. Oh, you need not fear for me. I made elaborate inquiries -from the railway officials in London between half past four and the hour -of the train's starting. I also spoke to the station-master at Mindon, -asking him if he was certain that the train would arrive at the junction -in time." Major Wilson's face brightened. Before it had been somewhat -overcast. - -"A telegram, as a matter of form, will be sufficient to clear up -everything," said Major Wilson. "Yes, everything except--wasn't that -midnight walk of yours a very odd thing, Mr. Wynne?" - -"Yes," said Harold, after a pause. "It was extremely odd. So odd that -I know that you will pardon my attempting to explain it--at least just -now. You will, I think, be satisfied if you have evidence that I was in -London yesterday afternoon. I am anxious to go to my sister without -delay. Surely some clue must be forthcoming as to the ruffian who did -the deed." - -"The only clue--if it could be termed a clue--is the sheath of the -dagger," replied Major Wilson. "It is the sheath of an ordinary belt -dagger, such as is commonly worn by the peasantry in Southern Italy and -Sicily. Lord Fotheringay lived a good deal abroad. Do you happen to know -if he became involved in any quarrel in Italy--if there was any reason -to think that his life had been threatened?" - -Harold shook his head. - -"My poor father returned from abroad a couple of months ago, and joined -Lady Innisfail's party in Ireland. I have only seen him once in -London since then. He must have been followed by some one who fancied -that--that--" - -"That he had been injured by your father?" - -"That is what I fear. But my father never confided his suspicions--if he -had any on this matter--to me." - -They had walked some little way up the road. They now returned slowly -and silently. - -A one-horse-fly appeared in the distance. When it came near, Harold -recognized it as the one in which he had driven with Beatrice from the -station to the hotel. - -"If you will allow me," said Harold to Major Wilson, "I will send to the -hotel for my overcoat and hat." - -"Do so by all means," said Major Wilson. "There is a decent little -inn some distance on the road, where you will be able to get a brush -down--you certainly need one. I'll give my sergeant instructions to send -some telegrams at the junction." - -"Perhaps you will kindly ask him to return to me my watch," said Harold. -"I don't suppose that he will need it now." - -Harold stopped the fly, and wrote upon a card of his own the following -words, "_A shocking thing has happened that keeps me from you. My poor -father is dead. Return to town by first train._" - -He instructed the driver to go to the Priory Hotel and deliver the card -into the hand of the lady whom he had driven there the previous evening, -and then to pay Harold's bill, drive the lady to the junction, and -return with the overcoat and hat to the inn on the road. - -Harold gave the man a couple of sovereigns, and the driver said that he -would be able easily to convey the lady to the junction in time for the -first train. - -While the sergeant went away to send the Chief Constable's telegrams, -Major Wilson and Harold drove off together in the dog-cart--the man with -the truncheon and the men who had carried the bill-hooks respectfully -saluted as the vehicle passed. - -In the course of another half hour, Harold was in the centre of a cloud -of dust, produced by the vigorous action of an athlete at the little -inn, who had been engaged to brush him down. When he caught sight of -himself in a looking-glass on entering the inn, Harold was as much -amazed as he had been when he heard from the Chief Constable that he had -been wandering round the wood all night. He felt that he could not blame -the woodcutters for taking him for a tramp. - -He managed to eat some breakfast, and then he fly came up with his -overcoat and hat. He spoke only one sentence to the driver. - -"You brought her to the train?" - -"Yes, sir. She only waited to write a line. Here it is, sir." - -He handed Harold an envelope. - -Inside was a sheet of paper. - -"_Dearest--dearest--You have all my sympathy--all my love. Come to me -soon._" - -These were the words that he read in the handwriting of Beatrice. - -He was in a bedroom when he read them. He sat down on the side of the -bed and burst into tears. - -It was ten years since he had wept. - -Then he buried his face in his hands and said a prayer. - -It was ten years since he had prayed. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII--ON MURDER AS A SOCIAL INCIDENT. - -|THIS is not the story of a murder. However profitable as well as -entertaining it would be to trace through various mysteries, false -alarms, and intricacies the following up of a clue by the subtle -intelligence of a detective, until the rope is around the neck of the -criminal, such profit and entertainment must be absent from this story -of a man's conquest of the Devil within himself. Regarding the incident -of the murder of Lord Fotheringay much need not be said. - -The sergeant appeared at the inn with replies to the telegrams that -he had been instructed to send to the railway officials, and they were -found to corroborate all the statements made by Harold. A ticket of the -number of that upon the one which Harold still retained, had been issued -previous to the departure of the four-fifty-five train from London. - -"Of course, I knew what the replies would be," said Major Wilson. "But -you can understand my position." - -"Certainly I can," said Harold. "It needs no apology." - -They drove to the junction together to catch the train to Abbeylands -station. An astute officer from Scotland Yard had been telegraphed for, -to augment the intelligence of the County Constabulary Force in the -endeavour to follow up the only clue that was available, and Major -Wilson was to travel with the London officer to the scene of the crime. - -In a few minutes the London train came up, and the passengers for -the Abbeylands line crossed to the side platform. Among them Harold -perceived his own servant. The man was dressed in black, and carried a -portmanteau and hat-box. He did not see his master until he had reached -the platform. Then he walked up to Harold, laid down the portmanteau -and endeavoured--by no means unsuccessfully--to impart some -emotion--respectful emotion, and very respectful sympathy, into the act -of touching his hat. - -"I heard the sad news, my lord," said the man, "and I took the liberty -of packing your lordship's portmanteau and taking the first train to -Abbeylands. I took it for granted that you would be there, my lord." - -"You acted wisely, Martin," said Harold. "I will ask you not to make any -change in addressing me for some days, at least." - -"Very good, my lord--I mean, sir," said the man. - -He had not acquired for more than a minute the new mode of address, and -yet he had difficulty in relinquishing it. - -Abbeylands was empty of the guests who, up to the previous evening, had -been within its walls. From the mouth of the gamekeeper, who had found -the body of Lord Fotheringay, Harold learned a few more particulars -regarding his ghastly discovery, but they were of no importance, though -the astute Scotland Yard officer considered them--or pretended to -consider them--to be extremely valuable. - -For a week the detectives were very active, and the newspapers announced -daily that they had discovered a clue, and that an arrest might be -looked for almost immediately. - -No arrest took place, however; the detectives returned to their -head-quarters, and the mild sensation produced by the heading of a -newspaper column, "The Murder of Lord Fotheringay" was completely -obliterated by the toothsome scandal produced by the appearance of a -music-hall artist as the co-respondent in a Duchess's divorce case. It -was eminently a case for sandwiches and plovers' eggs; and the costumes -which the eaters of these portable comestibles wore, were described -in detail by those newspapers which everyone abuses and--reads. The -middle-aged rheumatic butterfly was dead and buried; and though many -theories were started--not by Scotland Yard, however--to account for -his death, no arrests were made. Whoever the murderer was, he remained -undetected. (A couple of years had passed before Harold heard a highly -circumstantial story about the appearance of a foreign gentleman with -extremely dark eyes and hair, in the neighbourhood of Castle Innisfail, -inquiring for Lord Fotheringay a few days after Lord Fotheringay had -left the Castle). - -Mrs. Lampson, the only daughter of the deceased peer, had received so -severe a shock through the tragic circumstances of her father's death, -that she found it necessary to take a long voyage. She started for Samoa -with her husband in his steam yacht. It may be mentioned incidentally, -however, that, as the surface of the Bay of Biscay was somewhat ruffled -when the yacht was going southward, it was thought advisable to change -the cruise to one in the Mediterranean. Mrs. Lampson turned up on the -Riviera in the spring, and, after entertaining freely there for some -time, an article appeared above her signature in a leading magazine -deploring the low tone of society at Monte Carlo and on the Riviera -generally. - -It was in the railway carriage on their way to London from -Abbeylands--the exact time was when Harold was in the act of repeating -the stanzas from Shelley--that Helen Craven and Edmund Airey conversed -together, sitting side by side for the purpose. - -"He is Lord Fotheringay now," remarked Miss Craven, thoughtfully. - -Edmund looked at her with something of admiration in his eyes. The young -woman who, an hour or two after being shocked at the news of a tragedy -enacted at the very door of the house where she had been a guest, could -begin to discuss its social bearing, was certainly a young woman to be -wondered at--that is, to be admired. - -"Yes," said Edmund, "he is now Lord Fotheringay, whatever that means." - -"It means a title and an income, does it not?" said she. - -"Yes, a sort of title and, yes, a sort of income," said he. - -"Either would be quite enough to marry and live on," said Helen. - -"He contrived to live without either up to the present." - -"Yes, poorly." - -"Not palatially, certainly, but still pleasantly." - -"Will he ask her to marry him now, do you think?" - -"Her?" - -"Yes, you know--Beatrice Avon." - -"Oh--I think that--that I should like to know what you think about it." - -"I think he will ask her." - -"And that she will accept him?" - -She did not know how much thought he had been giving to this question -during some hours--how eagerly he was waiting her reply. - -"No." she said; "I believe that she will not accept him, because she -means to accept you--if you give her a chance." - -The start that he gave was very well simulated. Scarcely so admirable -from a standpoint of art was the opening of his eyes accompanied by a -little exclamation of astonishment. - -"Why are you surprised?" she said, as if she was surprised at his -surprise--so subtly can a clever young woman flatter the cleverest of -men. - -He shook his head. - -"I am surprised because I have just heard the most surprising -sentence that ever came upon my ears. That is saying a good deal--yes, -considering how much we have talked together." - -"Why should it be surprising?" she said. "Did you not call upon her in -town?" - -"Yes, I called upon her," he replied, wondering how she had come to know -it. (She had merely guessed it.) - -"That would give her hope." - -"Hope?" - -"Hope. And it was this hope that induced her to accept Mrs. Lampson's -invitation, although she must have known that Mrs. Lampson's brother -was not to be of the party. I have often wondered if it was you or Lord -Fotheringay who asked Mrs. Lampson to invite her?" - -"It was I," said Edmund. - -Her eyes brightened--so far as it was possible for them to brighten. - -"I wonder if she came to know that," said Helen musingly. "It would be -something of a pity if she did not know it." - -"For that matter, nearly everything that happens is a pity," said he. - -"Not everything," said she. "But it is certainly a pity that the person -who had the bad taste to stab poor Lord Fotheringay did not postpone his -crime for at least one day. You would in that case have had a chance of -returning by the side of Beatrice Avon instead of by the side of some -one else." - -"Who is infinitely cleverer," said Edmund. - -At this point their conversation ended--at least so far as Harold and -Beatrice were concerned. - -Helen felt, however, that even that brief exchange of opinions had been -profitable. Her first thought on hearing of the ghastly discovery of -the gamekeeper, was that all her striving to win Harold had been in -vain--that all her contriving, by the help of Edmund Airey, had been to -no purpose. Harold would now be free to marry Beatrice Avon--or to ask -her to marry him; which she believed was much the same thing. - -But in the course of a short time she did not feel so hopeless. She -believed that Edmund Airey only needed a little further flattery to -induce him to resume his old attitude in regard to Beatrice; and the -result of her little chat with him in the train showed her not merely -that, in regard to flattery, he was pretty much as other men, only, of -course, he required it to be subtly administered--but also that he had -no intention of allowing his compact in regard to Beatrice to expire -with their departure from Castle Innisfail. He admitted having called -upon her in London, and this showed Helen very plainly that his attitude -in respect of Beatrice was the result of a rather stronger impulse -than the desire to be of service to her, Helen, in accordance with -the suggestions which she had ventured to make during her first frank -interview with him. - -She made up her mind that he would not require in future to be -frequently reminded of that frank interview. She knew that there exists -a more powerful motive for some men's actions than a desire to forward -the happiness of their fellow-men. - -This was her reflection at the precise moment that Harold's face was -bent down to the face of Beatrice, while he whispered the words that -thrilled her. - -As for Edmund Airey, he, too, had his thoughts, and, like Helen, he -considered himself quite capable of estimating the amount of importance -to be attached to such an incident as the murder of Lord Fotheringay, -as a factor in the solution of any problem that might suggest itself. -A murder is, of course, susceptible of being regarded from a social -standpoint. The murder of Lord Fotheringay, for instance, had broken up -what promised to be an exceedingly interesting party at Abbeylands. A -murder is very provoking sometimes; and when Edmund Airey heard Lady -Innisfail complain to Archie Brown--Archie had become a great friend -of hers--of the irritating features of that incident--when he heard -an uncharitable man declare that it was most thoughtless of Lord -Fotheringay to get a knife stuck into his ribs just when the pheasants -were at their best, he could not but feel that his own reflections were -very plainly expressed. - -He had not been certain of himself during the previous two months. For -the first time in his life he did not see his way clearly. It was -in order to improve his vision that he had begged Mrs. Lampson--with -infinite tact, she admitted to her brother--to invite Beatrice to -Abbeylands. He rather thought that, before the visit of Beatrice -should terminate, he would be able to see his way clearly in certain -directions. - -But now, owing to the annoying incident that had occurred, the -opportunity was denied him of improving his vision in accordance -with the prescription which he had prepared to effect this purpose; -therefore---- - -He had reached this point in his reflections when the special train, -which Mr. Lampson had chartered to take his guests back to town, ran -alongside the platform at the London terminus. - -This was just the moment when Harold looked up to the window from the -Priory grounds and saw that vision of white glowing beauty. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIX.--ON THE ADVANTAGES OF CONFESSION. - -|HE stood silent, without taking a step into the room, when the door had -been closed behind him. - -With a cry she sprang from her seat in front of the fire and put out her -hands to him. - -Still he did not move a step toward her. He remained at the door. - -Something of fear was upon her face as she stood looking at him. He was -pale and haggard and ghostlike. She could not but perceive how strongly -the likeness to his father, who had been buried the previous day, -appeared upon his face now that it was so worn and haggard--much more so -than she had ever seen his father's face. - -"Harold--Harold--my beloved!" she cried, and there was something of fear -in her voice. "Harold--husband--" - -"For God's sake, do not say that, Beatrice!" - -His voice was hoarse and quite unlike the voice that had whispered the -lines of Shelley, with his face within the halo of moonlight that had -clung about her hair. - -She was more frightened still. Her hands were clasped over her -heart--the lamplight gleamed upon the blood-red circle of rubies on the -one ring that she wore--it had never left her finger. - -He came into the room. She only retreated one step. - -"For God's sake, Beatrice, do not call me husband! I am not your -husband!" - -She came toward him; and now the look of fear that she had worn, became -one of sympathy. Her eyes were full of tears as she said, "My poor -Harold, you have all the sympathy--the compassion--the love of my heart. -You know it." - -"Yes," he said, "I know it. I know what is in your heart. I know its -purity--its truth--its sweetness--that is why I should never have come -here, knowing also that I am unworthy to stand in your presence." - -"You are worthy of all--all--that I can give you." - -"Worthy of contempt--contempt--worthy of that for which there is no -forgiveness. Beatrice, we have not been married. The form through which -we went in this room was a mockery. The man whom I brought here was not -a priest. He was guilty of a crime in coming here. I was guilty of a -crime in bringing him." - -She looked at him for a few moments, and then turned away from him. - -She went without faltering in the least toward the chair that still -remained in front of the fire. But before she had taken more than a -few steps toward it, she looked back at him--only for a second or two, -however; then she reached the chair and seated herself in it with her -back to him. She looked into the fire. - -There was a long silence before he spoke again. - -"I think I must have been mad," he said. "Mad to distrust you. It was -only when I was away from you that madness came upon me. The utter -hopelessness of ever being able to call you mine took possession of me, -body and soul, and I felt that I must bind you to me by some means. An -accident suggested the means to me. God knows, Beatrice, that I meant -never to take advantage of your belief that we were married. But when -I felt myself by your side in the train--when I felt your heart beating -against mine that night--I found myself powerless to resist. I was -overcome. I had cast honour, and truth, yes, and love--the love that -exists for ever without hope of reward--to the winds. Thank God--thank -God that I awoke from my madness. The sight which should have made me -even more powerless to resist, awoke me to a true sense of the life -which I had been living for some hours, and by God's grace I was strong -enough to fly." - -Again there was a long silence. He could see her finely-cut profile as -she sat upright, looking into the fire. He saw that her features had -undergone no change whatever while he was speaking. It seemed as if his -recital had in no respect interested her. - -The silence was appalling. - -She put out her hand and took from a small table beside her, the hook -which apparently she had been reading when he had entered. She turned -over the leaves as if searching for the place at which she had been -interrupted. - -He came beside her. - -"Have you no word for me--no word of pity--of forgiveness--of farewell?" -he said. - -She had apparently found her place. She seemed to be reading. - -"Beatrice, Beatrice, I implore of you--one word--one word--any word!" - -He had clutched her arm as he fell on his knees passionately beside her. -The book dropped to the floor. She was on her feet at the same instant. - -"Oh God--oh God, what have I done that I should be the victim of these -men?" she cried, not in a strident voice, but in a low tone, tremulous -with passion. "One man thinks it a good thing to amuse himself by -pretending that I interest him, and another whom I trusted as I would -have trusted my God, endeavours to ruin my life--and he has done it--he -has done it! My life is ruined!" - -She had never looked at him while he was speaking to her. She had not -been able for some time to comprehend the full force of the revelation -he had made to her; but so soon as she had felt his hand upon her arm, -she seemed in a moment to understand all. - -Now she looked at him as he knelt at her feet with his head bowed down -to the arm of the chair in which she had been sitting--she looked down -upon him; and then with a cry as of physical pain, she flung herself -wildly upon a sofa, sobbing hysterically. - -He was beside her in a moment. - -"Oh, Beatrice, my love, my love, tell me what reparation I can make," he -cried. "Beatrice, have pity upon me! Do not say that I have ruined your -life. It was only because I could not bear the thought that there was -a chance of losing you, that I did what I did. I could not face that, -Beatrice!" - -She still lay there, shaken with sobs. He dared not put his hand upon -her. He dared not touch one of her hands with his. He could only stand -there by her side. Every sob that she gave was like a dagger's thrust -to him. He suffered more during those moments than his father had done -while the hand of the assassin was upon him. - -The long silence was broken only by her sobs. - -"Beatrice--Beatrice, you will say one word to me--one word, Beatrice, -for God's sake!" - -Some moments had passed while she struggled hard to control herself. - -It was long before she was successful. - -"Go--go--go!" she cried, without raising her head from the satin cushion -of the sofa. "Oh, Harold, Harold, go!" - -"I will go," he said, after another long pause. "I will go. But I leave -here all that I love in the world--all that I shall ever love. I was -false to myself once--only once; I shall never be so again. I shall -never cease loving you while I live, Beatrice. I never loved you as I do -now." - -She made no sign. - -Even when she heard the door of the room open and close, she did not -rise. - -And the fire burnt itself out, and the lamp burnt itself out, but still -she lay there in her tears. - - - - -CHAPTER L.--ON CONSOLATION AS A FINE ART. - - -|HIS worst forebodings had come to pass. That was the one feeling which -Harold had on leaving her. - -He had scarcely ventured to entertain a hope that the result of his -interview with her and of his confession to her would be different. - -He knew her. - -That was why he had gone to her without hope. He knew that her nature -was such as made it impossible for her to understand how he could have -practised a fraud upon her; and he knew that understanding is the first -step toward forgiving. - -Still, there ever pervades the masculine mind an idea that there is no -limit to a woman's forgiveness. - -The masculine mind has the best of reasons for holding fast to this -idea. It is the result of many centuries of experience of woman--of many -centuries of testing the limits of woman's forgiveness. The belief that -there is nothing that a woman will not forgive in a man whom she loves, -is the heritage of man--just as the heritage of woman is to believe -that nothing that is done by a man whom she loves, stands in need of -forgiveness. - -Thus it is that men and women make (occasionally) excellent companions -for one another, and live together (frequently) in harmony. - -Thus it was that, in spite of the fact that his reason and his knowledge -of the nature of Beatrice assured him that his confession of the fraud -in which he had participated against her would not be forgiven by her, -there still remained in the mind of Harold Wynne a shadowy hope that she -might yet be as other women, who, understanding much, forgive much. - -He left her presence, feeling that she was no as other women are. - -That was the only grain of comfort that remained with him. He loved her -more than he had ever done before, because she was not as other women -are. - -She could not understand how that cold distrust had taken possession of -him. - -She knew nothing of that world in which he had lived all his life--a -world quite full of worldliness--and therefore she could not understand -how it was that he had sought to bind her to him beyond the possibility -(as he meant her to think) of ever being separated from him. She -had laid all her trust in him. She had not even claimed from him the -privilege of consulting with someone--her father or someone with whom -she might be on more confidential terms--regarding the proposition which -he had made to her. No, she had trusted him implicitly, and yet he had -persevered in regarding her as belonging to the worldly ones among whom -he had lived all his life. - -He had lost her. - -He had lost her, and he deserved to lose her. This was his thought as -he walked westward. He had not the satisfaction of feeling that he was -badly treated. - -The feeling on the part of a man that he has been badly treated by a -woman, usually gives him much greater satisfaction than would result -from his being extremely well treated by the same, or, indeed, by any -other woman. - -But this blessed consciousness of being badly treated was denied to -Harold Wynne. He had been the ill-treater, not the ill-treated. He -reflected how he had taken advantage of the peculiar circumstances of -the girl's life--upon the absence of her father--upon her own trustful -innocence--to carry out the fraud which he had perpetrated upon her. -Under ordinary circumstances and with a girl of an ordinary stamp, such -a fraud would have been impossible. He was well aware that a girl living -under the conditions to which most girls are subjected, would have -laughed in his face had he suggested the advisability of marrying him -privately. - -Yes, he had taken a cruel advantage of her and of the freedom which she -enjoyed, to betray her; and the feeling that he had lost her did not -cause him more bitterness than deserved to fall to his lot. - -One bitterness of reflection was, however, spared to him, and this was -why he cried again, as he threw himself into a chair, "Thank God--thank -God!" - -He had not been seated for long, before his servant entered with a card. - -"I told the lady that you were not seeing any one, my lord," said -Martin. - -"The lady?" - -Not for a single instant did it occur to his mind that Beatrice had come -to him. - -"Yes, my lord; Miss Craven," said Martin, handing him the card. "But she -said that perhaps you would see her." - -"_Only for a minute_," were the words written in pencil on Miss Craven's -card. - -"Yes, I will certainly see Miss Craven," said Harold. - -"Very good, my lord." - -She stood at the door. The light outside was very low; so was the light -in the room. - -Between two dim lights was where Helen looked her best. A fact of which -she was well aware. - -She seemed almost pretty as she stood there. - -She had made up pale, which she considered appropriately sympathetic on -her part. And, indeed, there can scarcely be a difference of opinion on -this point. - -In delicate matters of taste like this she rarely-made a mistake. - -"It was so good of you to come," said he, taking her hand. - -"I could not help it, Harold," said she. - -"Mamma is in the brougham; she desired me to convey to you her deepest -sympathy." - -"I am indeed touched by her thoughtfulness," said Harold. "You will tell -her so." - -"Mamma is not very strong," said Helen. "She would not come in with me. -She, too, has suffered deeply. But I felt that I must tell you face to -face how terribly shocked we were--how I feel for you with all my heart. -We have always been good friends--the best of friends, Harold--at least, -I do not know where I should look in the world for another such friend -as you." - -"Yes, we were always good friends, Helen," said he; "and I hope that we -shall always remain so." - -"We shall--I feel that we shall, Harold," said she. - -Her eyes were overflowing with tears, as she put out a hand to him--a -hand which he took and held between both his own, but without speaking a -word. "I felt that I must go to you if only for a moment--if only to say -to you as I do now, 'I feel for you with all my heart. You have all my -sympathy.' That is all I have to say. I knew you would allow me to see -you, and to give you my message. Good-bye." - -"You are so good--so kind--so thoughtful," said he. "I shall always feel -that you are my friend--my best friend, Helen." - -"And you may always trust in my friendship--my--my--friendship," said -she. "You will come and see us soon--mamma and me. We should be so glad. -Lady Innisfail wanted me to go with her to Netherford Hall--several of -your sister's party are going with Lady Innisfail; but of course I could -not think of going. I shall go nowhere for some time--a long time, I -think. We shall be at home whenever you call, Harold." - -"And you may be certain that I shall call soon," said he. "Pray tell -Mrs. Craven how deeply touched--how deeply grateful I am for -her kindness. And you--you know that I shall never forget your -thoughtfulness, Helen." - -Her eyes were still glistening as he took her hand and pressed it. She -looked at him through her tears; her lips moved, but no words came. She -turned and went down the stairs. He followed her for a few steps, and -then Martin met her, opened the hall-door, and saw her put into the -brougham by her footman. - -"Well," said her mother, when the brougham got upon the wood pavement. -"Well, did you find the poor orphan in tears and comfort him?" Mrs. -Craven was not devoid of an appreciation of humour of a certain form. -She had lived in Birmingham for several years of her life. - -"Dear mamma," said Helen, "I think you may always trust to me to know -what is right to do upon all occasions. My visit was a success. I knew -that it would be a success. I know Harold Wynne." - -"I know one thing," said Mrs. Craven, "and that is, that he will never -marry you. Whatever Harold Wynne might have done, Lord Fotheringay will -never marry you, my dear. Make up your mind to that." - -Her daughter laughed in the way that a daughter laughs at a prophetic -mother clad in sables, with a suspicion of black velvet and beads -underneath. - - - - -CHAPTER LI.--ON THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE AND OTHERS. - -|DURING the next few days Harold had numerous visitors. A man cannot -have his father murdered without attracting a considerable amount of -attention to himself. Cards "_With deepest sympathy_" were left upon him -by the hundred, and the majority of those sympathizers drove away to -say to their friends at their clubs what a benefactor to society was the -person who had run that knife into the ribs of Lord Fotheringay. Some -suggested that a presentation should be got up for that man; and when -someone asked what the police meant by taking so much trouble to find -the man, another ventured to formulate the very plausible theory that -they were doing so in order to force him to give sittings to an eminent -sculptor for a statue of himself with the knife in his hand, to be -erected by public subscription outside the House of Lords. - -"Yes; _pour encourager les autres!_" said one of the sympathizers. - -Another of the sympathizers inquired where were the Atheists now? - -It was generally admitted that, as an incentive to orthodoxy, the tragic -end of Lord Fotheringay could scarcely be over-estimated. - -It threw a flood of light upon the Ways of Providence. - -The Scotland Yard people at first regarded the incident from such a -standpoint. - -They assumed that Providence had decreed a violent death to Lord -Fotheringay, in order to give the detective force an opportunity of -displaying their ingenuity. - -They had many interviews with Harold, and they asked him a number of -questions regarding the life of his father, his associates, and his -tastes. - -They wondered if he had an enemy. - -They feared that the deed was the work of an enemy; and they started the -daring theory that if they only had a clue to this supposititious enemy -they would be on the track of the assassin. - -After about a week of suchlike theorizing, they were not quite so sure -of Providence. - -Some newspapers interested in the Ways of Providence, declared through -the medium of leading articles, that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered -in order that the world might be made aware of the utter incapacity of -Scotland Yard, and the necessity for the reorganization of the detective -force. - -Other newspapers--they were mostly the organs of the Opposition--sneered -at the Home Secretary. - -Mr. Durdan was heard to affirm in the solitude of the smoking-room of -his club, that the days of the Government were numbered. - -Then Harold had also to receive daily visits from the family lawyers; -and as family lawyers take more interest in the affairs of the family -than any of its members, he found these visits very tiresome; only he -was determined to find out what was his exact position financially, and -to do so involved the examination of the contents of several tin boxes, -as well as the columns of some bank books. On the whole, however, the -result of his researches under the guidance of the lawyers was worth the -trouble that they entailed. - -He found that he would be compelled to live on an income of twelve -thousand pounds a year, if he really wished--as he said he did--to make -provision for the paying off of certain incumbrances, and of keeping in -repair a certain mansion on the borders of a Welsh county. - -Having lived for several years upon an allowance of something under -twelve hundred pounds a year, he felt that he could manage to subsist on -twelve thousand. This was the thought that came to him automatically, so -soon as he had discovered his financial position. His next thought was -that, by his own folly, he had rendered himself incapable of enjoying -this sudden increase in revenue. - -If he had only been patient--if he had only been trustful for one week -longer! - -He felt very bitterly on the subject of his folly--his cruelty--his -fraud; the fact being that he entertained some preposterous theory of -individual responsibility. - -He had never had inculcated on him the principles of heredity, otherwise -he would have understood fully that he could no more have avoided -carrying out a plan of deception upon a woman, than the pointer -puppy--where would the Evolutionists be without their pointer -puppy?--can avoid pointing. - -Whether the adoption of the scientific explanation of what he had done -would have alleviated his bitterness or not, is quite another question. -The philosophy that accounts for suffering does not go the length of -relieving suffering. The science that gives the gout a name that few -persons can pronounce, does not prevent an ordinary gouty subject from -swearing; which seems rather a pity. - -Among the visitors whom Harold saw in these days was Edmund Airey. Mr. -Airey did not think it necessary to go through the form of expressing -his sympathy for his friend's bereavement. His only allusion to the -bereavement was to be found in a sneer at Scotland Yard. - -Could he do anything for Harold, he wondered. If he could do anything, -Harold might depend on his doing it. - -Harold said, "Thank you, old chap, I don't think I can reasonably ask -you to work out for me, in tabulated form, the net value of leases that -have yet to run from ten to sixty years." - -"Therein the patient must minister to himself," said Edmund. "I suppose -it is, after all, only a question of administration. If you want any -advice--well, you have asked my advice before now. You have even gone -the length of taking my advice--yes, sometimes. That's more than the -majority of people do--unless my advice bears out their own views. -Advice, my dear Harold, is the opinion asked by one man of another when -he has made up his mind what course to adopt." - -"I have always found your counsel good," said Harold. "You know men and -their motives. I have often wondered if you knew anything about women." - -Mr. Airey smiled. It was rather ridiculous that anyone so well -acquainted with him as Harold was, should make use of a phrase that -suggested a doubt of his capacity. - -"Women--and their motives?" said he. - -"Quite so," said Harold. "Their motives. You once assured me that there -was no such thing as woman in the abstract. Perhaps, assuming that that -is your standpoint, you may say that it is ridiculous to talk of the -motives of woman; though it would be reasonable--at least as reasonable -as most talk of women--to speak of the motives of a woman." - -"What woman do you speak of?" said Edmund, quickly. - -"I speak as a fool--broadly," said Harold. "I feel myself to be a fool, -when I reflect upon the wisdom of those stories told to us by Brian -the boatman. The first was about a man who defrauded the revenue of the -country, the other was about a cow that got jammed in the doorway of an -Irish cabin. There was some practical philosophy in both those stories, -and they put all questions of women and their motives out of our heads -while Brian was telling them." - -"There's no doubt about that," said Edmund. - -"By the way, didn't you ask me for my advice on some point during one of -those days on the Irish lough?" - -"If I did, I'm certain that I received good counsel from you," said -Harold. - -"You did. But you didn't take it," said Edmund, with a laugh. - -"I told you once that you hadn't given me time. I tell you so again," -said Harold. - -"Has she been to see you within the past few days? asked Edmund. - -"You understand women--and their motives," said Harold. "Yes, Miss -Craven was here. By the way, talking of motives, I have often wondered -why you suggested to my sister that Miss Avon would make an agreeable -addition to the party at Abbeylands." - -Not for a second did Edmund Airey change colour--not for a second did -his eyes fall before the searching glance of his friend. - -"The fact was," said he--and he smiled as he spoke--"I was under the -impression that your father--ah, well, if he hadn't that mechanical -rectitude of movement which appertains chiefly to the walking doll -and other automata, he had still many good points. He told me upon one -occasion that it was his intention to marry Miss Avon. I was amused." - -"And you wanted to be amused again? I see. I think that I, too, am -beginning to understand something of men--and their motives," remarked -Harold. - -"If you make any progress in that direction, you might try and fathom -the object of the Opposition in getting up this agitation about Siberia. -They are going to arouse the country by descriptions of the horrors of -exile in Siberia. They want to make the Government responsible for what -goes on there. And the worst of it is that they'll do it, too. Do you -remember Bulgaria?" - -"Perfectly. The country is a fool. The Government will need a strong -programme to counteract the effects of the Siberian platform." - -"I'm trying to think out something at the present moment. Well, -good-bye. Don't fail to let me know if I can do anything for you." - -He had been gone some time before Harold smiled--not the smile of a man -who has been amused at something that has come under his notice, but the -sad smile of a man who has found that his sagacity has not been at fault -when he has thought the worst about one of his friends. - -There are times when a certain imperturbability of demeanour on the part -of a man who has been asked a sudden searching question, conveys as -much to the questioner as his complete collapse would do. The perfect -composure with which Edmund had replied to his sudden question regarding -his motive in suggesting to Mrs. Lampson--with infinite tact--that -Beatrice Avon might be invited to Abbeylands, told Harold all that he -had an interest to know. - -Edmund Airey's acquaintance with men--and women--had led him to feel -sure that Mrs. Lamp-son would tell her brother of the suggestion made -by him, Edmund; and also that her brother would ask him if he had any -particular reason for making that suggestion. This was perfectly plain -to Harold; and he knew that his friend had been walking about for some -time with that answer ready for the question which had just been put to -him. - -"He is on his way to Beatrice at the present moment," said Harold, while -that bitter smile was still upon his features. - -And he was right. - - - - -CHAPTER LII.--ON THE FLUSH, THE FOOL, AND FATE. - -|MR. AIREY had called on Beatrice since his return from that melancholy -entertainment at Abbeylands, but he had not been fortunate enough to -find her at home. Now, however, he was more lucky. She had already two -visitors with her in the big drawing-room, when Mr. Airey was announced. - -He could not fail to notice the little flush upon her face as he -entered. He noticed it, and it was extremely gratifying to him to do so; -only he hoped that her visitors were not such close observers as he -knew himself to be. He would not have liked them--whoever they were---to -leave the house with the impression that he was a lover. If they were -close observers and inclined to gossip, they might, he felt, consider -themselves justified in putting so liberal an interpretation upon her -quick flush as he entered. - -He did not blush: he had been a Member of Parliament for several years. - -Yes, she was clearly pleased to see him, and her manifestation of -pleasure made him assured that he had never seen a lovelier girl. It was -so good of him not to forget her, she declared. He feared that her flush -would increase, and suggest the peony rather than the peach. But he -quickly perceived that she had recovered from the excitement of his -sudden appearance, and that, as a matter of fact, she was becoming pale -rather than roseate. - -He noticed this when her visitors--they were feeble folk, the head of a -department in the Museum and his sister--had left the house. - -"It is delightful to be face to face with you once more," he said. "I -seem to hear the organ-music of the Atlantic now that I am beside you -again." - -She gave a little laugh--did he detect something of scorn in its -ring?--as she said, "Oh, no; it is the sound of the greater ocean that -we have about us here. It is the tide of the affairs of men that flows -around us." - -No, her laugh could have had nothing of scorn about it. - -"I cannot think of you as borne about on this full tide," said he. "I -see you with your feet among the purple heather--I wonder if there was a -sprig of white about it--along the shores of the Irish lough. I see you -in the midst of a flood of sunset-light flowing from the west, making -the green one red." - -She saw that sunset. He was describing the sunset that had been -witnessed from the deck of the yacht returning from the seal-hunt beyond -the headlands. Did he know why she got up suddenly from her seat and -pretended to snuff one of the candles on the mantelshelf? Did he know -how close the tears were to her eyes as she gave another little laugh? - -"So long as you do not associate me with Mr. Durdan's views on the Irish -question, I shall be quite satisfied," said she. "Poor Mr. Durdan! How -he saw a bearing upon the Irish question in all the phenomena of Nature! -The sunset--the sea--the clouds--all had more or less to do with the -Irish question." - -"And he was not altogether wrong," said Edmund. "Mr. Durdan is a man -of scrupulous inaccuracy, as a rule, but he sometimes stumbles across a -truth. The sea and sky are eternal, and the Irish question----" - -"Is the rock upon which the Government is to be wrecked, I believe," -said she. "Oh, yes; Mr. Durdan confided in me that the days of the -Government are numbered." - -"He became confidential on that topic to a considerable number of -persons," said Edmund. - -"And we are confidential on Mr. Durdan as a topic," said she. - -"We have talked confidentially on more profitable topics, have we not?" -said he. - -"We have talked confidently at least." - -"And confidingly, I hope. I told you all my aspirations, Miss Avon." - -"All?" - -"Well, perhaps, I made some reservations." - -"Oh." - -"Perhaps I shall tell you confidentially of some other aspirations of -mine--some day." - -He spoke slowly and with an emphasis and suggestiveness that could not -be overlooked. - -"And you will speak confidently on that subject, I am sure." - -She was lying back in her chair, with the firelight fluttering over her. -The firelight was flinging rose leaves about her face. - -That was what the effect suggested to him. - -He noticed also how beautiful was the effect of the light shining -through her hair. That was an effect which had been noticed before. - -She turned her eyes suddenly upon him, when he did not reply to her -word, "confidently." - -He repeated the word. - -"Confidently--confidently;" then he shook his head. "Alas! no. A man who -speaks confidently on the subject of his aspirations--on the subject of -a supreme aspiration--is a fool." - -"And yet I remember that you assured me upon one occasion that man was -master of his fate," said she. - -"Did I?" said he. "That must have been when you first appeared among us -at Castle Innisfail. I have learned a great deal since then." - -"For example?" said she. - -"Modesty in making broad statements where Fate is concerned," he -replied, with scarcely a pause. - -She withdrew her eyes from his face, and gave a third laugh, closely -resembling in its tone her first--that one which caused him to wonder if -there was a touch of scorn in its ripple. - -He looked at her very narrowly. She was certainly the loveliest thing -that he had ever seen. Could it be possible that she was leading him on? - -She had certainly never left herself open to the suspicion of leading -him on when at Castle Innis-fail--among the purple heather or the -crimson sunsets about which he had been talking--and yet he had been -led on. He had a suspicion now that he was in peril. He had so fine an -understanding of woman and her motives, that he became apprehensive of -the slightest change. He was, in respect of woman, what a thermometer is -when aboard a ship that is approaching an iceberg. He was appreciative -of every change--of every motive. - -"I was looking forward to another pleasant week near you," said he, and -his remark somehow seemed to have a connection with what he had been -saying--had he not been announcing an acquirement of modesty?--"Yes, if -you had been with us at Abbeylands you might have become associated in -my mind with the glory of the colour of an autumn woodland. But it was, -of course, fortunate for you that you got the terrible news in time to -prevent your leaving town." - -He felt that she had become suddenly excited. There was no ignoring the -rising and falling of the lace points that lay upon the bosom of her -gown. The question was: did her excitement proceed from what he had -said, or from what she fancied he was about to say? - -It was a nice question. - -But he bore out his statement regarding his gain in modesty, by assuming -that she had been deeply affected by the story of the tragic end of Lord -Fotheringay, so that she could not now hear a reference to it without -emotion. - -"I wonder if you care for German Opera," said he. There could scarcely -be even the most subtle connection between this and his last remark. -She looked at him with something like surprise in her eyes when he had -spoken. Only to some minds does a connection between criminality and -German Opera become apparent. - -"German Opera, Mr. Airey?" - -"Yes. The fact is that I have a box for the winter season at the Opera -House, and my cousin, Mrs. Carroll, means to go to every performance, -I believe; she is an enthusiast on the subject of German Opera--she has -even sat out a performance of 'Parsifal'--and I know that she is eager -to make converts. She would be delighted to call upon you when she -returns from Brighton." - -"It is so kind of you to think of me. I should love to go. You will be -there--I mean, you will be able to come also, occasionally?" - -He looked at her. He had risen from his seat, being about to take leave -of her. She had also risen, but her eyes drooped as she exclaimed, "You -will be there?" - -She did not fail to perceive the compromising sequence of her phrases, -"I should love to go. You will be there?" She was looking critically at -the toe of her shoe, turning it about so that she could make a thorough -examination of it from every standpoint. Her hands, too, were busy tying -knots on the girdle of her gown. - -He felt that it would be cruel to let her see too plainly that he was -conscious of that undue frankness of hers; so he broke the awkward -silence by saying--not quite casually, of course, but still in not too -pointed a way, "Yes, I shall be there, occasionally. Not that my -devotion will be for German Opera, however." The words were well chosen, -he felt. They were spoken as the legitimate sequence to those words that -she had uttered in that girlish enthusiasm, which was so charming. Only, -of course, being a man, he could choose his words. They were -artificial--the result of a choice; whereas it was plain that she could -not choose but utter the phrases that had come from her. She was a girl, -and so spoke impulsively and from her heart. - -"Meantime," said she--she had now herself almost under control again, -and was looking at him with a smile upon her face as she put out her -hand to meet his. "Meantime, you will come again to see me? My father is -greatly occupied with his history, otherwise he also would, I know, be -very pleased to see you." - -"I hope that you will be pleased," said he. "If so, I will -call--occasionally--frequently." - -"Frequently," said she, and once again--but only for a moment this -time--she scrutinized her foot. - -"Frequently," said he, in a low tone. Being a man he could choose his -tones as well as his words. - -He went away with a deep satisfaction dwelling within him--the -satisfaction of the clever man who feels that he has not only spoken -cleverly, but acted cleverly--which is quite a different thing. - -Later on he felt that he need not have been in such a hurry calling -upon her. He had gone to her directly after visiting Harold. He had -been under the impression that he would do well to see her and make his -proposal to her regarding the German Opera season without delay. The -moment that he had heard of Lord Fotheringay's death, it had occurred to -him that he would do well to lose no time in paying her a visit. After -due consideration, he had thought it advisable to call upon Harold in -the first instance. He had done so, and the result of his call was to -make him feel that he should not any longer delay his visit to Beatrice. - -Now, as has been said, he felt that he need not have been in such a -hurry. - -"_I should love to go--you will be there_." - -Yes, those were the words that had sprung from her heart. The sequence -of the phrases had not been the result of art or thought. - -He had clearly under-estimated the effect of his own personality upon -an impressionable girl who had a great historian for a father. The days -that he had passed by her side--carrying out the compact which he had -made with Helen Craven--had produced an impression upon her far more -powerful than he had believed it possible to produce within so short a -space of time. - -In short, she was his. - -That is what he felt within an hour of parting from her; and all his -resources of modesty and humility were unequal to the task of changing -his views on this point. - -Was he in love with her? - -He believed her to be the most beautiful woman whom he had ever seen. - - - - -CHAPTER LIII.--ON A SUPREME ASPIRATION. - -|IT was commonly reported that Mr. Durdan had stated with some degree of -publicity that the days of the Government were numbered. - -There were a good many persons who were ready to agree with him before -the month of December had passed; for the agitation on the subject of -Siberia was spreading through the length and breadth of the land. -The active and observant Leader of the Opposition knew the people of -England, Scotland, and perhaps--so far as they allowed themselves to -be understood--of Wales, thoroughly. Of course Ireland was out of the -question altogether. - -Knowing the people so well, he only waited for a sharp frost to open his -campaign. He was well aware that it would be ridiculous to commence an -agitation on the subject of Siberia unless in a sharp frost. To try -to move the constituencies while the water-pipes in their dwellings -remained intact, would be a waste of time. It is when his pipes are -burst that the British householder will join in any agitation that may -be started. The British farmer invariably turns out the Government after -a bad harvest; and there can be but little doubt that a succession of -wet summers would make England republican. - -It was because all the water-pipes in England were burst, that the -atrocities in Bulgaria stirred the great sympathetic heart of this -England of ours, and the strongest Government that had existed for years -became the most unpopular. A strong Government may survive a year of -great commercial depression; but the strongest totters after a wet -summer, and none has ever been known to survive a frost that bursts the -household water-pipes. - -The campaign commenced when the thermometer fell to thirty-two degrees -Fahrenheit. That was the time to be up and doing. In every quarter the -agitation made itself felt. - -"The sympathetic pulse of the nation was not yet stilled," we were -told. "Six years of inefficient Government had failed to crush down the -manhood of England," we were assured. "The Heart was still there--it was -beating still; and wherever the Heart of an Englishman beats there was -found a foe--a determined, resolute foe--nay, an irresistible foe, to -tyranny, and what tyranny had the world ever known that was equal -to that which sent thousands and tens of thousands of noble men and -women--women--women--to a living death among the snows of Siberia? -Could any one present form an idea of the horrors of a Siberian winter?" -(Cries of "Yes, yes," from householders whose water-pipes had burst.) -"Well, in the name of our common humanity--in the name of our common -sympathies--in the name of England (cheers)--England, mind you, with her -fleet, that in spite of six years of gross mismanagement on the part -of the Government, was still the mistress of the main--(loud cheers) -England, mind you, whose armies had survived the shocking incapacity -of a Government that had refused a seven-hours day to the artisans at -Woolwich and Aldershot--(tremendous cheers) in the name of this grand -old England of ours let those who were responsible for Siberia--that -blot upon the map of Europe"--(the agitator is superior to -geography)--"let them be told that their day is over. Let the Government -that can look with callous eyes upon such horrors as are enacted among -the frosts and snows of Siberia be told that its day is over (cheers). -Did anyone wish to know something of these horrors?" ('Yes, yes!') -"Well, here was a book written by a correspondent to a New York journal, -and which, consequently, was entitled to every respect".... and so -forth. - -That was the way the opponents of the Government talked at every -meeting. And in the course of a short time they had successfully mixed -up the labour question, the army and navy retrenchment question, the -agricultural question, and several other questions, with the stories of -Siberian horrors, and the aggregate of evil was laid to the charge of -the Government. - -The friends of the Government were at their wits' end to know how to -reply to this agitation. Some foolish ones endeavoured to make out -that England was not responsible for what was done in Siberia. But this -sophistry was too shallow for the people whose water-pipes were burst, -and those who were responsible for it were hooted on every platform. - -It was at this critical time that the Prime Minister announced at a -Dinner at which he was entertained, that, while the Government was fully -sensible of the claims of Siberia, he felt certain that he was only -carrying out the desire of the people of England, in postponing -consideration of this vast question until a still greater question -had been settled. After long and careful deliberation, Her Majesty's -Ministers had resolved to submit to the country a programme the first -item of which was the Conversion of the Jews. - -The building where this announcement was made rang with cheers. The -friends of the Government no longer looked gloomy. In a few days -they knew that the Nonconformist Conscience would be awake, and as a -political factor, the Nonconformist Conscience cannot be ignored. A -Government that had for its policy the Conversion of the Jews would be -supported by England--this great Christian England of ours. - -"My Lords and Gentlemen," said the Prime Minister, "the contest on which -we are about to enter is very limited in its range. It is a contest of -England and Religion against the Continent and Atheism. My Lords and -Gentlemen, come what may, Her Majesty's Ministers will be on the side of -Religion." - -It was felt that this timely utterance had saved the Government. - -It was not to be expected that, when these tremendous issues were -broadening out, Mr. Edmund Airey should have much time at his disposal -for making afternoon calls; still he managed to visit Beatrice Avon -pretty frequently--much more frequently than he had ever visited anyone -in all his life. The season of German Opera was a brilliant one, and -upon several occasions Beatrice appeared in Mr. Airey's box by the -side of the enthusiastic lady, who was pointed out in society as having -remained in her stall from the beginning to the end of "Parsifal." -Mr. Airey never missed a performance at which Beatrice was present. He -missed all the others. - -Only once did he venture to introduce Harold's name in her drawing-room. -He mentioned having seen him casually in the street, and then he watched -her narrowly as he said, "By the way, I have never come upon him here. -Does he not call upon you?" - -There was only a little brightening of her eyes--was it scorn?--as -she replied: "Is it not natural that Lord Fotheringay should be a very -different person from Mr. Harold Wynne? Oh, no, he never calls now." - -"I have heard several people say that they had found him greatly -changed, poor fellow!" said Edmund. - -"Greatly changed--not ill?" she said. - -He wondered if the tone in which she spoke suggested anxiety--or was it -merely womanly curiosity? - -"Oh, no; he seems all right; but it is clear that his father's death and -the circumstances attending it affected him deeply." - -"It gave him a title at any rate." - -The suspicion of scorn was once more about her voice. Its tone no longer -suggested anxiety for the health of Lord Fotheringay. - -"You are too hard on him, Beatrice," said Edmund. She had come to be -Beatrice to him for more than a week--a week in which he had been twice -in her drawing-room, and in which she had been twice in his opera box. - -"Too hard on him?" said she. "How is it possible for you to judge what -is hard or the opposite on such a point?" - -"I have always liked Harold," said he; "that is why I must stand up for -him." - -"Ah, that is your own kindness of heart," said she. "I remember how you -used to stand up for him at Castle Innisfail. I remember that when you -told me how wretchedly poor he was, you were very bitter against the -destiny that made so good a fellow poor, while so many others, not -nearly so good, were wealthy." - -"I believe I did say something like that. At any rate I felt that. Oh, -yes, I always felt that I must stand up for him; so even now I insist on -your not being too hard on him." - -He laughed, and so did she--yes, after a little pause. - -"Come again--soon," she said, as she gave him her hand, which he -retained for some moments while he looked into her eyes--they were more -than usually lustrous--and said, - -"Oh, yes, I will come again soon. Don't you remember what I said to you -in this room--it seems long ago, we have come to be such close friends -since--what I said about my aspirations--my supreme aspiration?" - -"I remember it," said she--her voice was very low. - -"I have still to reveal it to you, Beatrice," said he. - -Then he dropped her hand and was gone. - -He made another call the same afternoon. He drove westward to the -residence of Helen Craven and her mother, and in the drawing-room he -found about a dozen people drinking tea, for Mrs. Craven had a large -circle. - -It took him some time to get beside Helen; but a very small amount of -manoeuvring on her part was sufficient to secure comparative privacy for -him and herself in a dimly-lighted part of the great room--an alcove -that made a moderately valid excuse for a Moorish arch and hangings. - -"The advice that I gave to you was good," said he. - -"Your advice was that I should make no move whatever," said she. "That -could not be hard advice to take, if he were disposed to make any move -in my direction. But, as I told you, he only called once, and then we -were out. Have you learned anything?" - -"I have learned that whomsoever she marries, she will never marry Harold -Wynne," said Edmund. - -"Great heavens! You have found this out? Are you certain? Men are so apt -to rush at conclusions." - -"Yes; some men are. I have always preferred the crawling process, though -it is the slower." - -"That is a confession--crawling! But how have you found out that she -will not marry him?" - -"He has treated her very badly." - -"That has got nothing whatever to do with the question. Heavens! If -women declined to marry the men that treat them badly, the statistics of -spinsterhood would be far more alarming than they are at present." - -"She will not marry him." - -"Will she marry you?" - -Miss Craven had sprung to her feet. She was in a nervous condition, and -it was intensified by his irritating reiteration of the one statement. - -"Will she marry you?" she cried, in a voice that had a strident ring -about it. "Will she marry you?" - -"I think it highly probable," said he. - -She looked at him in silence for a long time. - -"Let us return to the room," said she. - -They went through the Moorish arch back to the drawing-room. - - - - -CHAPTER LIV.--ON THE DECAY OF THE PAT AS A POWER. - -|IT was a few days after Edmund Airey had made his revelation--if it -was a revelation--to Helen Craven, that Harold received a visitor in -the person of Archie Brown. The second week in January had now come. The -season of German Opera was over, and Parliament was about to assemble; -but neither of these matters was engrossing the attention of Archie. -That he was in a state of excitement anyone could see, and before he had -even asked after Harold's health, he cried, "I've fired out the lot of -them, Harry; that's the sort of new potatoes I am." - -"The lot of what?" asked Harold. - -"Don't you know? Why, the lot of Legitimists," said Archie. - -"The Legitimists? My dear Archie, you don't surely expect me to believe -that you possess sufficient political power to influence the fortunes of -a French dynasty." - -"French dynasty be grilled. I said the Legitimists--the actors, the -carpenters, the gasmen, the firemen, the check-takers, Shakespeare, and -Mrs. Mowbray of the Legitimate Theatre. I've fired out the lot of them, -and be hanged to them!" - -"Oh, I see; you've fired out Shakespeare?" - -"He's eternally fired out, so far as I'm concerned. Why should I end my -days in a workhouse because a chap wrote plays a couple of hundred years -ago--may be more?" - -"Why, indeed? And so you fired him out?" - -"I've made things hum at the Legitimate this morning"--Archie had once -spent three months in the United States--"and now I've made the lot of -them git. I've made W. S. git." - -"And Mrs. Mowbray?" - -"She gits too." - -"She'll do it gracefully. Archie, my man, you're not wanting in -courage." - -"What courage was there needed for that?"--Archie had picked up a quill -pen and was trying, but with indifferent success, to balance it on the -toe of his boot, as he leant back in a chair. "What courage is needed to -tell a chap that's got hold of your watch chain that the time has come -for him to drop it? Great Godfrey! wasn't I the master of the lot of -them? Do you fancy that the manager was my master? Do you fancy that -Mrs. Mowbray was my--I mean, do you think that I'm quite an ass?" - -"Well, no," said Harold--"not quite." - -"Do you suppose that my good old dad had any Scruples about firing out a -crowd of navvies when he found that they didn't pay? Not he. And do you -suppose that I haven't inherited some of his good qualities?" - -"And when does the Legitimate close its doors?" - -"This day week. Those doors have been open too long already. -Seventy-five pounds for the Widow's champagne for the Christmas -week--think of that, Harry. Mrs. Mowbray's friends drink nothing but -Clicquot. She expects me to pay for her entertainments, and calls it -Shakespeare. If you grabbed a chap picking your pocket, and he explained -to the tarty chips at Bow Street that his initials were W. S. would he -get off? Don't you believe it, Harry." - -"Nothing shall induce me." - -"The manager's only claim to have earned his salary is that he has been -at every theatre in London, and has so got the biggest list of people to -send orders to, so as to fill the house nightly. It seems that the most -valuable manager is the one who has the longest list of people who will -accept orders. That's theatrical enterprise nowadays. They say it's the -bicycle that has brought it about." - -"Anyhow you've quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? Give me your hand; Archie. -You're a man." - -"Quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? It was about time. She went to pat my -head again to-day, when there was a buzz in the manager's office. She -didn't pat my head, Harry--the day is past for pats, and so I told her. -The day is past when she could butter me with her pats. She gave me a -look when I said that--if she could give such looks on the stage she'd -crowd the house--and then she cried, 'Nothing on earth shall induce me -ever to speak to you again.' 'I ask nothing better,' said I. After that -she skipped. I promised Norah that I'd do it, and I have done it." - -"You promised whom?" - -"Norah. Great Godfrey! you don't mean to say that you haven't heard that -Norah Innisfail and I are to be married?" - -"Norah--Innisfail--and--you--you?" - -Harold lay back in his chair and laughed. The idea of the straightlaced -Miss Innisfail marrying Archie Brown seemed very comical to him. - -"What are you laughing about?" said Archie. "You shouldn't laugh, -considering that it was you that brought it about." - -"I? I wish that I had no more to reproach myself with; but I can't for -the life of me see how--" - -"Didn't you get Mrs. Lampson to invite me to Abbeylands, and didn't I -meet Norah there, bless her! At first, do you know, I fancied that I was -getting fond of her mother?" - -"Oh, yes; I can understand that," said Harold, who was fully acquainted -with the systems which Lady Innisfail worked with such success. - -"But, bless your heart! it was all motherly kindness on Lady Innisfail's -part--so she explained when--ah--later on. Then I went with her to Lord -Innisfail's place at Netherford and--well, there's no explaining these -things. Norah is the girl for me! I've felt a better man for knowing -her, Harry. It's not every girl that a chap can say that of--mostly the -other way. Lord Innisfail heard something about the Legitimate business, -and he said that it was about time I gave it up; I agreed with him, and -I've given it up." - -"Archie," said Harold, "you've done a good morning's work. I was going -to advise you never to see Mrs. Mowbray again--never to grant her an -interview--she's an edged tool--but after what you've done, I feel that -it would be a great piece of presumption on my part to offer you any -advice." - -"Do you know what it is?" said Archie, in a low and very confidential -voice: "I'm not quite so sure of her character as I used to be. I know -you always stood up for her." - -"I still believe that she never had more than one lover at a time," said -Harold. - -"Was that seventy-five pound's worth of the Widow swallowed by one lover -in a week?" asked Archie. "Oh, I'm sick of the whole concern. Don't you -mention Shakespeare to me again." - -"I won't," said Harold. "But it strikes me that Shakespeare is like -Madame Roland's Liberty." - -"Whose Liberty?" - -"Madame Roland's." - -"Oh, she's a dressmaker of Bond Street, I suppose. They're all Madames -there. I dare say I've got a bill from her to pay with the rest of them. -Mrs. Mowbray has dealt with them all. Now I'm off. I thought I'd drop -in and tell you all that happened, as you're accountable for my meeting -Norah." - -"You will give her my best regards and warmest congratulations," said -Harold. "Accept the same yourself." - -"You had a good time at their Irish place yourself, hadn't you?" said -Archie. "How was it that you didn't fall in love with Norah when you -were there? That's what has puzzled me. How is it that every tarty chip -didn't want to marry her? Oh, I forgot that you--well, wasn't there a -girl with lovely eyes in Ireland?" - -"You have heard of Irish girls and their eyes," said Harold. - -"She had wonderful gray eyes," said Archie. Harold became grave. "Oh, -yes, Norah has a pair of eyes too, and she keeps them wide open. She -told me a good deal about their party in Ireland. She took it for -granted that you--" - -"Archie," said Harold, "like a good chap don't you ever talk about that -to me again." - -"All right, I'll not," said Archie. "Only, you see, I thought that you -wouldn't mind now, as everyone says that she's going to marry Airey, the -M.P. for some place or other. I knew that you'd be glad to hear that I'd -fired out the Legitimate." - -"So I am--very glad." - -Archie was off, having abandoned as futile his well-meant attempts to -balance the quill on the toe first of one boot, then of the other. - -He was off, and Harold was standing at the window, watching him -gathering up his reins and sending his horses at a pretty fair pace into -the square. - -It had fallen--the blow had fallen. She was going to marry Edmund Airey. - -Could he blame her? - -He felt that he had treated her with a baseness that deserved the -severest punishment--such punishment as was now in her power to inflict. -She had trusted him with all her heart--all her soul. She had given -herself up to him freely, and he had made her the victim of a fraud. -That was how he had repaid her for her trustfulness. - -He did not stir from the window for hours. He thought of her without any -bitterness--all his bitterness was divided between the thoughts of his -own cruelty and the thoughts of Edmund Airey's cleverness. He did not -know which was the more contemptible; but the conclusion to which he -came, after devoting some time to the consideration of the question of -the relative contemptibility of the two, was that, on the whole, Edmund -Airey's cleverness was the more abhorrent. - -But Archie Brown, after leaving St. James's, drove with his customary -rapidity to Connaught Square, to tell of his achievement to Norah. - -Miss Innisfail, while fully recognizing the personal obligations of -Archie to the Shakesperian drama, had agreed with her father that this -devotion should not be an absorbing one. She had had a hint or two that -it absorbed a good deal of money, and though she had been assured by -Archie that no one could say a word against Mrs. Mowbray's character, -yet, like Harold--perhaps even better than Harold--she knew that Mrs. -Mowbray was an extremely well-dressed woman. She listened with interest -to Archie's account of how he had accomplished that process of "firing -out" in regard to the Legitimate artists; and when he had told her all, -she could not help wondering if Mrs. Mowbray would be quite as well -dressed in the future as she had been in the past. - -Archie then went on to tell her how he had called upon Harold, and how -Harold had congratulated him. - -"You didn't forget to tell him that people are saying that Mr. Airey is -going to marry Miss Avon?" said Norah. - -"Have I ever forgotten to carry out one of your commissions?" he asked. - -"Good gracious! You didn't suggest that you were commissioned by me to -tell him that?" - -"Not likely. That's not the sort of new potatoes I am. I was on the -cautious side, and I didn't even mention the name of the girl." He did -not think it necessary to say that the reason for his adoption of this -prudent course was that he had forgotten the name of the girl. "No, but -when I told him that Airey was going to marry her, he gave me a look." - -"A look? What sort of a look?" - -"I don't know. The sort of a look a chap would give to a surgeon who had -just snipped off his leg. Poor old Harry looked a bit cut up. Then he -turned to me and said as gravely as a parson--a bit graver than some -parsons--that he'd feel obliged to me if I'd never mention her name -again." - -"But you hadn't mentioned her name, you said." - -"Neither I had. He didn't mention it either. I can only give you an idea -of what he said, I won't take my oath about the exact words. But I'll -take my oath that he was more knocked down than any chap I ever came -across." - -"I knew it," said Norah. "He's in love with her still. Mamma says he's -not; but I know perfectly well that he is. She doesn't care a scrap for -Mr. Airey." - -"How do you know that?" - -"I know it." - -"Oh." - - - - -CHAPTER LV.--ON SHAKESPEARE AND ARCHIE BROWN. - -|IT was early on the same afternoon that Beatrice Avon received -intimation of a visitor--a lady, the butler said, who gave the name of -Mrs. Mowbray. - -"I do not know any Mrs. Mowbray, but, of course, I'll see her," was the -reply that Beatrice gave to the inquiry if she were at home. - -"Was it possible," she thought, "that her visitor was the Mrs. -Mowbray whose portraits in the character of Cymbeline were in all the -illustrated papers?" - -Before Beatrice, under the impulse of this thought, had glanced at -herself in a mirror--for a girl does not like to appear before a woman -of the highest reputation (for beauty) with hair more awry than is -consistent with tradition--her mind was set at rest. There may have been -many Mrs. Mowbrays in London, but there was only one woman with such a -figure, and such a face. - -She looked at Beatrice with undisguised interest, but without speaking -for some moments. Equally frank was the interest that was apparent -on the face of Beatrice, as she went forward to meet and to greet her -visitor. - -She had heard that Mrs. Mowbray's set of sables had cost -someone--perhaps even Mrs. Mowbray herself--seven hundred guineas. - -"Thank you, I will not sit down," said Mrs. Mowbray. "I feel that I must -apologize for this call." - -"Oh, no," said Beatrice. - -"Oh, yes; I should," said Mrs. Mowbray. "I will do better, however, for -I will make my visit a short one. The fact is, Miss Avon, I have heard -so much about you during the past few months from--from--several people, -I could not help being interested in you--greatly interested indeed." - -"That was very kind of you," said Beatrice, wondering what further -revelation was coming. - -"I was so interested in you that I felt I must call upon you. I used to -know Lady Innisfail long ago." - -"Was it Lady Innisfail who caused you to be interested in me?" asked -Beatrice. - -"Well, not exactly," said Mrs. Mowbray; "but it was some of Lady -Innisfail's guests--some who were entertained at the Irish Castle. -I used also to know Mrs. Lampson--Lord Fotheringay's daughter. How -terrible the blow of his death must have been to her and her brother." - -"I have not seen Mrs. Lampson since," said Beatrice, "but--" - -"You have seen the present Lord Fotheringay? Will you let me say that -I hope you have seen him--that you still see him? Do not think me -a gossiping, prying old woman--I suppose I am old enough to be your -mother--for expressing the hope that you will see him, Miss Avon. He is -the best man on earth." - -Beatrice had flushed the first moment that her visitor had alluded to -Harold. Her flush had not decreased. - -"I must decline to speak with you on the subject of Lord Fotheringay, -Mrs. Mowbray," said Beatrice, somewhat unequally. - -"Do not say that," said Mrs. Mowbray, in the most musical of pleading -tones. "Do not say that. You would make me feel how very gross has been -my effrontery in coming to you." - -"No, no; please do not think that," cried Beatrice, yielding, as every -human being could not but yield, to the lovely voice and the gracious -manner of Mrs. Mowbray. What would be resented as a gross piece of -insolence on the part of anyone else, seemed delicately gracious coming -from Mrs. Mowbray. Her insolence was more acceptable than another -woman's compliment. She knew to what extent she could draw upon her -resources, both as regards men and women. It was only in the case of a -young cub such as Archie that she now and again overrated her powers of -fascination. She knew that she would never pat Archie's red head again. - -"Yes, you will let me speak to you, or I shall feel that you regard my -visit as an insolent intrusion." - -Beatrice felt for the first time in her life that she could fully -appreciate the fable of the Sirens. She felt herself hypnotized by that -mellifluous voice--by the steady sympathetic gaze of the lovely eyes -that were resting upon her face. - -"He is so fond of you," Mrs. Mowbray went on. "There is no lover's -quarrel that will not vanish if looked at straight in the face. Let -me look at yours, my dear child, and I will show you how that demon -of distrust can be exorcised." Beatrice had become pale. The word -_distrust_ had broken the spell of the Siren. - -"Mrs. Mowbray," said she, "I must tell you again that on no -consideration--on no pretence whatever shall I discuss Lord Fotheringay -with you." - -"Why not with me, my child?" said Mrs. Mowbray. "Because I distrust -you--no I don't mean that. I only mean that--that you have given me no -reason to trust you. Why have you come to me in this way, may I ask -you? It is not possible that you came here on the suggestion of Lord -Fotheringay." - -"No; I only came to see what sort of girl it is that Mr. Airey is going -to marry," said Mrs. Mowbray, with a wicked little smile. - -Beatrice was no longer pale. She stood with clenched hands before Mrs. -Mowbray, with her eyes fixed upon her face. - -Then she took a step toward the bell rope. "One moment," said Mrs. -Mowbray. "Do you expect to marry Edmund Airey?" - -Beatrice turned, and looked again at her visitor. If the girl had been -less feminine she would have gone on to the bell rope, and have pulled -it gently. She did nothing of the sort. She gave a laugh, and said, "I -shall marry him if I please." - -She was feminine. - -So was Mrs. Mowbray. - -"Will you?" she said. "Do you fancy for a moment--are you so infatuated -that you can actually fancy that I--I--Gwendoline Mowbray, will allow -you--you--to take Edmund Airey away from me? Oh, the child is mad--mad!" - -"Do you mean to tell me," said Beatrice, coming close to her, "that -Edmund Airey is--is--a lover of yours?" - -"Ah," said Mrs. Mowbray, smiling, "you do not live in our world, my -child." - -"No, I do not," said Beatrice. "I now see why you have come to me -to-day." - -"I told you why." - -"Yes; you told me. Edmund Airey has been your lover." - -"_Has been?_ My child, it is only when I please that a lover of mine -becomes associated with a past tense. I have not yet allowed Edmund -Airey to associate with my 'have beens.' It was from him that I learned -all about you. He alluded to you in his letters to me from Ireland -merely as 'a gray eye or so.' You still mean to marry him?" - -"I still mean to do what I please," said Beatrice. She had now reached -the bell rope and she pulled it very gently. - -"You are an extremely beautiful young person," said Mrs. Mowbray. "But -you have not been able to keep close to you a man like Harold Wynne--a -man with a perfect genius for fidelity. And yet you expect--" - -Here the door was opened by the butler. Mrs. Mowbray allowed her -sentence to dwindle away into the conventionalities of leave-taking with -a stranger. - -Beatrice found herself standing with flushed cheeks and throbbing heart -at the door through which her visitor had passed. - -It was somewhat remarkable that the most vivid impression which she -retained of the rather exciting series of scenes in which she had -participated, was that Mrs. Mowbray's sables were incomparably the -finest that she had ever seen. - -Mrs. Mowbray could scarcely have driven round the great square before -the butler inquired if Miss Avon was at home to Miss Innisfail. In -another minute Norah Innisfail was embracing her with the warmth of a -true-hearted girl who comes to tell another of her engagement to marry -an eligible man, or a handsome man, let him be eligible or otherwise. - -"I want to be the first to give you the news, my dearest Beatrice," said -Norah. "That is why I came alone. I know you have not heard the news." - -"I hear no news, except about things that do not interest me in the -least," said Beatrice. - -"My news concerns myself," said Norah. - -"Then it's sure to interest me," cried Beatrice. - -"It's so funny! But yet it's very serious," said Norah. "The fact is -that I'm going to marry Archie Brown." - -"Archie Brown?" said Beatrice. "I hope he is the best man in the -world--he should be, to deserve you, my dear Norah." - -"I thought perhaps you might have known him," said Norah. "I find that -there are a good many people still who do not know Archie Brown, -in spite of the Legitimate Theatre and all that he has done for -Shakespeare." - -"The Legitimate Theatre. Is that where Mrs. Mowbray acts?" - -"Only for another week. Oh, yes, Archie takes a great interest in -Shakespeare. He meant the Legitimate Theatre to be a monument to the -interest he takes in Shakespeare, and so it would have been, if the -people had only attended properly, as they should have done. Archie is -very much disappointed, of course; but he says, very rightly, that the -Lord Chamberlain isn't nearly particular enough in the plays that he -allows to be represented, and so the public have lost confidence in the -theatres--they are never sure that something objectionable will not be -played--and go to the Music Halls, which can always be trusted. Archie -says he'll turn the Legitimate into a Music Hall--that is, if he can't -sell the lease." - -"Whether he does so or not, I congratulate you with all my heart, my -dearest Norah." - -"If you had come down to Abbeylands in time--before that awful thing -happened--you would have met Archie. We met him there. Mamma took a -great fancy to him at once, and I think that I must have done the same. -At any rate I did when he came to stay with us. He's such a good fellow, -with red hair--not the sort that the old Venetian painters liked, but -another sort. Strictly speaking some of his features--his mouth, for -instance--are too large, but if you look at him in one position, when -he has his face turned away from you, he's quite--quite--ah--quite -curious--almost nice. You'll like him, I know." - -"I'm sure of it," said Beatrice. - -"Yes; and he's such a friend of Harold Wynne's," continued the -artful Norah. "Why, what's the matter with you, Beatrice? You are as -pale--dearest Beatrice, you and I were always good friends. You know -that I always liked Harold." - -"Do not talk about him, Norah." - -"Why should I not talk about him? Tell me that." - -"He is gone--gone away." - -"Not he. He's too wretched to go away anywhere. Archie was with him -to-day, and when he heard that--well, the way some people are talking -about you and Mr. Airey, he had not a word to throw to a dog--Archie -told me so." - -"Oh, do not talk of him, Norah." - -"Why should I not?" - -"Because--ah, because he's the only one worth talking about, and now -he's gone from me, and I'll never see him again--never, never again!" -Before she had come to the end of her sentence, Beatrice was lying -sobbing on the unsympathetic cushion of the sofa--the same cushion that -had absorbed her tears when she had told Harold to leave her. - -"My dearest Beatrice," whispered Norah, kneeling beside her, with her -face also down a spare corner of the cushion, "I have known how you were -moping here alone. I've come to take you away. You'll come down with us -to our place at Netherford. There's a lake with ice on it, and there's -Archie, and many other pretty things. Oh, yes, you'll come, and we'll -all be happy." - -"Norah," cried Beatrice, starting up almost wildly, "Mr. Airey will be -here in half an hour to ask me to marry him. He wrote to say that he -would be here, and I know what he means." Mr. Airey did call in half an -hour, and he found Beatrice--as he felt certain she should--waiting to -receive him, wearing a frock that he admired, and lace that he approved -of. - -But in the meantime Beatrice and Norah had had a few words together -beyond those just recorded. - - - - -CHAPTER LVI.--ON THE BITTER CRY. - -|EDMUND AIREY drank his cup of tea which Beatrice poured out for him, -and while doing so, he told her of the progress that was being made -by the agitation of the Opposition and the counter agitation of the -Government. There was no disguising the fact that the country--like the -fool that it was--had been caught by the bitter cry from Siberia. There -was nothing like a bitter cry, Edmund said, for catching hold of -the country. If any cry was only bitter enough it would succeed. -Fortunately, however, the Government, in its appeal against the Atheism -of the Continent, had also struck a chord that vibrated through the -length and breadth of England and Scotland. The Government orators were -nightly explaining that no really sincere national effort had ever been -made to convert the Jews. To be sure, some endeavours had been made from -time to time to effect this great object--in the days of Isaac of York -the gridiron and forceps had been the auxiliaries of the Church to bring -about the conversion of the Hebrew race; and, more recently, the potent -agency of drawing-room meetings and a house-to-house collection had been -resorted to; but the results had been disappointing. Statistics were -forthcoming--nothing impresses the people of Great Britain more than a -long array of figures, Edmund Airey explained--to show that, whereas, on -any part of the West coast of Africa where rum was not prohibited, for -one pound sterling 348 negroes could be converted--the rate was 0.01 -where rum was prohibited--yet for a subscription of five pounds, one -could only depend on 0.31 of the Jewish race--something less than half -an adult Hebrew--being converted. The Government orators were asking how -long so scandalous a condition of affairs was to be allowed to continue, -and so forth. - -Oh, yes, he explained, things were going on merrily. In three days -Parliament would meet, and the Opposition had drafted their Amendment -to the Address, "That in the opinion of this House no programme of -legislation can be considered satisfactory that does not include a -protest against the horrors daily enacted in Siberia." - -If this Amendment were carried it would, of course, be equivalent to -a Vote of Censure upon the Government, and the Ministers would be -compelled to resign, Edmund explained to Beatrice. - -She was very attentive, and when he had completed a clever account of -the political machinery by which the operations of the Nonconformist -Conscience are controlled, she said quietly, "My sympathies are -certainly with Siberia. I hope you will vote for that Amendment." - -He laughed in his superior way. - -"That is so like a girl," said he. "You are carried away by your -sympathies of the moment. You do not wait to reason out any question." - -"I dare say you are right," said she, smiling. "Our conscience is not -susceptible of those political influences to which you referred just -now." - -"'They are dangerous guides--the feelings'," said he, "at least from a -standpoint of politics." - -"But there are, thank God, other standpoints in the world from which -humanity may be viewed," said she. - -"There are," said he. "And I also join with you in saying, 'thank God!' -Do you fancy that I am here to-day--that I have been here so frequently -during the past two months, from a political motive, Beatrice?" - -"I cannot tell," she replied. "Have you not just said that the feelings -are dangerous guides?" - -"They lead one into danger," said he. "There can be no doubt about -that." - -"Have you ever allowed them to lead you?" she asked, with another smile. - -"Only once, and that is now," said he. "With you I have thrown away -every guide but my feelings. A few months ago I could not have believed -it possible that I should do so. But with God and Woman all things -are possible. That is why I am here to-day to ask you if you think it -possible that you could marry me." - -She had risen to her feet, not by a sudden impulse, but slowly. She was -not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed upon some imaginary point beyond -him. She was plainly under the influence of some very strong feeling. A -full minute had passed before she said, "You should not have come to me -with that request, Mr. Airey. - -"Why should I not? Do you think that I am here through any other impulse -than that of my feelings?" - -"How can I tell?" she said, and now she was looking at him. "How can I -tell which you hold dearer--political advancement, or my love?" - -"How can you doubt me for a moment, Beatrice?" he said -reproachfully--almost mournfully. "Why am I waiting anxiously for your -acceptance of my offer, if I do not hold your love more precious than -all other considerations in the world?" - -"Do you so hold it?" - -"Indeed I do." - -"Then I have told you that my sympathies are altogether with Siberia. -Vote for the Amendment of the Opposition." - -"What can you mean, Beatrice?" - -"I mean that if you vote for the Amendment, you will have shown me that -you are capable of rising above mere party considerations. I don't make -this the price of my love, remember. I don't make any compact to marry -you if you adopt the course that I suggest. I only say that you will -have proved to me that your words are true--that you hold something -higher than political expediency." - -She looked at him. - -He looked at her. - -There was a long pause. - -"You are unreasonable. I cannot do it," he said. - -"Good-bye," said she. - -He looked at the hand which she had thrust out to him, but he did not -take it. - -"You really mean me to vote against my party?" said he. - -"What other way can you prove to me that you are superior to party -considerations?" said she. - -"It would mean self-effacement politically," said he. "Oh, you do not -appreciate the gravity of the thing." - -He turned abruptly away from her and strode across the room. - -She remained silent where he had left her. - -"I did not think you capable of so cruel a caprice as this," he -continued, from the fireplace. "You do not understand the consequences -of my voting against my party." - -"Perhaps I do not," said she. "But I have given you to understand the -consequences of not doing so." - -"Then we must part," said he, approaching her. "Good-bye," said she, -once more. - -He took her hand this time. He held it for a moment irresolutely, then -he dropped it. - -"Are you really in earnest, Beatrice?" said he. "Do you really mean to -put me to this test?" - -"I never was more in earnest in my life," said she. "Think over the -matter--let me entreat of you to think over it," he said, earnestly. - -"And you will think over it also?" - -"Yes, I will think over it. Oh, Beatrice, do not allow yourself to be -carried away by this caprice. It is unworthy of you." - -"Do not be too hard on me, I am only a woman," said she, very meekly. - -She was only a woman. He felt that very strongly as he walked away. - -And yet he had told Harold that he had great hope of Woman, by reason of -her femininity. - -And yet he had told Harold that he understood Woman and her motives. - -"Papa," said Beatrice, from the door of the historian's study. "Papa, -Mr. Edmund Airey has just been here to ask me to marry him." - -"That's right, my dear," said the great historian. "Marry him, or anyone -else you please, only run away and play with your dolls now. I'm very -busy." - -This was precisely the answer that Beatrice expected. It was precisely -the answer that anyone might have expected from a man who permitted such -a _mnage_ as that which prevailed under his roof. - - - - -CHAPTER LVII.--ON THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. - -|THE next day Beatrice went with Norah Innisfail and her mother to their -home in Nethershire. Two days afterwards the Legitimate Theatre closed -its doors, and Parliament opened its doors. The Queen's Speech was read, -and a member of the Opposition moved the Amendment relating to Siberia. -The Debate on the Address began. - -On the second night of the debate Edmund Airey called at the historian's -house and, on asking for Miss Avon, learned that she was visiting -Lady Innisfail in Nethershire. On the evening of the fourth day of the -debate--the Division on the Amendment was to be taken that night--he -drove in great haste to the same house, and learned that Miss Avon was -still in Nethershire, but that she was expected home on the following -day. - -He partook of a hasty dinner at his club, and, writing out a telegram, -gave it to a hall-porter to send to the nearest telegraph office. - -The form was addressed to Miss Avon, in care of Lord Innisfail, -Netherford Hall, Netherford, Nethershire, and it contained the following -words, "_I will do it. Edmund_." - -He did it. - -He made a brief speech amid the cheers of the Opposition and the howls -of the Government party, acknowledging his deep sympathy with the -unhappy wretches who were undergoing the unspeakable horrors of a -Siberian exile, and thus, he said he felt compelled, on conscientious -grounds (ironical cheers from the Government) to vote for the Amendment. - -He went into the lobby with the Opposition. - -It was an Irish member who yelled out "Judas!" - -The Government was defeated by a majority of one vote, and there was a -"scene" in the House. - -Some time ago an enterprising person took up his abode in the midst -of an African jungle, in order to study the methods by which baboons -express themselves. He might have spared himself that trouble, if he had -been present upon the occasion of a "scene" in the House of Commons. -He would, from a commanding position in the Strangers' Gallery, have -learned all that he had set his heart upon acquiring--and more. - -It was while the "scene" was being enacted that Edmund Airey had put -into his hand the telegraph form written out by himself in his club. - -"_Telegraph Office at Netherford closes at 6 p.m_.," were the words that -the hall-porter had written on the back of the form. - -The next day he drove to the historian's, and inquired if Miss Avon had -returned. - -She was in the drawing-room, the butler said. - -With triumph--a sort of triumph--in his heart, and on his face, he -ascended the staircase. - -He thought that he had never before seen her look so beautiful. Surely -there was triumph on her face as well! It was glowing, and her eyes were -more lustrous even than usual. She had plainly just returned, for she -had on a travelling dress. - -"Beatrice, you saw the newspapers? You saw that I have done it?" he -cried, exultantly. - -"Done what?" she inquired. "I have seen no newspaper to-day." - -"What? Is it possible that you have not heard that I voted last night -for the Amendment?" he cried. - -"I heard nothing," she replied. - -"I wrote a telegram last evening, telling you that I meant to do it, but -it appears that the office at Netherford closes at six, so it could -not be sent. I did not know how much you were to me until yesterday, -Beatrice." - -"Stop," she said. "I was married to Harold Wynne an hour ago." - -He looked at her for some moments, and then dropped into a chair. - -"You have made a fool of me," he said. - -"No," she said. "I could not do that. If I had got your telegram in time -last evening I would have replied to it, telling you that, whatever step -you took, it would not bring you any nearer to me. Harold Wynne, you -see, came to me again. I had promised to marry him when we were together -at that seal-hunt, but--well, something came between us." - -"And you revenged yourself upon me? You made a fool of me!" - -"If I had tried to do so, would it have been remarkable, Mr. Airey? -Supposing that I had been made a fool of by the compact into which you -entered with Miss Craven, who would have been to blame? Was there ever a -more shameful compact entered into by a clever man and a clever woman to -make a victim of a girl who believed that the world was overflowing -with sincerity? I was made acquainted with the nature of that compact of -yours, Mr. Airey, but I cannot say that I have yet learned what are the -terms of your compact--or is it a contract?--with Mrs. Mowbray. Still, I -know something. And yet you complain that I have made a fool of you." - -He had completely recovered himself before she had got to the end of her -little speech. He had wondered how on earth she had become acquainted -with the terms of his compact with Helen. When, however, she referred -to Mrs. Mowbray, he felt sure that it was Mrs. Mowbray who had betrayed -him. - -He was beginning to learn something of women and their motives. - -"Nothing is likely to be gained by this sort of recrimination," said he, -rising. "You have ruined my career." - -She laughed, not bitterly but merrily, he knew all along that she had -never fully appreciated the gravity of the step which she had compelled -him--that was how he put it--to take. She had not even had the interest -to glance at a newspaper to see how he had voted. But then she had -not read the leading articles in the Government organs which were -plentifully besprinkled with his name printed in small capitals. That -was his one comforting thought. - -She laughed. - -"Oh, no, Mr. Airey," said she. "Your career is not ruined. Clever men -are not so easily crushed, and you are a very clever man--so clever as -to be able to make me clever, if that were possible." - -"You have crushed me," he said. "Good-bye." - -"If I wished to crush you I should have married you," said she. "No -woman can crush a man unless she is married to him. Good-bye." - -The butler opened the door. "Is my husband in yet?" she asked of the -man. - -"His lordship has not yet returned, my lady," said the butler, who had -once lived in the best families--far removed from literature--and who -was, consequently, able to roll off the titles with proper effect. - -"Then you will not have an opportunity of seeing him, I'm afraid," she -said, turning to Mr. Airey. - -"I think I already said good-bye, Lady Fotheringay." - -"I do believe that you did. If I did not, however, I say it now. -Good-bye, Mr. Airey." - -He got into a hansom and drove straight to Helen Craven's house. It was -the most dismal drive he had ever had. He could almost fancy that the -message boys in the streets were, in their accustomed high spirits, -pointing to him with ridicule as the man who had turned his party out of -office. - -Helen Craven was in her boudoir. She liked receiving people in that -apartment. She understood its lights. - -He found that she had read the newspapers. - -She stared at him as he entered, and gave him a limp hand. - -"What on earth did you mean by voting--" she began. - -"You may well ask," said he. "I was a fool. I was made a fool of by that -girl. She made me vote against my party." - -"And she refuses to marry you now?" - -"She married Harold Wynne an hour ago." - -Helen Craven did not fling herself about when she heard this piece of -news. She only sat very rigid on her little sofa. - -"Yes," resumed Edmund. "She is ill-treated by one man, but she marries -him, and revenges herself upon another! Isn't that like a woman? She has -ruined my career." - -Then it was that Helen Craven burst into a long, loud, and very -unmusical laugh--a laugh that had a suspicion of a shrill shriek about -some of its tones. When she recovered, her eyes were full of the tears -which that paroxysm of laughter had caused. - -"You are a fool, indeed!" said she. "You are a fool if you cannot see -that your career is just beginning. People are talking of you to-day -as the Conscientious One--the One Man with a Conscience. Isn't the -reputation for a Conscience the beginning of success in England?" - -"Helen," he cried, "will you marry me? With our combined money we can -make ourselves necessary to any party. Will you marry me?" - -"I will," she said. "I will marry you with pleasure--now. I will marry -anyone--now." - -"Give me your hand, Helen," he cried. "We understand one another--that -is enough to start with. And as for that other--oh, she is nothing but a -woman after all!" - -He never spoke truer words. - -But sometimes when he is alone he thinks that she treated him badly. - -Did she? - -THE END. - - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's A Gray Eye or So, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GRAY EYE OR SO *** - -***** This file should be named 51946-8.txt or 51946-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/4/51946/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/51946-8.zip b/old/51946-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 022093f..0000000 --- a/old/51946-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51946-h.zip b/old/51946-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index c21763c..0000000 --- a/old/51946-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51946-h/51946-h.htm b/old/51946-h/51946-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 433ed1c..0000000 --- a/old/51946-h/51946-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6356 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title> - A Gray Eye Or So, by Frank Frankfort Moore - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Gray Eye or So, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: A Gray Eye or So - In Three Volumes--Volume III - -Author: Frank Frankfort Moore - -Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51946] -Last Updated: November 15, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GRAY EYE OR SO *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - A GRAY EYE OR SO - </h1> - <h2> - By Frank Frankfort Moore - </h2> - <h3> - In Three Volumes—Volume III - </h3> - <h3> - Sixth Edition - </h3> - <h4> - London - </h4> - <h4> - Hutchinson & Co., 34 Paternoster Row - </h4> - <h3> - 1893 - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>A GRAY EYE OR SO.</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER XXXVIII.—ON A KNOWLEDGE OF THE - WORLD. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER XXXIX.—ON CONSCIENCE AND THE RING. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER XL.—ON SOCIETY AND THE SEAL. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER XLI.—ON DRY CHAMPAGNE AND A CRISIS. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER XLII.—ON THE RING AND THE LOOK. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER XLIII.—ON THE SON OF APHRODITE. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER XLIV.—ON THE SHORTCOMINGS OF A - SYSTEM. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER XLV.—ON MOONLIGHT AND MORALS. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER XLVI.—ON A BED OF LOGS. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER XLVII.—ON THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XLVIII—ON MURDER AS A SOCIAL - INCIDENT. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XLIX.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF - CONFESSION. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER L.—ON CONSOLATION AS A FINE ART. - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER LI.—ON THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE AND - OTHERS. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER LII.—ON THE FLUSH, THE FOOL, AND - FATE. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER LIII.—ON A SUPREME ASPIRATION. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER LIV.—ON THE DECAY OF THE PAT AS A - POWER. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER LV.—ON SHAKESPEARE AND ARCHIE - BROWN. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER LVI.—ON THE BITTER CRY. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER LVII.—ON THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. - </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - A GRAY EYE OR SO. - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXVIII.—ON A KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>HORTLY after noon - he was with her. He had left his rooms without touching a morsel of - breakfast, and it was plain that such sleep as he had had could not have - been of a soothing nature. He was pale and haggard; and she seemed - surprised—not frightened, however, for her love was that which - casteth out fear—at the way he came to her—with outstretched - hands which caught her own, as he said, “My beloved—my beloved, I - have a strange word for you—a strange proposal to make. Dearest, can - you trust me? Will you marry me—to-morrow—to-day?” - </p> - <p> - She scarcely gave a start. He was only conscious of her hands tightening - upon his own. She kept her eyes fixed upon his. The silence was long. It - was made the more impressive by the distinctness with which the jocularity - of the fishmonger’s hoy with the cook at the area railings, was heard in - the room. - </p> - <p> - “Harold,” she said, in a voice that had no trace of distrust, “Harold, you - are part of my life—all my life! When I said that I loved you, I had - given myself to you. I will marry you any time you please—to-morrow—to-day—this - moment!” - </p> - <p> - She was in his arms, sobbing. - </p> - <p> - His “God bless you, my darling!” sounded like a sob also. - </p> - <p> - In a few moments she was laughing through her tears. - </p> - <p> - He was not laughing. - </p> - <p> - “Now, tell me what you mean, my beloved,” said she, with a hand on each of - his shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me what you mean by coming to frighten me like this. What has - happened?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing has happened, only I want to feel that you are my own—my - own beyond the possibility of being separated from me by any power on - earth. I do not want to take you away from your father’s house—I - cannot offer you any home. It may be years before we can live together as - those who love one another as we love, may live with the good will of - heaven. I only want you to become my wife in name, dearest. Our marriage - must be kept a secret.” - </p> - <p> - “But my own love,” said she, “why should you wish to go through this - ceremony? Are we not united by the true bond of love? Can we be more - closely united than we are now? The strength of the marriage bond is only - strong in proportion as the love which is the foundation of marriage is - strong. Now, why should you wish for the marriage rite before we are - prepared to live for ever under the same roof?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, why?” he cried passionately, as he looked into the depths of her - eyes. - </p> - <p> - He left her and went across the room to one of the windows and looked out. - (It was the greengrocer’s boy who was now jocular with the cook at the - area railings.) - </p> - <p> - “My Beatrice—” Harold had returned to her from his scrutiny of the - pavement. “My Beatrice, you have not seen all that I have seen in the - world. You do not know—you do not know me as I know myself. Why - should there come to me sometimes an unworthy thought—no, not a - doubt—oh, I have seen so much of the world, Beatrice, I feel that if - anything should come between us it would kill me. I must—I must feel - that we are made one—that there is a bond binding us together that - nothing can sever.” - </p> - <p> - “But, my Harold—no, I will not interpose any buts. You would not ask - me to do this if you had not some good reason. You say that you know the - world. I admit that I do not know it. I only know you, and knowing you and - loving you with all my heart—with all my soul—I trust you - implicitly—without a question—without the shadow of a doubt.” - </p> - <p> - “God bless you, my love, my love! You will never have reason to regret - loving me—trusting me.” - </p> - <p> - “It is my life—it is my life, Harold.” - </p> - <p> - Once again he was standing at the window. This time he remained longer - with his eyes fixed upon the railings of the square enclosure. - </p> - <p> - “It must be to-morrow,” he said, returning to her. “I shall come here at - noon. A few words spoken in this room and nothing can part us. You will - still call yourself by your own name, dearest, God hasten the day when you - can come to me as my wife in the sight of all the world and call yourself - by my name.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall be here at noon to-morrow,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Unless,” said he, returning to her after he had kissed her forehead and - had gone to the door. “Unless”—he framed her face with his hands, - and looked down into the depths of her eyes.—“Unless, when you have - thought over the whole matter, you feel that you cannot trust me.” - </p> - <p> - She laughed. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, my love, my love, you do not know the world,” said he. - </p> - <p> - He knew the world. - </p> - <p> - Another man who knew the world was Pontius Pilate. - </p> - <p> - This was why he asked “What is Truth?” - </p> - <p> - Harold Wynne was in Archie Brown’s room in Piccadilly within half an hour. - </p> - <p> - Archie was at the Legitimate Theatre, Mr. Playdell said—Mr. Playdell - was seated at the dining-room table surrounded by papers. A trifling - difference of opinion had arisen between Mrs. Mowbray and her manager, he - added, and (with a smile) Archie had hurried to the theatre to set matters - right. - </p> - <p> - “It is kind of you to call, Mr. Wynne,” continued Mr. Playdell. “But I - hope it is not to tell me that you regret the suggestion that you made - yesterday—that you do not see your way to write to your sister to - invite Archie to her place.” - </p> - <p> - “I wrote to her the moment you left me,” said Harold. “Archie will get his - invitation this evening. It is not about him that I came here to-day, Mr. - Playdell. I came to see you. You asked me yesterday to give you an - opportunity of doing something for me. I can give you that opportunity.” - </p> - <p> - “And I promise you that I shall embrace it with gladness, Mr. Wynne,” said - Playdell, rising from the table. “Tell me how I can serve you and you will - find how ready I am.” - </p> - <p> - “You still hold to your original principles regarding marriage, Mr. - Playdell?” - </p> - <p> - “How could I do otherwise than hold to them, Mr. Wynne? They are the - result of thought; they are not merely a fad to gain notoriety. Let me - prove the position that I take up on this matter.” - </p> - <p> - “You need not, Mr. Playdeil. I heard all your case when it was published. - I confess that I now think differently respecting you from what I thought - at that time. Will you perform the ceremony of marriage between a lady who - has promised to marry me and myself?” - </p> - <p> - “There is only one condition that I make, Mr. Wynne. You must take an oath - that you consider the rite, as I perform it, to be binding upon you, and - that you will never recognize a divorce.” - </p> - <p> - “I will take that oath willingly, Mr. Playdeil. I have promised my <i>fiancée</i> - that we shall be with her at noon to-morrow. She will be prepared for us. - By the way, do you require a ring for the ceremony as performed by you?” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Playdeil looked grave—almost scandalized. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Wynne,” said he, “that question suggests to me a certain disbelief on - your part in the validity in the sight of heaven of the rite of marriage - as performed by a man with a full sense of his high office, even though - unfrocked by a Church that has always shown too great a readiness to - submit to secular guidance—secular restrictions in matters that were - originally, like marriage, purely spiritual. The Church has not only - submitted to civil restrictions in the matter of the celebration of the - holy rite of matrimony, but, while declaring at the altar that God has - joined them whom the Church has joined, and while denying the authority of - man to put them asunder, she recognizes the validity of divorce. She will - marry a man who has been divorced from his wife, when he has duly paid the - Archbishop a sum of money for sanctioning what in the sight of God is - adultery.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear Mr. Playdell,” said Harold, “I recollect very clearly the able - manner in which you defended your—your—principles, when they - were called in question. I do not desire to call them in question now. I - believe in your sincerity in this matter and in other matters. I shall - drive here for you at half past eleven o’clock to-morrow. I need scarcely - say that I mean my marriage to be kept a secret.” - </p> - <p> - “You may depend upon my good faith in that respect,” said Mr. Playdell. - “Mr. Wynne,” he added, impressively, “this land of ours will never be a - moral one so long as the Church is content to accept a Parliamentary - definition of morality. The Church ought certainly to know her own - business.” - </p> - <p> - “There I quite agree with you,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - He refrained from asking Mr. Playdell if the Church, in dispensing with - his services as one of her priests, had not made an honest attempt to - vindicate her claims to know her own business. He merely said, “Half past - eleven to-morrow,” after shaking hands with Mr. Playdell, who opened the - door for him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXIX.—ON CONSCIENCE AND THE RING. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AROLD WYNNE shut - himself up in his rooms without even lunching. He drew a chair in front of - the fire and seated himself with the sigh of relief that is given by a man - who has taken a definite step in some matter upon which he has been - thinking deeply for some time. He sat there all the day, gazing into the - fire. - </p> - <p> - Yes, he had taken the step that had suggested itself to him the previous - night. He had made up his mind to take advantage of the opportunity that - was afforded him of binding Beatrice to him by a bond which she at least - would believe incapable of rupture. The accident of his meeting with the - man whose views on the question of marriage had caused him to be thrust - out of the Church, and whose practices left him open to a criminal - prosecution, had suggested to him the means for binding to him the girl - whose truth he had no reason to doubt. - </p> - <p> - He meant to perpetrate a fraud upon her. He had known of men entrapping - innocent girls by means of a mock marriage, and he had always regarded - such men as the most unscrupulous of scoundrels. He almost succeeded, - after a time, in quieting the whisperings by his conscience of the word - “fraud”—its irritating repetitions of this ugly word—by giving - prominence to the excellence of his intentions in the transaction which he - was contemplating. It was not a mock marriage—no, it was not, as - ordinary mock marriages, to be gone through in order to give a man - possession of the body of a woman, and to admit of his getting rid of her - when it would suit his convenience to do so. It was, he assured his - conscience, no mock marriage, since he was seeking it for no gross - purpose, but simply to banish the feeling of cold distrust which he had - now and again experienced. Had he not offered to free the girl from the - promise which she had given to him? Was that like the course which would - be adopted by a man endeavouring to take advantage of a girl by means of a - mock marriage? Was there anything on earth that he desired more strongly - than a real marriage with that same girl? There was nothing. But it was, - unfortunately, the case that a real marriage would mean ruin to him; for - he knew that his father would keep his word—when it suited his own - purpose—and refuse him his allowance upon the day that he refused to - sign a declaration to the effect that he was unmarried. - </p> - <p> - The rite which Mr. Playdell had promised to perform between him and - Beatrice would enable him to sign the declaration with—well, with a - clear conscience. - </p> - <p> - But in the meantime this same conscience continued gibing him upon his - defence of his conduct; asking him with an irritating sneer, if he would - mind explaining his position to the girl’s father?—if he was not - simply taking advantage of the peculiar circumstances of the girl’s life—of - the remarkable independence which she enjoyed, apparently with the - sanction of her father, to perpetrate a fraud upon her? - </p> - <p> - For bad taste, for indelicacy, for vulgarity, for disregard of sound - argument—that is, argument that sounds well—and for general - obstinacy, there is nothing to compare with a conscience that remains in - moderately good working order. - </p> - <p> - After all his straightforward reasoning during the space of two hours, he - sprang from his seat crying, “I’ll not do it—I’ll not do it!” - </p> - <p> - He walked about his room for an hour, repeating every now and again the - words, “I’ll not do it—I’ll not do it!” - </p> - <p> - In the course of another hour, he turned on his electric lamp, and wrote a - note of half a dozen lines to Mr Playdell, telling him that, on second - thoughts, he would not trouble him the next day. Then he wrote an equally - short note to Beatrice, telling her that he thought it would be advisable - to have a further talk with her before carrying out the plan which he had - suggested to her for the next day. He put each note into its cover; but - when about to affix stamps to them, he found that his stamp-drawer was - empty. This was not a serious matter; he was going to his club to dine, - and he knew that he could get stamps from the hall-porter. - </p> - <p> - He felt very much lighter at heart leaving his rooms than he had felt on - entering some hours before. He felt that he had been engaged in a severe - conflict, and that he had got the better of his adversary. - </p> - <p> - At the door of the club he found Mr. Durdan standing somewhat vacantly. He - brightened up at the appearance of Harold. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve just been trying to catch some companionable fellow to dine with - me,” he cried. - </p> - <p> - “I’m sorry that I can’t congratulate you upon finding one,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Then I congratulate myself,” said Mr. Durdan, brightly. “You’re the most - companionable man that I know in town at present.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, then you’re not aware of the fact that Edmund Airey is here just - now,” said Harold with a shrewd laugh. - </p> - <p> - “Edmund Airey? Edmund Airey?” said Mr. Durdan. “Let me tell you that your - friend Edmund Airey is——” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t say it in the open air,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Come inside and make the revelation to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you will dine with me? Good! My dear fellow, my medical man has - warned me times without number of the evil of dining alone, or with a - newspaper—even the <i>Telegraph</i>. It’s the beginning of - dyspepsia, he says; so I wait at the door any time I am dining here until - I get hold of the right man.” - </p> - <p> - “If I can play the part of a priest and exorcise the demon that you’re - afraid of, you may reckon upon my services,” said Harold. “But to tell you - the truth, I’m a bit down myself to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “What’s the matter with you—nothing serious?” said Mr. Durdan. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve been working out some matters,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “I know what’s the matter with you,” said the other. “That friend of yours - has been trying to secure you for the Government, and you were too - straightforward to be entrapped? Airey is a clever man—I don’t deny - his cleverness for a moment. Oh, yes; Mr. Airey is a very clever man.” It - seemed that he was now levelling an accusation against Mr. Airey that his - best friends would find difficulty in repudiating. “Yes, but you and I, - Wynne, are not to be caught by a phrase. The moment he fancied that I was - attracted to her—I say, fancied, mind—and that he fancied—it - may have been the merest fancy—that she was not altogether - indifferent to me, he forced himself forward, and I have good reason to - believe that he is now in town solely on her account. I give you my word, - Wynne, I never spoke a sentence to Miss Avon that all the world mightn’t - hear. Oh, there’s nothing so contemptible as a man like Airey—a - fellow who is attracted to a girl only when he sees that she is attracting - other men. Yes, I met a man yesterday who told me that Airey was in town. - ‘Why should he be in town now?’ I inquired. ‘There’s nothing going on in - town.’ He winked and said, ‘<i>cherchez la femme</i>’—he did upon my - word. Oh, the days of the Government are numbered. Will you try Chablis or - Sauterne?” - </p> - <p> - Harold said that he rather thought that he would try Chablis. - </p> - <p> - For another hour-and-a-half he was forced to listen to Mr. Durdan’s - prosing about the blunders of the Administration, and the designs of - Edmund Airey. He left the club without asking the hall-porter for any - stamps. - </p> - <p> - He had made up his mind that he would not need any stamps that night. - </p> - <p> - Before he reached his rooms he took out of the pocket of his overcoat the - two letters which he had written, and he tore them both into small pieces. - </p> - <p> - With the chatter of Mr. Durdan there had come back to him that feeling of - distrust. - </p> - <p> - Yes, he would make sure of her. - </p> - <p> - He unlocked one of the drawers in his writing-table and brought out a - small <i>boule</i> case. When he had found—not without a good deal - of searching—the right key for the box, he opened it. It contained - an ivory miniature of his mother, in a Venetian mounting, a few jewels, - and two small rings. One of them was set with a fine chrysoprase cameo of - Eros, and surrounded by rubies. The other was an old <i>in memoriam</i> - ring. - </p> - <p> - He picked up the cameo and scrutinized it attentively for some time, - slipping it down to the first joint of his little finger. He kept turning - it over for half an hour before he laid it on the desk and relocked the - box and the drawer. - </p> - <p> - “It will be hers,” he said. “Would I use my mother’s ring for this - ceremony if I meant it to be a fraud—if I meant to take advantage of - it to do an injury to my beloved one? As I deal with her, so may God deal - with me when my hour comes.” It was a ring that had been left to him with - a few other trinkets by his mother, and he had now chosen it for the - ceremony which was to be performed the next day. - </p> - <p> - Curiously enough, the fact of his choosing this ring did more to silence - the whispering jeers of his conscience than all his phrases of argument - had done. - </p> - <p> - The next day he called for Mr. Playdell in a hansom, and shortly after - noon, the words of the marriage service of the Church of England had been - repeated in the Bloomsbury drawing-room by the man who had once been a - priest and who still wore the garb of a priest. He, at any rate, did not - consider the rite a mockery. - </p> - <p> - Harold could not shake off the feeling that he was acting a part in a - dream. When it was all over he dropped into a chair, and his head fell - forward until his face was buried in his hands. - </p> - <p> - It was left for Beatrice to comfort this sufferer in his hour of trial. - </p> - <p> - Her hand—his mother’s ring was upon the third finger—was upon - his head, and he heard her low sympathetic voice saying, “My husband—my - husband—I shall be a true wife to you for ever and ever. We shall - live trusting one another for ever, my beloved!” - </p> - <p> - They were alone in the room. He did not raise his face from his hands for - a long time. She knelt beside where he was sitting and put her head - against his. - </p> - <p> - In an instant he had clasped her passionately. He held her close to him, - looking into her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, my love, my love,” he cried. “What am I that you should have given to - me that divine gift of your love? What am I that I should have asked you - to do this for my sake? Was there ever such love as yours, Beatrice? Was - there ever such baseness as mine? Will you forgive me, Beatrice?” - </p> - <p> - “Only once,” said she, “I felt that—I scarcely know what I felt, - dear—I think it was that your hurrying on our marriage showed—was - it a want of trust?” - </p> - <p> - “I was a fool—a fool!” he said bitterly. “The temptation to bind you - to me was too great to be resisted. But now—oh, Beatrice, I will - give up my life to make you happy!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XL.—ON SOCIETY AND THE SEAL. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next afternoon - when Harold called upon Beatrice, he found her with two letters in her - hand. The first was a very brief one from her father, letting her know - that he would have to remain in Dublin for at least a fortnight longer; - the second was from Mrs. Lampson—she had paid Beatrice a ten - minutes’ visit the previous day—inviting her to stay for a week at - Abbeylands, from the following Tuesday. - </p> - <p> - “What am I to do in the matter, my husband—you see how quickly I - have come to recognize your authority?” she cried, while he glanced at his - sister’s invitation. - </p> - <p> - “My dearest, you had better recognize the duty of a wife in this and other - matters, by pleasing yourself,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said she. “I will only do what you advise me. That, you should see - as a husband—I see it clearly as a wife—will give me a capital - chance of throwing the blame on you in case of any disappointment. Oh, - yes, you may be certain that if I go anywhere on your recommendation and - fail to enjoy myself, all the blame will be laid at your door. That’s the - way with wives, is it not?” - </p> - <p> - “I can’t say,” said he. “I’ve never had one from whom to get any hints - that would enable me to form an opinion.” - </p> - <p> - “Then what did you mean by suggesting to me that it was wife-like to - please myself?” said she, with an affectation of shrewdness that was - extremely charming. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve seen other men’s wives now and again,” said he. “It was a great - privilege.” - </p> - <p> - “And they pleased themselves?” - </p> - <p> - “They did not please me, at any rate. I don’t see why you shouldn’t go - down to my sister’s place next week. You should enjoy yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “You will be there?” - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “I was to have been there,” said he; “but when I promised to go I had not - met you. When I found that you were to be in town, I told Ella, my sister, - that it was impossible for me to join her party.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course that decides the matter,” said she. “I must remain here, unless - you change your mind and go to Abbeylands.” - </p> - <p> - He remained thoughtful for a few moments, and then he turned to where she - was opening the old mahogany escritoire. - </p> - <p> - “I particularly want you to go to my sister’s,” he said. “A reason has - just occurred to me—a very strong reason, why you should accept the - invitation, especially as I shall not be there.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no,” said she, “I could not go without you.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear Beatrice, where is that wifely obedience of which you mean to be - so graceful an exponent?” said he, standing behind her with a hand on each - of her shoulders. “The fact is, dearest, that far more than you can - imagine depends on your taking this step. It is necessary to throw people—my - relations in particular—off the notion that something came of our - meeting at Castle Innisfail. Now, if you were to go to Abbeylands while it - was known that I had excused myself, you can understand what the effect - would be.” - </p> - <p> - “The effect, so far as I’m concerned, would be that I should be miserable, - all the time I was away from you.” - </p> - <p> - “The effect would be, that those people who may have been joining our - names together, would feel that they have been a little too precipitate in - their conclusions.” - </p> - <p> - “That seems a very small result for so much self-sacrifice on our part, - Harold.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s not so small as it may seem to you. I see now how important it would - be to me—to both of us—if you were to go for a week to - Abbeylands while I remain in town.” - </p> - <p> - “Then of course I’ll go. Yes, dear; I told you that I would trust you for - ever. I placed all my trust in you yesterday. How many people would - condemn me for marrying you in such indecent haste—that is what they - would call it—and without a word of consultation with my father - either? When I showed my trust in you at that time—the most - important in my life—you may, I think, have confidence that I will - trust you in everything. Yes, I’ll go.” - </p> - <p> - He had turned away from her. How could he face her when she was talking in - this way about her trust in him? - </p> - <p> - “There has never been trust like yours, my beloved,” said he, after a - pause. “You will never regret it for a moment, my love—never, - never!” - </p> - <p> - “I know it—I know it,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “The fact is, Beatrice,” said he, after another pause, “my relatives think - that if I were to marry Helen Craven I should be doing a remarkably good - stroke of business. They were right: it would be a good stroke—of - business.” - </p> - <p> - “How odd,” cried Beatrice. She had become thoroughly interested. “I never - thought of such a possibility at Castle Innisfail. She is nice, I think; - only she does not know how to dress.” - </p> - <p> - In an instant there came to his memory Mrs. Mowbray’s cynical words - regarding the extent of a woman’s forgiveness. - </p> - <p> - “The question of being nice or of dressing well does not make any - difference so far as my friends are concerned,” said he. “All that is - certain is that Helen Craven has several thousands of pounds a year, and - they think that I should be satisfied with that.” - </p> - <p> - “And so you should,” she cried, with the light of triumph in her eyes. “I - wonder if Mr. Airey knew what the wishes of your relatives were in this - matter. I should like to know that, because I now recollect that he - suggested something in that way when we talked together about you one - evening at the Castle.” - </p> - <p> - “Edmund Airey gave me the strongest possible advice on the subject,” said - Harold. “Yes, he advised me to ask Helen Craven to be my wife. More than - that—I only learnt it a few days ago—so soon as you appeared - at the Castle, and he saw—he sees things very quickly—that I - was in love with you, he thought that if he were to interest you greatly, - and that if you found out that he was wealthy and distinguished, you might - possibly decline to fall in love with me, and so——” - </p> - <p> - “And so fall in love with him?” she cried, starting up from her chair at - the desk. “I see now all that he meant. He meant that I should be - interested in him—I was, too, greatly interested in him—and - that I should be attracted to him, and away from you. But all the time he - had no intention of allowing himself to be attracted by me to the point of - ever asking me to marry him. In short, he was amusing himself at my - expense. Oh, I see it all now. I must confess that, now and again, I - wondered what Mr. Airey meant by placing himself so frequently by my side. - I felt flattered—I admit that I felt flattered. Can you imagine - anything so cruel as the purpose that he set himself to accomplish?” - </p> - <p> - Her face had become pale. This only gave emphasis to the flashing of her - eyes. She was in a passion of indignation. - </p> - <p> - “Edmund Airey and his tricks were defeated,” said Harold in a low voice. - “Yes, we have got the better of him, Beatrice, so much is certain.” - </p> - <p> - “But the cruelty of it—the cruelty—oh, what does it matter - now?” she cried. Then her paleness vanished into a delicate roseate flush, - as she gave a laugh, and said, “After all, I believe that my indignation - is due only to my wounded vanity. Yes, all girls are alike, Harold. Our - vanity is our dominant quality.” - </p> - <p> - “It is not so with you, Beatrice,” he said. “I know you truly, my dear. I - know that you would be as indignant if you heard of the same trickery - being carried on in respect of another girl.” - </p> - <p> - “I would—I know I would,” she cried. “But what does it matter? As - you say, I—we—have defeated this Mr. Airey, so that my vanity - at least can find sweet consolation in reflecting that we have been - cleverer than he was. I don’t suppose that he could imagine anyone - existing cleverer than himself.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I think that we have got the better of him,” said Harold. He was a - little surprised to find that she felt so strongly on the subject of - Edmund’s attitude in regard to herself. He did not think it wise to tell - her that that attitude was due to the timely suggestion of Helen. He could - not bring himself to do so. He felt that his doing so would be to place - himself on a level with the man who gives his wife during the first year - of their married life, a circumstantial account of the many wealthy and - beautiful young women who were anxious—to a point of distraction—to - marry him. - </p> - <p> - He felt that there was no need for him to say anything about Helen—he - almost wished that he had said nothing about Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “We got the better of him,” he said a second time. “Never mind Edmund - Airey. You must go to Abbeylands and amuse yourself. You will most likely - meet with Archie Brown there. Archie is the plainest looking and probably - the richest man of his age in England. He is to be made the subject of an - experiment at Abbeylands.” - </p> - <p> - “Is he to be vivisected?” said she. She was now neither pale nor roseate. - She was herself once more. - </p> - <p> - “There’s no need to vivisect poor Archie,” said he. “Everyone knows that - there’s nothing particular about Archie. No; we are merely trying a new - cure for him. He has not been in a very healthy state lately.” - </p> - <p> - “If he is delicate, I suppose he will be thrown a good deal with us—the - females, the incapables—while the pheasant-shooting is going on.” - </p> - <p> - “You will see how matters are managed at Abbeylands,” said Harold. “If you - find that Archie is attracted toward any girl who is distinctly nice, you - might—how does a girl assist her weaker sister to make up her mind - to look with friendly eyes upon such a one as Archie?” - </p> - <p> - “Let me see,” said she. “Wouldn’t the best way be for girl number one to - look with friendly eyes on him herself?” - </p> - <p> - Harold lay back on his chair and laughed at first; then he gazed at her in - wonder. - </p> - <p> - “You are cleverer than Edmund Airey and Helen Craven when they combine - their wisdom,” said he. “Your woman’s instinct is worth more than their - experience.” - </p> - <p> - “I never knew what the instincts of a woman were before this morning,” - said she. “I never felt that I had any need to exercise the instinct of - defence. I suppose the young seal, though it has never been in the water, - jumps in by instinct should it be attacked. Oh, yes, I dare say I could - swim as well as most girls of my age.” - </p> - <p> - It was only when he had returned to his rooms that he fully comprehended - the force of her parable of the young seal. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLI.—ON DRY CHAMPAGNE AND A CRISIS. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next morning - Archie drove one of his many machines round to Harold’s rooms and broke in - upon him before he had finished his breakfast. - </p> - <p> - “Hallo, my tarty chip,” cried Archie; “what’s the meaning of this?” - </p> - <p> - He threw on the table an envelope addressed to him in the handwriting of - Mrs. Lampson. - </p> - <p> - “What’s the meaning of what?” said Harold. “Have you got beyond the - restraint of Mr. Playdell alcoholically, that you ask me what’s the - meaning of that envelope?” - </p> - <p> - “I mean what does the inside mean?” said Archie. - </p> - <p> - “I’m sure you know better than I do, if you’ve read what’s inside it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you’re like one of the tarty chips in the courts that cross-examine - other tarty chips until their faces are blue,” said Archie. “There’s no - show for that sort of thing here. So just open the envelope and see what’s - inside.” - </p> - <p> - “How can I do that and eat my kidneys?” said Harold. “I wish to heavens - you wouldn’t come here bothering me when I’m trying to get through a tough - kidney and a tougher leading article. What’s the matter with the letter, - Archie, my lad?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s all right,” said Archie. “It’s an invite from your sister for a big - shoot at Abbeylands. What does it mean—that’s what I’d like to know? - Does it mean that decent people are going to make me the apple of their - eye, after all?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think it goes quite so far as that,” said Harold. “I expect it - means that my sister has come to the end of her discoveries and she’s - forced to fall back on you.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, is that all?” Archie looked disappointed. “All? Isn’t it enough?” - said Harold. “Why, you’re in luck if you let her discover you. I knew that - her atheists couldn’t hold out. She used them up too quickly. One should - he economical of one’s genuine atheists nowadays.” - </p> - <p> - “Great Godfrey! does she take me for an atheist?” shouted Archie. - </p> - <p> - “Did you ever hear of an atheist shooting pheasants?” said Harold. “Not - likely. An atheist is a man that does nothing except talk, and talks about - nothing except himself. Now, you’re asked to the shoot, aren’t you?” - </p> - <p> - “That’s in the invite anyway.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course. And that shows that you’re not taken for an atheist.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m glad of that. I draw the line at atheism,” Archie replied with a - smile. - </p> - <p> - “I hope you’ll have a good time among the pheasants.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you suppose that I’ll go?” - </p> - <p> - “I’m sure you will. I may have thought you a bit of a fool before I came - to know you, Archie—” - </p> - <p> - “And since you heard that I had taken the Legitimate.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, yes, even after that masterpiece of astuteness. But I would never - think that you’d be fool enough to throw away this chance.” - </p> - <p> - “Chance—chance of what?” - </p> - <p> - “Of getting among decent people. I told you that my sister has nothing but - decent people when there’s a shoot—there’s no Coming Man in anything - among the house-party. Yes, it’s sure to be comfortable. It’s the very - thing for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it? I’m not so certain about it. The people there are pretty sure to - allude in a friendly spirit to my red hair.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, yes, I think you may depend upon that. That means that you’ll get - on so well among them that they will take an interest in your personality. - If you get on particularly well with them they may even allude to the - simplicity of your mug. If they do that, you may be certain that you are a - great social success.” - </p> - <p> - Archie mused. - </p> - <p> - It was in this musing spirit that he took in a contemplative way a lump of - sugar out of the sugar bowl, turned it over between his fingers as though - it was something altogether new to him. Then he threw the lump up to the - ceiling, his face became one mouth, and the sugar disappeared. - </p> - <p> - “I think I’ll go,” he said, as he crunched the lump. “Yes, I’ll be hanged - if I don’t go.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s more than probable,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I’d like to clear off for a bit from this kennel.” - </p> - <p> - “What kennel?” - </p> - <p> - “This kennel—London. Do you go the length of denying that London’s a - kennel?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t do anything of the sort.” - </p> - <p> - “You’d best not. I was thinking if a run to Australia, or California, or - Timbuctoo would not be healthy just now.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I made up my mind yesterday, that if I don’t have better hands soon, - I’ll chuck up the whole game. That’s the sort of new potatoes that I am.” - </p> - <p> - “The Legitimate?” - </p> - <p> - “The Legitimate be frizzled! Am I to continue paying for the suppers that - other tarty chips eat? That’s what I want you to tell me. You know what a - square deal is, Wynne, as well as most people.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe I do.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, you can tell me if I’m to pay for dry champagne for her - guests.” - </p> - <p> - “Whose guests?” - </p> - <p> - “Great Godfrey! haven’t I been telling you? Mrs. Mowbray’s guests. Who - else’s would they be? Do you mean to tell me that, in addition to giving - people free boxes at the Legitimate every night to see W. S. late of - Stratford upon Avon, it’s my business to supply dry champagne all round - after the performance?” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Harold, “to speak candidly to you, I’ve always been of the - opinion that the ideal proprietor of a theatre is one who supplies really - comfortable stalls free, and has really sound champagne handed round at - intervals during the performance. I also frankly admit that I haven’t yet - met with any manager who quite realized my ideas in this matter. Archie, - my lad, the sooner you get down to Abbeylands the better it will be for - yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll go. Mind you, I don’t cry off when I know the chaps that she asks to - supper—I’ll flutter the dimes for anyone I know; but I’m hanged if I - do it for the chaps that chip in on her invite. They’ll not draw cards - from my pack, Wynne. No, I’ll see them in the port of Hull first. That’s - the sort of new potatoes that I am.” - </p> - <p> - “Give me your hand, Archie,” cried Harold. “I always thought you nothing - better than a millionaire, but I find that you’re a man after all.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll make things hum at the Legitimate yet,” said Archie—his voice - was fast approaching the shouting stage. “I’ll send them waltzing round. I - thought once upon a time that, when she laid her hand upon my head and - said, ‘Poor old Archie,’ I could go on for ever—that to see the - decimals fluttering about her would be the loveliest sight on earth for - the rest of my life. But I’m tired of that show now, Wynne. Great Godfrey! - I can get my hair smoothed down at a barber’s for sixpence, and yet I - believe that she charged me a thousand pounds for every time she patted my - head. A decimal for a pat—a pat!” - </p> - <p> - “You could buy the whole Irish nation for less money, according to some - people’s ideas—but they’re wrong,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Wynne,” said Archie, solemnly. “I’ve been going it blind for some time. - Shakespeare’s a fraud. I’ll shoot those pheasants.” - </p> - <p> - He had picked up his hat, and in another minute Harold saw him sending his - pair of chestnuts down the street at a pace that showed a creditable - amount of self-restraint on the part of Archie. - </p> - <p> - Three days afterwards Harold got a letter from Mrs. Lampson, giving him a - number of commissions to execute for her—delicate matters that could - not be intrusted to any one except a confidential agent. The postscript - mentioned that Archie Brown had arrived a few days before and had charmed - every one with his shyness. On this account she could scarcely believe, - she said, that he was a millionaire. She added that Lady Innisfail and her - daughter had just arrived at Abbeylands, that the Miss Avon about whom she - had inquired, had accepted her invitation and was coming to Abbeylands on - the next day; and finally, Mrs. Lampson said that her father was dull - enough to make people believe that he was really reformed. He was - inquiring when Miss Avon was coming, and he shared the fate of all men - (and women) who were unfortunate enough to be reformed: he had become - deadly dull. Lady Innisfail had assured her, however, that it was very - rarely that a Hardened Reprobate permanently reformed—even with the - incentive of acute rheumatism—before he was sixty-five, so that it - would be unwise to be despondent about Lord Fotheringay. If this was so—and - Lady Innisfail was surely an authority—Mrs. Lampson said that she - looked forward to such a lapse on the part of her father as would restore - him to the position of interest which he had always occupied in the eyes - of the world. - </p> - <p> - Harold lay back in his chair and laughed heartily at the reference made by - his sister to the shyness of Archie, and also to the fact of Norah - Innisfail’s sitting at the table with the Young Reprobate as well as the - Old. He wondered if the conversation had yet turned upon the management of - the Legitimate Theatre. - </p> - <p> - It was after he had lunched on the next Tuesday that Harold received this - letter—written by his sister the previous day. He had passed an hour - with Beatrice, who was to start by the four-twenty train for Abbeylands - station. He had said goodbye to her for a week, and already he was feeling - so lonely that he was soon pacing his room calling himself a fool for - having elected to remain in town while she was to go. - </p> - <p> - He thought how they might have had countless strolls through the fine park - at Abbeylands—through the picturesque ruins of the old Abbey—on - the banks of the little trout stream. Instead of being by her side among - those interesting scenes, he would have to remain—he had been - foolish enough to make the choice—in the neighbourhood of nothing - more joyous than St. James’s Palace. - </p> - <p> - This was bad enough; but not merely would he be away from the landscapes - at Abbeylands, the elements of life in those landscapes would be - represented by Beatrice and Another. - </p> - <p> - Yes; she would certainly appear with someone at her side—in the - place he might have occupied if he had not been such a fool. - </p> - <p> - An hour had passed before he had got the better of his impulse to call a - hansom and drive to the railway terminus and take a seat beside her in the - train. When the clock had struck four, and it was therefore too late for - him to entertain the idea of going with her, he became more inclined to - take a reasonable view of the situation. - </p> - <p> - “I was right.” he said, as he seated himself in front of the fire, and - stared into the smouldering coals. “Yes, I was right. No one must suspect - that we are—bound to one another”—the words were susceptible - of a sufficiently liberal interpretation. “The penetration of Edmund Airey - will be at fault for the first time, and the others who had so many - suspicions at Castle Innisfail, will find themselves completely at fault.” - </p> - <p> - He began to think how, though he had been cruelly dealt with by Fate in - some respects—in respect of his own father, for instance, and also - in respect of his own poverty—he had still much to be thankful for. - </p> - <p> - He was beloved by the loveliest woman whom he had ever seen—the only - woman for whom he had ever felt a passion. And the peculiar position which - she occupied, had enabled him to see her every day and to kiss her - exquisite face—there was none to make him afraid. Such obstacles in - the way of a lover’s freedom as the Average Father, the Vigilant Mother - and the Athletic Brother he had never encountered. And then a curious - circumstance—the thought of Beatrice as a part of the landscapes - around Abbeylands caused him to lay special emphasis upon this—had - enabled him to bind the girl to him with a bond which in her eyes at least—yes, - in his eyes too, by heaven, he felt—was not susceptible of being - loosened. - </p> - <p> - Yes, the ways of Providence were wonderful, he felt. If he had not met Mr. - Playdell.... and so forth. - </p> - <p> - But now Beatrice was his own. She might stray through the autumn woods by - the side of Edmund Airey or any man whom she might meet at Abbeylands; she - would feel upon her finger the ring that he had placed there—the - ring that—— - </p> - <p> - He sprang to his feet with a sudden cry. - </p> - <p> - “Good God! the Ring! the Ring!” - </p> - <p> - He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It pointed to four-seventeen. - </p> - <p> - He pulled out his watch. It pointed to four-twenty-two. - </p> - <p> - He rushed to the sofa where an overcoat was lying. He had it on him in a - moment. He snatched up a railway guide and stuffed it into his pocket. - </p> - <p> - In another minute he was in a hansom, driving as fast as the hansomeer - thought consistent with public safety—a trifle over that which the - police authorities thought consistent with public safety—in the - direction of the Northern Railway terminus. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLII.—ON THE RING AND THE LOOK. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E tried, while in - the hansom, to unravel the mysteries of the system by which passengers - were supposed to reach Brackenshire. He found the four-twenty train from - London indicated in its proper order. This was the train by which he had - invariably travelled to Abbeylands—it was the last train in the day - that carried passengers to Abbeylands Station, for the station was on a - short branch line, the junction being Mowern. - </p> - <p> - On reaching the terminus he lost no time in finding a responsible official—one - whose chastely-braided uniform looked repressful of tips. - </p> - <p> - “I want to get to Mowern Junction before the four-twenty train from here - goes on to Abbeylands. Can I do it?” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Next train to the Junction five-thirty-two, sir,” said the official. - </p> - <p> - “That’s too late for me,” said Harold. “The train leaves the Junction for - Abbeylands a quarter of an hour after arriving at Mowern. Is there no - local train that I might manage to catch that would bring me to the - Junction?” - </p> - <p> - “None that would serve your purpose, sir.” - </p> - <p> - Harold clearly saw how it was that this company could never get their - dividend over four per cent. - </p> - <p> - “Why is there so long a wait at Mowern?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Waits for Ditchford Mail, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “And at what time does a train start for Ditch-ford?” - </p> - <p> - “Can’t tell, sir. Ditchford is on the Nethershire system—they have - running powers over our line to Mowern.” - </p> - <p> - Harold whipped out his guide, and found Ditch-ford in the index. By an - inspiration he turned at once to the page devoted to the Nethershire - service of trains. He found that, by an exquisite system of timing the - trains, it was possible to reach a station a mile from Ditchford on the - one line, just six minutes after the departure of the last local train to - Ditchford on the other line. It took a little ingenuity, no doubt, on the - part of the Directors of both lines to accomplish this, but still they - managed to do it. - </p> - <p> - “I beg pardon, sir,” said an official wearing a uniform that suggested - tolerance of views in the matter of tips—the more important official - had moved away. “I beg pardon, sir. Why not take the four-fifty-five to - Mindon, and change into the Ditchford local train—that’ll reach the - junction four minutes before the express? I know it, sir. I was stationed - at change into the Ditchford local train—that’ll reach the junction - four minutes before the express? I know it, sir. I was stationed at that - part of the system.” - </p> - <p> - To glance at the clock, and to perceive that he had time enough to drive - to the Nethershire terminus, and to transfer a coin to the unconscious but - not reluctant hand of the official of the liberal views, occupied Harold - but a moment. At four-fifty-five he was in the Nethershire train on his - way to Mindon. - </p> - <p> - He had not waited to verify the man’s statement as to the trains, but in - the railway carriage he did so, and he found that the beautiful - complications of the two systems were at least susceptible of the - interpretation put on them. - </p> - <p> - For the next two hours Harold felt that he could devote himself, if he had - the mind, to the problem of the ring that had been so suddenly suggested - to him. - </p> - <p> - It did not require him to spend more than the merest fraction of this time - in order to convince him that the impulse upon which he had acted, was one - that he would have been a fool to repress. - </p> - <p> - The ring which he had put on her finger, and which she had worn since, and - would most certainly wear—he had imagined her doing so—at - Abbeylands, could not fail to be recognized both by his father and his - sister. It had belonged to his mother, and it was unique. It had flashed - upon him suddenly that, unless he was content that his father and sister - should learn that he had given her that ring, it would be necessary for - him to prevent Beatrice from wearing it even for an hour at Abbeylands. - </p> - <p> - Apart altogether from the question of the circumstances under which he had - put the ring upon her finger—circumstances which he had good reason - for desiring to conceal—the fact that he had given to her the object - which he valued most highly in the world, and which his father and sister - knew that he so valued, would suggest to both these persons as much as - would ruin him. - </p> - <p> - His father would, he knew, be extremely glad to discover some pretext to - cut off the last penny of his allowance; and assuredly he would regard - this gift of the ring as an ample pretext for adopting such a course of - action. Indeed, Lord Fotheringay had never been at a loss for a pretext - for reducing his son’s allowance; and now that he was posing—with - but indifferent success, as Harold had learned from Mrs. Lampson’s - postscript—as a Reformed Sinner, he would, his son knew, think that, - in cutting off his son’s allowance, he was only acting consistently with - the traditions of Reformed Sinners. - </p> - <p> - The Reformed Sinner is usually a sinner whose capacity to enjoy the - pleasures of sin has become dulled, and thus he is intolerant of the sins - of others, and particularly intolerant of the capacity of others to enjoy - sin. This is why he reduces the allowances of his children. Like the man - who advances to the position of teetotal lecturer, after having served for - some time as the teetotal lecturer’s Example, he knows all about the evil - which he means to combat—to be more exact, which he means his - children to combat. - </p> - <p> - All this Harold knew perfectly well. He knew that the only difference that - the reform of his father would make to him, was that, while his father had - formerly cut down his allowance with a courteously worded apology, he - would now stop it altogether without an apology. - </p> - <p> - How could he have failed to remember, when he put that ring upon her - finger, how great were the chances that it would be seen there by his - father or his sister? - </p> - <p> - This was the question which occupied his thoughts for the first hour of - his journey. He lay back looking out on the gray October landscapes - through which the train rushed—the wood glowing in crimson and brown - like a mighty smouldering furnace—the groups of children picking - blackberries on the embankments—the canal boat moving slowly along - the gray waterway—and he asked himself how he had been such a fool - as to overlook the likelihood of the ring being seen on her hand by his - father or his sister. - </p> - <p> - The truth was, that he had at that time not considered the possibility of - her going to Abbey-lands. He knew that Mrs. Lampson intended inviting her; - but he felt certain that, when she heard that he was not going, she would - not accept the invitation. She would not have accepted it, if it had not - suddenly occurred to him that the fact of her going while he remained in - town would be to his advantage. - </p> - <p> - Would he be in time to prevent the disaster which he foresaw would occur - if she appeared in the drawing-room at Abbeylands wearing the ring? - </p> - <p> - He looked at his watch. The train was three minutes late in reaching - several of the stations on its route, and it was delayed for another three - minutes when there was only a single line of rails. How would it be - possible for the train to make up so great a loss during the remainder of - the journey? - </p> - <p> - He reminded the guard at one of many intolerable stoppages, that the train - was long behind its time. The guard could not agree with him, it was only - about seven minutes late, he assured Harold. - </p> - <p> - On it went, and it seemed as if the engine-driver had a clearer sense of - his responsibilities than the guard, for during the next thirty miles, he - managed to save over two minutes. All this Harold noticed with more - interest than he had ever taken in the details of any railway journey. - </p> - <p> - When at last Mindon was reached, and he left the train to change into the - one which was to carry him on to the Junction, he found that this train - had not yet come up. Here was another point to be considered. Would the - train come up in time? - </p> - <p> - He was not left for long in suspense. The long row of lighted carriages - ran up to the platform before he had been waiting for two minutes, and in - another two minutes the train was steaming away with him. - </p> - <p> - He looked at his watch once more, and then he was able to give himself a - rest, for he saw that unless some accident were to happen, he would be at - Mowern Junction before the train should leave for Abbeylands Station on - the branch line. - </p> - <p> - In running into the Junction, the train went past the platform of the - branch line. A number of carriages were there, and at the side glass of - one compartment he saw the profile of Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - The little cry that she gave, when he opened the door of the compartment - and spoke her name, had something of terror as well as delight in it. - </p> - <p> - “Harold! How on earth—” she began. - </p> - <p> - “I have a rather important message for you,” he said. “Will you take a - turn with me on the platform? There is plenty of time. The train does not - start for six minutes.” - </p> - <p> - She was out of the carriage in a moment. “Mr. Wynne has a message for me—it - is probably from Mrs. Lampson,” she said to her maid, who was in the same - compartment. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLIII.—ON THE SON OF APHRODITE. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HAT can be the - matter? How did you manage to come here? You must have travelled by the - same train as we came by. Oh, Harold, my husband, I am so glad to see you. - You have changed your mind—you are coming on with me? Oh, I see it - all now. You meant all along to give me this delightful surprise.” - </p> - <p> - The words came from her in a torrent as she put her hand on his arm—he - could feel the ring on her finger. - </p> - <p> - “No, no,” said he; “everything remains as it was this morning. I only wish - that I were going on with you. Providentially something occurred to me - when I was sitting alone after lunch. That is why I came. I managed to - catch a train that brought me here just now—the train I was in ran - past this platform and I saw your face.” - </p> - <p> - “What can have occurred to you that you could not tell me in a letter?” - she asked, her face still bearing the look of glad surprise that had come - to it when she had heard the sound of his voice. - </p> - <p> - “We shall have to go into a waiting-room, or—better still—an - empty carriage,” said he. “I see several men whom I know, and—worse - luck! women—they are on their way to Abbeylands, and if they saw us - together in this confidential way, they would never cease chattering when - they arrived. We shall get into a compartment—there is one that - still remains unlighted, it will be the best for our purpose; there will - be no chance of a prying face appearing at the window.” - </p> - <p> - “Shall we have time?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - “Plenty of time. By getting into the carriage you will run no chance of - being left behind—the worst that can happen is that I may be carried - on with you.” - </p> - <p> - “The worst? Oh, that is the best—the best.” They had strolled to the - end of the platform where it was dimly lighted, and in an instant, - apparently unobserved by anyone, they had got into an unlighted - compartment at the rear of the train, and Harold shut the door quietly, so - as not to attract the attention of the three or four men in knickerbockers - who were stretching their legs on the platform until the train was ready - to start. - </p> - <p> - “We are fortunate,” said he. “Those men outside will be your fellow-guests - for the week. None of them will think of glancing into a dark carriage; - but if one of them does so, he will be nothing the wiser.” - </p> - <p> - “And now—and now,” she cried. - </p> - <p> - “And now, my dearest, you remember the ring that I put upon your finger?” - </p> - <p> - “This ring? Do you think it likely that I have forgotten it already?” she - whispered. - </p> - <p> - “No, no, dearest; it was I who forgot it,” he said. “It was I who forgot - that my father and my sister are perfectly certain to recognize that ring - if you wear it at Abbeylands: they will be certain to see it on your - linger, and they will question you as to how it came into your - possession.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course they will,” she said, after a pause. “You told me that it was a - ring that belonged to your mother. There can only be one such ring in the - world. Oh, they could not fail to recognize it. The little chubby wicked - Eros surrounded by the rubies—I have looked at the design every day—every - night—sometimes the firelight gleaming upon the circle of rubies has - made them seem to me a band of blood. Was that the idea of the artist who - made the design, I wonder—a circle of blood with the god Eros in the - centre.” - </p> - <p> - She had taken off her glove, and had laid the hand with the ring in one of - his hands. - </p> - <p> - He had never felt her hand so soft and warm before. His hand became hot - through holding hers. His heart was beating as it had never beaten before. - </p> - <p> - The force of his grasp pressed the sharply cut cameo into his flesh. The - image of that wicked little god, the son of Aphrodite, was stamped upon - him. It seemed as if some of his blood would mingle with the blood that - sparkled and beat within the heart of the rubies. - </p> - <p> - He had forgotten the object of his mission to her. Still holding her hand - with the ring, he put his arm under the sealskin coat that reached to her - feet, and held her close to him while he kissed her as he had never before - kissed her. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly he seemed to recollect why he was with her. He had not hastened - down from London for the sake of the kiss. - </p> - <p> - “My beloved, my beloved!” he murmured—each word sounded like a sob—“I - should like to remain with you for ever.” - </p> - <p> - She did not say a word. She did not need to say a word. He could feel the - tumult of her heart, and she knew it. - </p> - <p> - “For God’s sake, Beatrice, let me speak to you,” he said. - </p> - <p> - It was a strange entreaty. His arm was about her, his hand was holding one - of hers, she was simply passive by his side; and yet he implored of her to - let him speak to her. - </p> - <p> - It was some moments before she could laugh, however; which was also - strange, for the humour of the matter which called for that laugh, was - surely capable of being appreciated by her immediately. - </p> - <p> - She gave a laugh and then a sigh. - </p> - <p> - The carriage was dark, but a stray gleam of light from a side platform now - and again came upon her face, and her features were brought into relief - with the clearness and the whiteness of a lily in a jungle. - </p> - <p> - As she gave that laugh—or was it a sigh?—he started, - perceiving that the expression of her features was precisely that which - the artist in the antique had imparted to the features of the little - chrysoprase Eros in the centre of that blood-red circle of the ring. - </p> - <p> - “Why do you laugh, Beatrice?8 said he. - </p> - <p> - “Did I laugh, Harold?” said she. “No—no—I think—yes, I - think it was a sigh—or was it you who sighed, my love?” - </p> - <p> - “God knows,” said he. “Oh, the ring—the ring!” - </p> - <p> - “It feels like a band of burning metal,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “It is almost a pain for me to wear it. Have you not heard of the curious - charms possessed by rings, Harold—the strange spells which they - carry with them? The ring is a mystery—a mystic symbol. It means - what has neither beginning nor ending—it means perfection—completeness—it - means love—love’s completeness.” - </p> - <p> - “That is what your ring must mean to us, my beloved,” said he. “Whether - you take it from your finger or let it remain there, it will still mean - the completeness of such love as is ours.” - </p> - <p> - “And I am to take it off, Harold?” - </p> - <p> - “Only so long as you stay at Abbeylands, Beatrice. What does it matter for - one week? You will see, dearest, how my plans—my hopes—must - certainly he destroyed if that ring is seen on your finger by my father or - my sister. It is not for the sake of my plans only that I wish you to - refrain from wearing it for a week; it is for your sake as well.” - </p> - <p> - “Would they fancy that I had stolen it, dear?” she asked, looking up to - his face with a smile. - </p> - <p> - “They might fancy worse things than that, Beatrice,” said he. “Do not ask - me. You may be sure that I am advising you aright—that the - consequences of that ring being recognized on your finger would be more - serious than you could understand.” - </p> - <p> - “Did I not say something to you a few days ago about the completeness of - my trust in you, Harold?” she whispered. “Well, the ring is the symbol of - this completeness also. I trust you implicitly in everything. I have given - myself up to you. I will do whatever you may tell me. I will not take the - ring off until I reach Abbeylands, but I shall take it off then, and only - replace it on my finger every night.” - </p> - <p> - “My darling, my darling! Such love as you have given to me is God’s best - gift to the world.” - </p> - <p> - He had committed himself to an opinion practically to the same effect upon - more than one previous occasion. - </p> - <p> - And now, as then, the expression of that opinion was followed by a long - silence, as their faces came together. - </p> - <p> - “Beatrice,” he said, in a tremulous voice. - </p> - <p> - “Harold.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall go on with you to Abbeylands. Come what may, we shall not now be - separated.” - </p> - <p> - But they were separated that very instant. The carriage was flooded with - light—the chastened flood that comes from an oil lamp inserted in a - hollow in the roof—and they were no longer in each others arms. They - heard the sound of the porter’s feet on the roof of the next carriage. - </p> - <p> - “It is so good of you to come,” said she. - </p> - <p> - There was now perhaps three inches of a space separating them. - </p> - <p> - “Good?” said he. “I’m afraid that’s not the word. We shall be under one - roof.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said slowly, “under one roof.” - </p> - <p> - “Tickets for Ashmead,” intoned a voice at the carriage window. - </p> - <p> - “We are for Abbeylands Station,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Abb’l’ns,” said the guard. “Why, sir, you know the Abb’l’ns train started - six minutes ago.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLIV.—ON THE SHORTCOMINGS OF A SYSTEM. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AROLD was out of - the compartment in a moment. Did the guard mean that the train had - actually left for Abbeylands? It had left six minutes before, the guard - explained, and the station-master added his guarantee to the statement. - </p> - <p> - Harold looked around—from platform to platform—as if he - fancied that there was a conspiracy between the officials to conceal the - train. - </p> - <p> - How could the train leave without taking all its carriages with it? - </p> - <p> - It did nothing of the kind, the station-master said, firmly but - respectfully. - </p> - <p> - The guard went on with his business of cutting neat triangles out of the - tickets of the passengers in the carriages that were alongside the - platform—passengers bound for Ashmead. - </p> - <p> - “But I—we—my—my wife and I got into one of the carriages - of the Abbeylands train,” said Harold, becoming indignant, after the - fashion of his countrymen, when they have made a mistake either on a home - or foreign railway. “What sort of management is it that allows one portion - of a train to go in one direction and another part in another direction?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s our system, sir,” said the official. “You see, sir, there’re never - many passengers for either the Abbeyl’n’s”—being a station-master he - did not do an unreasonable amount of clipping in regard to the names—“or - the Ashm’d branch, so the Staplehurst train is divided—only we don’t - light the lamps in the Ashm’d portion until we’re ready to start it. Did - you get into a carriage that had a lamp, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve seen some bungling at railway stations before now,” said Harold, - “but bang me if I ever met the equal of this.” - </p> - <p> - “This isn’t properly speaking a station, sir, it’s a junction,” said the - official, mildly, but with the force of a man who has said the last word. - </p> - <p> - “That simply means that greater bungling may be found at a junction than - at a station,” said Harold. “Is it not customary to give some notice of - the departure of a train at a junction as well as a station, my good man?” - </p> - <p> - The official became reasonably irritated at being called a good man. - </p> - <p> - “The train left for Abbeyl’n’s according to reg’lation, sir,” said he. “If - you got into a compartment that had no lamp——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I’ve no time for trifling,” said Harold. “When does the next train - leave for Abbey-lands?” - </p> - <p> - “At eight-sixteen in the morning,” said the official. - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens! You mean to say that there’s no train to-night?” - </p> - <p> - “You see, if a carriage isn’t lighted, sir, we——” - </p> - <p> - The man perceived the weakness of Harold’s case—from the standpoint - of a railway official—and seemed determined not to lose sight of it. - “Contributory negligence” he knew to be the most valuable phrase that a - railway official could have at hand upon any occasion. - </p> - <p> - “And how do you expect us to go on to Abbeylands to-night?” asked Harold. - </p> - <p> - “There’s a very respectable hotel a mile from the junction, sir,” said the - man. “Ruins of the Priory, sir—dates back to King John, page 84 <i>Tourist’s - Guide to Brackenshire</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh,” said Harold, “this is quite preposterous.” He went to where Beatrice - was seated watching, with only a moderate amount of interest, the - departure of five passengers for Ashmead. - </p> - <p> - “Well, dear?” said she, as Harold came up. - </p> - <p> - “For straightforward, pig-headed stupidity I’ll back a railway company - against any institution in the world,” said he. “The last train has left - for Abbeylands. Did you ever know of such stupidity? And yet the - shareholders look for six per cent, out of such a system.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps,” said she timidly—“perhaps we were in some degree to - blame.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed. It was so like a woman to suggest the possibility of some - blame attaching to the passengers when a railway company could be - indicted. To the average man such an idea is as absurd as beginning to - argue with a person at whom one is at liberty to swear. - </p> - <p> - “It seems that there is a sort of hotel a mile away,” said he. “We cannot - be starved, at any rate.” - </p> - <p> - “And I—you—we shall have to stay there?” said she. - </p> - <p> - He gave a sort of shrug—an Englishman’s shrug—about as like - the real thing as an Englishman’s bow, or a Chinaman’s cheer. - </p> - <p> - “What can we do?” said he. “When a railway company such as this—oh, - come along, Beatrice. I am hungry—hungry—hungry!” - </p> - <p> - He caught her by the arm. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Harold—husband,” said she. - </p> - <p> - He started. - </p> - <p> - “Husband! Husband!” he said. “I never thought of that. Oh, my beloved—my - beloved!” - </p> - <p> - He stood irresolute for a moment. - </p> - <p> - Then he gave a curious laugh, and she felt his hand tighten upon her arm - for a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he whispered. “You heard the words that—that man said while - our hands were together? ‘Whom God hath joined’—God—that is - Love. Love is the bond that binds us together. Every union founded on Love - is sacred—and none other is sacred—in the sight of heaven.” - </p> - <p> - “And you do not doubt my love,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Doubt it? oh, my Beatrice, I never knew what it was before now.” They - left the station together, after he had written and despatched in her name - a telegram to her maid, directing her to explain to Mrs. Lampson that her - mistress had unfortunately missed the train, but meant to go by the first - one in the morning. - </p> - <p> - By chance a conveyance was found outside, and in it they drove to the - Priory Hotel which, they were amazed to find, promised comfort as well as - picturesqueness. - </p> - <p> - It was a long ivy-covered house, and bore every token of being a portion - of the ancient Priory among the ruins of which it was standing. Great elms - were in front of the house, and on one side there were apple trees, and at - the other there was a garden reaching almost to where a ruined arch was - held together by its own ivy. - </p> - <p> - As they were in the act of entering the porch, a ray of moonlight gleamed - upon the ruins, and showed the trimmed grass plots and neat gravel walks - among the cloisters. - </p> - <p> - Harold pointed out the picturesque effect to Beatrice, and they stood for - some moments before entering the house. - </p> - <p> - The old waiter, whose moderately white shirt front constituted a very - distinctive element of the hall with its polished panels of old oak, did - not bustle forward when he saw them admiring the ruins. - </p> - <p> - “Upon my word,” said Harold, entering, “this is a place worth seeing. That - touch of moonlight was very effective.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” said the waiter; “I’m glad you’re pleased with it. We try to - do our best in this way for our patrons. Mrs. Mark will be glad to know - that you thought highly of our moonlight, sir.” - </p> - <p> - The man was only a waiter, but he was as solemn as a butler, as he opened - the door of a room that seemed ready to do duty as a coffee-room. It had a - low groined ceiling, and long narrow windows. - </p> - <p> - An elderly maid was lighting candles in sconces round the walls. - </p> - <p> - “Really,” said Harold, “we may be glad that the bungling at the junction - brought us here.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” said the man with waiter-like acquiescence; “they do bungle - things sometimes at that junction.” - </p> - <p> - “We were on our way to Abbeylands,” said Harold, “but those idiots on the - platform allowed us to get into the wrong carriages—the carriages - that were going to Ashmead. We shall stay here for the night. The - station-master recommended us to go here, and I’m much obliged to him. - It’s the only sensible—” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir: he’s a brother to Mrs. Mark—Mrs. Mark is our proprietor,” - said the waiter. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Mrs</i>. Mark,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir: she’s our proprietor.” - </p> - <p> - Harold thought that, perhaps, when the owner of an hotel was a woman, she - might reasonably be called the proprietor. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well, perhaps a maid might show my—my wife to a room, while I - see what we can get for dinner—supper, I suppose we should call it.” - </p> - <p> - The middle-aged woman who was lighting the candles came forward smiling, - as she adroitly extinguished the wax taper by the application of her - finger and thumb. With her Beatrice disappeared. - </p> - <p> - Harold quite expected that he was about to come upon the weak element in - the management of this picturesque inn. But when he found that a cold - pheasant as well as some hot fish was available for supper, he admitted - that the place was perfect. There was no wine card, but the old waiter - promised a Champagne for which, he said, Mr. Lampson, of Abbeylands, had - once made an offer. - </p> - <p> - “That will do for us very well,” said Harold. “Mr. Lampson would not make - an offer for anything—wine least of all—of which he was - uncertain.” - </p> - <p> - The waiter went off in the leisurely style that was only consistent with - the management of an establishment that dated back to King John; and in a - few minutes Beatrice appeared, having laid aside her sealskin coat, and - her hat. - </p> - <p> - How exquisite she seemed as she stood for an instant in the subdued light - at the door! - </p> - <p> - And she was his. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLV.—ON MOONLIGHT AND MORALS. - </h2> - <h3> - |SHE was his. - </h3> - <p> - He felt the joy of it as she stood at the door in her beautifully fitting - travelling dress. - </p> - <p> - The thought sent an exultant glow through his veins, as he looked at her - from where he was standing at the hearth. (There was no “cosy corner” - abomination.) - </p> - <p> - She was his. - </p> - <p> - He went forward to meet her, and put out both his hands to her. - </p> - <p> - She placed a hand in each of his. - </p> - <p> - “How delightfully warm you are,” she said. “You were standing at the - fire.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said. “I was at the fire; in addition, I was also thinking that - you are mine.” - </p> - <p> - “Altogether yours now,” she said looking at him with that trustful smile - which should have sent him down on his knees before her, but which did not - do more than cause his eyes to look at her throat instead of gazing - straight into her eyes. - </p> - <p> - They seated themselves on one of the old window-seats, and talked face to - face, listlessly watching the old waiter lay a white cloth on a portion of - the black oak table. - </p> - <p> - When they had eaten their fish and pheasant—Harold wondered if the - latter had come from the Abbeylands’ preserves, and if Archie Brown had - shot it—they returned to the window-seat, and there they remained - for an hour. - </p> - <p> - He had thrown all reserve to the winds. He had thrown all forethought to - the winds. He had thrown all fear of God and man to the winds. - </p> - <p> - She was his. - </p> - <p> - The old waiter re-entered the room and laid on the table a flat bedroom - candlestick with a box of matches. - </p> - <p> - “Can I get you anything before I go to bed, sir?” he inquired. - </p> - <p> - “I require nothing, thank you,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Very good, sir,” said the waiter. “The candles in the sconces will burn - for another hour. If that will not be long enough—” - </p> - <p> - “It will be quite long enough. You have made us extremely comfortable, and - I wish you goodnight,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Good-night, sir. Good-night, madam.” - </p> - <p> - This model servitor disappeared. They heard the sound of his shoes upon - the stairs. - </p> - <p> - “At last—at last!” whispered Harold, as he put an arm on the deep - embrasure of the window behind her. - </p> - <p> - She let her shapely head fall back until it rested on his shoulder. Then - she looked up to his face. - </p> - <p> - “Who could have thought it?” she cried. “Who could have predicted that - evening when I stood on the cliffs and sent my voice out in that wild way - across the lough, that we should be sitting here to-night?” - </p> - <p> - “I knew it when I got down to the boat and drew your hands into mine by - that fishing-line,” said he. “When the moon showed me your face, I knew - that I had seen the face for which I had been searching all my life. I had - caught glimpses of that face many times in my life. I remember seeing it - for a moment when a great musician was performing an incomparable work—a - work the pure beauty of which made all who listened to it weep. I can hear - that music now when I look upon your face. It conveys to me all that was - conveyed to me by the music. I saw it again when, one exquisite dawn, I - went into a garden while the dew was glistening over everything. There - came to me the faint scent of violets. I thought that nothing could be - lovelier; but in another moment, the glorious perfume of roses came upon - me like a torrent. The odour of the roses and the scent of the violets - mingled, and before my eyes floated your face. When the moonlight showed - me your face on that night beside the Irish lough I felt myself wondering - if it would vanish.” - </p> - <p> - “It has come to stay,” she whispered, in a way that gave the sweetest - significance to the phrase that has become vulgarized. - </p> - <p> - “It came to stay with me for ever,” he said. “I knew it, and I felt myself - saying, ‘Here by God’s grace is the one maid for me.’” - </p> - <p> - He did not falter as he looked down upon her face—he said the words - “God’s grace” without the least hesitancy. - </p> - <p> - The moonlight that had been glistening on the ivy of the broken arches of - the ancient Priory, was now shining through the diamond panes of the - window at which they were sitting. As her head lay back it was illuminated - by the moon. Her hair seemed delicate threads of spun glass through which - the light was shining. - </p> - <p> - One of the candles flared up for a moment in its socket, then dwindled - away to a single spark and then expired. - </p> - <p> - “You remember?” she whispered. - </p> - <p> - “The seal-cave,” he said. “I have often wondered how I dared to tell you - that I loved you.” - </p> - <p> - “But you told me the truth.” - </p> - <p> - “The truth. No, no; I did not love you then as I regard loving now. Oh, my - Beatrice, you have taught me what ‘tis to love. There is nothing in the - world but love, it is life—it is life!” - </p> - <p> - “And there are none in the world who love as you and I do.” - </p> - <p> - His face shut out the moonlight from hers. There was a long silence before - she said, “It was only when you had parted from me every day that I knew - what you were to me, Harold. Ah, those bitter moments! Those sad Good-byes—sad - Good-nights out of the moonlight from hers. There was a long silence - before she said, “It was only when you had parted from me every day that I - knew what you were to me, Harold. Ah, those bitter moments! Those sad - Good-byes—sad Good-nights!” - </p> - <p> - “They are over, they are over!” he cried. The lover’s triumph rang through - his words. “They are over. We have come to the night when no more - Good-nights shall be spoken. What do I say? No more Good-nights? You know - what a poet’s heart sang—a poet over whose head the waters of - passion had closed? I know the song that came from his heart—beloved, - the pulses of his heart beat in every line:"= - </p> - <p class="indent15">”’Good-night! ah, no, the hour is ill - </p> - <p class="indent15">That severs those it should unite: - </p> - <p class="indent10">Let us remain together still, - </p> - <p class="indent20">Then it will be good night.= - </p> - <p class="indent15">”’ How can I call the lone night good, - </p> - <p class="indent30">Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight? - </p> - <p class="indent15">Be it not said—thought—understood; - </p> - <p class="indent20">Then it will be good night.= - </p> - <p class="indent15">”’To hearts that near each other move - </p> - <p class="indent15">From evening close to morning light, - </p> - <p class="indent15">The night is good because, oh, Love, - </p> - <p class="indent20">They never say Good-night.’”= - </p> - <p> - His whispering of the last lines was very tremulous. Her eyes were closed - and her lips were parted with the passing of a sigh—a sigh that had - something of a sob about it. Then both her arms were flung round his neck, - and he felt her face against his. Then.... he was alone. - </p> - <p> - How had she gone? - </p> - <p> - Whither had she gone? - </p> - <p> - How long had he been alone? - </p> - <p> - He got upon his feet, and looked in a dazed way around the room. - </p> - <p> - Had it all been a dream? Was it only in fancy that she had been in his - arms? Had he been repeating Shelley’s poem in the hearing of no one? - </p> - <p> - He opened a glass door by which access was had to the grounds of the old - Priory, and stood, surpliced by the moonlight, beside the ruined arch - where an oriel window had once been. He turned and looked at the house. It - was black against the clear sky that overflowed with light, but one window - above the room where he had been sitting was illuminated. - </p> - <p> - It had no drapery—he could see through it half way into the room - beyond. - </p> - <p> - Just above where a silver sconce with three lighted candles hung from the - wall, he could see that the black panel bore in high relief a carved Head - of the Virgin, surrounded with lilies. - </p> - <p> - He kept his eyes fixed upon that carving until—until.... - </p> - <p> - There came before his eyes in that room the Temptation of Saint Anthony. - </p> - <p> - His eyes became dim looking at her loveliness, shining with dazzling - whiteness beneath the light of the candles. - </p> - <p> - He put his hands before his eyes and staggered to the door through which - he had passed. There he stood, his breath coming in sobs, with his hand on - the handle of the door. - </p> - <p> - There was not a sound in the night. Heaven and earth were breathlessly - watching the struggle. - </p> - <p> - It was the struggle between Heaven and Hell for a human soul. - </p> - <p> - The man’s fingers fell from the handle of the door. He clasped his hands - across the ivy of the wall and bowed his head upon them. - </p> - <p> - Only for a few moments, however. Then, with a cry of agony, he started up, - and with his clasped hands over his eyes, fled—madly—blindly—away - from the house. - </p> - <p> - Before he had gone far, he tripped and fell over a stone—he only - fell upon his knees, but his hands were clutching at the ground. - </p> - <p> - When he recovered himself, he found that he was on his knees at the foot - of an ancient prostrate Cross. - </p> - <p> - He stared at it, and some time had passed before there came from his - parched lips the cry, “Christ have mercy upon me!” - </p> - <p> - He bowed his head to the Cross, and his lips touched the cold, damp stone. - </p> - <p> - This was not the kiss to which he had been looking forward. - </p> - <p> - He sprang to his feet and fled into the distance. - </p> - <p> - She was saved! - </p> - <p> - And he—he had saved his soul alive! - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLVI.—ON A BED OF LOGS. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>NWARD he fled, he - knew not whither; he only knew that he was flying for the safety of his - soul. - </p> - <p> - He passed far beyond the limits of the Priory grounds, but he did not - reach the high road. He crossed a meadow and came upon a trout stream. He - walked beside it for an hour. At the end of that time there was no - moonlight to glitter upon its surface. Clouds had come over the sky and - drops of rain were beginning to fall. - </p> - <p> - He crossed the stream by a little bridge, and reached the border of a - wood. It was now long past midnight. He had been walking for two hours, - but he had no consciousness of weariness. It was not until the rain was - streaming off his hair that he recollected that he had no hat. But on - still he went through the darkness and the rain, as though he were being - pursued, and that every step he took was a step toward safety. - </p> - <p> - He came upon a track that seemed to lead through the wood, and upon this - track he went for several miles. The ground was soft, and at some places - the rain had turned it into a morass. The autumn leaves lay in drifts, - sodden and rotting. Into more than one of these he stumbled, and when he - got upon his feet again, the damp leaves and the mire were clinging to - him. - </p> - <p> - For three more hours he went on by the winding track through the wood. In - the darkness he strayed from it frequently, but invariably found it again - and struggled on, until he had passed right through the wood and reached a - high road that ran beside it. - </p> - <p> - As though he had been all the night wandering in search for this road, so - soon as he saw it he cried, “Thank God, thank God!” - </p> - <p> - But something else may have been in his mind beyond the satisfaction of - coming upon the road. - </p> - <p> - At the border of the wood where the track broadened out, there was a - woodcutter’s rough shed. It was piled up with logs of various sizes, and - with trimmed boughs awaiting the carts to come along the road to carry - them away. He entered the shed, and, overpowered with weariness, sank down - upon a heap of boughs; his head found a resting place in a forked branch - and in a moment he was sound asleep. - </p> - <p> - His head was resting upon the damp bark of the trimmed branch, when it - might have been close to that whiteness which he had seen through the - window. - </p> - <p> - True; but his soul was saved. - </p> - <p> - He awoke, hearing the sound of voices around him. - </p> - <p> - The cold light of a gray, damp day was struggling with the light that came - from a fire of faggots just outside, and the shed was filled with the - smoke of the burning wood. The sound of the crackling of the small - branches came to his ears with the sound of the voices. - </p> - <p> - He raised his head, and looked around him in a dazed way. He did not - realize for some time the strange position in which he found himself. - Suddenly he seemed to recall all that had occurred, and once more he said, - “Thank God, thank God!” - </p> - <p> - Three men were standing in the shed before him. Two of them held - bill-hooks in a responsible way; the third had the truncheon of a - constable. He also wore the helmet of a constable. - </p> - <p> - The men with the bill-hooks seemed preparing to repel a charge. They stood - shoulder to shoulder with their implements breast high. - </p> - <p> - The man with the truncheon seemed willing to trust a great deal to them, - whether in regard to attack or defence. - </p> - <p> - “Well, you’re awake, my gentleman,” said the man with the truncheon. - </p> - <p> - The speech seemed a poor enough accompaniment to such a show of strength, - aggressive or defensive, as was the result of the muster in the shed. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I believe I’m awake,” said Harold. “Is the morning far advanced?” - </p> - <p> - “That’s as may be,” said the truncheon-holder, shrewdly, and after a pause - of considerable duration. - </p> - <p> - “You’re not the man to compromise yourself by a hasty statement,” said - Harold. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said the man, after another pause. - </p> - <p> - “May I ask what is the meaning of this rather imposing demonstration?” - said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Ay, you may, maybe,” replied the man. “But it’s my business to tell you - that—” here he paused and inflated his lungs and person generally— - “that all you say now will be used as evidence against you.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s very official,” said Harold. “Does it mean that you’re a - constable?” - </p> - <p> - “That it do; and that you’re in my charge now. Close up, bill-hooks, and - stand firm,” the man added to his companions. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t trumle for we,” said one of the billhook-holders. - </p> - <p> - “You see there’s no use broadening vi’lent-like,” said the - truncheon-holder. - </p> - <p> - “That’s clear enough,” said Harold. “Would it be imprudent for me to - inquire what’s the charge against me?” - </p> - <p> - “You know,” said the policeman. - </p> - <p> - “Come, my man,” said Harold; “I’m not disposed to stand this farce any - longer. Can’t you see that I’m no vagrant—that I haven’t any of your - logs concealed about me. What part of the country is this? Where’s the - nearest telegraph office?” - </p> - <p> - “No matter what’s the part,” said the constable; “I’ve arrested you before - witnesses of full age, and I’ve cautioned you according to the Ack o’ - Parliament.” - </p> - <p> - “And the charge?” - </p> - <p> - “The charge is the murder.” - </p> - <p> - “Murder—what murder?” - </p> - <p> - “You know—the murder of the Right Honourable Lord Fotheringay.” - </p> - <p> - “What!” shouted Harold. “Lord—oh, you’re mad! Lord Fotheringay is my - father, and he’s staying at Abbeylands. What do you mean, you idiot, by - coming to me with such a story?” The policeman winked in by no means a - subtle way at the two men with the bill-hooks; he then looked at Harold - from head to foot, and gave a guffaw. - </p> - <p> - “The son of his lordship—the murdered man—you heard that, - friends, after I gave the caution according to the Ack o’ Parliament?” he - said. - </p> - <p> - “Ay, ay, we heard—leastways to that effeck,” replied one of the men. - </p> - <p> - “Then down it goes again him,” said the constable. “He’s a gentleman-Jack - tramp—and that’s the worst sort—without hat or head gear, and - down it goes that he said he was his lordship’s son.” - </p> - <p> - “For God’s sake tell me what you mean by talking of the murder of Lord - Fotheringay,” said Harold. “There can be no truth in what you said. Oh, - why do I wait here talking to this idiot?” He took a few steps toward one - end of the shed. The men raised their bill-hooks, and the constable made - an aggressive demonstration with his truncheon. - </p> - <p> - Against Stupidity the gods fight in vain, but now and again a man with - good muscles can prevail against it. Harold simply dealt a kick upon the - heavy handle of the bill-hook nearest to him, and it swung round and - caught in the stomach the second man, who immediately dropped his - implement. He needed both hands to press against his injured person. - </p> - <p> - The constable ran to the other end of the shed and blew his whistle. - </p> - <p> - Harold went out in the opposite direction and got upon the high road; but - before he had quite made up his mind which way to go, he heard the clatter - of a horse galloping. He saw that a mounted constable was coming up, and - he also noticed with a certain amount of interest, that he was drawing a - revolver. - </p> - <p> - Harold stood in the centre of the road and held up his hand. - </p> - <p> - One of the few occasions when a man of well developed muscles, if he is - wise, thinks himself no better than the gods, is when Stupidity is in the - act of drawing a revolver. - </p> - <p> - “Are you the sergeant of constabulary?” Harold inquired, when the man had - reined in. He still kept his revolver handy. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I’m the sergeant of constabulary. Who are you, and what are you - doing here?” said the man. - </p> - <p> - “He’s the gentleman-Jack tramp that the lads found asleep in the shed, - sergeant,” said the constable, who had hurried forward with the naked - truncheon. “The lads came on him hiding here, when they were setting about - their day’s work. They ran for me, and that’s why I sent for you. I’ve - arrested him and cautioned him. He was nigh clearing off just now, but I - never took an eye off him. Is there a reward yet, sergeant?” - </p> - <p> - “Officer,” said Harold. “I am Lord Fotheringay’s son. For God’s sake tell - me if what this man says is true—is Lord Fotheringay dead—murdered?” - </p> - <p> - “He’s dead. You seem to know a lot about it, my gentleman,” said the - sergeant. “You’re charged with his murder. If you make any attempt at - resistance, I’ll shoot you down like a dog.” - </p> - <p> - The man had now his revolver is his right hand. Harold looked first at - him, and then at the foolish man with the truncheon. He was amazed. What - could the men mean? How was it that they did not touch their helmets to - him? He had never yet been addressed by a policeman or a railway porter - without such a token of respect. What was the meaning of the change? - </p> - <p> - This was really his first thought. - </p> - <p> - His mind was not in a condition to do more than speculate upon this point. - It was not capable of grasping the horrible thing suggested by the men. - </p> - <p> - He stood there in the middle of the road, dazed and speechless. It was not - until he had casually looked down and had seen the condition of his feet - and legs and clothes that, passing from the amazed thought of the - insolence of the constables, into the amazement produced by his raggedness—he - was apparently covered with mire from head to foot—the reason of his - treatment flashed upon him; and in another instant every thought had left - him except the thought that his father was dead. His head fell forward on - his chest. He felt his limbs give way under him. He staggered to the low - hank at the side of the road and managed to seat himself. He supported his - head on his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. - </p> - <p> - There he remained, the four men watching him; for the interest which - attaches to a distinguished criminal in the eyes of ignorant rustics, is - almost as great as that which he excites among the leaders of society, who - scrutinize him in the dock through opera glasses, and eat <i>pâté de foie - gras</i> sandwiches beside the judge. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLVII.—ON THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>OME minutes had - passed before Harold had sufficiently recovered to be able to get upon his - feet. He could now account for everything that had happened. His father - must have been found dead under suspicious circumstances the previous day, - and information had been conveyed to the county constabulary. The instinct - of the constabulary being to connect all crime with tramps, and his own - appearance, after his night of wandering, as well as the conditions under - which he had been found, suggesting the tramp, he had naturally been - arrested. - </p> - <p> - He knew that he could only suffer some inconvenience for an hour or so. - But what would be the sufferings of Beatrice? - </p> - <p> - “The circumstances under which I am found are suspicious enough to justify - my arrest,” he said to the mounted man. “I am Lord Fotheringay’s son.” - </p> - <p> - “Gammon! but it’ll be took down,” said the constable with the truncheon. - </p> - <p> - “Hold your tongue, you fool!” cried the sergeant to his subordinate. - </p> - <p> - “I can, of course, account for every movement of mine, yesterday and the - day before,” said Harold. “What hour is the crime supposed to have taken - place? It must have been after four o’clock, or I should have received a - telegram from my sister, Mrs. Lampson. I left London shortly before five - last evening.” - </p> - <p> - “If you can prove that, you’re all right,” said the sergeant. “But you’ll - have to give us your right name.” - </p> - <p> - “You’ll find it on the inside of my watch,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - He slipped the watch from the swivel clasp and handed it to the sergeant. - </p> - <p> - “You’re a fool!” said the sergeant, looking at the hack of the watch. - “This is a watch that belonged to the murdered man. It has a crown over a - crest, and arms with supporters.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” said Harold. “I forgot that it was my father’s watch before - he gave it to me.” The sergeant smiled. The constable and the two - bill-hook men guffawed. - </p> - <p> - “Give me the watch,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - The sergeant slipped it into his own pocket. - </p> - <p> - “You’ve put a rope round your neck this minute,” said he. “Handcuffs, - Jonas.” - </p> - <p> - The constable opened the small leathern pouch on his belt. Harold’s hands - instinctively clenched. The sergeant once more whipped his revolver out of - its case. - </p> - <p> - “It has never occurred before this minute,” said the constable. - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean? Where’s the handcuffs?” cried the sergeant. - </p> - <p> - “Never before,” said the constable, “I took them out to clean them with - sandpaper, sergeant—emery and oil’s recommended, but give me - sandpaper—not too fine but just fine enough. Is there any man in the - county that can show as bright a pair of handcuffs as myself, sergeant? - You know.” - </p> - <p> - “Show them now,” said the sergeant. - </p> - <p> - “You’ll have to come to the house with me, for there they be to be,” - replied the constable. “Ay, but I’ve my truncheon.” - </p> - <p> - “Which way am I to go with you?” said Harold. “You don’t think that I’m - such a fool as to make the attempt to resist you? I can’t remain here all - day. Every moment is precious.” - </p> - <p> - “You’ll be off soon enough, my good man,” said the sergeant. “Keep - alongside my horse, and if you try any game on with me, I’ll be equal to - you.” He wheeled his horse and walked it in the direction whence he had - come. Harold kept up with it, thinking his thoughts. The man with the - truncheon and the two men who had wielded the billhooks marched in file - beside him. Marching in file had something official about it. - </p> - <p> - It was a strange procession that appeared on the shining wet road, with - the dripping autumn trees on each side, and the gray sodden clouds - crawling up in the distance. - </p> - <p> - How was he to communicate with her? How was he to let Beatrice know that - she was to return to London immediately? - </p> - <p> - That was the question which occupied all his thoughts as he walked with - bowed head along the road. The thought of the position which he occupied—the - thought of the tragic incident which had aroused the vigilance of the - constable—the desire to learn the details of the terrible thing that - had occurred—every thought was lost in that question: - </p> - <p> - “How am I to prevent her from going on to Abbeylands?” - </p> - <p> - Was it possible that she might learn at the hotel early in the morning, - that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered? When the news of the murder had - spread round the country—and it seemed to have done so from the - course that the woodcutters had adopted on coming upon him asleep—it - would certainly be known at the hotel. If so, what would Beatrice do? - </p> - <p> - Surely she would take the earliest train back to London. - </p> - <p> - But if she did not hear anything of the matter, would she then remain at - the hotel awaiting his return? - </p> - <p> - What would she think of him? What would she think of his desertion of her - at that supreme moment? - </p> - <p> - Can a woman ever forgive such an act of desertion? Could Beatrice ever - forgive his turning away from her love? - </p> - <p> - Was he beginning to regret that he had fled away from the loveliest vision - that had ever come before his eyes? - </p> - <p> - Did Saint Anthony ever wish that he had had another chance? - </p> - <p> - If for a single moment Harold Wynne had an unworthy thought, assuredly it - did not last longer than a single moment. - </p> - <p> - “Whatever may happen now—whether she forgives me or forsakes me—thank - God—thank God!” - </p> - <p> - This was what his heart was crying out all the time that he walked along - the road with bowed head. He felt that he had been strong enough to save - her—to save himself. - </p> - <p> - The procession had scarcely passed over more than a quarter of a mile of - the road, when a vehicle appeared some distance ahead. - </p> - <p> - “Steady,” said the sergeant. “It’s the Major in his trap. I sent a mounted - man for him. You’ll be in trouble about the handcuffs, Jonas, my man.” - </p> - <p> - “Maybe the murderer would keep his hands together to oblige us,” suggested - the constable. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll not be a party to deception,” said his superior. “Halt!” - </p> - <p> - Harold looked up and saw a dog-cart just at hand. It was driven by a - middle-aged gentleman, and a groom was seated behind. Harold had an - impression that he had seen the driver previously, though he could not - remember when or where he had done so. He rather thought he was an officer - whom he had met at some place abroad. - </p> - <p> - The dog-cart was pulled up, and the officials saluted in their own way, as - the gentleman gave the reins to his groom and dismounted. - </p> - <p> - “An arrest, sir,” said the sergeant. “The two woodcutters came upon him - hiding in their shed at dawn, and sent for the constable. Jonas, very - properly, sent for me, and I despatched a man for you, sir. When arrested, - he made up a cock-and-bull story, and a watch, supposed to be his murdered - lordship’s, was found concealed about his person. It’s now in my - possession.” - </p> - <p> - “Good,” said the stranger. Then he subjected Harold to a close scrutiny. - </p> - <p> - “I know now where I met you,” said Harold. “You are Major Wilson, the - Chief Constable of the County, and you lunched with us at Abbeylands two - years ago.” - </p> - <p> - “What! Mr. Wynne!” cried the man. “What on earth can be the meaning of - this? Your poor father—” - </p> - <p> - “That is what I want to learn,” said Harold eagerly. “Is it more than a - report—that terrible thing?” - </p> - <p> - “A report? He was found at six o’clock last evening by a keeper on the - outskirts of one of the preserves.” - </p> - <p> - “A bullet—an accident? he may have been out shooting,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “A knife—a dagger.” - </p> - <p> - Harold turned away. - </p> - <p> - “Remain where you are, sergeant,” said Major Wilson. “Let me have a word - with you, Mr. Wynne,” he added to Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Certainly,” said Harold. His voice was shaky. “I wonder if you chance to - have a flask of brandy in your cart. You can understand that I’m not quite—” - </p> - <p> - “I’m sorry that I have no brandy,” said Major Wilson. “Perhaps you - wouldn’t mind sitting on the bank with me while you explain—if you - wish—I do not suggest that you should—I suppose the constables - cautioned you.” - </p> - <p> - “Amply,” said Harold. “I find that I can stand. I don’t suppose that any - blame attaches to them for arresting me. I am, I fear, very disreputable - looking. The fact is that I was stupid enough to miss the train from - Mowern junction last night, and I went to the Priory Hotel. I came out - when the night was fine, without my hat, and I—— had reasons - of my own for not wishing to return to the hotel. I got into the wood and - wandered for several hours along a track I found. I got drenched, and - taking shelter in the woodcutters’ shed, I fell asleep. That is all I have - to say. I have not the least idea what part of the country this is: I must - have walked at least twenty miles through the night.” - </p> - <p> - “You are not a mile from the Priory Hotel,” said Major Wilson. - </p> - <p> - “That is impossible,” cried Harold. “I walked pretty hard for five hours.” - </p> - <p> - “Through the wood?” - </p> - <p> - “I practically never left the track.” - </p> - <p> - “You walked close upon twenty miles, but you walked round the wood instead - of through it. That track goes pretty nearly round Garstone Woods. Mr. - Wynne, this is the most unfortunate occurrence I ever heard of or saw in - my life.” - </p> - <p> - “Pray do not fancy for a moment that, so far as I am concerned, I shall be - inconvenienced for long,” said Harold. “It is a shocking thing for a son - to be suspected even for a moment of the murder of his own father; but - sometimes a curious combination of circumstances——” - </p> - <p> - “Of course—of course, that is just it. Do not blame me, I beg of - you. Did you leave London yesterday?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, by the four-fifty-five train.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you a portion of your ticket to Abbeylands?” - </p> - <p> - “I took a return ticket to Mowern. I gave one portion of it to the - collector, the return portion is in my pocket.” - </p> - <p> - He produced the half of his ticket. Major Wilson examined the date, and - took a memorandum of the number stamped upon it. - </p> - <p> - “Did you speak to anyone at the junction on your arrival?” he then - inquired. - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid that I abused the station-master for allowing the train to go - to Abbeylands without me,” said Harold. “That was at ten minutes past - seven o’clock. Oh, you need not fear for me. I made elaborate inquiries - from the railway officials in London between half past four and the hour - of the train’s starting. I also spoke to the station-master at Mindon, - asking him if he was certain that the train would arrive at the junction - in time.” Major Wilson’s face brightened. Before it had been somewhat - overcast. - </p> - <p> - “A telegram, as a matter of form, will be sufficient to clear up - everything,” said Major Wilson. “Yes, everything except—wasn’t that - midnight walk of yours a very odd thing, Mr. Wynne?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Harold, after a pause. “It was extremely odd. So odd that I - know that you will pardon my attempting to explain it—at least just - now. You will, I think, be satisfied if you have evidence that I was in - London yesterday afternoon. I am anxious to go to my sister without delay. - Surely some clue must be forthcoming as to the ruffian who did the deed.” - </p> - <p> - “The only clue—if it could be termed a clue—is the sheath of - the dagger,” replied Major Wilson. “It is the sheath of an ordinary belt - dagger, such as is commonly worn by the peasantry in Southern Italy and - Sicily. Lord Fotheringay lived a good deal abroad. Do you happen to know - if he became involved in any quarrel in Italy—if there was any - reason to think that his life had been threatened?” - </p> - <p> - Harold shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “My poor father returned from abroad a couple of months ago, and joined - Lady Innisfail’s party in Ireland. I have only seen him once in London - since then. He must have been followed by some one who fancied that—that—” - </p> - <p> - “That he had been injured by your father?” - </p> - <p> - “That is what I fear. But my father never confided his suspicions—if - he had any on this matter—to me.” - </p> - <p> - They had walked some little way up the road. They now returned slowly and - silently. - </p> - <p> - A one-horse-fly appeared in the distance. When it came near, Harold - recognized it as the one in which he had driven with Beatrice from the - station to the hotel. - </p> - <p> - “If you will allow me,” said Harold to Major Wilson, “I will send to the - hotel for my overcoat and hat.” - </p> - <p> - “Do so by all means,” said Major Wilson. “There is a decent little inn - some distance on the road, where you will be able to get a brush down—you - certainly need one. I’ll give my sergeant instructions to send some - telegrams at the junction.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps you will kindly ask him to return to me my watch,” said Harold. - “I don’t suppose that he will need it now.” - </p> - <p> - Harold stopped the fly, and wrote upon a card of his own the following - words, “<i>A shocking thing has happened that keeps me from you. My poor - father is dead. Return to town by first train.</i>” - </p> - <p> - He instructed the driver to go to the Priory Hotel and deliver the card - into the hand of the lady whom he had driven there the previous evening, - and then to pay Harold’s bill, drive the lady to the junction, and return - with the overcoat and hat to the inn on the road. - </p> - <p> - Harold gave the man a couple of sovereigns, and the driver said that he - would be able easily to convey the lady to the junction in time for the - first train. - </p> - <p> - While the sergeant went away to send the Chief Constable’s telegrams, - Major Wilson and Harold drove off together in the dog-cart—the man - with the truncheon and the men who had carried the bill-hooks respectfully - saluted as the vehicle passed. - </p> - <p> - In the course of another half hour, Harold was in the centre of a cloud of - dust, produced by the vigorous action of an athlete at the little inn, who - had been engaged to brush him down. When he caught sight of himself in a - looking-glass on entering the inn, Harold was as much amazed as he had - been when he heard from the Chief Constable that he had been wandering - round the wood all night. He felt that he could not blame the woodcutters - for taking him for a tramp. - </p> - <p> - He managed to eat some breakfast, and then he fly came up with his - overcoat and hat. He spoke only one sentence to the driver. - </p> - <p> - “You brought her to the train?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir. She only waited to write a line. Here it is, sir.” - </p> - <p> - He handed Harold an envelope. - </p> - <p> - Inside was a sheet of paper. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Dearest—dearest—You have all my sympathy—all my - love. Come to me soon.</i>” - </p> - <p> - These were the words that he read in the handwriting of Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - He was in a bedroom when he read them. He sat down on the side of the bed - and burst into tears. - </p> - <p> - It was ten years since he had wept. - </p> - <p> - Then he buried his face in his hands and said a prayer. - </p> - <p> - It was ten years since he had prayed. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLVIII—ON MURDER AS A SOCIAL INCIDENT. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HIS is not the - story of a murder. However profitable as well as entertaining it would be - to trace through various mysteries, false alarms, and intricacies the - following up of a clue by the subtle intelligence of a detective, until - the rope is around the neck of the criminal, such profit and entertainment - must be absent from this story of a man’s conquest of the Devil within - himself. Regarding the incident of the murder of Lord Fotheringay much - need not be said. - </p> - <p> - The sergeant appeared at the inn with replies to the telegrams that he had - been instructed to send to the railway officials, and they were found to - corroborate all the statements made by Harold. A ticket of the number of - that upon the one which Harold still retained, had been issued previous to - the departure of the four-fifty-five train from London. - </p> - <p> - “Of course, I knew what the replies would be,” said Major Wilson. “But you - can understand my position.” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly I can,” said Harold. “It needs no apology.” - </p> - <p> - They drove to the junction together to catch the train to Abbeylands - station. An astute officer from Scotland Yard had been telegraphed for, to - augment the intelligence of the County Constabulary Force in the endeavour - to follow up the only clue that was available, and Major Wilson was to - travel with the London officer to the scene of the crime. - </p> - <p> - In a few minutes the London train came up, and the passengers for the - Abbeylands line crossed to the side platform. Among them Harold perceived - his own servant. The man was dressed in black, and carried a portmanteau - and hat-box. He did not see his master until he had reached the platform. - Then he walked up to Harold, laid down the portmanteau and endeavoured—by - no means unsuccessfully—to impart some emotion—respectful - emotion, and very respectful sympathy, into the act of touching his hat. - </p> - <p> - “I heard the sad news, my lord,” said the man, “and I took the liberty of - packing your lordship’s portmanteau and taking the first train to - Abbeylands. I took it for granted that you would be there, my lord.” - </p> - <p> - “You acted wisely, Martin,” said Harold. “I will ask you not to make any - change in addressing me for some days, at least.” - </p> - <p> - “Very good, my lord—I mean, sir,” said the man. - </p> - <p> - He had not acquired for more than a minute the new mode of address, and - yet he had difficulty in relinquishing it. - </p> - <p> - Abbeylands was empty of the guests who, up to the previous evening, had - been within its walls. From the mouth of the gamekeeper, who had found the - body of Lord Fotheringay, Harold learned a few more particulars regarding - his ghastly discovery, but they were of no importance, though the astute - Scotland Yard officer considered them—or pretended to consider them—to - be extremely valuable. - </p> - <p> - For a week the detectives were very active, and the newspapers announced - daily that they had discovered a clue, and that an arrest might be looked - for almost immediately. - </p> - <p> - No arrest took place, however; the detectives returned to their - head-quarters, and the mild sensation produced by the heading of a - newspaper column, “The Murder of Lord Fotheringay” was completely - obliterated by the toothsome scandal produced by the appearance of a - music-hall artist as the co-respondent in a Duchess’s divorce case. It was - eminently a case for sandwiches and plovers’ eggs; and the costumes which - the eaters of these portable comestibles wore, were described in detail by - those newspapers which everyone abuses and—reads. The middle-aged - rheumatic butterfly was dead and buried; and though many theories were - started—not by Scotland Yard, however—to account for his - death, no arrests were made. Whoever the murderer was, he remained - undetected. (A couple of years had passed before Harold heard a highly - circumstantial story about the appearance of a foreign gentleman with - extremely dark eyes and hair, in the neighbourhood of Castle Innisfail, - inquiring for Lord Fotheringay a few days after Lord Fotheringay had left - the Castle). - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Lampson, the only daughter of the deceased peer, had received so - severe a shock through the tragic circumstances of her father’s death, - that she found it necessary to take a long voyage. She started for Samoa - with her husband in his steam yacht. It may be mentioned incidentally, - however, that, as the surface of the Bay of Biscay was somewhat ruffled - when the yacht was going southward, it was thought advisable to change the - cruise to one in the Mediterranean. Mrs. Lampson turned up on the Riviera - in the spring, and, after entertaining freely there for some time, an - article appeared above her signature in a leading magazine deploring the - low tone of society at Monte Carlo and on the Riviera generally. - </p> - <p> - It was in the railway carriage on their way to London from Abbeylands—the - exact time was when Harold was in the act of repeating the stanzas from - Shelley—that Helen Craven and Edmund Airey conversed together, - sitting side by side for the purpose. - </p> - <p> - “He is Lord Fotheringay now,” remarked Miss Craven, thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - Edmund looked at her with something of admiration in his eyes. The young - woman who, an hour or two after being shocked at the news of a tragedy - enacted at the very door of the house where she had been a guest, could - begin to discuss its social bearing, was certainly a young woman to be - wondered at—that is, to be admired. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Edmund, “he is now Lord Fotheringay, whatever that means.” - </p> - <p> - “It means a title and an income, does it not?” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, a sort of title and, yes, a sort of income,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Either would be quite enough to marry and live on,” said Helen. - </p> - <p> - “He contrived to live without either up to the present.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, poorly.” - </p> - <p> - “Not palatially, certainly, but still pleasantly.” - </p> - <p> - “Will he ask her to marry him now, do you think?” - </p> - <p> - “Her?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you know—Beatrice Avon.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh—I think that—that I should like to know what you think - about it.” - </p> - <p> - “I think he will ask her.” - </p> - <p> - “And that she will accept him?” - </p> - <p> - She did not know how much thought he had been giving to this question - during some hours—how eagerly he was waiting her reply. - </p> - <p> - “No.” she said; “I believe that she will not accept him, because she means - to accept you—if you give her a chance.” - </p> - <p> - The start that he gave was very well simulated. Scarcely so admirable from - a standpoint of art was the opening of his eyes accompanied by a little - exclamation of astonishment. - </p> - <p> - “Why are you surprised?” she said, as if she was surprised at his surprise—so - subtly can a clever young woman flatter the cleverest of men. - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “I am surprised because I have just heard the most surprising sentence - that ever came upon my ears. That is saying a good deal—yes, - considering how much we have talked together.” - </p> - <p> - “Why should it be surprising?” she said. “Did you not call upon her in - town?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I called upon her,” he replied, wondering how she had come to know - it. (She had merely guessed it.) - </p> - <p> - “That would give her hope.” - </p> - <p> - “Hope?” - </p> - <p> - “Hope. And it was this hope that induced her to accept Mrs. Lampson’s - invitation, although she must have known that Mrs. Lampson’s brother was - not to be of the party. I have often wondered if it was you or Lord - Fotheringay who asked Mrs. Lampson to invite her?” - </p> - <p> - “It was I,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - Her eyes brightened—so far as it was possible for them to brighten. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if she came to know that,” said Helen musingly. “It would be - something of a pity if she did not know it.” - </p> - <p> - “For that matter, nearly everything that happens is a pity,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Not everything,” said she. “But it is certainly a pity that the person - who had the bad taste to stab poor Lord Fotheringay did not postpone his - crime for at least one day. You would in that case have had a chance of - returning by the side of Beatrice Avon instead of by the side of some one - else.” - </p> - <p> - “Who is infinitely cleverer,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - At this point their conversation ended—at least so far as Harold and - Beatrice were concerned. - </p> - <p> - Helen felt, however, that even that brief exchange of opinions had been - profitable. Her first thought on hearing of the ghastly discovery of the - gamekeeper, was that all her striving to win Harold had been in vain—that - all her contriving, by the help of Edmund Airey, had been to no purpose. - Harold would now be free to marry Beatrice Avon—or to ask her to - marry him; which she believed was much the same thing. - </p> - <p> - But in the course of a short time she did not feel so hopeless. She - believed that Edmund Airey only needed a little further flattery to induce - him to resume his old attitude in regard to Beatrice; and the result of - her little chat with him in the train showed her not merely that, in - regard to flattery, he was pretty much as other men, only, of course, he - required it to be subtly administered—but also that he had no - intention of allowing his compact in regard to Beatrice to expire with - their departure from Castle Innisfail. He admitted having called upon her - in London, and this showed Helen very plainly that his attitude in respect - of Beatrice was the result of a rather stronger impulse than the desire to - be of service to her, Helen, in accordance with the suggestions which she - had ventured to make during her first frank interview with him. - </p> - <p> - She made up her mind that he would not require in future to be frequently - reminded of that frank interview. She knew that there exists a more - powerful motive for some men’s actions than a desire to forward the - happiness of their fellow-men. - </p> - <p> - This was her reflection at the precise moment that Harold’s face was bent - down to the face of Beatrice, while he whispered the words that thrilled - her. - </p> - <p> - As for Edmund Airey, he, too, had his thoughts, and, like Helen, he - considered himself quite capable of estimating the amount of importance to - be attached to such an incident as the murder of Lord Fotheringay, as a - factor in the solution of any problem that might suggest itself. A murder - is, of course, susceptible of being regarded from a social standpoint. The - murder of Lord Fotheringay, for instance, had broken up what promised to - be an exceedingly interesting party at Abbeylands. A murder is very - provoking sometimes; and when Edmund Airey heard Lady Innisfail complain - to Archie Brown—Archie had become a great friend of hers—of - the irritating features of that incident—when he heard an - uncharitable man declare that it was most thoughtless of Lord Fotheringay - to get a knife stuck into his ribs just when the pheasants were at their - best, he could not but feel that his own reflections were very plainly - expressed. - </p> - <p> - He had not been certain of himself during the previous two months. For the - first time in his life he did not see his way clearly. It was in order to - improve his vision that he had begged Mrs. Lampson—with infinite - tact, she admitted to her brother—to invite Beatrice to Abbeylands. - He rather thought that, before the visit of Beatrice should terminate, he - would be able to see his way clearly in certain directions. - </p> - <p> - But now, owing to the annoying incident that had occurred, the opportunity - was denied him of improving his vision in accordance with the prescription - which he had prepared to effect this purpose; therefore—— - </p> - <p> - He had reached this point in his reflections when the special train, which - Mr. Lampson had chartered to take his guests back to town, ran alongside - the platform at the London terminus. - </p> - <p> - This was just the moment when Harold looked up to the window from the - Priory grounds and saw that vision of white glowing beauty. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLIX.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF CONFESSION. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E stood silent, - without taking a step into the room, when the door had been closed behind - him. - </p> - <p> - With a cry she sprang from her seat in front of the fire and put out her - hands to him. - </p> - <p> - Still he did not move a step toward her. He remained at the door. - </p> - <p> - Something of fear was upon her face as she stood looking at him. He was - pale and haggard and ghostlike. She could not but perceive how strongly - the likeness to his father, who had been buried the previous day, appeared - upon his face now that it was so worn and haggard—much more so than - she had ever seen his father’s face. - </p> - <p> - “Harold—Harold—my beloved!” she cried, and there was something - of fear in her voice. “Harold—husband—” - </p> - <p> - “For God’s sake, do not say that, Beatrice!” - </p> - <p> - His voice was hoarse and quite unlike the voice that had whispered the - lines of Shelley, with his face within the halo of moonlight that had - clung about her hair. - </p> - <p> - She was more frightened still. Her hands were clasped over her heart—the - lamplight gleamed upon the blood-red circle of rubies on the one ring that - she wore—it had never left her finger. - </p> - <p> - He came into the room. She only retreated one step. - </p> - <p> - “For God’s sake, Beatrice, do not call me husband! I am not your husband!” - </p> - <p> - She came toward him; and now the look of fear that she had worn, became - one of sympathy. Her eyes were full of tears as she said, “My poor Harold, - you have all the sympathy—the compassion—the love of my heart. - You know it.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” he said, “I know it. I know what is in your heart. I know its - purity—its truth—its sweetness—that is why I should - never have come here, knowing also that I am unworthy to stand in your - presence.” - </p> - <p> - “You are worthy of all—all—that I can give you.” - </p> - <p> - “Worthy of contempt—contempt—worthy of that for which there is - no forgiveness. Beatrice, we have not been married. The form through which - we went in this room was a mockery. The man whom I brought here was not a - priest. He was guilty of a crime in coming here. I was guilty of a crime - in bringing him.” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him for a few moments, and then turned away from him. - </p> - <p> - She went without faltering in the least toward the chair that still - remained in front of the fire. But before she had taken more than a few - steps toward it, she looked back at him—only for a second or two, - however; then she reached the chair and seated herself in it with her back - to him. She looked into the fire. - </p> - <p> - There was a long silence before he spoke again. - </p> - <p> - “I think I must have been mad,” he said. “Mad to distrust you. It was only - when I was away from you that madness came upon me. The utter hopelessness - of ever being able to call you mine took possession of me, body and soul, - and I felt that I must bind you to me by some means. An accident suggested - the means to me. God knows, Beatrice, that I meant never to take advantage - of your belief that we were married. But when I felt myself by your side - in the train—when I felt your heart beating against mine that night—I - found myself powerless to resist. I was overcome. I had cast honour, and - truth, yes, and love—the love that exists for ever without hope of - reward—to the winds. Thank God—thank God that I awoke from my - madness. The sight which should have made me even more powerless to - resist, awoke me to a true sense of the life which I had been living for - some hours, and by God’s grace I was strong enough to fly.” - </p> - <p> - Again there was a long silence. He could see her finely-cut profile as she - sat upright, looking into the fire. He saw that her features had undergone - no change whatever while he was speaking. It seemed as if his recital had - in no respect interested her. - </p> - <p> - The silence was appalling. - </p> - <p> - She put out her hand and took from a small table beside her, the hook - which apparently she had been reading when he had entered. She turned over - the leaves as if searching for the place at which she had been - interrupted. - </p> - <p> - He came beside her. - </p> - <p> - “Have you no word for me—no word of pity—of forgiveness—of - farewell?” he said. - </p> - <p> - She had apparently found her place. She seemed to be reading. - </p> - <p> - “Beatrice, Beatrice, I implore of you—one word—one word—any - word!” - </p> - <p> - He had clutched her arm as he fell on his knees passionately beside her. - The book dropped to the floor. She was on her feet at the same instant. - </p> - <p> - “Oh God—oh God, what have I done that I should be the victim of - these men?” she cried, not in a strident voice, but in a low tone, - tremulous with passion. “One man thinks it a good thing to amuse himself - by pretending that I interest him, and another whom I trusted as I would - have trusted my God, endeavours to ruin my life—and he has done it—he - has done it! My life is ruined!” - </p> - <p> - She had never looked at him while he was speaking to her. She had not been - able for some time to comprehend the full force of the revelation he had - made to her; but so soon as she had felt his hand upon her arm, she seemed - in a moment to understand all. - </p> - <p> - Now she looked at him as he knelt at her feet with his head bowed down to - the arm of the chair in which she had been sitting—she looked down - upon him; and then with a cry as of physical pain, she flung herself - wildly upon a sofa, sobbing hysterically. - </p> - <p> - He was beside her in a moment. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Beatrice, my love, my love, tell me what reparation I can make,” he - cried. “Beatrice, have pity upon me! Do not say that I have ruined your - life. It was only because I could not bear the thought that there was a - chance of losing you, that I did what I did. I could not face that, - Beatrice!” - </p> - <p> - She still lay there, shaken with sobs. He dared not put his hand upon her. - He dared not touch one of her hands with his. He could only stand there by - her side. Every sob that she gave was like a dagger’s thrust to him. He - suffered more during those moments than his father had done while the hand - of the assassin was upon him. - </p> - <p> - The long silence was broken only by her sobs. - </p> - <p> - “Beatrice—Beatrice, you will say one word to me—one word, - Beatrice, for God’s sake!” - </p> - <p> - Some moments had passed while she struggled hard to control herself. - </p> - <p> - It was long before she was successful. - </p> - <p> - “Go—go—go!” she cried, without raising her head from the satin - cushion of the sofa. “Oh, Harold, Harold, go!” - </p> - <p> - “I will go,” he said, after another long pause. “I will go. But I leave - here all that I love in the world—all that I shall ever love. I was - false to myself once—only once; I shall never be so again. I shall - never cease loving you while I live, Beatrice. I never loved you as I do - now.” - </p> - <p> - She made no sign. - </p> - <p> - Even when she heard the door of the room open and close, she did not rise. - </p> - <p> - And the fire burnt itself out, and the lamp burnt itself out, but still - she lay there in her tears. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER L.—ON CONSOLATION AS A FINE ART. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>IS worst - forebodings had come to pass. That was the one feeling which Harold had on - leaving her. - </p> - <p> - He had scarcely ventured to entertain a hope that the result of his - interview with her and of his confession to her would be different. - </p> - <p> - He knew her. - </p> - <p> - That was why he had gone to her without hope. He knew that her nature was - such as made it impossible for her to understand how he could have - practised a fraud upon her; and he knew that understanding is the first - step toward forgiving. - </p> - <p> - Still, there ever pervades the masculine mind an idea that there is no - limit to a woman’s forgiveness. - </p> - <p> - The masculine mind has the best of reasons for holding fast to this idea. - It is the result of many centuries of experience of woman—of many - centuries of testing the limits of woman’s forgiveness. The belief that - there is nothing that a woman will not forgive in a man whom she loves, is - the heritage of man—just as the heritage of woman is to believe that - nothing that is done by a man whom she loves, stands in need of - forgiveness. - </p> - <p> - Thus it is that men and women make (occasionally) excellent companions for - one another, and live together (frequently) in harmony. - </p> - <p> - Thus it was that, in spite of the fact that his reason and his knowledge - of the nature of Beatrice assured him that his confession of the fraud in - which he had participated against her would not be forgiven by her, there - still remained in the mind of Harold Wynne a shadowy hope that she might - yet be as other women, who, understanding much, forgive much. - </p> - <p> - He left her presence, feeling that she was no as other women are. - </p> - <p> - That was the only grain of comfort that remained with him. He loved her - more than he had ever done before, because she was not as other women are. - </p> - <p> - She could not understand how that cold distrust had taken possession of - him. - </p> - <p> - She knew nothing of that world in which he had lived all his life—a - world quite full of worldliness—and therefore she could not - understand how it was that he had sought to bind her to him beyond the - possibility (as he meant her to think) of ever being separated from him. - She had laid all her trust in him. She had not even claimed from him the - privilege of consulting with someone—her father or someone with whom - she might be on more confidential terms—regarding the proposition - which he had made to her. No, she had trusted him implicitly, and yet he - had persevered in regarding her as belonging to the worldly ones among - whom he had lived all his life. - </p> - <p> - He had lost her. - </p> - <p> - He had lost her, and he deserved to lose her. This was his thought as he - walked westward. He had not the satisfaction of feeling that he was badly - treated. - </p> - <p> - The feeling on the part of a man that he has been badly treated by a - woman, usually gives him much greater satisfaction than would result from - his being extremely well treated by the same, or, indeed, by any other - woman. - </p> - <p> - But this blessed consciousness of being badly treated was denied to Harold - Wynne. He had been the ill-treater, not the ill-treated. He reflected how - he had taken advantage of the peculiar circumstances of the girl’s life—upon - the absence of her father—upon her own trustful innocence—to - carry out the fraud which he had perpetrated upon her. Under ordinary - circumstances and with a girl of an ordinary stamp, such a fraud would - have been impossible. He was well aware that a girl living under the - conditions to which most girls are subjected, would have laughed in his - face had he suggested the advisability of marrying him privately. - </p> - <p> - Yes, he had taken a cruel advantage of her and of the freedom which she - enjoyed, to betray her; and the feeling that he had lost her did not cause - him more bitterness than deserved to fall to his lot. - </p> - <p> - One bitterness of reflection was, however, spared to him, and this was why - he cried again, as he threw himself into a chair, “Thank God—thank - God!” - </p> - <p> - He had not been seated for long, before his servant entered with a card. - </p> - <p> - “I told the lady that you were not seeing any one, my lord,” said Martin. - </p> - <p> - “The lady?” - </p> - <p> - Not for a single instant did it occur to his mind that Beatrice had come - to him. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, my lord; Miss Craven,” said Martin, handing him the card. “But she - said that perhaps you would see her.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Only for a minute</i>,” were the words written in pencil on Miss - Craven’s card. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I will certainly see Miss Craven,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Very good, my lord.” - </p> - <p> - She stood at the door. The light outside was very low; so was the light in - the room. - </p> - <p> - Between two dim lights was where Helen looked her best. A fact of which - she was well aware. - </p> - <p> - She seemed almost pretty as she stood there. - </p> - <p> - She had made up pale, which she considered appropriately sympathetic on - her part. And, indeed, there can scarcely be a difference of opinion on - this point. - </p> - <p> - In delicate matters of taste like this she rarely-made a mistake. - </p> - <p> - “It was so good of you to come,” said he, taking her hand. - </p> - <p> - “I could not help it, Harold,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Mamma is in the brougham; she desired me to convey to you her deepest - sympathy.” - </p> - <p> - “I am indeed touched by her thoughtfulness,” said Harold. “You will tell - her so.” - </p> - <p> - “Mamma is not very strong,” said Helen. “She would not come in with me. - She, too, has suffered deeply. But I felt that I must tell you face to - face how terribly shocked we were—how I feel for you with all my - heart. We have always been good friends—the best of friends, Harold—at - least, I do not know where I should look in the world for another such - friend as you.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we were always good friends, Helen,” said he; “and I hope that we - shall always remain so.” - </p> - <p> - “We shall—I feel that we shall, Harold,” said she. - </p> - <p> - Her eyes were overflowing with tears, as she put out a hand to him—a - hand which he took and held between both his own, but without speaking a - word. “I felt that I must go to you if only for a moment—if only to - say to you as I do now, ‘I feel for you with all my heart. You have all my - sympathy.’ That is all I have to say. I knew you would allow me to see - you, and to give you my message. Good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - “You are so good—so kind—so thoughtful,” said he. “I shall - always feel that you are my friend—my best friend, Helen.” - </p> - <p> - “And you may always trust in my friendship—my—my—friendship,” - said she. “You will come and see us soon—mamma and me. We should be - so glad. Lady Innisfail wanted me to go with her to Netherford Hall—several - of your sister’s party are going with Lady Innisfail; but of course I - could not think of going. I shall go nowhere for some time—a long - time, I think. We shall be at home whenever you call, Harold.” - </p> - <p> - “And you may be certain that I shall call soon,” said he. “Pray tell Mrs. - Craven how deeply touched—how deeply grateful I am for her kindness. - And you—you know that I shall never forget your thoughtfulness, - Helen.” - </p> - <p> - Her eyes were still glistening as he took her hand and pressed it. She - looked at him through her tears; her lips moved, but no words came. She - turned and went down the stairs. He followed her for a few steps, and then - Martin met her, opened the hall-door, and saw her put into the brougham by - her footman. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said her mother, when the brougham got upon the wood pavement. - “Well, did you find the poor orphan in tears and comfort him?” Mrs. Craven - was not devoid of an appreciation of humour of a certain form. She had - lived in Birmingham for several years of her life. - </p> - <p> - “Dear mamma,” said Helen, “I think you may always trust to me to know what - is right to do upon all occasions. My visit was a success. I knew that it - would be a success. I know Harold Wynne.” - </p> - <p> - “I know one thing,” said Mrs. Craven, “and that is, that he will never - marry you. Whatever Harold Wynne might have done, Lord Fotheringay will - never marry you, my dear. Make up your mind to that.” - </p> - <p> - Her daughter laughed in the way that a daughter laughs at a prophetic - mother clad in sables, with a suspicion of black velvet and beads - underneath. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER LI.—ON THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE AND OTHERS. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>URING the next few - days Harold had numerous visitors. A man cannot have his father murdered - without attracting a considerable amount of attention to himself. Cards “<i>With - deepest sympathy</i>” were left upon him by the hundred, and the majority - of those sympathizers drove away to say to their friends at their clubs - what a benefactor to society was the person who had run that knife into - the ribs of Lord Fotheringay. Some suggested that a presentation should be - got up for that man; and when someone asked what the police meant by - taking so much trouble to find the man, another ventured to formulate the - very plausible theory that they were doing so in order to force him to - give sittings to an eminent sculptor for a statue of himself with the - knife in his hand, to be erected by public subscription outside the House - of Lords. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; <i>pour encourager les autres!</i>” said one of the sympathizers. - </p> - <p> - Another of the sympathizers inquired where were the Atheists now? - </p> - <p> - It was generally admitted that, as an incentive to orthodoxy, the tragic - end of Lord Fotheringay could scarcely be over-estimated. - </p> - <p> - It threw a flood of light upon the Ways of Providence. - </p> - <p> - The Scotland Yard people at first regarded the incident from such a - standpoint. - </p> - <p> - They assumed that Providence had decreed a violent death to Lord - Fotheringay, in order to give the detective force an opportunity of - displaying their ingenuity. - </p> - <p> - They had many interviews with Harold, and they asked him a number of - questions regarding the life of his father, his associates, and his - tastes. - </p> - <p> - They wondered if he had an enemy. - </p> - <p> - They feared that the deed was the work of an enemy; and they started the - daring theory that if they only had a clue to this supposititious enemy - they would be on the track of the assassin. - </p> - <p> - After about a week of suchlike theorizing, they were not quite so sure of - Providence. - </p> - <p> - Some newspapers interested in the Ways of Providence, declared through the - medium of leading articles, that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered in - order that the world might be made aware of the utter incapacity of - Scotland Yard, and the necessity for the reorganization of the detective - force. - </p> - <p> - Other newspapers—they were mostly the organs of the Opposition—sneered - at the Home Secretary. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Durdan was heard to affirm in the solitude of the smoking-room of his - club, that the days of the Government were numbered. - </p> - <p> - Then Harold had also to receive daily visits from the family lawyers; and - as family lawyers take more interest in the affairs of the family than any - of its members, he found these visits very tiresome; only he was - determined to find out what was his exact position financially, and to do - so involved the examination of the contents of several tin boxes, as well - as the columns of some bank books. On the whole, however, the result of - his researches under the guidance of the lawyers was worth the trouble - that they entailed. - </p> - <p> - He found that he would be compelled to live on an income of twelve - thousand pounds a year, if he really wished—as he said he did—to - make provision for the paying off of certain incumbrances, and of keeping - in repair a certain mansion on the borders of a Welsh county. - </p> - <p> - Having lived for several years upon an allowance of something under twelve - hundred pounds a year, he felt that he could manage to subsist on twelve - thousand. This was the thought that came to him automatically, so soon as - he had discovered his financial position. His next thought was that, by - his own folly, he had rendered himself incapable of enjoying this sudden - increase in revenue. - </p> - <p> - If he had only been patient—if he had only been trustful for one - week longer! - </p> - <p> - He felt very bitterly on the subject of his folly—his cruelty—his - fraud; the fact being that he entertained some preposterous theory of - individual responsibility. - </p> - <p> - He had never had inculcated on him the principles of heredity, otherwise - he would have understood fully that he could no more have avoided carrying - out a plan of deception upon a woman, than the pointer puppy—where - would the Evolutionists be without their pointer puppy?—can avoid - pointing. - </p> - <p> - Whether the adoption of the scientific explanation of what he had done - would have alleviated his bitterness or not, is quite another question. - The philosophy that accounts for suffering does not go the length of - relieving suffering. The science that gives the gout a name that few - persons can pronounce, does not prevent an ordinary gouty subject from - swearing; which seems rather a pity. - </p> - <p> - Among the visitors whom Harold saw in these days was Edmund Airey. Mr. - Airey did not think it necessary to go through the form of expressing his - sympathy for his friend’s bereavement. His only allusion to the - bereavement was to be found in a sneer at Scotland Yard. - </p> - <p> - Could he do anything for Harold, he wondered. If he could do anything, - Harold might depend on his doing it. - </p> - <p> - Harold said, “Thank you, old chap, I don’t think I can reasonably ask you - to work out for me, in tabulated form, the net value of leases that have - yet to run from ten to sixty years.” - </p> - <p> - “Therein the patient must minister to himself,” said Edmund. “I suppose it - is, after all, only a question of administration. If you want any advice—well, - you have asked my advice before now. You have even gone the length of - taking my advice—yes, sometimes. That’s more than the majority of - people do—unless my advice bears out their own views. Advice, my - dear Harold, is the opinion asked by one man of another when he has made - up his mind what course to adopt.” - </p> - <p> - “I have always found your counsel good,” said Harold. “You know men and - their motives. I have often wondered if you knew anything about women.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Airey smiled. It was rather ridiculous that anyone so well acquainted - with him as Harold was, should make use of a phrase that suggested a doubt - of his capacity. - </p> - <p> - “Women—and their motives?” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Quite so,” said Harold. “Their motives. You once assured me that there - was no such thing as woman in the abstract. Perhaps, assuming that that is - your standpoint, you may say that it is ridiculous to talk of the motives - of woman; though it would be reasonable—at least as reasonable as - most talk of women—to speak of the motives of a woman.” - </p> - <p> - “What woman do you speak of?” said Edmund, quickly. - </p> - <p> - “I speak as a fool—broadly,” said Harold. “I feel myself to be a - fool, when I reflect upon the wisdom of those stories told to us by Brian - the boatman. The first was about a man who defrauded the revenue of the - country, the other was about a cow that got jammed in the doorway of an - Irish cabin. There was some practical philosophy in both those stories, - and they put all questions of women and their motives out of our heads - while Brian was telling them.” - </p> - <p> - “There’s no doubt about that,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “By the way, didn’t you ask me for my advice on some point during one of - those days on the Irish lough?” - </p> - <p> - “If I did, I’m certain that I received good counsel from you,” said - Harold. - </p> - <p> - “You did. But you didn’t take it,” said Edmund, with a laugh. - </p> - <p> - “I told you once that you hadn’t given me time. I tell you so again,” said - Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Has she been to see you within the past few days? asked Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “You understand women—and their motives,” said Harold. “Yes, Miss - Craven was here. By the way, talking of motives, I have often wondered why - you suggested to my sister that Miss Avon would make an agreeable addition - to the party at Abbeylands.” - </p> - <p> - Not for a second did Edmund Airey change colour—not for a second did - his eyes fall before the searching glance of his friend. - </p> - <p> - “The fact was,” said he—and he smiled as he spoke—“I was under - the impression that your father—ah, well, if he hadn’t that - mechanical rectitude of movement which appertains chiefly to the walking - doll and other automata, he had still many good points. He told me upon - one occasion that it was his intention to marry Miss Avon. I was amused.” - </p> - <p> - “And you wanted to be amused again? I see. I think that I, too, am - beginning to understand something of men—and their motives,” - remarked Harold. - </p> - <p> - “If you make any progress in that direction, you might try and fathom the - object of the Opposition in getting up this agitation about Siberia. They - are going to arouse the country by descriptions of the horrors of exile in - Siberia. They want to make the Government responsible for what goes on - there. And the worst of it is that they’ll do it, too. Do you remember - Bulgaria?” - </p> - <p> - “Perfectly. The country is a fool. The Government will need a strong - programme to counteract the effects of the Siberian platform.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m trying to think out something at the present moment. Well, good-bye. - Don’t fail to let me know if I can do anything for you.” - </p> - <p> - He had been gone some time before Harold smiled—not the smile of a - man who has been amused at something that has come under his notice, but - the sad smile of a man who has found that his sagacity has not been at - fault when he has thought the worst about one of his friends. - </p> - <p> - There are times when a certain imperturbability of demeanour on the part - of a man who has been asked a sudden searching question, conveys as much - to the questioner as his complete collapse would do. The perfect composure - with which Edmund had replied to his sudden question regarding his motive - in suggesting to Mrs. Lampson—with infinite tact—that Beatrice - Avon might be invited to Abbeylands, told Harold all that he had an - interest to know. - </p> - <p> - Edmund Airey’s acquaintance with men—and women—had led him to - feel sure that Mrs. Lamp-son would tell her brother of the suggestion made - by him, Edmund; and also that her brother would ask him if he had any - particular reason for making that suggestion. This was perfectly plain to - Harold; and he knew that his friend had been walking about for some time - with that answer ready for the question which had just been put to him. - </p> - <p> - “He is on his way to Beatrice at the present moment,” said Harold, while - that bitter smile was still upon his features. - </p> - <p> - And he was right. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER LII.—ON THE FLUSH, THE FOOL, AND FATE. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>R. AIREY had - called on Beatrice since his return from that melancholy entertainment at - Abbeylands, but he had not been fortunate enough to find her at home. Now, - however, he was more lucky. She had already two visitors with her in the - big drawing-room, when Mr. Airey was announced. - </p> - <p> - He could not fail to notice the little flush upon her face as he entered. - He noticed it, and it was extremely gratifying to him to do so; only he - hoped that her visitors were not such close observers as he knew himself - to be. He would not have liked them—whoever they were—-to - leave the house with the impression that he was a lover. If they were - close observers and inclined to gossip, they might, he felt, consider - themselves justified in putting so liberal an interpretation upon her - quick flush as he entered. - </p> - <p> - He did not blush: he had been a Member of Parliament for several years. - </p> - <p> - Yes, she was clearly pleased to see him, and her manifestation of pleasure - made him assured that he had never seen a lovelier girl. It was so good of - him not to forget her, she declared. He feared that her flush would - increase, and suggest the peony rather than the peach. But he quickly - perceived that she had recovered from the excitement of his sudden - appearance, and that, as a matter of fact, she was becoming pale rather - than roseate. - </p> - <p> - He noticed this when her visitors—they were feeble folk, the head of - a department in the Museum and his sister—had left the house. - </p> - <p> - “It is delightful to be face to face with you once more,” he said. “I seem - to hear the organ-music of the Atlantic now that I am beside you again.” - </p> - <p> - She gave a little laugh—did he detect something of scorn in its - ring?—as she said, “Oh, no; it is the sound of the greater ocean - that we have about us here. It is the tide of the affairs of men that - flows around us.” - </p> - <p> - No, her laugh could have had nothing of scorn about it. - </p> - <p> - “I cannot think of you as borne about on this full tide,” said he. “I see - you with your feet among the purple heather—I wonder if there was a - sprig of white about it—along the shores of the Irish lough. I see - you in the midst of a flood of sunset-light flowing from the west, making - the green one red.” - </p> - <p> - She saw that sunset. He was describing the sunset that had been witnessed - from the deck of the yacht returning from the seal-hunt beyond the - headlands. Did he know why she got up suddenly from her seat and pretended - to snuff one of the candles on the mantelshelf? Did he know how close the - tears were to her eyes as she gave another little laugh? - </p> - <p> - “So long as you do not associate me with Mr. Durdan’s views on the Irish - question, I shall be quite satisfied,” said she. “Poor Mr. Durdan! How he - saw a bearing upon the Irish question in all the phenomena of Nature! The - sunset—the sea—the clouds—all had more or less to do - with the Irish question.” - </p> - <p> - “And he was not altogether wrong,” said Edmund. “Mr. Durdan is a man of - scrupulous inaccuracy, as a rule, but he sometimes stumbles across a - truth. The sea and sky are eternal, and the Irish question——” - </p> - <p> - “Is the rock upon which the Government is to be wrecked, I believe,” said - she. “Oh, yes; Mr. Durdan confided in me that the days of the Government - are numbered.” - </p> - <p> - “He became confidential on that topic to a considerable number of - persons,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “And we are confidential on Mr. Durdan as a topic,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “We have talked confidentially on more profitable topics, have we not?” - said he. - </p> - <p> - “We have talked confidently at least.” - </p> - <p> - “And confidingly, I hope. I told you all my aspirations, Miss Avon.” - </p> - <p> - “All?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, perhaps, I made some reservations.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps I shall tell you confidentially of some other aspirations of mine—some - day.” - </p> - <p> - He spoke slowly and with an emphasis and suggestiveness that could not be - overlooked. - </p> - <p> - “And you will speak confidently on that subject, I am sure.” - </p> - <p> - She was lying back in her chair, with the firelight fluttering over her. - The firelight was flinging rose leaves about her face. - </p> - <p> - That was what the effect suggested to him. - </p> - <p> - He noticed also how beautiful was the effect of the light shining through - her hair. That was an effect which had been noticed before. - </p> - <p> - She turned her eyes suddenly upon him, when he did not reply to her word, - “confidently.” - </p> - <p> - He repeated the word. - </p> - <p> - “Confidently—confidently;” then he shook his head. “Alas! no. A man - who speaks confidently on the subject of his aspirations—on the - subject of a supreme aspiration—is a fool.” - </p> - <p> - “And yet I remember that you assured me upon one occasion that man was - master of his fate,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Did I?” said he. “That must have been when you first appeared among us at - Castle Innisfail. I have learned a great deal since then.” - </p> - <p> - “For example?” said she. - </p> - <p> - “Modesty in making broad statements where Fate is concerned,” he replied, - with scarcely a pause. - </p> - <p> - She withdrew her eyes from his face, and gave a third laugh, closely - resembling in its tone her first—that one which caused him to wonder - if there was a touch of scorn in its ripple. - </p> - <p> - He looked at her very narrowly. She was certainly the loveliest thing that - he had ever seen. Could it be possible that she was leading him on? - </p> - <p> - She had certainly never left herself open to the suspicion of leading him - on when at Castle Innis-fail—among the purple heather or the crimson - sunsets about which he had been talking—and yet he had been led on. - He had a suspicion now that he was in peril. He had so fine an - understanding of woman and her motives, that he became apprehensive of the - slightest change. He was, in respect of woman, what a thermometer is when - aboard a ship that is approaching an iceberg. He was appreciative of every - change—of every motive. - </p> - <p> - “I was looking forward to another pleasant week near you,” said he, and - his remark somehow seemed to have a connection with what he had been - saying—had he not been announcing an acquirement of modesty?—“Yes, - if you had been with us at Abbeylands you might have become associated in - my mind with the glory of the colour of an autumn woodland. But it was, of - course, fortunate for you that you got the terrible news in time to - prevent your leaving town.” - </p> - <p> - He felt that she had become suddenly excited. There was no ignoring the - rising and falling of the lace points that lay upon the bosom of her gown. - The question was: did her excitement proceed from what he had said, or - from what she fancied he was about to say? - </p> - <p> - It was a nice question. - </p> - <p> - But he bore out his statement regarding his gain in modesty, by assuming - that she had been deeply affected by the story of the tragic end of Lord - Fotheringay, so that she could not now hear a reference to it without - emotion. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if you care for German Opera,” said he. There could scarcely be - even the most subtle connection between this and his last remark. She - looked at him with something like surprise in her eyes when he had spoken. - Only to some minds does a connection between criminality and German Opera - become apparent. - </p> - <p> - “German Opera, Mr. Airey?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. The fact is that I have a box for the winter season at the Opera - House, and my cousin, Mrs. Carroll, means to go to every performance, I - believe; she is an enthusiast on the subject of German Opera—she has - even sat out a performance of ‘Parsifal’—and I know that she is - eager to make converts. She would be delighted to call upon you when she - returns from Brighton.” - </p> - <p> - “It is so kind of you to think of me. I should love to go. You will be - there—I mean, you will be able to come also, occasionally?” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her. He had risen from his seat, being about to take leave of - her. She had also risen, but her eyes drooped as she exclaimed, “You will - be there?” - </p> - <p> - She did not fail to perceive the compromising sequence of her phrases, “I - should love to go. You will be there?” She was looking critically at the - toe of her shoe, turning it about so that she could make a thorough - examination of it from every standpoint. Her hands, too, were busy tying - knots on the girdle of her gown. - </p> - <p> - He felt that it would be cruel to let her see too plainly that he was - conscious of that undue frankness of hers; so he broke the awkward silence - by saying—not quite casually, of course, but still in not too - pointed a way, “Yes, I shall be there, occasionally. Not that my devotion - will be for German Opera, however.” The words were well chosen, he felt. - They were spoken as the legitimate sequence to those words that she had - uttered in that girlish enthusiasm, which was so charming. Only, of - course, being a man, he could choose his words. They were artificial—the - result of a choice; whereas it was plain that she could not choose but - utter the phrases that had come from her. She was a girl, and so spoke - impulsively and from her heart. - </p> - <p> - “Meantime,” said she—she had now herself almost under control again, - and was looking at him with a smile upon her face as she put out her hand - to meet his. “Meantime, you will come again to see me? My father is - greatly occupied with his history, otherwise he also would, I know, be - very pleased to see you.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope that you will be pleased,” said he. “If so, I will call—occasionally—frequently.” - </p> - <p> - “Frequently,” said she, and once again—but only for a moment this - time—she scrutinized her foot. - </p> - <p> - “Frequently,” said he, in a low tone. Being a man he could choose his - tones as well as his words. - </p> - <p> - He went away with a deep satisfaction dwelling within him—the - satisfaction of the clever man who feels that he has not only spoken - cleverly, but acted cleverly—which is quite a different thing. - </p> - <p> - Later on he felt that he need not have been in such a hurry calling upon - her. He had gone to her directly after visiting Harold. He had been under - the impression that he would do well to see her and make his proposal to - her regarding the German Opera season without delay. The moment that he - had heard of Lord Fotheringay’s death, it had occurred to him that he - would do well to lose no time in paying her a visit. After due - consideration, he had thought it advisable to call upon Harold in the - first instance. He had done so, and the result of his call was to make him - feel that he should not any longer delay his visit to Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - Now, as has been said, he felt that he need not have been in such a hurry. - </p> - <p> - “<i>I should love to go—you will be there</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Yes, those were the words that had sprung from her heart. The sequence of - the phrases had not been the result of art or thought. - </p> - <p> - He had clearly under-estimated the effect of his own personality upon an - impressionable girl who had a great historian for a father. The days that - he had passed by her side—carrying out the compact which he had made - with Helen Craven—had produced an impression upon her far more - powerful than he had believed it possible to produce within so short a - space of time. - </p> - <p> - In short, she was his. - </p> - <p> - That is what he felt within an hour of parting from her; and all his - resources of modesty and humility were unequal to the task of changing his - views on this point. - </p> - <p> - Was he in love with her? - </p> - <p> - He believed her to be the most beautiful woman whom he had ever seen. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER LIII.—ON A SUPREME ASPIRATION. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was commonly - reported that Mr. Durdan had stated with some degree of publicity that the - days of the Government were numbered. - </p> - <p> - There were a good many persons who were ready to agree with him before the - month of December had passed; for the agitation on the subject of Siberia - was spreading through the length and breadth of the land. The active and - observant Leader of the Opposition knew the people of England, Scotland, - and perhaps—so far as they allowed themselves to be understood—of - Wales, thoroughly. Of course Ireland was out of the question altogether. - </p> - <p> - Knowing the people so well, he only waited for a sharp frost to open his - campaign. He was well aware that it would be ridiculous to commence an - agitation on the subject of Siberia unless in a sharp frost. To try to - move the constituencies while the water-pipes in their dwellings remained - intact, would be a waste of time. It is when his pipes are burst that the - British householder will join in any agitation that may be started. The - British farmer invariably turns out the Government after a bad harvest; - and there can be but little doubt that a succession of wet summers would - make England republican. - </p> - <p> - It was because all the water-pipes in England were burst, that the - atrocities in Bulgaria stirred the great sympathetic heart of this England - of ours, and the strongest Government that had existed for years became - the most unpopular. A strong Government may survive a year of great - commercial depression; but the strongest totters after a wet summer, and - none has ever been known to survive a frost that bursts the household - water-pipes. - </p> - <p> - The campaign commenced when the thermometer fell to thirty-two degrees - Fahrenheit. That was the time to be up and doing. In every quarter the - agitation made itself felt. - </p> - <p> - “The sympathetic pulse of the nation was not yet stilled,” we were told. - “Six years of inefficient Government had failed to crush down the manhood - of England,” we were assured. “The Heart was still there—it was - beating still; and wherever the Heart of an Englishman beats there was - found a foe—a determined, resolute foe—nay, an irresistible - foe, to tyranny, and what tyranny had the world ever known that was equal - to that which sent thousands and tens of thousands of noble men and women—women—women—to - a living death among the snows of Siberia? Could any one present form an - idea of the horrors of a Siberian winter?” (Cries of “Yes, yes,” from - householders whose water-pipes had burst.) “Well, in the name of our - common humanity—in the name of our common sympathies—in the - name of England (cheers)—England, mind you, with her fleet, that in - spite of six years of gross mismanagement on the part of the Government, - was still the mistress of the main—(loud cheers) England, mind you, - whose armies had survived the shocking incapacity of a Government that had - refused a seven-hours day to the artisans at Woolwich and Aldershot—(tremendous - cheers) in the name of this grand old England of ours let those who were - responsible for Siberia—that blot upon the map of Europe”—(the - agitator is superior to geography)—“let them be told that their day - is over. Let the Government that can look with callous eyes upon such - horrors as are enacted among the frosts and snows of Siberia be told that - its day is over (cheers). Did anyone wish to know something of these - horrors?” (‘Yes, yes!’) “Well, here was a book written by a correspondent - to a New York journal, and which, consequently, was entitled to every - respect”.... and so forth. - </p> - <p> - That was the way the opponents of the Government talked at every meeting. - And in the course of a short time they had successfully mixed up the - labour question, the army and navy retrenchment question, the agricultural - question, and several other questions, with the stories of Siberian - horrors, and the aggregate of evil was laid to the charge of the - Government. - </p> - <p> - The friends of the Government were at their wits’ end to know how to reply - to this agitation. Some foolish ones endeavoured to make out that England - was not responsible for what was done in Siberia. But this sophistry was - too shallow for the people whose water-pipes were burst, and those who - were responsible for it were hooted on every platform. - </p> - <p> - It was at this critical time that the Prime Minister announced at a Dinner - at which he was entertained, that, while the Government was fully sensible - of the claims of Siberia, he felt certain that he was only carrying out - the desire of the people of England, in postponing consideration of this - vast question until a still greater question had been settled. After long - and careful deliberation, Her Majesty’s Ministers had resolved to submit - to the country a programme the first item of which was the Conversion of - the Jews. - </p> - <p> - The building where this announcement was made rang with cheers. The - friends of the Government no longer looked gloomy. In a few days they knew - that the Nonconformist Conscience would be awake, and as a political - factor, the Nonconformist Conscience cannot be ignored. A Government that - had for its policy the Conversion of the Jews would be supported by - England—this great Christian England of ours. - </p> - <p> - “My Lords and Gentlemen,” said the Prime Minister, “the contest on which - we are about to enter is very limited in its range. It is a contest of - England and Religion against the Continent and Atheism. My Lords and - Gentlemen, come what may, Her Majesty’s Ministers will be on the side of - Religion.” - </p> - <p> - It was felt that this timely utterance had saved the Government. - </p> - <p> - It was not to be expected that, when these tremendous issues were - broadening out, Mr. Edmund Airey should have much time at his disposal for - making afternoon calls; still he managed to visit Beatrice Avon pretty - frequently—much more frequently than he had ever visited anyone in - all his life. The season of German Opera was a brilliant one, and upon - several occasions Beatrice appeared in Mr. Airey’s box by the side of the - enthusiastic lady, who was pointed out in society as having remained in - her stall from the beginning to the end of “Parsifal.” Mr. Airey never - missed a performance at which Beatrice was present. He missed all the - others. - </p> - <p> - Only once did he venture to introduce Harold’s name in her drawing-room. - He mentioned having seen him casually in the street, and then he watched - her narrowly as he said, “By the way, I have never come upon him here. - Does he not call upon you?” - </p> - <p> - There was only a little brightening of her eyes—was it scorn?—as - she replied: “Is it not natural that Lord Fotheringay should be a very - different person from Mr. Harold Wynne? Oh, no, he never calls now.” - </p> - <p> - “I have heard several people say that they had found him greatly changed, - poor fellow!” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “Greatly changed—not ill?” she said. - </p> - <p> - He wondered if the tone in which she spoke suggested anxiety—or was - it merely womanly curiosity? - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no; he seems all right; but it is clear that his father’s death and - the circumstances attending it affected him deeply.” - </p> - <p> - “It gave him a title at any rate.” - </p> - <p> - The suspicion of scorn was once more about her voice. Its tone no longer - suggested anxiety for the health of Lord Fotheringay. - </p> - <p> - “You are too hard on him, Beatrice,” said Edmund. She had come to be - Beatrice to him for more than a week—a week in which he had been - twice in her drawing-room, and in which she had been twice in his opera - box. - </p> - <p> - “Too hard on him?” said she. “How is it possible for you to judge what is - hard or the opposite on such a point?” - </p> - <p> - “I have always liked Harold,” said he; “that is why I must stand up for - him.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, that is your own kindness of heart,” said she. “I remember how you - used to stand up for him at Castle Innisfail. I remember that when you - told me how wretchedly poor he was, you were very bitter against the - destiny that made so good a fellow poor, while so many others, not nearly - so good, were wealthy.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe I did say something like that. At any rate I felt that. Oh, - yes, I always felt that I must stand up for him; so even now I insist on - your not being too hard on him.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed, and so did she—yes, after a little pause. - </p> - <p> - “Come again—soon,” she said, as she gave him her hand, which he - retained for some moments while he looked into her eyes—they were - more than usually lustrous—and said, - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, I will come again soon. Don’t you remember what I said to you in - this room—it seems long ago, we have come to be such close friends - since—what I said about my aspirations—my supreme aspiration?” - </p> - <p> - “I remember it,” said she—her voice was very low. - </p> - <p> - “I have still to reveal it to you, Beatrice,” said he. - </p> - <p> - Then he dropped her hand and was gone. - </p> - <p> - He made another call the same afternoon. He drove westward to the - residence of Helen Craven and her mother, and in the drawing-room he found - about a dozen people drinking tea, for Mrs. Craven had a large circle. - </p> - <p> - It took him some time to get beside Helen; but a very small amount of - manoeuvring on her part was sufficient to secure comparative privacy for - him and herself in a dimly-lighted part of the great room—an alcove - that made a moderately valid excuse for a Moorish arch and hangings. - </p> - <p> - “The advice that I gave to you was good,” said he. - </p> - <p> - “Your advice was that I should make no move whatever,” said she. “That - could not be hard advice to take, if he were disposed to make any move in - my direction. But, as I told you, he only called once, and then we were - out. Have you learned anything?” - </p> - <p> - “I have learned that whomsoever she marries, she will never marry Harold - Wynne,” said Edmund. - </p> - <p> - “Great heavens! You have found this out? Are you certain? Men are so apt - to rush at conclusions.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; some men are. I have always preferred the crawling process, though - it is the slower.” - </p> - <p> - “That is a confession—crawling! But how have you found out that she - will not marry him?” - </p> - <p> - “He has treated her very badly.” - </p> - <p> - “That has got nothing whatever to do with the question. Heavens! If women - declined to marry the men that treat them badly, the statistics of - spinsterhood would be far more alarming than they are at present.” - </p> - <p> - “She will not marry him.” - </p> - <p> - “Will she marry you?” - </p> - <p> - Miss Craven had sprung to her feet. She was in a nervous condition, and it - was intensified by his irritating reiteration of the one statement. - </p> - <p> - “Will she marry you?” she cried, in a voice that had a strident ring about - it. “Will she marry you?” - </p> - <p> - “I think it highly probable,” said he. - </p> - <p> - She looked at him in silence for a long time. - </p> - <p> - “Let us return to the room,” said she. - </p> - <p> - They went through the Moorish arch back to the drawing-room. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER LIV.—ON THE DECAY OF THE PAT AS A POWER. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was a few days - after Edmund Airey had made his revelation—if it was a revelation—to - Helen Craven, that Harold received a visitor in the person of Archie - Brown. The second week in January had now come. The season of German Opera - was over, and Parliament was about to assemble; but neither of these - matters was engrossing the attention of Archie. That he was in a state of - excitement anyone could see, and before he had even asked after Harold’s - health, he cried, “I’ve fired out the lot of them, Harry; that’s the sort - of new potatoes I am.” - </p> - <p> - “The lot of what?” asked Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you know? Why, the lot of Legitimists,” said Archie. - </p> - <p> - “The Legitimists? My dear Archie, you don’t surely expect me to believe - that you possess sufficient political power to influence the fortunes of a - French dynasty.” - </p> - <p> - “French dynasty be grilled. I said the Legitimists—the actors, the - carpenters, the gasmen, the firemen, the check-takers, Shakespeare, and - Mrs. Mowbray of the Legitimate Theatre. I’ve fired out the lot of them, - and be hanged to them!” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I see; you’ve fired out Shakespeare?” - </p> - <p> - “He’s eternally fired out, so far as I’m concerned. Why should I end my - days in a workhouse because a chap wrote plays a couple of hundred years - ago—may be more?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, indeed? And so you fired him out?” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve made things hum at the Legitimate this morning”—Archie had - once spent three months in the United States—“and now I’ve made the - lot of them git. I’ve made W. S. git.” - </p> - <p> - “And Mrs. Mowbray?” - </p> - <p> - “She gits too.” - </p> - <p> - “She’ll do it gracefully. Archie, my man, you’re not wanting in courage.” - </p> - <p> - “What courage was there needed for that?”—Archie had picked up a - quill pen and was trying, but with indifferent success, to balance it on - the toe of his boot, as he leant back in a chair. “What courage is needed - to tell a chap that’s got hold of your watch chain that the time has come - for him to drop it? Great Godfrey! wasn’t I the master of the lot of them? - Do you fancy that the manager was my master? Do you fancy that Mrs. - Mowbray was my—I mean, do you think that I’m quite an ass?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, no,” said Harold—“not quite.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you suppose that my good old dad had any Scruples about firing out a - crowd of navvies when he found that they didn’t pay? Not he. And do you - suppose that I haven’t inherited some of his good qualities?” - </p> - <p> - “And when does the Legitimate close its doors?” - </p> - <p> - “This day week. Those doors have been open too long already. Seventy-five - pounds for the Widow’s champagne for the Christmas week—think of - that, Harry. Mrs. Mowbray’s friends drink nothing but Clicquot. She - expects me to pay for her entertainments, and calls it Shakespeare. If you - grabbed a chap picking your pocket, and he explained to the tarty chips at - Bow Street that his initials were W. S. would he get off? Don’t you - believe it, Harry.” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing shall induce me.” - </p> - <p> - “The manager’s only claim to have earned his salary is that he has been at - every theatre in London, and has so got the biggest list of people to send - orders to, so as to fill the house nightly. It seems that the most - valuable manager is the one who has the longest list of people who will - accept orders. That’s theatrical enterprise nowadays. They say it’s the - bicycle that has brought it about.” - </p> - <p> - “Anyhow you’ve quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? Give me your hand; Archie. - You’re a man.” - </p> - <p> - “Quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? It was about time. She went to pat my head - again to-day, when there was a buzz in the manager’s office. She didn’t - pat my head, Harry—the day is past for pats, and so I told her. The - day is past when she could butter me with her pats. She gave me a look - when I said that—if she could give such looks on the stage she’d - crowd the house—and then she cried, ‘Nothing on earth shall induce - me ever to speak to you again.’ ‘I ask nothing better,’ said I. After that - she skipped. I promised Norah that I’d do it, and I have done it.” - </p> - <p> - “You promised whom?” - </p> - <p> - “Norah. Great Godfrey! you don’t mean to say that you haven’t heard that - Norah Innisfail and I are to be married?” - </p> - <p> - “Norah—Innisfail—and—you—you?” - </p> - <p> - Harold lay back in his chair and laughed. The idea of the straightlaced - Miss Innisfail marrying Archie Brown seemed very comical to him. - </p> - <p> - “What are you laughing about?” said Archie. “You shouldn’t laugh, - considering that it was you that brought it about.” - </p> - <p> - “I? I wish that I had no more to reproach myself with; but I can’t for the - life of me see how—” - </p> - <p> - “Didn’t you get Mrs. Lampson to invite me to Abbeylands, and didn’t I meet - Norah there, bless her! At first, do you know, I fancied that I was - getting fond of her mother?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes; I can understand that,” said Harold, who was fully acquainted - with the systems which Lady Innisfail worked with such success. - </p> - <p> - “But, bless your heart! it was all motherly kindness on Lady Innisfail’s - part—so she explained when—ah—later on. Then I went with - her to Lord Innisfail’s place at Netherford and—well, there’s no - explaining these things. Norah is the girl for me! I’ve felt a better man - for knowing her, Harry. It’s not every girl that a chap can say that of—mostly - the other way. Lord Innisfail heard something about the Legitimate - business, and he said that it was about time I gave it up; I agreed with - him, and I’ve given it up.” - </p> - <p> - “Archie,” said Harold, “you’ve done a good morning’s work. I was going to - advise you never to see Mrs. Mowbray again—never to grant her an - interview—she’s an edged tool—but after what you’ve done, I - feel that it would be a great piece of presumption on my part to offer you - any advice.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you know what it is?” said Archie, in a low and very confidential - voice: “I’m not quite so sure of her character as I used to be. I know you - always stood up for her.” - </p> - <p> - “I still believe that she never had more than one lover at a time,” said - Harold. - </p> - <p> - “Was that seventy-five pound’s worth of the Widow swallowed by one lover - in a week?” asked Archie. “Oh, I’m sick of the whole concern. Don’t you - mention Shakespeare to me again.” - </p> - <p> - “I won’t,” said Harold. “But it strikes me that Shakespeare is like Madame - Roland’s Liberty.” - </p> - <p> - “Whose Liberty?” - </p> - <p> - “Madame Roland’s.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, she’s a dressmaker of Bond Street, I suppose. They’re all Madames - there. I dare say I’ve got a bill from her to pay with the rest of them. - Mrs. Mowbray has dealt with them all. Now I’m off. I thought I’d drop in - and tell you all that happened, as you’re accountable for my meeting - Norah.” - </p> - <p> - “You will give her my best regards and warmest congratulations,” said - Harold. “Accept the same yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “You had a good time at their Irish place yourself, hadn’t you?” said - Archie. “How was it that you didn’t fall in love with Norah when you were - there? That’s what has puzzled me. How is it that every tarty chip didn’t - want to marry her? Oh, I forgot that you—well, wasn’t there a girl - with lovely eyes in Ireland?” - </p> - <p> - “You have heard of Irish girls and their eyes,” said Harold. - </p> - <p> - “She had wonderful gray eyes,” said Archie. Harold became grave. “Oh, yes, - Norah has a pair of eyes too, and she keeps them wide open. She told me a - good deal about their party in Ireland. She took it for granted that you—” - </p> - <p> - “Archie,” said Harold, “like a good chap don’t you ever talk about that to - me again.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, I’ll not,” said Archie. “Only, you see, I thought that you - wouldn’t mind now, as everyone says that she’s going to marry Airey, the - M.P. for some place or other. I knew that you’d be glad to hear that I’d - fired out the Legitimate.” - </p> - <p> - “So I am—very glad.” - </p> - <p> - Archie was off, having abandoned as futile his well-meant attempts to - balance the quill on the toe first of one boot, then of the other. - </p> - <p> - He was off, and Harold was standing at the window, watching him gathering - up his reins and sending his horses at a pretty fair pace into the square. - </p> - <p> - It had fallen—the blow had fallen. She was going to marry Edmund - Airey. - </p> - <p> - Could he blame her? - </p> - <p> - He felt that he had treated her with a baseness that deserved the severest - punishment—such punishment as was now in her power to inflict. She - had trusted him with all her heart—all her soul. She had given - herself up to him freely, and he had made her the victim of a fraud. That - was how he had repaid her for her trustfulness. - </p> - <p> - He did not stir from the window for hours. He thought of her without any - bitterness—all his bitterness was divided between the thoughts of - his own cruelty and the thoughts of Edmund Airey’s cleverness. He did not - know which was the more contemptible; but the conclusion to which he came, - after devoting some time to the consideration of the question of the - relative contemptibility of the two, was that, on the whole, Edmund - Airey’s cleverness was the more abhorrent. - </p> - <p> - But Archie Brown, after leaving St. James’s, drove with his customary - rapidity to Connaught Square, to tell of his achievement to Norah. - </p> - <p> - Miss Innisfail, while fully recognizing the personal obligations of Archie - to the Shakesperian drama, had agreed with her father that this devotion - should not be an absorbing one. She had had a hint or two that it absorbed - a good deal of money, and though she had been assured by Archie that no - one could say a word against Mrs. Mowbray’s character, yet, like Harold—perhaps - even better than Harold—she knew that Mrs. Mowbray was an extremely - well-dressed woman. She listened with interest to Archie’s account of how - he had accomplished that process of “firing out” in regard to the - Legitimate artists; and when he had told her all, she could not help - wondering if Mrs. Mowbray would be quite as well dressed in the future as - she had been in the past. - </p> - <p> - Archie then went on to tell her how he had called upon Harold, and how - Harold had congratulated him. - </p> - <p> - “You didn’t forget to tell him that people are saying that Mr. Airey is - going to marry Miss Avon?” said Norah. - </p> - <p> - “Have I ever forgotten to carry out one of your commissions?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Good gracious! You didn’t suggest that you were commissioned by me to - tell him that?” - </p> - <p> - “Not likely. That’s not the sort of new potatoes I am. I was on the - cautious side, and I didn’t even mention the name of the girl.” He did not - think it necessary to say that the reason for his adoption of this prudent - course was that he had forgotten the name of the girl. “No, but when I - told him that Airey was going to marry her, he gave me a look.” - </p> - <p> - “A look? What sort of a look?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know. The sort of a look a chap would give to a surgeon who had - just snipped off his leg. Poor old Harry looked a bit cut up. Then he - turned to me and said as gravely as a parson—a bit graver than some - parsons—that he’d feel obliged to me if I’d never mention her name - again.” - </p> - <p> - “But you hadn’t mentioned her name, you said.” - </p> - <p> - “Neither I had. He didn’t mention it either. I can only give you an idea - of what he said, I won’t take my oath about the exact words. But I’ll take - my oath that he was more knocked down than any chap I ever came across.” - </p> - <p> - “I knew it,” said Norah. “He’s in love with her still. Mamma says he’s - not; but I know perfectly well that he is. She doesn’t care a scrap for - Mr. Airey.” - </p> - <p> - “How do you know that?” - </p> - <p> - “I know it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER LV.—ON SHAKESPEARE AND ARCHIE BROWN. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was early on the - same afternoon that Beatrice Avon received intimation of a visitor—a - lady, the butler said, who gave the name of Mrs. Mowbray. - </p> - <p> - “I do not know any Mrs. Mowbray, but, of course, I’ll see her,” was the - reply that Beatrice gave to the inquiry if she were at home. - </p> - <p> - “Was it possible,” she thought, “that her visitor was the Mrs. Mowbray - whose portraits in the character of Cymbeline were in all the illustrated - papers?” - </p> - <p> - Before Beatrice, under the impulse of this thought, had glanced at herself - in a mirror—for a girl does not like to appear before a woman of the - highest reputation (for beauty) with hair more awry than is consistent - with tradition—her mind was set at rest. There may have been many - Mrs. Mowbrays in London, but there was only one woman with such a figure, - and such a face. - </p> - <p> - She looked at Beatrice with undisguised interest, but without speaking for - some moments. Equally frank was the interest that was apparent on the face - of Beatrice, as she went forward to meet and to greet her visitor. - </p> - <p> - She had heard that Mrs. Mowbray’s set of sables had cost someone—perhaps - even Mrs. Mowbray herself—seven hundred guineas. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, I will not sit down,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “I feel that I must - apologize for this call.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no,” said Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes; I should,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “I will do better, however, for I - will make my visit a short one. The fact is, Miss Avon, I have heard so - much about you during the past few months from—from—several - people, I could not help being interested in you—greatly interested - indeed.” - </p> - <p> - “That was very kind of you,” said Beatrice, wondering what further - revelation was coming. - </p> - <p> - “I was so interested in you that I felt I must call upon you. I used to - know Lady Innisfail long ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Was it Lady Innisfail who caused you to be interested in me?” asked - Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - “Well, not exactly,” said Mrs. Mowbray; “but it was some of Lady - Innisfail’s guests—some who were entertained at the Irish Castle. I - used also to know Mrs. Lampson—Lord Fotheringay’s daughter. How - terrible the blow of his death must have been to her and her brother.” - </p> - <p> - “I have not seen Mrs. Lampson since,” said Beatrice, “but—” - </p> - <p> - “You have seen the present Lord Fotheringay? Will you let me say that I - hope you have seen him—that you still see him? Do not think me a - gossiping, prying old woman—I suppose I am old enough to be your - mother—for expressing the hope that you will see him, Miss Avon. He - is the best man on earth.” - </p> - <p> - Beatrice had flushed the first moment that her visitor had alluded to - Harold. Her flush had not decreased. - </p> - <p> - “I must decline to speak with you on the subject of Lord Fotheringay, Mrs. - Mowbray,” said Beatrice, somewhat unequally. - </p> - <p> - “Do not say that,” said Mrs. Mowbray, in the most musical of pleading - tones. “Do not say that. You would make me feel how very gross has been my - effrontery in coming to you.” - </p> - <p> - “No, no; please do not think that,” cried Beatrice, yielding, as every - human being could not but yield, to the lovely voice and the gracious - manner of Mrs. Mowbray. What would be resented as a gross piece of - insolence on the part of anyone else, seemed delicately gracious coming - from Mrs. Mowbray. Her insolence was more acceptable than another woman’s - compliment. She knew to what extent she could draw upon her resources, - both as regards men and women. It was only in the case of a young cub such - as Archie that she now and again overrated her powers of fascination. She - knew that she would never pat Archie’s red head again. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you will let me speak to you, or I shall feel that you regard my - visit as an insolent intrusion.” - </p> - <p> - Beatrice felt for the first time in her life that she could fully - appreciate the fable of the Sirens. She felt herself hypnotized by that - mellifluous voice—by the steady sympathetic gaze of the lovely eyes - that were resting upon her face. - </p> - <p> - “He is so fond of you,” Mrs. Mowbray went on. “There is no lover’s quarrel - that will not vanish if looked at straight in the face. Let me look at - yours, my dear child, and I will show you how that demon of distrust can - be exorcised.” Beatrice had become pale. The word <i>distrust</i> had - broken the spell of the Siren. - </p> - <p> - “Mrs. Mowbray,” said she, “I must tell you again that on no consideration—on - no pretence whatever shall I discuss Lord Fotheringay with you.” - </p> - <p> - “Why not with me, my child?” said Mrs. Mowbray. “Because I distrust you—no - I don’t mean that. I only mean that—that you have given me no reason - to trust you. Why have you come to me in this way, may I ask you? It is - not possible that you came here on the suggestion of Lord Fotheringay.” - </p> - <p> - “No; I only came to see what sort of girl it is that Mr. Airey is going to - marry,” said Mrs. Mowbray, with a wicked little smile. - </p> - <p> - Beatrice was no longer pale. She stood with clenched hands before Mrs. - Mowbray, with her eyes fixed upon her face. - </p> - <p> - Then she took a step toward the bell rope. “One moment,” said Mrs. - Mowbray. “Do you expect to marry Edmund Airey?” - </p> - <p> - Beatrice turned, and looked again at her visitor. If the girl had been - less feminine she would have gone on to the bell rope, and have pulled it - gently. She did nothing of the sort. She gave a laugh, and said, “I shall - marry him if I please.” - </p> - <p> - She was feminine. - </p> - <p> - So was Mrs. Mowbray. - </p> - <p> - “Will you?” she said. “Do you fancy for a moment—are you so - infatuated that you can actually fancy that I—I—Gwendoline - Mowbray, will allow you—you—to take Edmund Airey away from me? - Oh, the child is mad—mad!” - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean to tell me,” said Beatrice, coming close to her, “that Edmund - Airey is—is—a lover of yours?” - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” said Mrs. Mowbray, smiling, “you do not live in our world, my - child.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I do not,” said Beatrice. “I now see why you have come to me to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “I told you why.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes; you told me. Edmund Airey has been your lover.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Has been?</i> My child, it is only when I please that a lover of mine - becomes associated with a past tense. I have not yet allowed Edmund Airey - to associate with my ‘have beens.’ It was from him that I learned all - about you. He alluded to you in his letters to me from Ireland merely as - ‘a gray eye or so.’ You still mean to marry him?” - </p> - <p> - “I still mean to do what I please,” said Beatrice. She had now reached the - bell rope and she pulled it very gently. - </p> - <p> - “You are an extremely beautiful young person,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “But you - have not been able to keep close to you a man like Harold Wynne—a - man with a perfect genius for fidelity. And yet you expect—” - </p> - <p> - Here the door was opened by the butler. Mrs. Mowbray allowed her sentence - to dwindle away into the conventionalities of leave-taking with a - stranger. - </p> - <p> - Beatrice found herself standing with flushed cheeks and throbbing heart at - the door through which her visitor had passed. - </p> - <p> - It was somewhat remarkable that the most vivid impression which she - retained of the rather exciting series of scenes in which she had - participated, was that Mrs. Mowbray’s sables were incomparably the finest - that she had ever seen. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Mowbray could scarcely have driven round the great square before the - butler inquired if Miss Avon was at home to Miss Innisfail. In another - minute Norah Innisfail was embracing her with the warmth of a true-hearted - girl who comes to tell another of her engagement to marry an eligible man, - or a handsome man, let him be eligible or otherwise. - </p> - <p> - “I want to be the first to give you the news, my dearest Beatrice,” said - Norah. “That is why I came alone. I know you have not heard the news.” - </p> - <p> - “I hear no news, except about things that do not interest me in the - least,” said Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - “My news concerns myself,” said Norah. - </p> - <p> - “Then it’s sure to interest me,” cried Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - “It’s so funny! But yet it’s very serious,” said Norah. “The fact is that - I’m going to marry Archie Brown.” - </p> - <p> - “Archie Brown?” said Beatrice. “I hope he is the best man in the world—he - should be, to deserve you, my dear Norah.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought perhaps you might have known him,” said Norah. “I find that - there are a good many people still who do not know Archie Brown, in spite - of the Legitimate Theatre and all that he has done for Shakespeare.” - </p> - <p> - “The Legitimate Theatre. Is that where Mrs. Mowbray acts?” - </p> - <p> - “Only for another week. Oh, yes, Archie takes a great interest in - Shakespeare. He meant the Legitimate Theatre to be a monument to the - interest he takes in Shakespeare, and so it would have been, if the people - had only attended properly, as they should have done. Archie is very much - disappointed, of course; but he says, very rightly, that the Lord - Chamberlain isn’t nearly particular enough in the plays that he allows to - be represented, and so the public have lost confidence in the theatres—they - are never sure that something objectionable will not be played—and - go to the Music Halls, which can always be trusted. Archie says he’ll turn - the Legitimate into a Music Hall—that is, if he can’t sell the - lease.” - </p> - <p> - “Whether he does so or not, I congratulate you with all my heart, my - dearest Norah.” - </p> - <p> - “If you had come down to Abbeylands in time—before that awful thing - happened—you would have met Archie. We met him there. Mamma took a - great fancy to him at once, and I think that I must have done the same. At - any rate I did when he came to stay with us. He’s such a good fellow, with - red hair—not the sort that the old Venetian painters liked, but - another sort. Strictly speaking some of his features—his mouth, for - instance—are too large, but if you look at him in one position, when - he has his face turned away from you, he’s quite—quite—ah—quite - curious—almost nice. You’ll like him, I know.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m sure of it,” said Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - “Yes; and he’s such a friend of Harold Wynne’s,” continued the artful - Norah. “Why, what’s the matter with you, Beatrice? You are as pale—dearest - Beatrice, you and I were always good friends. You know that I always liked - Harold.” - </p> - <p> - “Do not talk about him, Norah.” - </p> - <p> - “Why should I not talk about him? Tell me that.” - </p> - <p> - “He is gone—gone away.” - </p> - <p> - “Not he. He’s too wretched to go away anywhere. Archie was with him - to-day, and when he heard that—well, the way some people are talking - about you and Mr. Airey, he had not a word to throw to a dog—Archie - told me so.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, do not talk of him, Norah.” - </p> - <p> - “Why should I not?” - </p> - <p> - “Because—ah, because he’s the only one worth talking about, and now - he’s gone from me, and I’ll never see him again—never, never again!” - Before she had come to the end of her sentence, Beatrice was lying sobbing - on the unsympathetic cushion of the sofa—the same cushion that had - absorbed her tears when she had told Harold to leave her. - </p> - <p> - “My dearest Beatrice,” whispered Norah, kneeling beside her, with her face - also down a spare corner of the cushion, “I have known how you were moping - here alone. I’ve come to take you away. You’ll come down with us to our - place at Netherford. There’s a lake with ice on it, and there’s Archie, - and many other pretty things. Oh, yes, you’ll come, and we’ll all be - happy.” - </p> - <p> - “Norah,” cried Beatrice, starting up almost wildly, “Mr. Airey will be - here in half an hour to ask me to marry him. He wrote to say that he would - be here, and I know what he means.” Mr. Airey did call in half an hour, - and he found Beatrice—as he felt certain she should—waiting to - receive him, wearing a frock that he admired, and lace that he approved - of. - </p> - <p> - But in the meantime Beatrice and Norah had had a few words together beyond - those just recorded. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER LVI.—ON THE BITTER CRY. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>DMUND AIREY drank - his cup of tea which Beatrice poured out for him, and while doing so, he - told her of the progress that was being made by the agitation of the - Opposition and the counter agitation of the Government. There was no - disguising the fact that the country—like the fool that it was—had - been caught by the bitter cry from Siberia. There was nothing like a - bitter cry, Edmund said, for catching hold of the country. If any cry was - only bitter enough it would succeed. Fortunately, however, the Government, - in its appeal against the Atheism of the Continent, had also struck a - chord that vibrated through the length and breadth of England and - Scotland. The Government orators were nightly explaining that no really - sincere national effort had ever been made to convert the Jews. To be - sure, some endeavours had been made from time to time to effect this great - object—in the days of Isaac of York the gridiron and forceps had - been the auxiliaries of the Church to bring about the conversion of the - Hebrew race; and, more recently, the potent agency of drawing-room - meetings and a house-to-house collection had been resorted to; but the - results had been disappointing. Statistics were forthcoming—nothing - impresses the people of Great Britain more than a long array of figures, - Edmund Airey explained—to show that, whereas, on any part of the - West coast of Africa where rum was not prohibited, for one pound sterling - 348 negroes could be converted—the rate was 0.01 where rum was - prohibited—yet for a subscription of five pounds, one could only - depend on 0.31 of the Jewish race—something less than half an adult - Hebrew—being converted. The Government orators were asking how long - so scandalous a condition of affairs was to be allowed to continue, and so - forth. - </p> - <p> - Oh, yes, he explained, things were going on merrily. In three days - Parliament would meet, and the Opposition had drafted their Amendment to - the Address, “That in the opinion of this House no programme of - legislation can be considered satisfactory that does not include a protest - against the horrors daily enacted in Siberia.” - </p> - <p> - If this Amendment were carried it would, of course, be equivalent to a - Vote of Censure upon the Government, and the Ministers would be compelled - to resign, Edmund explained to Beatrice. - </p> - <p> - She was very attentive, and when he had completed a clever account of the - political machinery by which the operations of the Nonconformist - Conscience are controlled, she said quietly, “My sympathies are certainly - with Siberia. I hope you will vote for that Amendment.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed in his superior way. - </p> - <p> - “That is so like a girl,” said he. “You are carried away by your - sympathies of the moment. You do not wait to reason out any question.” - </p> - <p> - “I dare say you are right,” said she, smiling. “Our conscience is not - susceptible of those political influences to which you referred just now.” - </p> - <p> - “‘They are dangerous guides—the feelings’,” said he, “at least from - a standpoint of politics.” - </p> - <p> - “But there are, thank God, other standpoints in the world from which - humanity may be viewed,” said she. - </p> - <p> - “There are,” said he. “And I also join with you in saying, ‘thank God!’ Do - you fancy that I am here to-day—that I have been here so frequently - during the past two months, from a political motive, Beatrice?” - </p> - <p> - “I cannot tell,” she replied. “Have you not just said that the feelings - are dangerous guides?” - </p> - <p> - “They lead one into danger,” said he. “There can be no doubt about that.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you ever allowed them to lead you?” she asked, with another smile. - </p> - <p> - “Only once, and that is now,” said he. “With you I have thrown away every - guide but my feelings. A few months ago I could not have believed it - possible that I should do so. But with God and Woman all things are - possible. That is why I am here to-day to ask you if you think it possible - that you could marry me.” - </p> - <p> - She had risen to her feet, not by a sudden impulse, but slowly. She was - not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed upon some imaginary point beyond - him. She was plainly under the influence of some very strong feeling. A - full minute had passed before she said, “You should not have come to me - with that request, Mr. Airey. - </p> - <p> - “Why should I not? Do you think that I am here through any other impulse - than that of my feelings?” - </p> - <p> - “How can I tell?” she said, and now she was looking at him. “How can I - tell which you hold dearer—political advancement, or my love?” - </p> - <p> - “How can you doubt me for a moment, Beatrice?” he said reproachfully—almost - mournfully. “Why am I waiting anxiously for your acceptance of my offer, - if I do not hold your love more precious than all other considerations in - the world?” - </p> - <p> - “Do you so hold it?” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed I do.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I have told you that my sympathies are altogether with Siberia. Vote - for the Amendment of the Opposition.” - </p> - <p> - “What can you mean, Beatrice?” - </p> - <p> - “I mean that if you vote for the Amendment, you will have shown me that - you are capable of rising above mere party considerations. I don’t make - this the price of my love, remember. I don’t make any compact to marry you - if you adopt the course that I suggest. I only say that you will have - proved to me that your words are true—that you hold something higher - than political expediency.” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him. - </p> - <p> - He looked at her. - </p> - <p> - There was a long pause. - </p> - <p> - “You are unreasonable. I cannot do it,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye,” said she. - </p> - <p> - He looked at the hand which she had thrust out to him, but he did not take - it. - </p> - <p> - “You really mean me to vote against my party?” said he. - </p> - <p> - “What other way can you prove to me that you are superior to party - considerations?” said she. - </p> - <p> - “It would mean self-effacement politically,” said he. “Oh, you do not - appreciate the gravity of the thing.” - </p> - <p> - He turned abruptly away from her and strode across the room. - </p> - <p> - She remained silent where he had left her. - </p> - <p> - “I did not think you capable of so cruel a caprice as this,” he continued, - from the fireplace. “You do not understand the consequences of my voting - against my party.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps I do not,” said she. “But I have given you to understand the - consequences of not doing so.” - </p> - <p> - “Then we must part,” said he, approaching her. “Good-bye,” said she, once - more. - </p> - <p> - He took her hand this time. He held it for a moment irresolutely, then he - dropped it. - </p> - <p> - “Are you really in earnest, Beatrice?” said he. “Do you really mean to put - me to this test?” - </p> - <p> - “I never was more in earnest in my life,” said she. “Think over the matter—let - me entreat of you to think over it,” he said, earnestly. - </p> - <p> - “And you will think over it also?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I will think over it. Oh, Beatrice, do not allow yourself to be - carried away by this caprice. It is unworthy of you.” - </p> - <p> - “Do not be too hard on me, I am only a woman,” said she, very meekly. - </p> - <p> - She was only a woman. He felt that very strongly as he walked away. - </p> - <p> - And yet he had told Harold that he had great hope of Woman, by reason of - her femininity. - </p> - <p> - And yet he had told Harold that he understood Woman and her motives. - </p> - <p> - “Papa,” said Beatrice, from the door of the historian’s study. “Papa, Mr. - Edmund Airey has just been here to ask me to marry him.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s right, my dear,” said the great historian. “Marry him, or anyone - else you please, only run away and play with your dolls now. I’m very - busy.” - </p> - <p> - This was precisely the answer that Beatrice expected. It was precisely the - answer that anyone might have expected from a man who permitted such a <i>ménage</i> - as that which prevailed under his roof. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER LVII.—ON THE REJECTED ADDRESSES. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next day - Beatrice went with Norah Innisfail and her mother to their home in - Nethershire. Two days afterwards the Legitimate Theatre closed its doors, - and Parliament opened its doors. The Queen’s Speech was read, and a member - of the Opposition moved the Amendment relating to Siberia. The Debate on - the Address began. - </p> - <p> - On the second night of the debate Edmund Airey called at the historian’s - house and, on asking for Miss Avon, learned that she was visiting Lady - Innisfail in Nethershire. On the evening of the fourth day of the debate—the - Division on the Amendment was to be taken that night—he drove in - great haste to the same house, and learned that Miss Avon was still in - Nethershire, but that she was expected home on the following day. - </p> - <p> - He partook of a hasty dinner at his club, and, writing out a telegram, - gave it to a hall-porter to send to the nearest telegraph office. - </p> - <p> - The form was addressed to Miss Avon, in care of Lord Innisfail, Netherford - Hall, Netherford, Nethershire, and it contained the following words, “<i>I - will do it. Edmund</i>.” - </p> - <p> - He did it. - </p> - <p> - He made a brief speech amid the cheers of the Opposition and the howls of - the Government party, acknowledging his deep sympathy with the unhappy - wretches who were undergoing the unspeakable horrors of a Siberian exile, - and thus, he said he felt compelled, on conscientious grounds (ironical - cheers from the Government) to vote for the Amendment. - </p> - <p> - He went into the lobby with the Opposition. - </p> - <p> - It was an Irish member who yelled out “Judas!” - </p> - <p> - The Government was defeated by a majority of one vote, and there was a - “scene” in the House. - </p> - <p> - Some time ago an enterprising person took up his abode in the midst of an - African jungle, in order to study the methods by which baboons express - themselves. He might have spared himself that trouble, if he had been - present upon the occasion of a “scene” in the House of Commons. He would, - from a commanding position in the Strangers’ Gallery, have learned all - that he had set his heart upon acquiring—and more. - </p> - <p> - It was while the “scene” was being enacted that Edmund Airey had put into - his hand the telegraph form written out by himself in his club. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Telegraph Office at Netherford closes at 6 p.m</i>.,” were the words - that the hall-porter had written on the back of the form. - </p> - <p> - The next day he drove to the historian’s, and inquired if Miss Avon had - returned. - </p> - <p> - She was in the drawing-room, the butler said. - </p> - <p> - With triumph—a sort of triumph—in his heart, and on his face, - he ascended the staircase. - </p> - <p> - He thought that he had never before seen her look so beautiful. Surely - there was triumph on her face as well! It was glowing, and her eyes were - more lustrous even than usual. She had plainly just returned, for she had - on a travelling dress. - </p> - <p> - “Beatrice, you saw the newspapers? You saw that I have done it?” he cried, - exultantly. - </p> - <p> - “Done what?” she inquired. “I have seen no newspaper to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “What? Is it possible that you have not heard that I voted last night for - the Amendment?” he cried. - </p> - <p> - “I heard nothing,” she replied. - </p> - <p> - “I wrote a telegram last evening, telling you that I meant to do it, but - it appears that the office at Netherford closes at six, so it could not be - sent. I did not know how much you were to me until yesterday, Beatrice.” - </p> - <p> - “Stop,” she said. “I was married to Harold Wynne an hour ago.” - </p> - <p> - He looked at her for some moments, and then dropped into a chair. - </p> - <p> - “You have made a fool of me,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “No,” she said. “I could not do that. If I had got your telegram in time - last evening I would have replied to it, telling you that, whatever step - you took, it would not bring you any nearer to me. Harold Wynne, you see, - came to me again. I had promised to marry him when we were together at - that seal-hunt, but—well, something came between us.” - </p> - <p> - “And you revenged yourself upon me? You made a fool of me!” - </p> - <p> - “If I had tried to do so, would it have been remarkable, Mr. Airey? - Supposing that I had been made a fool of by the compact into which you - entered with Miss Craven, who would have been to blame? Was there ever a - more shameful compact entered into by a clever man and a clever woman to - make a victim of a girl who believed that the world was overflowing with - sincerity? I was made acquainted with the nature of that compact of yours, - Mr. Airey, but I cannot say that I have yet learned what are the terms of - your compact—or is it a contract?—with Mrs. Mowbray. Still, I - know something. And yet you complain that I have made a fool of you.” - </p> - <p> - He had completely recovered himself before she had got to the end of her - little speech. He had wondered how on earth she had become acquainted with - the terms of his compact with Helen. When, however, she referred to Mrs. - Mowbray, he felt sure that it was Mrs. Mowbray who had betrayed him. - </p> - <p> - He was beginning to learn something of women and their motives. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing is likely to be gained by this sort of recrimination,” said he, - rising. “You have ruined my career.” - </p> - <p> - She laughed, not bitterly but merrily, he knew all along that she had - never fully appreciated the gravity of the step which she had compelled - him—that was how he put it—to take. She had not even had the - interest to glance at a newspaper to see how he had voted. But then she - had not read the leading articles in the Government organs which were - plentifully besprinkled with his name printed in small capitals. That was - his one comforting thought. - </p> - <p> - She laughed. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, Mr. Airey,” said she. “Your career is not ruined. Clever men are - not so easily crushed, and you are a very clever man—so clever as to - be able to make me clever, if that were possible.” - </p> - <p> - “You have crushed me,” he said. “Good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - “If I wished to crush you I should have married you,” said she. “No woman - can crush a man unless she is married to him. Good-bye.” - </p> - <p> - The butler opened the door. “Is my husband in yet?” she asked of the man. - </p> - <p> - “His lordship has not yet returned, my lady,” said the butler, who had - once lived in the best families—far removed from literature—and - who was, consequently, able to roll off the titles with proper effect. - </p> - <p> - “Then you will not have an opportunity of seeing him, I’m afraid,” she - said, turning to Mr. Airey. - </p> - <p> - “I think I already said good-bye, Lady Fotheringay.” - </p> - <p> - “I do believe that you did. If I did not, however, I say it now. Good-bye, - Mr. Airey.” - </p> - <p> - He got into a hansom and drove straight to Helen Craven’s house. It was - the most dismal drive he had ever had. He could almost fancy that the - message boys in the streets were, in their accustomed high spirits, - pointing to him with ridicule as the man who had turned his party out of - office. - </p> - <p> - Helen Craven was in her boudoir. She liked receiving people in that - apartment. She understood its lights. - </p> - <p> - He found that she had read the newspapers. - </p> - <p> - She stared at him as he entered, and gave him a limp hand. - </p> - <p> - “What on earth did you mean by voting—” she began. - </p> - <p> - “You may well ask,” said he. “I was a fool. I was made a fool of by that - girl. She made me vote against my party.” - </p> - <p> - “And she refuses to marry you now?” - </p> - <p> - “She married Harold Wynne an hour ago.” - </p> - <p> - Helen Craven did not fling herself about when she heard this piece of - news. She only sat very rigid on her little sofa. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” resumed Edmund. “She is ill-treated by one man, but she marries - him, and revenges herself upon another! Isn’t that like a woman? She has - ruined my career.” - </p> - <p> - Then it was that Helen Craven burst into a long, loud, and very unmusical - laugh—a laugh that had a suspicion of a shrill shriek about some of - its tones. When she recovered, her eyes were full of the tears which that - paroxysm of laughter had caused. - </p> - <p> - “You are a fool, indeed!” said she. “You are a fool if you cannot see that - your career is just beginning. People are talking of you to-day as the - Conscientious One—the One Man with a Conscience. Isn’t the - reputation for a Conscience the beginning of success in England?” - </p> - <p> - “Helen,” he cried, “will you marry me? With our combined money we can make - ourselves necessary to any party. Will you marry me?” - </p> - <p> - “I will,” she said. “I will marry you with pleasure—now. I will - marry anyone—now.” - </p> - <p> - “Give me your hand, Helen,” he cried. “We understand one another—that - is enough to start with. And as for that other—oh, she is nothing - but a woman after all!” - </p> - <p> - He never spoke truer words. - </p> - <p> - But sometimes when he is alone he thinks that she treated him badly. - </p> - <p> - Did she? - </p> - <h3> - THE END. - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg’s A Gray Eye or So, by Frank Frankfort Moore - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GRAY EYE OR SO *** - -***** This file should be named 51946-h.htm or 51946-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/4/51946/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the -Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the -phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the - United States, you’ll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain -Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation.” - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right -of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. - -The Foundation’s principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - - -</pre> - - </body> -</html> diff --git a/old/51946-h/images/0007.jpg b/old/51946-h/images/0007.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 58d9e79..0000000 --- a/old/51946-h/images/0007.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51946-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/51946-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 58d9e79..0000000 --- a/old/51946-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51946-h/images/enlarge.jpg b/old/51946-h/images/enlarge.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 5a9bcf3..0000000 --- a/old/51946-h/images/enlarge.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old/51946-h.htm.2021-01-24 b/old/old/51946-h.htm.2021-01-24 deleted file mode 100644 index 51a9de9..0000000 --- a/old/old/51946-h.htm.2021-01-24 +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6355 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
-
-<!DOCTYPE html
- PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
- "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
-
-<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
- <head>
- <title>
- A Gray Eye Or So, by Frank Frankfort Moore
- </title>
- <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" />
- <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
-
- body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
- P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
- H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
- hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
- .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;}
- blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
- .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
- .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
- .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;}
- .xx-small {font-size: 60%;}
- .x-small {font-size: 75%;}
- .small {font-size: 85%;}
- .large {font-size: 115%;}
- .x-large {font-size: 130%;}
- .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;}
- .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;}
- .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;}
- .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;}
- .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;}
- .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;}
- div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
- div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
- .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
- .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
- .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em;
- font-variant: normal; font-style: normal;
- text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD;
- border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;}
- .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em;
- border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left;
- text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;
- font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;}
- .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em;
- border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center;
- text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;
- font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;}
- p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0}
- span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 }
- pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
-
-</style>
- </head>
- <body>
-
-
-<pre>
-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Gray Eye or So, by Frank Frankfort Moore
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: A Gray Eye or So
- In Three Volumes--Volume III
-
-Author: Frank Frankfort Moore
-
-Release Date: May 2, 2016 [EBook #51946]
-Last Updated: November 15, 2016
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GRAY EYE OR SO ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- A GRAY EYE OR SO
- </h1>
- <h2>
- By Frank Frankfort Moore
- </h2>
- <h3>
- In Three Volumes—Volume III
- </h3>
- <h3>
- Sixth Edition
- </h3>
- <h4>
- London
- </h4>
- <h4>
- Hutchinson & Co., 34 Paternoster Row
- </h4>
- <h3>
- 1893
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>A GRAY EYE OR SO.</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER XXXVIII.—ON A KNOWLEDGE OF THE
- WORLD. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER XXXIX.—ON CONSCIENCE AND THE RING.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER XL.—ON SOCIETY AND THE SEAL. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER XLI.—ON DRY CHAMPAGNE AND A CRISIS.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER XLII.—ON THE RING AND THE LOOK.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER XLIII.—ON THE SON OF APHRODITE.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER XLIV.—ON THE SHORTCOMINGS OF A
- SYSTEM. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER XLV.—ON MOONLIGHT AND MORALS. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER XLVI.—ON A BED OF LOGS. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER XLVII.—ON THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XLVIII—ON MURDER AS A SOCIAL
- INCIDENT. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XLIX.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF
- CONFESSION. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER L.—ON CONSOLATION AS A FINE ART.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER LI.—ON THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE AND
- OTHERS. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER LII.—ON THE FLUSH, THE FOOL, AND
- FATE. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER LIII.—ON A SUPREME ASPIRATION. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER LIV.—ON THE DECAY OF THE PAT AS A
- POWER. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER LV.—ON SHAKESPEARE AND ARCHIE
- BROWN. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER LVI.—ON THE BITTER CRY. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER LVII.—ON THE REJECTED ADDRESSES.
- </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- A GRAY EYE OR SO.
- </h1>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXVIII.—ON A KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>HORTLY after noon
- he was with her. He had left his rooms without touching a morsel of
- breakfast, and it was plain that such sleep as he had had could not have
- been of a soothing nature. He was pale and haggard; and she seemed
- surprised—not frightened, however, for her love was that which
- casteth out fear—at the way he came to her—with outstretched
- hands which caught her own, as he said, “My beloved—my beloved, I
- have a strange word for you—a strange proposal to make. Dearest, can
- you trust me? Will you marry me—to-morrow—to-day?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She scarcely gave a start. He was only conscious of her hands tightening
- upon his own. She kept her eyes fixed upon his. The silence was long. It
- was made the more impressive by the distinctness with which the jocularity
- of the fishmonger’s hoy with the cook at the area railings, was heard in
- the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harold,” she said, in a voice that had no trace of distrust, “Harold, you
- are part of my life—all my life! When I said that I loved you, I had
- given myself to you. I will marry you any time you please—to-morrow—to-day—this
- moment!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was in his arms, sobbing.
- </p>
- <p>
- His “God bless you, my darling!” sounded like a sob also.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a few moments she was laughing through her tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was not laughing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, tell me what you mean, my beloved,” said she, with a hand on each of
- his shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me what you mean by coming to frighten me like this. What has
- happened?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing has happened, only I want to feel that you are my own—my
- own beyond the possibility of being separated from me by any power on
- earth. I do not want to take you away from your father’s house—I
- cannot offer you any home. It may be years before we can live together as
- those who love one another as we love, may live with the good will of
- heaven. I only want you to become my wife in name, dearest. Our marriage
- must be kept a secret.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But my own love,” said she, “why should you wish to go through this
- ceremony? Are we not united by the true bond of love? Can we be more
- closely united than we are now? The strength of the marriage bond is only
- strong in proportion as the love which is the foundation of marriage is
- strong. Now, why should you wish for the marriage rite before we are
- prepared to live for ever under the same roof?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, why?” he cried passionately, as he looked into the depths of her
- eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- He left her and went across the room to one of the windows and looked out.
- (It was the greengrocer’s boy who was now jocular with the cook at the
- area railings.)
- </p>
- <p>
- “My Beatrice—” Harold had returned to her from his scrutiny of the
- pavement. “My Beatrice, you have not seen all that I have seen in the
- world. You do not know—you do not know me as I know myself. Why
- should there come to me sometimes an unworthy thought—no, not a
- doubt—oh, I have seen so much of the world, Beatrice, I feel that if
- anything should come between us it would kill me. I must—I must feel
- that we are made one—that there is a bond binding us together that
- nothing can sever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, my Harold—no, I will not interpose any buts. You would not ask
- me to do this if you had not some good reason. You say that you know the
- world. I admit that I do not know it. I only know you, and knowing you and
- loving you with all my heart—with all my soul—I trust you
- implicitly—without a question—without the shadow of a doubt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “God bless you, my love, my love! You will never have reason to regret
- loving me—trusting me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is my life—it is my life, Harold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Once again he was standing at the window. This time he remained longer
- with his eyes fixed upon the railings of the square enclosure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It must be to-morrow,” he said, returning to her. “I shall come here at
- noon. A few words spoken in this room and nothing can part us. You will
- still call yourself by your own name, dearest, God hasten the day when you
- can come to me as my wife in the sight of all the world and call yourself
- by my name.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall be here at noon to-morrow,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Unless,” said he, returning to her after he had kissed her forehead and
- had gone to the door. “Unless”—he framed her face with his hands,
- and looked down into the depths of her eyes.—“Unless, when you have
- thought over the whole matter, you feel that you cannot trust me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, my love, my love, you do not know the world,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- Another man who knew the world was Pontius Pilate.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was why he asked “What is Truth?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold Wynne was in Archie Brown’s room in Piccadilly within half an hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- Archie was at the Legitimate Theatre, Mr. Playdell said—Mr. Playdell
- was seated at the dining-room table surrounded by papers. A trifling
- difference of opinion had arisen between Mrs. Mowbray and her manager, he
- added, and (with a smile) Archie had hurried to the theatre to set matters
- right.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is kind of you to call, Mr. Wynne,” continued Mr. Playdell. “But I
- hope it is not to tell me that you regret the suggestion that you made
- yesterday—that you do not see your way to write to your sister to
- invite Archie to her place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wrote to her the moment you left me,” said Harold. “Archie will get his
- invitation this evening. It is not about him that I came here to-day, Mr.
- Playdell. I came to see you. You asked me yesterday to give you an
- opportunity of doing something for me. I can give you that opportunity.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I promise you that I shall embrace it with gladness, Mr. Wynne,” said
- Playdell, rising from the table. “Tell me how I can serve you and you will
- find how ready I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You still hold to your original principles regarding marriage, Mr.
- Playdell?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How could I do otherwise than hold to them, Mr. Wynne? They are the
- result of thought; they are not merely a fad to gain notoriety. Let me
- prove the position that I take up on this matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You need not, Mr. Playdeil. I heard all your case when it was published.
- I confess that I now think differently respecting you from what I thought
- at that time. Will you perform the ceremony of marriage between a lady who
- has promised to marry me and myself?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is only one condition that I make, Mr. Wynne. You must take an oath
- that you consider the rite, as I perform it, to be binding upon you, and
- that you will never recognize a divorce.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will take that oath willingly, Mr. Playdeil. I have promised my <i>fiancée</i>
- that we shall be with her at noon to-morrow. She will be prepared for us.
- By the way, do you require a ring for the ceremony as performed by you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Playdeil looked grave—almost scandalized.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Wynne,” said he, “that question suggests to me a certain disbelief on
- your part in the validity in the sight of heaven of the rite of marriage
- as performed by a man with a full sense of his high office, even though
- unfrocked by a Church that has always shown too great a readiness to
- submit to secular guidance—secular restrictions in matters that were
- originally, like marriage, purely spiritual. The Church has not only
- submitted to civil restrictions in the matter of the celebration of the
- holy rite of matrimony, but, while declaring at the altar that God has
- joined them whom the Church has joined, and while denying the authority of
- man to put them asunder, she recognizes the validity of divorce. She will
- marry a man who has been divorced from his wife, when he has duly paid the
- Archbishop a sum of money for sanctioning what in the sight of God is
- adultery.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear Mr. Playdell,” said Harold, “I recollect very clearly the able
- manner in which you defended your—your—principles, when they
- were called in question. I do not desire to call them in question now. I
- believe in your sincerity in this matter and in other matters. I shall
- drive here for you at half past eleven o’clock to-morrow. I need scarcely
- say that I mean my marriage to be kept a secret.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may depend upon my good faith in that respect,” said Mr. Playdell.
- “Mr. Wynne,” he added, impressively, “this land of ours will never be a
- moral one so long as the Church is content to accept a Parliamentary
- definition of morality. The Church ought certainly to know her own
- business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There I quite agree with you,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- He refrained from asking Mr. Playdell if the Church, in dispensing with
- his services as one of her priests, had not made an honest attempt to
- vindicate her claims to know her own business. He merely said, “Half past
- eleven to-morrow,” after shaking hands with Mr. Playdell, who opened the
- door for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXIX.—ON CONSCIENCE AND THE RING.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AROLD WYNNE shut
- himself up in his rooms without even lunching. He drew a chair in front of
- the fire and seated himself with the sigh of relief that is given by a man
- who has taken a definite step in some matter upon which he has been
- thinking deeply for some time. He sat there all the day, gazing into the
- fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, he had taken the step that had suggested itself to him the previous
- night. He had made up his mind to take advantage of the opportunity that
- was afforded him of binding Beatrice to him by a bond which she at least
- would believe incapable of rupture. The accident of his meeting with the
- man whose views on the question of marriage had caused him to be thrust
- out of the Church, and whose practices left him open to a criminal
- prosecution, had suggested to him the means for binding to him the girl
- whose truth he had no reason to doubt.
- </p>
- <p>
- He meant to perpetrate a fraud upon her. He had known of men entrapping
- innocent girls by means of a mock marriage, and he had always regarded
- such men as the most unscrupulous of scoundrels. He almost succeeded,
- after a time, in quieting the whisperings by his conscience of the word
- “fraud”—its irritating repetitions of this ugly word—by giving
- prominence to the excellence of his intentions in the transaction which he
- was contemplating. It was not a mock marriage—no, it was not, as
- ordinary mock marriages, to be gone through in order to give a man
- possession of the body of a woman, and to admit of his getting rid of her
- when it would suit his convenience to do so. It was, he assured his
- conscience, no mock marriage, since he was seeking it for no gross
- purpose, but simply to banish the feeling of cold distrust which he had
- now and again experienced. Had he not offered to free the girl from the
- promise which she had given to him? Was that like the course which would
- be adopted by a man endeavouring to take advantage of a girl by means of a
- mock marriage? Was there anything on earth that he desired more strongly
- than a real marriage with that same girl? There was nothing. But it was,
- unfortunately, the case that a real marriage would mean ruin to him; for
- he knew that his father would keep his word—when it suited his own
- purpose—and refuse him his allowance upon the day that he refused to
- sign a declaration to the effect that he was unmarried.
- </p>
- <p>
- The rite which Mr. Playdell had promised to perform between him and
- Beatrice would enable him to sign the declaration with—well, with a
- clear conscience.
- </p>
- <p>
- But in the meantime this same conscience continued gibing him upon his
- defence of his conduct; asking him with an irritating sneer, if he would
- mind explaining his position to the girl’s father?—if he was not
- simply taking advantage of the peculiar circumstances of the girl’s life—of
- the remarkable independence which she enjoyed, apparently with the
- sanction of her father, to perpetrate a fraud upon her?
- </p>
- <p>
- For bad taste, for indelicacy, for vulgarity, for disregard of sound
- argument—that is, argument that sounds well—and for general
- obstinacy, there is nothing to compare with a conscience that remains in
- moderately good working order.
- </p>
- <p>
- After all his straightforward reasoning during the space of two hours, he
- sprang from his seat crying, “I’ll not do it—I’ll not do it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He walked about his room for an hour, repeating every now and again the
- words, “I’ll not do it—I’ll not do it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the course of another hour, he turned on his electric lamp, and wrote a
- note of half a dozen lines to Mr Playdell, telling him that, on second
- thoughts, he would not trouble him the next day. Then he wrote an equally
- short note to Beatrice, telling her that he thought it would be advisable
- to have a further talk with her before carrying out the plan which he had
- suggested to her for the next day. He put each note into its cover; but
- when about to affix stamps to them, he found that his stamp-drawer was
- empty. This was not a serious matter; he was going to his club to dine,
- and he knew that he could get stamps from the hall-porter.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt very much lighter at heart leaving his rooms than he had felt on
- entering some hours before. He felt that he had been engaged in a severe
- conflict, and that he had got the better of his adversary.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the door of the club he found Mr. Durdan standing somewhat vacantly. He
- brightened up at the appearance of Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve just been trying to catch some companionable fellow to dine with
- me,” he cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sorry that I can’t congratulate you upon finding one,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I congratulate myself,” said Mr. Durdan, brightly. “You’re the most
- companionable man that I know in town at present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, then you’re not aware of the fact that Edmund Airey is here just
- now,” said Harold with a shrewd laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Edmund Airey? Edmund Airey?” said Mr. Durdan. “Let me tell you that your
- friend Edmund Airey is——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t say it in the open air,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come inside and make the revelation to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you will dine with me? Good! My dear fellow, my medical man has
- warned me times without number of the evil of dining alone, or with a
- newspaper—even the <i>Telegraph</i>. It’s the beginning of
- dyspepsia, he says; so I wait at the door any time I am dining here until
- I get hold of the right man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I can play the part of a priest and exorcise the demon that you’re
- afraid of, you may reckon upon my services,” said Harold. “But to tell you
- the truth, I’m a bit down myself to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s the matter with you—nothing serious?” said Mr. Durdan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve been working out some matters,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know what’s the matter with you,” said the other. “That friend of yours
- has been trying to secure you for the Government, and you were too
- straightforward to be entrapped? Airey is a clever man—I don’t deny
- his cleverness for a moment. Oh, yes; Mr. Airey is a very clever man.” It
- seemed that he was now levelling an accusation against Mr. Airey that his
- best friends would find difficulty in repudiating. “Yes, but you and I,
- Wynne, are not to be caught by a phrase. The moment he fancied that I was
- attracted to her—I say, fancied, mind—and that he fancied—it
- may have been the merest fancy—that she was not altogether
- indifferent to me, he forced himself forward, and I have good reason to
- believe that he is now in town solely on her account. I give you my word,
- Wynne, I never spoke a sentence to Miss Avon that all the world mightn’t
- hear. Oh, there’s nothing so contemptible as a man like Airey—a
- fellow who is attracted to a girl only when he sees that she is attracting
- other men. Yes, I met a man yesterday who told me that Airey was in town.
- ‘Why should he be in town now?’ I inquired. ‘There’s nothing going on in
- town.’ He winked and said, ‘<i>cherchez la femme</i>’—he did upon my
- word. Oh, the days of the Government are numbered. Will you try Chablis or
- Sauterne?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold said that he rather thought that he would try Chablis.
- </p>
- <p>
- For another hour-and-a-half he was forced to listen to Mr. Durdan’s
- prosing about the blunders of the Administration, and the designs of
- Edmund Airey. He left the club without asking the hall-porter for any
- stamps.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had made up his mind that he would not need any stamps that night.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before he reached his rooms he took out of the pocket of his overcoat the
- two letters which he had written, and he tore them both into small pieces.
- </p>
- <p>
- With the chatter of Mr. Durdan there had come back to him that feeling of
- distrust.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, he would make sure of her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He unlocked one of the drawers in his writing-table and brought out a
- small <i>boule</i> case. When he had found—not without a good deal
- of searching—the right key for the box, he opened it. It contained
- an ivory miniature of his mother, in a Venetian mounting, a few jewels,
- and two small rings. One of them was set with a fine chrysoprase cameo of
- Eros, and surrounded by rubies. The other was an old <i>in memoriam</i>
- ring.
- </p>
- <p>
- He picked up the cameo and scrutinized it attentively for some time,
- slipping it down to the first joint of his little finger. He kept turning
- it over for half an hour before he laid it on the desk and relocked the
- box and the drawer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will be hers,” he said. “Would I use my mother’s ring for this
- ceremony if I meant it to be a fraud—if I meant to take advantage of
- it to do an injury to my beloved one? As I deal with her, so may God deal
- with me when my hour comes.” It was a ring that had been left to him with
- a few other trinkets by his mother, and he had now chosen it for the
- ceremony which was to be performed the next day.
- </p>
- <p>
- Curiously enough, the fact of his choosing this ring did more to silence
- the whispering jeers of his conscience than all his phrases of argument
- had done.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day he called for Mr. Playdell in a hansom, and shortly after
- noon, the words of the marriage service of the Church of England had been
- repeated in the Bloomsbury drawing-room by the man who had once been a
- priest and who still wore the garb of a priest. He, at any rate, did not
- consider the rite a mockery.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold could not shake off the feeling that he was acting a part in a
- dream. When it was all over he dropped into a chair, and his head fell
- forward until his face was buried in his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was left for Beatrice to comfort this sufferer in his hour of trial.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her hand—his mother’s ring was upon the third finger—was upon
- his head, and he heard her low sympathetic voice saying, “My husband—my
- husband—I shall be a true wife to you for ever and ever. We shall
- live trusting one another for ever, my beloved!”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were alone in the room. He did not raise his face from his hands for
- a long time. She knelt beside where he was sitting and put her head
- against his.
- </p>
- <p>
- In an instant he had clasped her passionately. He held her close to him,
- looking into her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, my love, my love,” he cried. “What am I that you should have given to
- me that divine gift of your love? What am I that I should have asked you
- to do this for my sake? Was there ever such love as yours, Beatrice? Was
- there ever such baseness as mine? Will you forgive me, Beatrice?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only once,” said she, “I felt that—I scarcely know what I felt,
- dear—I think it was that your hurrying on our marriage showed—was
- it a want of trust?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was a fool—a fool!” he said bitterly. “The temptation to bind you
- to me was too great to be resisted. But now—oh, Beatrice, I will
- give up my life to make you happy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XL.—ON SOCIETY AND THE SEAL.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next afternoon
- when Harold called upon Beatrice, he found her with two letters in her
- hand. The first was a very brief one from her father, letting her know
- that he would have to remain in Dublin for at least a fortnight longer;
- the second was from Mrs. Lampson—she had paid Beatrice a ten
- minutes’ visit the previous day—inviting her to stay for a week at
- Abbeylands, from the following Tuesday.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What am I to do in the matter, my husband—you see how quickly I
- have come to recognize your authority?” she cried, while he glanced at his
- sister’s invitation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dearest, you had better recognize the duty of a wife in this and other
- matters, by pleasing yourself,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said she. “I will only do what you advise me. That, you should see
- as a husband—I see it clearly as a wife—will give me a capital
- chance of throwing the blame on you in case of any disappointment. Oh,
- yes, you may be certain that if I go anywhere on your recommendation and
- fail to enjoy myself, all the blame will be laid at your door. That’s the
- way with wives, is it not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t say,” said he. “I’ve never had one from whom to get any hints
- that would enable me to form an opinion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then what did you mean by suggesting to me that it was wife-like to
- please myself?” said she, with an affectation of shrewdness that was
- extremely charming.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve seen other men’s wives now and again,” said he. “It was a great
- privilege.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And they pleased themselves?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They did not please me, at any rate. I don’t see why you shouldn’t go
- down to my sister’s place next week. You should enjoy yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will be there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was to have been there,” said he; “but when I promised to go I had not
- met you. When I found that you were to be in town, I told Ella, my sister,
- that it was impossible for me to join her party.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course that decides the matter,” said she. “I must remain here, unless
- you change your mind and go to Abbeylands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He remained thoughtful for a few moments, and then he turned to where she
- was opening the old mahogany escritoire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I particularly want you to go to my sister’s,” he said. “A reason has
- just occurred to me—a very strong reason, why you should accept the
- invitation, especially as I shall not be there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no,” said she, “I could not go without you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear Beatrice, where is that wifely obedience of which you mean to be
- so graceful an exponent?” said he, standing behind her with a hand on each
- of her shoulders. “The fact is, dearest, that far more than you can
- imagine depends on your taking this step. It is necessary to throw people—my
- relations in particular—off the notion that something came of our
- meeting at Castle Innisfail. Now, if you were to go to Abbeylands while it
- was known that I had excused myself, you can understand what the effect
- would be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The effect, so far as I’m concerned, would be that I should be miserable,
- all the time I was away from you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The effect would be, that those people who may have been joining our
- names together, would feel that they have been a little too precipitate in
- their conclusions.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That seems a very small result for so much self-sacrifice on our part,
- Harold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s not so small as it may seem to you. I see now how important it would
- be to me—to both of us—if you were to go for a week to
- Abbeylands while I remain in town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then of course I’ll go. Yes, dear; I told you that I would trust you for
- ever. I placed all my trust in you yesterday. How many people would
- condemn me for marrying you in such indecent haste—that is what they
- would call it—and without a word of consultation with my father
- either? When I showed my trust in you at that time—the most
- important in my life—you may, I think, have confidence that I will
- trust you in everything. Yes, I’ll go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had turned away from her. How could he face her when she was talking in
- this way about her trust in him?
- </p>
- <p>
- “There has never been trust like yours, my beloved,” said he, after a
- pause. “You will never regret it for a moment, my love—never,
- never!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know it—I know it,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The fact is, Beatrice,” said he, after another pause, “my relatives think
- that if I were to marry Helen Craven I should be doing a remarkably good
- stroke of business. They were right: it would be a good stroke—of
- business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How odd,” cried Beatrice. She had become thoroughly interested. “I never
- thought of such a possibility at Castle Innisfail. She is nice, I think;
- only she does not know how to dress.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In an instant there came to his memory Mrs. Mowbray’s cynical words
- regarding the extent of a woman’s forgiveness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The question of being nice or of dressing well does not make any
- difference so far as my friends are concerned,” said he. “All that is
- certain is that Helen Craven has several thousands of pounds a year, and
- they think that I should be satisfied with that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so you should,” she cried, with the light of triumph in her eyes. “I
- wonder if Mr. Airey knew what the wishes of your relatives were in this
- matter. I should like to know that, because I now recollect that he
- suggested something in that way when we talked together about you one
- evening at the Castle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Edmund Airey gave me the strongest possible advice on the subject,” said
- Harold. “Yes, he advised me to ask Helen Craven to be my wife. More than
- that—I only learnt it a few days ago—so soon as you appeared
- at the Castle, and he saw—he sees things very quickly—that I
- was in love with you, he thought that if he were to interest you greatly,
- and that if you found out that he was wealthy and distinguished, you might
- possibly decline to fall in love with me, and so——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so fall in love with him?” she cried, starting up from her chair at
- the desk. “I see now all that he meant. He meant that I should be
- interested in him—I was, too, greatly interested in him—and
- that I should be attracted to him, and away from you. But all the time he
- had no intention of allowing himself to be attracted by me to the point of
- ever asking me to marry him. In short, he was amusing himself at my
- expense. Oh, I see it all now. I must confess that, now and again, I
- wondered what Mr. Airey meant by placing himself so frequently by my side.
- I felt flattered—I admit that I felt flattered. Can you imagine
- anything so cruel as the purpose that he set himself to accomplish?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her face had become pale. This only gave emphasis to the flashing of her
- eyes. She was in a passion of indignation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Edmund Airey and his tricks were defeated,” said Harold in a low voice.
- “Yes, we have got the better of him, Beatrice, so much is certain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But the cruelty of it—the cruelty—oh, what does it matter
- now?” she cried. Then her paleness vanished into a delicate roseate flush,
- as she gave a laugh, and said, “After all, I believe that my indignation
- is due only to my wounded vanity. Yes, all girls are alike, Harold. Our
- vanity is our dominant quality.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not so with you, Beatrice,” he said. “I know you truly, my dear. I
- know that you would be as indignant if you heard of the same trickery
- being carried on in respect of another girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would—I know I would,” she cried. “But what does it matter? As
- you say, I—we—have defeated this Mr. Airey, so that my vanity
- at least can find sweet consolation in reflecting that we have been
- cleverer than he was. I don’t suppose that he could imagine anyone
- existing cleverer than himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I think that we have got the better of him,” said Harold. He was a
- little surprised to find that she felt so strongly on the subject of
- Edmund’s attitude in regard to herself. He did not think it wise to tell
- her that that attitude was due to the timely suggestion of Helen. He could
- not bring himself to do so. He felt that his doing so would be to place
- himself on a level with the man who gives his wife during the first year
- of their married life, a circumstantial account of the many wealthy and
- beautiful young women who were anxious—to a point of distraction—to
- marry him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt that there was no need for him to say anything about Helen—he
- almost wished that he had said nothing about Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We got the better of him,” he said a second time. “Never mind Edmund
- Airey. You must go to Abbeylands and amuse yourself. You will most likely
- meet with Archie Brown there. Archie is the plainest looking and probably
- the richest man of his age in England. He is to be made the subject of an
- experiment at Abbeylands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is he to be vivisected?” said she. She was now neither pale nor roseate.
- She was herself once more.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s no need to vivisect poor Archie,” said he. “Everyone knows that
- there’s nothing particular about Archie. No; we are merely trying a new
- cure for him. He has not been in a very healthy state lately.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If he is delicate, I suppose he will be thrown a good deal with us—the
- females, the incapables—while the pheasant-shooting is going on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will see how matters are managed at Abbeylands,” said Harold. “If you
- find that Archie is attracted toward any girl who is distinctly nice, you
- might—how does a girl assist her weaker sister to make up her mind
- to look with friendly eyes upon such a one as Archie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let me see,” said she. “Wouldn’t the best way be for girl number one to
- look with friendly eyes on him herself?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold lay back on his chair and laughed at first; then he gazed at her in
- wonder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are cleverer than Edmund Airey and Helen Craven when they combine
- their wisdom,” said he. “Your woman’s instinct is worth more than their
- experience.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never knew what the instincts of a woman were before this morning,”
- said she. “I never felt that I had any need to exercise the instinct of
- defence. I suppose the young seal, though it has never been in the water,
- jumps in by instinct should it be attacked. Oh, yes, I dare say I could
- swim as well as most girls of my age.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was only when he had returned to his rooms that he fully comprehended
- the force of her parable of the young seal.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLI.—ON DRY CHAMPAGNE AND A CRISIS.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next morning
- Archie drove one of his many machines round to Harold’s rooms and broke in
- upon him before he had finished his breakfast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hallo, my tarty chip,” cried Archie; “what’s the meaning of this?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He threw on the table an envelope addressed to him in the handwriting of
- Mrs. Lampson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s the meaning of what?” said Harold. “Have you got beyond the
- restraint of Mr. Playdell alcoholically, that you ask me what’s the
- meaning of that envelope?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean what does the inside mean?” said Archie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sure you know better than I do, if you’ve read what’s inside it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you’re like one of the tarty chips in the courts that cross-examine
- other tarty chips until their faces are blue,” said Archie. “There’s no
- show for that sort of thing here. So just open the envelope and see what’s
- inside.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How can I do that and eat my kidneys?” said Harold. “I wish to heavens
- you wouldn’t come here bothering me when I’m trying to get through a tough
- kidney and a tougher leading article. What’s the matter with the letter,
- Archie, my lad?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s all right,” said Archie. “It’s an invite from your sister for a big
- shoot at Abbeylands. What does it mean—that’s what I’d like to know?
- Does it mean that decent people are going to make me the apple of their
- eye, after all?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think it goes quite so far as that,” said Harold. “I expect it
- means that my sister has come to the end of her discoveries and she’s
- forced to fall back on you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, is that all?” Archie looked disappointed. “All? Isn’t it enough?”
- said Harold. “Why, you’re in luck if you let her discover you. I knew that
- her atheists couldn’t hold out. She used them up too quickly. One should
- he economical of one’s genuine atheists nowadays.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great Godfrey! does she take me for an atheist?” shouted Archie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you ever hear of an atheist shooting pheasants?” said Harold. “Not
- likely. An atheist is a man that does nothing except talk, and talks about
- nothing except himself. Now, you’re asked to the shoot, aren’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s in the invite anyway.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course. And that shows that you’re not taken for an atheist.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m glad of that. I draw the line at atheism,” Archie replied with a
- smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope you’ll have a good time among the pheasants.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you suppose that I’ll go?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sure you will. I may have thought you a bit of a fool before I came
- to know you, Archie—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And since you heard that I had taken the Legitimate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, yes, even after that masterpiece of astuteness. But I would never
- think that you’d be fool enough to throw away this chance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Chance—chance of what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of getting among decent people. I told you that my sister has nothing but
- decent people when there’s a shoot—there’s no Coming Man in anything
- among the house-party. Yes, it’s sure to be comfortable. It’s the very
- thing for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it? I’m not so certain about it. The people there are pretty sure to
- allude in a friendly spirit to my red hair.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, yes, I think you may depend upon that. That means that you’ll get
- on so well among them that they will take an interest in your personality.
- If you get on particularly well with them they may even allude to the
- simplicity of your mug. If they do that, you may be certain that you are a
- great social success.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Archie mused.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was in this musing spirit that he took in a contemplative way a lump of
- sugar out of the sugar bowl, turned it over between his fingers as though
- it was something altogether new to him. Then he threw the lump up to the
- ceiling, his face became one mouth, and the sugar disappeared.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I’ll go,” he said, as he crunched the lump. “Yes, I’ll be hanged
- if I don’t go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s more than probable,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I’d like to clear off for a bit from this kennel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What kennel?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This kennel—London. Do you go the length of denying that London’s a
- kennel?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t do anything of the sort.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’d best not. I was thinking if a run to Australia, or California, or
- Timbuctoo would not be healthy just now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I made up my mind yesterday, that if I don’t have better hands soon,
- I’ll chuck up the whole game. That’s the sort of new potatoes that I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Legitimate?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Legitimate be frizzled! Am I to continue paying for the suppers that
- other tarty chips eat? That’s what I want you to tell me. You know what a
- square deal is, Wynne, as well as most people.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe I do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, you can tell me if I’m to pay for dry champagne for her
- guests.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whose guests?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great Godfrey! haven’t I been telling you? Mrs. Mowbray’s guests. Who
- else’s would they be? Do you mean to tell me that, in addition to giving
- people free boxes at the Legitimate every night to see W. S. late of
- Stratford upon Avon, it’s my business to supply dry champagne all round
- after the performance?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Harold, “to speak candidly to you, I’ve always been of the
- opinion that the ideal proprietor of a theatre is one who supplies really
- comfortable stalls free, and has really sound champagne handed round at
- intervals during the performance. I also frankly admit that I haven’t yet
- met with any manager who quite realized my ideas in this matter. Archie,
- my lad, the sooner you get down to Abbeylands the better it will be for
- yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll go. Mind you, I don’t cry off when I know the chaps that she asks to
- supper—I’ll flutter the dimes for anyone I know; but I’m hanged if I
- do it for the chaps that chip in on her invite. They’ll not draw cards
- from my pack, Wynne. No, I’ll see them in the port of Hull first. That’s
- the sort of new potatoes that I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give me your hand, Archie,” cried Harold. “I always thought you nothing
- better than a millionaire, but I find that you’re a man after all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll make things hum at the Legitimate yet,” said Archie—his voice
- was fast approaching the shouting stage. “I’ll send them waltzing round. I
- thought once upon a time that, when she laid her hand upon my head and
- said, ‘Poor old Archie,’ I could go on for ever—that to see the
- decimals fluttering about her would be the loveliest sight on earth for
- the rest of my life. But I’m tired of that show now, Wynne. Great Godfrey!
- I can get my hair smoothed down at a barber’s for sixpence, and yet I
- believe that she charged me a thousand pounds for every time she patted my
- head. A decimal for a pat—a pat!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You could buy the whole Irish nation for less money, according to some
- people’s ideas—but they’re wrong,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wynne,” said Archie, solemnly. “I’ve been going it blind for some time.
- Shakespeare’s a fraud. I’ll shoot those pheasants.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had picked up his hat, and in another minute Harold saw him sending his
- pair of chestnuts down the street at a pace that showed a creditable
- amount of self-restraint on the part of Archie.
- </p>
- <p>
- Three days afterwards Harold got a letter from Mrs. Lampson, giving him a
- number of commissions to execute for her—delicate matters that could
- not be intrusted to any one except a confidential agent. The postscript
- mentioned that Archie Brown had arrived a few days before and had charmed
- every one with his shyness. On this account she could scarcely believe,
- she said, that he was a millionaire. She added that Lady Innisfail and her
- daughter had just arrived at Abbeylands, that the Miss Avon about whom she
- had inquired, had accepted her invitation and was coming to Abbeylands on
- the next day; and finally, Mrs. Lampson said that her father was dull
- enough to make people believe that he was really reformed. He was
- inquiring when Miss Avon was coming, and he shared the fate of all men
- (and women) who were unfortunate enough to be reformed: he had become
- deadly dull. Lady Innisfail had assured her, however, that it was very
- rarely that a Hardened Reprobate permanently reformed—even with the
- incentive of acute rheumatism—before he was sixty-five, so that it
- would be unwise to be despondent about Lord Fotheringay. If this was so—and
- Lady Innisfail was surely an authority—Mrs. Lampson said that she
- looked forward to such a lapse on the part of her father as would restore
- him to the position of interest which he had always occupied in the eyes
- of the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold lay back in his chair and laughed heartily at the reference made by
- his sister to the shyness of Archie, and also to the fact of Norah
- Innisfail’s sitting at the table with the Young Reprobate as well as the
- Old. He wondered if the conversation had yet turned upon the management of
- the Legitimate Theatre.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was after he had lunched on the next Tuesday that Harold received this
- letter—written by his sister the previous day. He had passed an hour
- with Beatrice, who was to start by the four-twenty train for Abbeylands
- station. He had said goodbye to her for a week, and already he was feeling
- so lonely that he was soon pacing his room calling himself a fool for
- having elected to remain in town while she was to go.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought how they might have had countless strolls through the fine park
- at Abbeylands—through the picturesque ruins of the old Abbey—on
- the banks of the little trout stream. Instead of being by her side among
- those interesting scenes, he would have to remain—he had been
- foolish enough to make the choice—in the neighbourhood of nothing
- more joyous than St. James’s Palace.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was bad enough; but not merely would he be away from the landscapes
- at Abbeylands, the elements of life in those landscapes would be
- represented by Beatrice and Another.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes; she would certainly appear with someone at her side—in the
- place he might have occupied if he had not been such a fool.
- </p>
- <p>
- An hour had passed before he had got the better of his impulse to call a
- hansom and drive to the railway terminus and take a seat beside her in the
- train. When the clock had struck four, and it was therefore too late for
- him to entertain the idea of going with her, he became more inclined to
- take a reasonable view of the situation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was right.” he said, as he seated himself in front of the fire, and
- stared into the smouldering coals. “Yes, I was right. No one must suspect
- that we are—bound to one another”—the words were susceptible
- of a sufficiently liberal interpretation. “The penetration of Edmund Airey
- will be at fault for the first time, and the others who had so many
- suspicions at Castle Innisfail, will find themselves completely at fault.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He began to think how, though he had been cruelly dealt with by Fate in
- some respects—in respect of his own father, for instance, and also
- in respect of his own poverty—he had still much to be thankful for.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was beloved by the loveliest woman whom he had ever seen—the only
- woman for whom he had ever felt a passion. And the peculiar position which
- she occupied, had enabled him to see her every day and to kiss her
- exquisite face—there was none to make him afraid. Such obstacles in
- the way of a lover’s freedom as the Average Father, the Vigilant Mother
- and the Athletic Brother he had never encountered. And then a curious
- circumstance—the thought of Beatrice as a part of the landscapes
- around Abbeylands caused him to lay special emphasis upon this—had
- enabled him to bind the girl to him with a bond which in her eyes at least—yes,
- in his eyes too, by heaven, he felt—was not susceptible of being
- loosened.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, the ways of Providence were wonderful, he felt. If he had not met Mr.
- Playdell.... and so forth.
- </p>
- <p>
- But now Beatrice was his own. She might stray through the autumn woods by
- the side of Edmund Airey or any man whom she might meet at Abbeylands; she
- would feel upon her finger the ring that he had placed there—the
- ring that——
- </p>
- <p>
- He sprang to his feet with a sudden cry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good God! the Ring! the Ring!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It pointed to four-seventeen.
- </p>
- <p>
- He pulled out his watch. It pointed to four-twenty-two.
- </p>
- <p>
- He rushed to the sofa where an overcoat was lying. He had it on him in a
- moment. He snatched up a railway guide and stuffed it into his pocket.
- </p>
- <p>
- In another minute he was in a hansom, driving as fast as the hansomeer
- thought consistent with public safety—a trifle over that which the
- police authorities thought consistent with public safety—in the
- direction of the Northern Railway terminus.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLII.—ON THE RING AND THE LOOK.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E tried, while in
- the hansom, to unravel the mysteries of the system by which passengers
- were supposed to reach Brackenshire. He found the four-twenty train from
- London indicated in its proper order. This was the train by which he had
- invariably travelled to Abbeylands—it was the last train in the day
- that carried passengers to Abbeylands Station, for the station was on a
- short branch line, the junction being Mowern.
- </p>
- <p>
- On reaching the terminus he lost no time in finding a responsible official—one
- whose chastely-braided uniform looked repressful of tips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to get to Mowern Junction before the four-twenty train from here
- goes on to Abbeylands. Can I do it?” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Next train to the Junction five-thirty-two, sir,” said the official.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s too late for me,” said Harold. “The train leaves the Junction for
- Abbeylands a quarter of an hour after arriving at Mowern. Is there no
- local train that I might manage to catch that would bring me to the
- Junction?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “None that would serve your purpose, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold clearly saw how it was that this company could never get their
- dividend over four per cent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why is there so long a wait at Mowern?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Waits for Ditchford Mail, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And at what time does a train start for Ditch-ford?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can’t tell, sir. Ditchford is on the Nethershire system—they have
- running powers over our line to Mowern.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold whipped out his guide, and found Ditch-ford in the index. By an
- inspiration he turned at once to the page devoted to the Nethershire
- service of trains. He found that, by an exquisite system of timing the
- trains, it was possible to reach a station a mile from Ditchford on the
- one line, just six minutes after the departure of the last local train to
- Ditchford on the other line. It took a little ingenuity, no doubt, on the
- part of the Directors of both lines to accomplish this, but still they
- managed to do it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I beg pardon, sir,” said an official wearing a uniform that suggested
- tolerance of views in the matter of tips—the more important official
- had moved away. “I beg pardon, sir. Why not take the four-fifty-five to
- Mindon, and change into the Ditchford local train—that’ll reach the
- junction four minutes before the express? I know it, sir. I was stationed
- at change into the Ditchford local train—that’ll reach the junction
- four minutes before the express? I know it, sir. I was stationed at that
- part of the system.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To glance at the clock, and to perceive that he had time enough to drive
- to the Nethershire terminus, and to transfer a coin to the unconscious but
- not reluctant hand of the official of the liberal views, occupied Harold
- but a moment. At four-fifty-five he was in the Nethershire train on his
- way to Mindon.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not waited to verify the man’s statement as to the trains, but in
- the railway carriage he did so, and he found that the beautiful
- complications of the two systems were at least susceptible of the
- interpretation put on them.
- </p>
- <p>
- For the next two hours Harold felt that he could devote himself, if he had
- the mind, to the problem of the ring that had been so suddenly suggested
- to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- It did not require him to spend more than the merest fraction of this time
- in order to convince him that the impulse upon which he had acted, was one
- that he would have been a fool to repress.
- </p>
- <p>
- The ring which he had put on her finger, and which she had worn since, and
- would most certainly wear—he had imagined her doing so—at
- Abbeylands, could not fail to be recognized both by his father and his
- sister. It had belonged to his mother, and it was unique. It had flashed
- upon him suddenly that, unless he was content that his father and sister
- should learn that he had given her that ring, it would be necessary for
- him to prevent Beatrice from wearing it even for an hour at Abbeylands.
- </p>
- <p>
- Apart altogether from the question of the circumstances under which he had
- put the ring upon her finger—circumstances which he had good reason
- for desiring to conceal—the fact that he had given to her the object
- which he valued most highly in the world, and which his father and sister
- knew that he so valued, would suggest to both these persons as much as
- would ruin him.
- </p>
- <p>
- His father would, he knew, be extremely glad to discover some pretext to
- cut off the last penny of his allowance; and assuredly he would regard
- this gift of the ring as an ample pretext for adopting such a course of
- action. Indeed, Lord Fotheringay had never been at a loss for a pretext
- for reducing his son’s allowance; and now that he was posing—with
- but indifferent success, as Harold had learned from Mrs. Lampson’s
- postscript—as a Reformed Sinner, he would, his son knew, think that,
- in cutting off his son’s allowance, he was only acting consistently with
- the traditions of Reformed Sinners.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Reformed Sinner is usually a sinner whose capacity to enjoy the
- pleasures of sin has become dulled, and thus he is intolerant of the sins
- of others, and particularly intolerant of the capacity of others to enjoy
- sin. This is why he reduces the allowances of his children. Like the man
- who advances to the position of teetotal lecturer, after having served for
- some time as the teetotal lecturer’s Example, he knows all about the evil
- which he means to combat—to be more exact, which he means his
- children to combat.
- </p>
- <p>
- All this Harold knew perfectly well. He knew that the only difference that
- the reform of his father would make to him, was that, while his father had
- formerly cut down his allowance with a courteously worded apology, he
- would now stop it altogether without an apology.
- </p>
- <p>
- How could he have failed to remember, when he put that ring upon her
- finger, how great were the chances that it would be seen there by his
- father or his sister?
- </p>
- <p>
- This was the question which occupied his thoughts for the first hour of
- his journey. He lay back looking out on the gray October landscapes
- through which the train rushed—the wood glowing in crimson and brown
- like a mighty smouldering furnace—the groups of children picking
- blackberries on the embankments—the canal boat moving slowly along
- the gray waterway—and he asked himself how he had been such a fool
- as to overlook the likelihood of the ring being seen on her hand by his
- father or his sister.
- </p>
- <p>
- The truth was, that he had at that time not considered the possibility of
- her going to Abbey-lands. He knew that Mrs. Lampson intended inviting her;
- but he felt certain that, when she heard that he was not going, she would
- not accept the invitation. She would not have accepted it, if it had not
- suddenly occurred to him that the fact of her going while he remained in
- town would be to his advantage.
- </p>
- <p>
- Would he be in time to prevent the disaster which he foresaw would occur
- if she appeared in the drawing-room at Abbeylands wearing the ring?
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at his watch. The train was three minutes late in reaching
- several of the stations on its route, and it was delayed for another three
- minutes when there was only a single line of rails. How would it be
- possible for the train to make up so great a loss during the remainder of
- the journey?
- </p>
- <p>
- He reminded the guard at one of many intolerable stoppages, that the train
- was long behind its time. The guard could not agree with him, it was only
- about seven minutes late, he assured Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- On it went, and it seemed as if the engine-driver had a clearer sense of
- his responsibilities than the guard, for during the next thirty miles, he
- managed to save over two minutes. All this Harold noticed with more
- interest than he had ever taken in the details of any railway journey.
- </p>
- <p>
- When at last Mindon was reached, and he left the train to change into the
- one which was to carry him on to the Junction, he found that this train
- had not yet come up. Here was another point to be considered. Would the
- train come up in time?
- </p>
- <p>
- He was not left for long in suspense. The long row of lighted carriages
- ran up to the platform before he had been waiting for two minutes, and in
- another two minutes the train was steaming away with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at his watch once more, and then he was able to give himself a
- rest, for he saw that unless some accident were to happen, he would be at
- Mowern Junction before the train should leave for Abbeylands Station on
- the branch line.
- </p>
- <p>
- In running into the Junction, the train went past the platform of the
- branch line. A number of carriages were there, and at the side glass of
- one compartment he saw the profile of Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- The little cry that she gave, when he opened the door of the compartment
- and spoke her name, had something of terror as well as delight in it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harold! How on earth—” she began.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have a rather important message for you,” he said. “Will you take a
- turn with me on the platform? There is plenty of time. The train does not
- start for six minutes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was out of the carriage in a moment. “Mr. Wynne has a message for me—it
- is probably from Mrs. Lampson,” she said to her maid, who was in the same
- compartment.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLIII.—ON THE SON OF APHRODITE.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>HAT can be the
- matter? How did you manage to come here? You must have travelled by the
- same train as we came by. Oh, Harold, my husband, I am so glad to see you.
- You have changed your mind—you are coming on with me? Oh, I see it
- all now. You meant all along to give me this delightful surprise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The words came from her in a torrent as she put her hand on his arm—he
- could feel the ring on her finger.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no,” said he; “everything remains as it was this morning. I only wish
- that I were going on with you. Providentially something occurred to me
- when I was sitting alone after lunch. That is why I came. I managed to
- catch a train that brought me here just now—the train I was in ran
- past this platform and I saw your face.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What can have occurred to you that you could not tell me in a letter?”
- she asked, her face still bearing the look of glad surprise that had come
- to it when she had heard the sound of his voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall have to go into a waiting-room, or—better still—an
- empty carriage,” said he. “I see several men whom I know, and—worse
- luck! women—they are on their way to Abbeylands, and if they saw us
- together in this confidential way, they would never cease chattering when
- they arrived. We shall get into a compartment—there is one that
- still remains unlighted, it will be the best for our purpose; there will
- be no chance of a prying face appearing at the window.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall we have time?” she asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Plenty of time. By getting into the carriage you will run no chance of
- being left behind—the worst that can happen is that I may be carried
- on with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The worst? Oh, that is the best—the best.” They had strolled to the
- end of the platform where it was dimly lighted, and in an instant,
- apparently unobserved by anyone, they had got into an unlighted
- compartment at the rear of the train, and Harold shut the door quietly, so
- as not to attract the attention of the three or four men in knickerbockers
- who were stretching their legs on the platform until the train was ready
- to start.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are fortunate,” said he. “Those men outside will be your fellow-guests
- for the week. None of them will think of glancing into a dark carriage;
- but if one of them does so, he will be nothing the wiser.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now—and now,” she cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now, my dearest, you remember the ring that I put upon your finger?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This ring? Do you think it likely that I have forgotten it already?” she
- whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no, dearest; it was I who forgot it,” he said. “It was I who forgot
- that my father and my sister are perfectly certain to recognize that ring
- if you wear it at Abbeylands: they will be certain to see it on your
- linger, and they will question you as to how it came into your
- possession.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course they will,” she said, after a pause. “You told me that it was a
- ring that belonged to your mother. There can only be one such ring in the
- world. Oh, they could not fail to recognize it. The little chubby wicked
- Eros surrounded by the rubies—I have looked at the design every day—every
- night—sometimes the firelight gleaming upon the circle of rubies has
- made them seem to me a band of blood. Was that the idea of the artist who
- made the design, I wonder—a circle of blood with the god Eros in the
- centre.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had taken off her glove, and had laid the hand with the ring in one of
- his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had never felt her hand so soft and warm before. His hand became hot
- through holding hers. His heart was beating as it had never beaten before.
- </p>
- <p>
- The force of his grasp pressed the sharply cut cameo into his flesh. The
- image of that wicked little god, the son of Aphrodite, was stamped upon
- him. It seemed as if some of his blood would mingle with the blood that
- sparkled and beat within the heart of the rubies.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had forgotten the object of his mission to her. Still holding her hand
- with the ring, he put his arm under the sealskin coat that reached to her
- feet, and held her close to him while he kissed her as he had never before
- kissed her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly he seemed to recollect why he was with her. He had not hastened
- down from London for the sake of the kiss.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My beloved, my beloved!” he murmured—each word sounded like a sob—“I
- should like to remain with you for ever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not say a word. She did not need to say a word. He could feel the
- tumult of her heart, and she knew it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For God’s sake, Beatrice, let me speak to you,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a strange entreaty. His arm was about her, his hand was holding one
- of hers, she was simply passive by his side; and yet he implored of her to
- let him speak to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was some moments before she could laugh, however; which was also
- strange, for the humour of the matter which called for that laugh, was
- surely capable of being appreciated by her immediately.
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave a laugh and then a sigh.
- </p>
- <p>
- The carriage was dark, but a stray gleam of light from a side platform now
- and again came upon her face, and her features were brought into relief
- with the clearness and the whiteness of a lily in a jungle.
- </p>
- <p>
- As she gave that laugh—or was it a sigh?—he started,
- perceiving that the expression of her features was precisely that which
- the artist in the antique had imparted to the features of the little
- chrysoprase Eros in the centre of that blood-red circle of the ring.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why do you laugh, Beatrice?8 said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did I laugh, Harold?” said she. “No—no—I think—yes, I
- think it was a sigh—or was it you who sighed, my love?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “God knows,” said he. “Oh, the ring—the ring!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It feels like a band of burning metal,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is almost a pain for me to wear it. Have you not heard of the curious
- charms possessed by rings, Harold—the strange spells which they
- carry with them? The ring is a mystery—a mystic symbol. It means
- what has neither beginning nor ending—it means perfection—completeness—it
- means love—love’s completeness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is what your ring must mean to us, my beloved,” said he. “Whether
- you take it from your finger or let it remain there, it will still mean
- the completeness of such love as is ours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I am to take it off, Harold?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only so long as you stay at Abbeylands, Beatrice. What does it matter for
- one week? You will see, dearest, how my plans—my hopes—must
- certainly he destroyed if that ring is seen on your finger by my father or
- my sister. It is not for the sake of my plans only that I wish you to
- refrain from wearing it for a week; it is for your sake as well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would they fancy that I had stolen it, dear?” she asked, looking up to
- his face with a smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They might fancy worse things than that, Beatrice,” said he. “Do not ask
- me. You may be sure that I am advising you aright—that the
- consequences of that ring being recognized on your finger would be more
- serious than you could understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did I not say something to you a few days ago about the completeness of
- my trust in you, Harold?” she whispered. “Well, the ring is the symbol of
- this completeness also. I trust you implicitly in everything. I have given
- myself up to you. I will do whatever you may tell me. I will not take the
- ring off until I reach Abbeylands, but I shall take it off then, and only
- replace it on my finger every night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My darling, my darling! Such love as you have given to me is God’s best
- gift to the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had committed himself to an opinion practically to the same effect upon
- more than one previous occasion.
- </p>
- <p>
- And now, as then, the expression of that opinion was followed by a long
- silence, as their faces came together.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beatrice,” he said, in a tremulous voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall go on with you to Abbeylands. Come what may, we shall not now be
- separated.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But they were separated that very instant. The carriage was flooded with
- light—the chastened flood that comes from an oil lamp inserted in a
- hollow in the roof—and they were no longer in each others arms. They
- heard the sound of the porter’s feet on the roof of the next carriage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is so good of you to come,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was now perhaps three inches of a space separating them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good?” said he. “I’m afraid that’s not the word. We shall be under one
- roof.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said slowly, “under one roof.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tickets for Ashmead,” intoned a voice at the carriage window.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are for Abbeylands Station,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Abb’l’ns,” said the guard. “Why, sir, you know the Abb’l’ns train started
- six minutes ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLIV.—ON THE SHORTCOMINGS OF A SYSTEM.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>AROLD was out of
- the compartment in a moment. Did the guard mean that the train had
- actually left for Abbeylands? It had left six minutes before, the guard
- explained, and the station-master added his guarantee to the statement.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold looked around—from platform to platform—as if he
- fancied that there was a conspiracy between the officials to conceal the
- train.
- </p>
- <p>
- How could the train leave without taking all its carriages with it?
- </p>
- <p>
- It did nothing of the kind, the station-master said, firmly but
- respectfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- The guard went on with his business of cutting neat triangles out of the
- tickets of the passengers in the carriages that were alongside the
- platform—passengers bound for Ashmead.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I—we—my—my wife and I got into one of the carriages
- of the Abbeylands train,” said Harold, becoming indignant, after the
- fashion of his countrymen, when they have made a mistake either on a home
- or foreign railway. “What sort of management is it that allows one portion
- of a train to go in one direction and another part in another direction?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s our system, sir,” said the official. “You see, sir, there’re never
- many passengers for either the Abbeyl’n’s”—being a station-master he
- did not do an unreasonable amount of clipping in regard to the names—“or
- the Ashm’d branch, so the Staplehurst train is divided—only we don’t
- light the lamps in the Ashm’d portion until we’re ready to start it. Did
- you get into a carriage that had a lamp, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve seen some bungling at railway stations before now,” said Harold,
- “but bang me if I ever met the equal of this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This isn’t properly speaking a station, sir, it’s a junction,” said the
- official, mildly, but with the force of a man who has said the last word.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That simply means that greater bungling may be found at a junction than
- at a station,” said Harold. “Is it not customary to give some notice of
- the departure of a train at a junction as well as a station, my good man?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The official became reasonably irritated at being called a good man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The train left for Abbeyl’n’s according to reg’lation, sir,” said he. “If
- you got into a compartment that had no lamp——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I’ve no time for trifling,” said Harold. “When does the next train
- leave for Abbey-lands?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At eight-sixteen in the morning,” said the official.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great heavens! You mean to say that there’s no train to-night?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see, if a carriage isn’t lighted, sir, we——”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man perceived the weakness of Harold’s case—from the standpoint
- of a railway official—and seemed determined not to lose sight of it.
- “Contributory negligence” he knew to be the most valuable phrase that a
- railway official could have at hand upon any occasion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And how do you expect us to go on to Abbeylands to-night?” asked Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s a very respectable hotel a mile from the junction, sir,” said the
- man. “Ruins of the Priory, sir—dates back to King John, page 84 <i>Tourist’s
- Guide to Brackenshire</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh,” said Harold, “this is quite preposterous.” He went to where Beatrice
- was seated watching, with only a moderate amount of interest, the
- departure of five passengers for Ashmead.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, dear?” said she, as Harold came up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For straightforward, pig-headed stupidity I’ll back a railway company
- against any institution in the world,” said he. “The last train has left
- for Abbeylands. Did you ever know of such stupidity? And yet the
- shareholders look for six per cent, out of such a system.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps,” said she timidly—“perhaps we were in some degree to
- blame.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed. It was so like a woman to suggest the possibility of some
- blame attaching to the passengers when a railway company could be
- indicted. To the average man such an idea is as absurd as beginning to
- argue with a person at whom one is at liberty to swear.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seems that there is a sort of hotel a mile away,” said he. “We cannot
- be starved, at any rate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I—you—we shall have to stay there?” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- He gave a sort of shrug—an Englishman’s shrug—about as like
- the real thing as an Englishman’s bow, or a Chinaman’s cheer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What can we do?” said he. “When a railway company such as this—oh,
- come along, Beatrice. I am hungry—hungry—hungry!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He caught her by the arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Harold—husband,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- He started.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Husband! Husband!” he said. “I never thought of that. Oh, my beloved—my
- beloved!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood irresolute for a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he gave a curious laugh, and she felt his hand tighten upon her arm
- for a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he whispered. “You heard the words that—that man said while
- our hands were together? ‘Whom God hath joined’—God—that is
- Love. Love is the bond that binds us together. Every union founded on Love
- is sacred—and none other is sacred—in the sight of heaven.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you do not doubt my love,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Doubt it? oh, my Beatrice, I never knew what it was before now.” They
- left the station together, after he had written and despatched in her name
- a telegram to her maid, directing her to explain to Mrs. Lampson that her
- mistress had unfortunately missed the train, but meant to go by the first
- one in the morning.
- </p>
- <p>
- By chance a conveyance was found outside, and in it they drove to the
- Priory Hotel which, they were amazed to find, promised comfort as well as
- picturesqueness.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a long ivy-covered house, and bore every token of being a portion
- of the ancient Priory among the ruins of which it was standing. Great elms
- were in front of the house, and on one side there were apple trees, and at
- the other there was a garden reaching almost to where a ruined arch was
- held together by its own ivy.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they were in the act of entering the porch, a ray of moonlight gleamed
- upon the ruins, and showed the trimmed grass plots and neat gravel walks
- among the cloisters.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold pointed out the picturesque effect to Beatrice, and they stood for
- some moments before entering the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old waiter, whose moderately white shirt front constituted a very
- distinctive element of the hall with its polished panels of old oak, did
- not bustle forward when he saw them admiring the ruins.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Upon my word,” said Harold, entering, “this is a place worth seeing. That
- touch of moonlight was very effective.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir,” said the waiter; “I’m glad you’re pleased with it. We try to
- do our best in this way for our patrons. Mrs. Mark will be glad to know
- that you thought highly of our moonlight, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man was only a waiter, but he was as solemn as a butler, as he opened
- the door of a room that seemed ready to do duty as a coffee-room. It had a
- low groined ceiling, and long narrow windows.
- </p>
- <p>
- An elderly maid was lighting candles in sconces round the walls.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really,” said Harold, “we may be glad that the bungling at the junction
- brought us here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir,” said the man with waiter-like acquiescence; “they do bungle
- things sometimes at that junction.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We were on our way to Abbeylands,” said Harold, “but those idiots on the
- platform allowed us to get into the wrong carriages—the carriages
- that were going to Ashmead. We shall stay here for the night. The
- station-master recommended us to go here, and I’m much obliged to him.
- It’s the only sensible—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir: he’s a brother to Mrs. Mark—Mrs. Mark is our proprietor,”
- said the waiter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Mrs</i>. Mark,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir: she’s our proprietor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold thought that, perhaps, when the owner of an hotel was a woman, she
- might reasonably be called the proprietor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, well, perhaps a maid might show my—my wife to a room, while I
- see what we can get for dinner—supper, I suppose we should call it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The middle-aged woman who was lighting the candles came forward smiling,
- as she adroitly extinguished the wax taper by the application of her
- finger and thumb. With her Beatrice disappeared.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold quite expected that he was about to come upon the weak element in
- the management of this picturesque inn. But when he found that a cold
- pheasant as well as some hot fish was available for supper, he admitted
- that the place was perfect. There was no wine card, but the old waiter
- promised a Champagne for which, he said, Mr. Lampson, of Abbeylands, had
- once made an offer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That will do for us very well,” said Harold. “Mr. Lampson would not make
- an offer for anything—wine least of all—of which he was
- uncertain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The waiter went off in the leisurely style that was only consistent with
- the management of an establishment that dated back to King John; and in a
- few minutes Beatrice appeared, having laid aside her sealskin coat, and
- her hat.
- </p>
- <p>
- How exquisite she seemed as she stood for an instant in the subdued light
- at the door!
- </p>
- <p>
- And she was his.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLV.—ON MOONLIGHT AND MORALS.
- </h2>
- <h3>
- |SHE was his.
- </h3>
- <p>
- He felt the joy of it as she stood at the door in her beautifully fitting
- travelling dress.
- </p>
- <p>
- The thought sent an exultant glow through his veins, as he looked at her
- from where he was standing at the hearth. (There was no “cosy corner”
- abomination.)
- </p>
- <p>
- She was his.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went forward to meet her, and put out both his hands to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- She placed a hand in each of his.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How delightfully warm you are,” she said. “You were standing at the
- fire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he said. “I was at the fire; in addition, I was also thinking that
- you are mine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Altogether yours now,” she said looking at him with that trustful smile
- which should have sent him down on his knees before her, but which did not
- do more than cause his eyes to look at her throat instead of gazing
- straight into her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- They seated themselves on one of the old window-seats, and talked face to
- face, listlessly watching the old waiter lay a white cloth on a portion of
- the black oak table.
- </p>
- <p>
- When they had eaten their fish and pheasant—Harold wondered if the
- latter had come from the Abbeylands’ preserves, and if Archie Brown had
- shot it—they returned to the window-seat, and there they remained
- for an hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had thrown all reserve to the winds. He had thrown all forethought to
- the winds. He had thrown all fear of God and man to the winds.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was his.
- </p>
- <p>
- The old waiter re-entered the room and laid on the table a flat bedroom
- candlestick with a box of matches.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can I get you anything before I go to bed, sir?” he inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I require nothing, thank you,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very good, sir,” said the waiter. “The candles in the sconces will burn
- for another hour. If that will not be long enough—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will be quite long enough. You have made us extremely comfortable, and
- I wish you goodnight,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-night, sir. Good-night, madam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This model servitor disappeared. They heard the sound of his shoes upon
- the stairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “At last—at last!” whispered Harold, as he put an arm on the deep
- embrasure of the window behind her.
- </p>
- <p>
- She let her shapely head fall back until it rested on his shoulder. Then
- she looked up to his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who could have thought it?” she cried. “Who could have predicted that
- evening when I stood on the cliffs and sent my voice out in that wild way
- across the lough, that we should be sitting here to-night?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew it when I got down to the boat and drew your hands into mine by
- that fishing-line,” said he. “When the moon showed me your face, I knew
- that I had seen the face for which I had been searching all my life. I had
- caught glimpses of that face many times in my life. I remember seeing it
- for a moment when a great musician was performing an incomparable work—a
- work the pure beauty of which made all who listened to it weep. I can hear
- that music now when I look upon your face. It conveys to me all that was
- conveyed to me by the music. I saw it again when, one exquisite dawn, I
- went into a garden while the dew was glistening over everything. There
- came to me the faint scent of violets. I thought that nothing could be
- lovelier; but in another moment, the glorious perfume of roses came upon
- me like a torrent. The odour of the roses and the scent of the violets
- mingled, and before my eyes floated your face. When the moonlight showed
- me your face on that night beside the Irish lough I felt myself wondering
- if it would vanish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It has come to stay,” she whispered, in a way that gave the sweetest
- significance to the phrase that has become vulgarized.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It came to stay with me for ever,” he said. “I knew it, and I felt myself
- saying, ‘Here by God’s grace is the one maid for me.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not falter as he looked down upon her face—he said the words
- “God’s grace” without the least hesitancy.
- </p>
- <p>
- The moonlight that had been glistening on the ivy of the broken arches of
- the ancient Priory, was now shining through the diamond panes of the
- window at which they were sitting. As her head lay back it was illuminated
- by the moon. Her hair seemed delicate threads of spun glass through which
- the light was shining.
- </p>
- <p>
- One of the candles flared up for a moment in its socket, then dwindled
- away to a single spark and then expired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You remember?” she whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The seal-cave,” he said. “I have often wondered how I dared to tell you
- that I loved you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you told me the truth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The truth. No, no; I did not love you then as I regard loving now. Oh, my
- Beatrice, you have taught me what ‘tis to love. There is nothing in the
- world but love, it is life—it is life!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And there are none in the world who love as you and I do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His face shut out the moonlight from hers. There was a long silence before
- she said, “It was only when you had parted from me every day that I knew
- what you were to me, Harold. Ah, those bitter moments! Those sad Good-byes—sad
- Good-nights out of the moonlight from hers. There was a long silence
- before she said, “It was only when you had parted from me every day that I
- knew what you were to me, Harold. Ah, those bitter moments! Those sad
- Good-byes—sad Good-nights!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are over, they are over!” he cried. The lover’s triumph rang through
- his words. “They are over. We have come to the night when no more
- Good-nights shall be spoken. What do I say? No more Good-nights? You know
- what a poet’s heart sang—a poet over whose head the waters of
- passion had closed? I know the song that came from his heart—beloved,
- the pulses of his heart beat in every line:"=
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">”’Good-night! ah, no, the hour is ill
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">That severs those it should unite:
- </p>
- <p class="indent10">Let us remain together still,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">Then it will be good night.=
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">”’ How can I call the lone night good,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">Be it not said—thought—understood;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">Then it will be good night.=
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">”’To hearts that near each other move
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">From evening close to morning light,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">The night is good because, oh, Love,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">They never say Good-night.’”=
- </p>
- <p>
- His whispering of the last lines was very tremulous. Her eyes were closed
- and her lips were parted with the passing of a sigh—a sigh that had
- something of a sob about it. Then both her arms were flung round his neck,
- and he felt her face against his. Then.... he was alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- How had she gone?
- </p>
- <p>
- Whither had she gone?
- </p>
- <p>
- How long had he been alone?
- </p>
- <p>
- He got upon his feet, and looked in a dazed way around the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Had it all been a dream? Was it only in fancy that she had been in his
- arms? Had he been repeating Shelley’s poem in the hearing of no one?
- </p>
- <p>
- He opened a glass door by which access was had to the grounds of the old
- Priory, and stood, surpliced by the moonlight, beside the ruined arch
- where an oriel window had once been. He turned and looked at the house. It
- was black against the clear sky that overflowed with light, but one window
- above the room where he had been sitting was illuminated.
- </p>
- <p>
- It had no drapery—he could see through it half way into the room
- beyond.
- </p>
- <p>
- Just above where a silver sconce with three lighted candles hung from the
- wall, he could see that the black panel bore in high relief a carved Head
- of the Virgin, surrounded with lilies.
- </p>
- <p>
- He kept his eyes fixed upon that carving until—until....
- </p>
- <p>
- There came before his eyes in that room the Temptation of Saint Anthony.
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes became dim looking at her loveliness, shining with dazzling
- whiteness beneath the light of the candles.
- </p>
- <p>
- He put his hands before his eyes and staggered to the door through which
- he had passed. There he stood, his breath coming in sobs, with his hand on
- the handle of the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was not a sound in the night. Heaven and earth were breathlessly
- watching the struggle.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the struggle between Heaven and Hell for a human soul.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man’s fingers fell from the handle of the door. He clasped his hands
- across the ivy of the wall and bowed his head upon them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Only for a few moments, however. Then, with a cry of agony, he started up,
- and with his clasped hands over his eyes, fled—madly—blindly—away
- from the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before he had gone far, he tripped and fell over a stone—he only
- fell upon his knees, but his hands were clutching at the ground.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he recovered himself, he found that he was on his knees at the foot
- of an ancient prostrate Cross.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared at it, and some time had passed before there came from his
- parched lips the cry, “Christ have mercy upon me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He bowed his head to the Cross, and his lips touched the cold, damp stone.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was not the kiss to which he had been looking forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sprang to his feet and fled into the distance.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was saved!
- </p>
- <p>
- And he—he had saved his soul alive!
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLVI.—ON A BED OF LOGS.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>NWARD he fled, he
- knew not whither; he only knew that he was flying for the safety of his
- soul.
- </p>
- <p>
- He passed far beyond the limits of the Priory grounds, but he did not
- reach the high road. He crossed a meadow and came upon a trout stream. He
- walked beside it for an hour. At the end of that time there was no
- moonlight to glitter upon its surface. Clouds had come over the sky and
- drops of rain were beginning to fall.
- </p>
- <p>
- He crossed the stream by a little bridge, and reached the border of a
- wood. It was now long past midnight. He had been walking for two hours,
- but he had no consciousness of weariness. It was not until the rain was
- streaming off his hair that he recollected that he had no hat. But on
- still he went through the darkness and the rain, as though he were being
- pursued, and that every step he took was a step toward safety.
- </p>
- <p>
- He came upon a track that seemed to lead through the wood, and upon this
- track he went for several miles. The ground was soft, and at some places
- the rain had turned it into a morass. The autumn leaves lay in drifts,
- sodden and rotting. Into more than one of these he stumbled, and when he
- got upon his feet again, the damp leaves and the mire were clinging to
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- For three more hours he went on by the winding track through the wood. In
- the darkness he strayed from it frequently, but invariably found it again
- and struggled on, until he had passed right through the wood and reached a
- high road that ran beside it.
- </p>
- <p>
- As though he had been all the night wandering in search for this road, so
- soon as he saw it he cried, “Thank God, thank God!”
- </p>
- <p>
- But something else may have been in his mind beyond the satisfaction of
- coming upon the road.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the border of the wood where the track broadened out, there was a
- woodcutter’s rough shed. It was piled up with logs of various sizes, and
- with trimmed boughs awaiting the carts to come along the road to carry
- them away. He entered the shed, and, overpowered with weariness, sank down
- upon a heap of boughs; his head found a resting place in a forked branch
- and in a moment he was sound asleep.
- </p>
- <p>
- His head was resting upon the damp bark of the trimmed branch, when it
- might have been close to that whiteness which he had seen through the
- window.
- </p>
- <p>
- True; but his soul was saved.
- </p>
- <p>
- He awoke, hearing the sound of voices around him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The cold light of a gray, damp day was struggling with the light that came
- from a fire of faggots just outside, and the shed was filled with the
- smoke of the burning wood. The sound of the crackling of the small
- branches came to his ears with the sound of the voices.
- </p>
- <p>
- He raised his head, and looked around him in a dazed way. He did not
- realize for some time the strange position in which he found himself.
- Suddenly he seemed to recall all that had occurred, and once more he said,
- “Thank God, thank God!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Three men were standing in the shed before him. Two of them held
- bill-hooks in a responsible way; the third had the truncheon of a
- constable. He also wore the helmet of a constable.
- </p>
- <p>
- The men with the bill-hooks seemed preparing to repel a charge. They stood
- shoulder to shoulder with their implements breast high.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man with the truncheon seemed willing to trust a great deal to them,
- whether in regard to attack or defence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you’re awake, my gentleman,” said the man with the truncheon.
- </p>
- <p>
- The speech seemed a poor enough accompaniment to such a show of strength,
- aggressive or defensive, as was the result of the muster in the shed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I believe I’m awake,” said Harold. “Is the morning far advanced?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s as may be,” said the truncheon-holder, shrewdly, and after a pause
- of considerable duration.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not the man to compromise yourself by a hasty statement,” said
- Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said the man, after another pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “May I ask what is the meaning of this rather imposing demonstration?”
- said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, you may, maybe,” replied the man. “But it’s my business to tell you
- that—” here he paused and inflated his lungs and person generally—
- “that all you say now will be used as evidence against you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s very official,” said Harold. “Does it mean that you’re a
- constable?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That it do; and that you’re in my charge now. Close up, bill-hooks, and
- stand firm,” the man added to his companions.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t trumle for we,” said one of the billhook-holders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see there’s no use broadening vi’lent-like,” said the
- truncheon-holder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s clear enough,” said Harold. “Would it be imprudent for me to
- inquire what’s the charge against me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know,” said the policeman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, my man,” said Harold; “I’m not disposed to stand this farce any
- longer. Can’t you see that I’m no vagrant—that I haven’t any of your
- logs concealed about me. What part of the country is this? Where’s the
- nearest telegraph office?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No matter what’s the part,” said the constable; “I’ve arrested you before
- witnesses of full age, and I’ve cautioned you according to the Ack o’
- Parliament.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the charge?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The charge is the murder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Murder—what murder?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know—the murder of the Right Honourable Lord Fotheringay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What!” shouted Harold. “Lord—oh, you’re mad! Lord Fotheringay is my
- father, and he’s staying at Abbeylands. What do you mean, you idiot, by
- coming to me with such a story?” The policeman winked in by no means a
- subtle way at the two men with the bill-hooks; he then looked at Harold
- from head to foot, and gave a guffaw.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The son of his lordship—the murdered man—you heard that,
- friends, after I gave the caution according to the Ack o’ Parliament?” he
- said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, ay, we heard—leastways to that effeck,” replied one of the men.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then down it goes again him,” said the constable. “He’s a gentleman-Jack
- tramp—and that’s the worst sort—without hat or head gear, and
- down it goes that he said he was his lordship’s son.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For God’s sake tell me what you mean by talking of the murder of Lord
- Fotheringay,” said Harold. “There can be no truth in what you said. Oh,
- why do I wait here talking to this idiot?” He took a few steps toward one
- end of the shed. The men raised their bill-hooks, and the constable made
- an aggressive demonstration with his truncheon.
- </p>
- <p>
- Against Stupidity the gods fight in vain, but now and again a man with
- good muscles can prevail against it. Harold simply dealt a kick upon the
- heavy handle of the bill-hook nearest to him, and it swung round and
- caught in the stomach the second man, who immediately dropped his
- implement. He needed both hands to press against his injured person.
- </p>
- <p>
- The constable ran to the other end of the shed and blew his whistle.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold went out in the opposite direction and got upon the high road; but
- before he had quite made up his mind which way to go, he heard the clatter
- of a horse galloping. He saw that a mounted constable was coming up, and
- he also noticed with a certain amount of interest, that he was drawing a
- revolver.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold stood in the centre of the road and held up his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- One of the few occasions when a man of well developed muscles, if he is
- wise, thinks himself no better than the gods, is when Stupidity is in the
- act of drawing a revolver.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you the sergeant of constabulary?” Harold inquired, when the man had
- reined in. He still kept his revolver handy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I’m the sergeant of constabulary. Who are you, and what are you
- doing here?” said the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’s the gentleman-Jack tramp that the lads found asleep in the shed,
- sergeant,” said the constable, who had hurried forward with the naked
- truncheon. “The lads came on him hiding here, when they were setting about
- their day’s work. They ran for me, and that’s why I sent for you. I’ve
- arrested him and cautioned him. He was nigh clearing off just now, but I
- never took an eye off him. Is there a reward yet, sergeant?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Officer,” said Harold. “I am Lord Fotheringay’s son. For God’s sake tell
- me if what this man says is true—is Lord Fotheringay dead—murdered?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’s dead. You seem to know a lot about it, my gentleman,” said the
- sergeant. “You’re charged with his murder. If you make any attempt at
- resistance, I’ll shoot you down like a dog.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man had now his revolver is his right hand. Harold looked first at
- him, and then at the foolish man with the truncheon. He was amazed. What
- could the men mean? How was it that they did not touch their helmets to
- him? He had never yet been addressed by a policeman or a railway porter
- without such a token of respect. What was the meaning of the change?
- </p>
- <p>
- This was really his first thought.
- </p>
- <p>
- His mind was not in a condition to do more than speculate upon this point.
- It was not capable of grasping the horrible thing suggested by the men.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood there in the middle of the road, dazed and speechless. It was not
- until he had casually looked down and had seen the condition of his feet
- and legs and clothes that, passing from the amazed thought of the
- insolence of the constables, into the amazement produced by his raggedness—he
- was apparently covered with mire from head to foot—the reason of his
- treatment flashed upon him; and in another instant every thought had left
- him except the thought that his father was dead. His head fell forward on
- his chest. He felt his limbs give way under him. He staggered to the low
- hank at the side of the road and managed to seat himself. He supported his
- head on his hands, his elbows resting on his knees.
- </p>
- <p>
- There he remained, the four men watching him; for the interest which
- attaches to a distinguished criminal in the eyes of ignorant rustics, is
- almost as great as that which he excites among the leaders of society, who
- scrutinize him in the dock through opera glasses, and eat <i>pâté de foie
- gras</i> sandwiches beside the judge.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLVII.—ON THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>OME minutes had
- passed before Harold had sufficiently recovered to be able to get upon his
- feet. He could now account for everything that had happened. His father
- must have been found dead under suspicious circumstances the previous day,
- and information had been conveyed to the county constabulary. The instinct
- of the constabulary being to connect all crime with tramps, and his own
- appearance, after his night of wandering, as well as the conditions under
- which he had been found, suggesting the tramp, he had naturally been
- arrested.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew that he could only suffer some inconvenience for an hour or so.
- But what would be the sufferings of Beatrice?
- </p>
- <p>
- “The circumstances under which I am found are suspicious enough to justify
- my arrest,” he said to the mounted man. “I am Lord Fotheringay’s son.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gammon! but it’ll be took down,” said the constable with the truncheon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hold your tongue, you fool!” cried the sergeant to his subordinate.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can, of course, account for every movement of mine, yesterday and the
- day before,” said Harold. “What hour is the crime supposed to have taken
- place? It must have been after four o’clock, or I should have received a
- telegram from my sister, Mrs. Lampson. I left London shortly before five
- last evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you can prove that, you’re all right,” said the sergeant. “But you’ll
- have to give us your right name.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll find it on the inside of my watch,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- He slipped the watch from the swivel clasp and handed it to the sergeant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re a fool!” said the sergeant, looking at the hack of the watch.
- “This is a watch that belonged to the murdered man. It has a crown over a
- crest, and arms with supporters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course,” said Harold. “I forgot that it was my father’s watch before
- he gave it to me.” The sergeant smiled. The constable and the two
- bill-hook men guffawed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give me the watch,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- The sergeant slipped it into his own pocket.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ve put a rope round your neck this minute,” said he. “Handcuffs,
- Jonas.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The constable opened the small leathern pouch on his belt. Harold’s hands
- instinctively clenched. The sergeant once more whipped his revolver out of
- its case.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It has never occurred before this minute,” said the constable.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you mean? Where’s the handcuffs?” cried the sergeant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never before,” said the constable, “I took them out to clean them with
- sandpaper, sergeant—emery and oil’s recommended, but give me
- sandpaper—not too fine but just fine enough. Is there any man in the
- county that can show as bright a pair of handcuffs as myself, sergeant?
- You know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Show them now,” said the sergeant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll have to come to the house with me, for there they be to be,”
- replied the constable. “Ay, but I’ve my truncheon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Which way am I to go with you?” said Harold. “You don’t think that I’m
- such a fool as to make the attempt to resist you? I can’t remain here all
- day. Every moment is precious.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll be off soon enough, my good man,” said the sergeant. “Keep
- alongside my horse, and if you try any game on with me, I’ll be equal to
- you.” He wheeled his horse and walked it in the direction whence he had
- come. Harold kept up with it, thinking his thoughts. The man with the
- truncheon and the two men who had wielded the billhooks marched in file
- beside him. Marching in file had something official about it.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a strange procession that appeared on the shining wet road, with
- the dripping autumn trees on each side, and the gray sodden clouds
- crawling up in the distance.
- </p>
- <p>
- How was he to communicate with her? How was he to let Beatrice know that
- she was to return to London immediately?
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the question which occupied all his thoughts as he walked with
- bowed head along the road. The thought of the position which he occupied—the
- thought of the tragic incident which had aroused the vigilance of the
- constable—the desire to learn the details of the terrible thing that
- had occurred—every thought was lost in that question:
- </p>
- <p>
- “How am I to prevent her from going on to Abbeylands?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Was it possible that she might learn at the hotel early in the morning,
- that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered? When the news of the murder had
- spread round the country—and it seemed to have done so from the
- course that the woodcutters had adopted on coming upon him asleep—it
- would certainly be known at the hotel. If so, what would Beatrice do?
- </p>
- <p>
- Surely she would take the earliest train back to London.
- </p>
- <p>
- But if she did not hear anything of the matter, would she then remain at
- the hotel awaiting his return?
- </p>
- <p>
- What would she think of him? What would she think of his desertion of her
- at that supreme moment?
- </p>
- <p>
- Can a woman ever forgive such an act of desertion? Could Beatrice ever
- forgive his turning away from her love?
- </p>
- <p>
- Was he beginning to regret that he had fled away from the loveliest vision
- that had ever come before his eyes?
- </p>
- <p>
- Did Saint Anthony ever wish that he had had another chance?
- </p>
- <p>
- If for a single moment Harold Wynne had an unworthy thought, assuredly it
- did not last longer than a single moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whatever may happen now—whether she forgives me or forsakes me—thank
- God—thank God!”
- </p>
- <p>
- This was what his heart was crying out all the time that he walked along
- the road with bowed head. He felt that he had been strong enough to save
- her—to save himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- The procession had scarcely passed over more than a quarter of a mile of
- the road, when a vehicle appeared some distance ahead.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Steady,” said the sergeant. “It’s the Major in his trap. I sent a mounted
- man for him. You’ll be in trouble about the handcuffs, Jonas, my man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Maybe the murderer would keep his hands together to oblige us,” suggested
- the constable.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll not be a party to deception,” said his superior. “Halt!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold looked up and saw a dog-cart just at hand. It was driven by a
- middle-aged gentleman, and a groom was seated behind. Harold had an
- impression that he had seen the driver previously, though he could not
- remember when or where he had done so. He rather thought he was an officer
- whom he had met at some place abroad.
- </p>
- <p>
- The dog-cart was pulled up, and the officials saluted in their own way, as
- the gentleman gave the reins to his groom and dismounted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “An arrest, sir,” said the sergeant. “The two woodcutters came upon him
- hiding in their shed at dawn, and sent for the constable. Jonas, very
- properly, sent for me, and I despatched a man for you, sir. When arrested,
- he made up a cock-and-bull story, and a watch, supposed to be his murdered
- lordship’s, was found concealed about his person. It’s now in my
- possession.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good,” said the stranger. Then he subjected Harold to a close scrutiny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know now where I met you,” said Harold. “You are Major Wilson, the
- Chief Constable of the County, and you lunched with us at Abbeylands two
- years ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What! Mr. Wynne!” cried the man. “What on earth can be the meaning of
- this? Your poor father—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is what I want to learn,” said Harold eagerly. “Is it more than a
- report—that terrible thing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A report? He was found at six o’clock last evening by a keeper on the
- outskirts of one of the preserves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A bullet—an accident? he may have been out shooting,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A knife—a dagger.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold turned away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Remain where you are, sergeant,” said Major Wilson. “Let me have a word
- with you, Mr. Wynne,” he added to Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly,” said Harold. His voice was shaky. “I wonder if you chance to
- have a flask of brandy in your cart. You can understand that I’m not quite—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sorry that I have no brandy,” said Major Wilson. “Perhaps you
- wouldn’t mind sitting on the bank with me while you explain—if you
- wish—I do not suggest that you should—I suppose the constables
- cautioned you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Amply,” said Harold. “I find that I can stand. I don’t suppose that any
- blame attaches to them for arresting me. I am, I fear, very disreputable
- looking. The fact is that I was stupid enough to miss the train from
- Mowern junction last night, and I went to the Priory Hotel. I came out
- when the night was fine, without my hat, and I—— had reasons
- of my own for not wishing to return to the hotel. I got into the wood and
- wandered for several hours along a track I found. I got drenched, and
- taking shelter in the woodcutters’ shed, I fell asleep. That is all I have
- to say. I have not the least idea what part of the country this is: I must
- have walked at least twenty miles through the night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are not a mile from the Priory Hotel,” said Major Wilson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is impossible,” cried Harold. “I walked pretty hard for five hours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Through the wood?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I practically never left the track.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You walked close upon twenty miles, but you walked round the wood instead
- of through it. That track goes pretty nearly round Garstone Woods. Mr.
- Wynne, this is the most unfortunate occurrence I ever heard of or saw in
- my life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pray do not fancy for a moment that, so far as I am concerned, I shall be
- inconvenienced for long,” said Harold. “It is a shocking thing for a son
- to be suspected even for a moment of the murder of his own father; but
- sometimes a curious combination of circumstances——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course—of course, that is just it. Do not blame me, I beg of
- you. Did you leave London yesterday?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, by the four-fifty-five train.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you a portion of your ticket to Abbeylands?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I took a return ticket to Mowern. I gave one portion of it to the
- collector, the return portion is in my pocket.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He produced the half of his ticket. Major Wilson examined the date, and
- took a memorandum of the number stamped upon it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you speak to anyone at the junction on your arrival?” he then
- inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid that I abused the station-master for allowing the train to go
- to Abbeylands without me,” said Harold. “That was at ten minutes past
- seven o’clock. Oh, you need not fear for me. I made elaborate inquiries
- from the railway officials in London between half past four and the hour
- of the train’s starting. I also spoke to the station-master at Mindon,
- asking him if he was certain that the train would arrive at the junction
- in time.” Major Wilson’s face brightened. Before it had been somewhat
- overcast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A telegram, as a matter of form, will be sufficient to clear up
- everything,” said Major Wilson. “Yes, everything except—wasn’t that
- midnight walk of yours a very odd thing, Mr. Wynne?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Harold, after a pause. “It was extremely odd. So odd that I
- know that you will pardon my attempting to explain it—at least just
- now. You will, I think, be satisfied if you have evidence that I was in
- London yesterday afternoon. I am anxious to go to my sister without delay.
- Surely some clue must be forthcoming as to the ruffian who did the deed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The only clue—if it could be termed a clue—is the sheath of
- the dagger,” replied Major Wilson. “It is the sheath of an ordinary belt
- dagger, such as is commonly worn by the peasantry in Southern Italy and
- Sicily. Lord Fotheringay lived a good deal abroad. Do you happen to know
- if he became involved in any quarrel in Italy—if there was any
- reason to think that his life had been threatened?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My poor father returned from abroad a couple of months ago, and joined
- Lady Innisfail’s party in Ireland. I have only seen him once in London
- since then. He must have been followed by some one who fancied that—that—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That he had been injured by your father?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is what I fear. But my father never confided his suspicions—if
- he had any on this matter—to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They had walked some little way up the road. They now returned slowly and
- silently.
- </p>
- <p>
- A one-horse-fly appeared in the distance. When it came near, Harold
- recognized it as the one in which he had driven with Beatrice from the
- station to the hotel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you will allow me,” said Harold to Major Wilson, “I will send to the
- hotel for my overcoat and hat.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do so by all means,” said Major Wilson. “There is a decent little inn
- some distance on the road, where you will be able to get a brush down—you
- certainly need one. I’ll give my sergeant instructions to send some
- telegrams at the junction.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps you will kindly ask him to return to me my watch,” said Harold.
- “I don’t suppose that he will need it now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold stopped the fly, and wrote upon a card of his own the following
- words, “<i>A shocking thing has happened that keeps me from you. My poor
- father is dead. Return to town by first train.</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- He instructed the driver to go to the Priory Hotel and deliver the card
- into the hand of the lady whom he had driven there the previous evening,
- and then to pay Harold’s bill, drive the lady to the junction, and return
- with the overcoat and hat to the inn on the road.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold gave the man a couple of sovereigns, and the driver said that he
- would be able easily to convey the lady to the junction in time for the
- first train.
- </p>
- <p>
- While the sergeant went away to send the Chief Constable’s telegrams,
- Major Wilson and Harold drove off together in the dog-cart—the man
- with the truncheon and the men who had carried the bill-hooks respectfully
- saluted as the vehicle passed.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the course of another half hour, Harold was in the centre of a cloud of
- dust, produced by the vigorous action of an athlete at the little inn, who
- had been engaged to brush him down. When he caught sight of himself in a
- looking-glass on entering the inn, Harold was as much amazed as he had
- been when he heard from the Chief Constable that he had been wandering
- round the wood all night. He felt that he could not blame the woodcutters
- for taking him for a tramp.
- </p>
- <p>
- He managed to eat some breakfast, and then he fly came up with his
- overcoat and hat. He spoke only one sentence to the driver.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You brought her to the train?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir. She only waited to write a line. Here it is, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He handed Harold an envelope.
- </p>
- <p>
- Inside was a sheet of paper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Dearest—dearest—You have all my sympathy—all my
- love. Come to me soon.</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- These were the words that he read in the handwriting of Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was in a bedroom when he read them. He sat down on the side of the bed
- and burst into tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was ten years since he had wept.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he buried his face in his hands and said a prayer.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was ten years since he had prayed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLVIII—ON MURDER AS A SOCIAL INCIDENT.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HIS is not the
- story of a murder. However profitable as well as entertaining it would be
- to trace through various mysteries, false alarms, and intricacies the
- following up of a clue by the subtle intelligence of a detective, until
- the rope is around the neck of the criminal, such profit and entertainment
- must be absent from this story of a man’s conquest of the Devil within
- himself. Regarding the incident of the murder of Lord Fotheringay much
- need not be said.
- </p>
- <p>
- The sergeant appeared at the inn with replies to the telegrams that he had
- been instructed to send to the railway officials, and they were found to
- corroborate all the statements made by Harold. A ticket of the number of
- that upon the one which Harold still retained, had been issued previous to
- the departure of the four-fifty-five train from London.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, I knew what the replies would be,” said Major Wilson. “But you
- can understand my position.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly I can,” said Harold. “It needs no apology.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They drove to the junction together to catch the train to Abbeylands
- station. An astute officer from Scotland Yard had been telegraphed for, to
- augment the intelligence of the County Constabulary Force in the endeavour
- to follow up the only clue that was available, and Major Wilson was to
- travel with the London officer to the scene of the crime.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a few minutes the London train came up, and the passengers for the
- Abbeylands line crossed to the side platform. Among them Harold perceived
- his own servant. The man was dressed in black, and carried a portmanteau
- and hat-box. He did not see his master until he had reached the platform.
- Then he walked up to Harold, laid down the portmanteau and endeavoured—by
- no means unsuccessfully—to impart some emotion—respectful
- emotion, and very respectful sympathy, into the act of touching his hat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I heard the sad news, my lord,” said the man, “and I took the liberty of
- packing your lordship’s portmanteau and taking the first train to
- Abbeylands. I took it for granted that you would be there, my lord.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You acted wisely, Martin,” said Harold. “I will ask you not to make any
- change in addressing me for some days, at least.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very good, my lord—I mean, sir,” said the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not acquired for more than a minute the new mode of address, and
- yet he had difficulty in relinquishing it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Abbeylands was empty of the guests who, up to the previous evening, had
- been within its walls. From the mouth of the gamekeeper, who had found the
- body of Lord Fotheringay, Harold learned a few more particulars regarding
- his ghastly discovery, but they were of no importance, though the astute
- Scotland Yard officer considered them—or pretended to consider them—to
- be extremely valuable.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a week the detectives were very active, and the newspapers announced
- daily that they had discovered a clue, and that an arrest might be looked
- for almost immediately.
- </p>
- <p>
- No arrest took place, however; the detectives returned to their
- head-quarters, and the mild sensation produced by the heading of a
- newspaper column, “The Murder of Lord Fotheringay” was completely
- obliterated by the toothsome scandal produced by the appearance of a
- music-hall artist as the co-respondent in a Duchess’s divorce case. It was
- eminently a case for sandwiches and plovers’ eggs; and the costumes which
- the eaters of these portable comestibles wore, were described in detail by
- those newspapers which everyone abuses and—reads. The middle-aged
- rheumatic butterfly was dead and buried; and though many theories were
- started—not by Scotland Yard, however—to account for his
- death, no arrests were made. Whoever the murderer was, he remained
- undetected. (A couple of years had passed before Harold heard a highly
- circumstantial story about the appearance of a foreign gentleman with
- extremely dark eyes and hair, in the neighbourhood of Castle Innisfail,
- inquiring for Lord Fotheringay a few days after Lord Fotheringay had left
- the Castle).
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Lampson, the only daughter of the deceased peer, had received so
- severe a shock through the tragic circumstances of her father’s death,
- that she found it necessary to take a long voyage. She started for Samoa
- with her husband in his steam yacht. It may be mentioned incidentally,
- however, that, as the surface of the Bay of Biscay was somewhat ruffled
- when the yacht was going southward, it was thought advisable to change the
- cruise to one in the Mediterranean. Mrs. Lampson turned up on the Riviera
- in the spring, and, after entertaining freely there for some time, an
- article appeared above her signature in a leading magazine deploring the
- low tone of society at Monte Carlo and on the Riviera generally.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was in the railway carriage on their way to London from Abbeylands—the
- exact time was when Harold was in the act of repeating the stanzas from
- Shelley—that Helen Craven and Edmund Airey conversed together,
- sitting side by side for the purpose.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is Lord Fotheringay now,” remarked Miss Craven, thoughtfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- Edmund looked at her with something of admiration in his eyes. The young
- woman who, an hour or two after being shocked at the news of a tragedy
- enacted at the very door of the house where she had been a guest, could
- begin to discuss its social bearing, was certainly a young woman to be
- wondered at—that is, to be admired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Edmund, “he is now Lord Fotheringay, whatever that means.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It means a title and an income, does it not?” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, a sort of title and, yes, a sort of income,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Either would be quite enough to marry and live on,” said Helen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He contrived to live without either up to the present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, poorly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not palatially, certainly, but still pleasantly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will he ask her to marry him now, do you think?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, you know—Beatrice Avon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh—I think that—that I should like to know what you think
- about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think he will ask her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And that she will accept him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not know how much thought he had been giving to this question
- during some hours—how eagerly he was waiting her reply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No.” she said; “I believe that she will not accept him, because she means
- to accept you—if you give her a chance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The start that he gave was very well simulated. Scarcely so admirable from
- a standpoint of art was the opening of his eyes accompanied by a little
- exclamation of astonishment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why are you surprised?” she said, as if she was surprised at his surprise—so
- subtly can a clever young woman flatter the cleverest of men.
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am surprised because I have just heard the most surprising sentence
- that ever came upon my ears. That is saying a good deal—yes,
- considering how much we have talked together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should it be surprising?” she said. “Did you not call upon her in
- town?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I called upon her,” he replied, wondering how she had come to know
- it. (She had merely guessed it.)
- </p>
- <p>
- “That would give her hope.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hope?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hope. And it was this hope that induced her to accept Mrs. Lampson’s
- invitation, although she must have known that Mrs. Lampson’s brother was
- not to be of the party. I have often wondered if it was you or Lord
- Fotheringay who asked Mrs. Lampson to invite her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was I,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes brightened—so far as it was possible for them to brighten.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if she came to know that,” said Helen musingly. “It would be
- something of a pity if she did not know it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For that matter, nearly everything that happens is a pity,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not everything,” said she. “But it is certainly a pity that the person
- who had the bad taste to stab poor Lord Fotheringay did not postpone his
- crime for at least one day. You would in that case have had a chance of
- returning by the side of Beatrice Avon instead of by the side of some one
- else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who is infinitely cleverer,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- At this point their conversation ended—at least so far as Harold and
- Beatrice were concerned.
- </p>
- <p>
- Helen felt, however, that even that brief exchange of opinions had been
- profitable. Her first thought on hearing of the ghastly discovery of the
- gamekeeper, was that all her striving to win Harold had been in vain—that
- all her contriving, by the help of Edmund Airey, had been to no purpose.
- Harold would now be free to marry Beatrice Avon—or to ask her to
- marry him; which she believed was much the same thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- But in the course of a short time she did not feel so hopeless. She
- believed that Edmund Airey only needed a little further flattery to induce
- him to resume his old attitude in regard to Beatrice; and the result of
- her little chat with him in the train showed her not merely that, in
- regard to flattery, he was pretty much as other men, only, of course, he
- required it to be subtly administered—but also that he had no
- intention of allowing his compact in regard to Beatrice to expire with
- their departure from Castle Innisfail. He admitted having called upon her
- in London, and this showed Helen very plainly that his attitude in respect
- of Beatrice was the result of a rather stronger impulse than the desire to
- be of service to her, Helen, in accordance with the suggestions which she
- had ventured to make during her first frank interview with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- She made up her mind that he would not require in future to be frequently
- reminded of that frank interview. She knew that there exists a more
- powerful motive for some men’s actions than a desire to forward the
- happiness of their fellow-men.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was her reflection at the precise moment that Harold’s face was bent
- down to the face of Beatrice, while he whispered the words that thrilled
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- As for Edmund Airey, he, too, had his thoughts, and, like Helen, he
- considered himself quite capable of estimating the amount of importance to
- be attached to such an incident as the murder of Lord Fotheringay, as a
- factor in the solution of any problem that might suggest itself. A murder
- is, of course, susceptible of being regarded from a social standpoint. The
- murder of Lord Fotheringay, for instance, had broken up what promised to
- be an exceedingly interesting party at Abbeylands. A murder is very
- provoking sometimes; and when Edmund Airey heard Lady Innisfail complain
- to Archie Brown—Archie had become a great friend of hers—of
- the irritating features of that incident—when he heard an
- uncharitable man declare that it was most thoughtless of Lord Fotheringay
- to get a knife stuck into his ribs just when the pheasants were at their
- best, he could not but feel that his own reflections were very plainly
- expressed.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not been certain of himself during the previous two months. For the
- first time in his life he did not see his way clearly. It was in order to
- improve his vision that he had begged Mrs. Lampson—with infinite
- tact, she admitted to her brother—to invite Beatrice to Abbeylands.
- He rather thought that, before the visit of Beatrice should terminate, he
- would be able to see his way clearly in certain directions.
- </p>
- <p>
- But now, owing to the annoying incident that had occurred, the opportunity
- was denied him of improving his vision in accordance with the prescription
- which he had prepared to effect this purpose; therefore——
- </p>
- <p>
- He had reached this point in his reflections when the special train, which
- Mr. Lampson had chartered to take his guests back to town, ran alongside
- the platform at the London terminus.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was just the moment when Harold looked up to the window from the
- Priory grounds and saw that vision of white glowing beauty.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLIX.—ON THE ADVANTAGES OF CONFESSION.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E stood silent,
- without taking a step into the room, when the door had been closed behind
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- With a cry she sprang from her seat in front of the fire and put out her
- hands to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still he did not move a step toward her. He remained at the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- Something of fear was upon her face as she stood looking at him. He was
- pale and haggard and ghostlike. She could not but perceive how strongly
- the likeness to his father, who had been buried the previous day, appeared
- upon his face now that it was so worn and haggard—much more so than
- she had ever seen his father’s face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harold—Harold—my beloved!” she cried, and there was something
- of fear in her voice. “Harold—husband—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For God’s sake, do not say that, Beatrice!”
- </p>
- <p>
- His voice was hoarse and quite unlike the voice that had whispered the
- lines of Shelley, with his face within the halo of moonlight that had
- clung about her hair.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was more frightened still. Her hands were clasped over her heart—the
- lamplight gleamed upon the blood-red circle of rubies on the one ring that
- she wore—it had never left her finger.
- </p>
- <p>
- He came into the room. She only retreated one step.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For God’s sake, Beatrice, do not call me husband! I am not your husband!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She came toward him; and now the look of fear that she had worn, became
- one of sympathy. Her eyes were full of tears as she said, “My poor Harold,
- you have all the sympathy—the compassion—the love of my heart.
- You know it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” he said, “I know it. I know what is in your heart. I know its
- purity—its truth—its sweetness—that is why I should
- never have come here, knowing also that I am unworthy to stand in your
- presence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are worthy of all—all—that I can give you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Worthy of contempt—contempt—worthy of that for which there is
- no forgiveness. Beatrice, we have not been married. The form through which
- we went in this room was a mockery. The man whom I brought here was not a
- priest. He was guilty of a crime in coming here. I was guilty of a crime
- in bringing him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him for a few moments, and then turned away from him.
- </p>
- <p>
- She went without faltering in the least toward the chair that still
- remained in front of the fire. But before she had taken more than a few
- steps toward it, she looked back at him—only for a second or two,
- however; then she reached the chair and seated herself in it with her back
- to him. She looked into the fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long silence before he spoke again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I must have been mad,” he said. “Mad to distrust you. It was only
- when I was away from you that madness came upon me. The utter hopelessness
- of ever being able to call you mine took possession of me, body and soul,
- and I felt that I must bind you to me by some means. An accident suggested
- the means to me. God knows, Beatrice, that I meant never to take advantage
- of your belief that we were married. But when I felt myself by your side
- in the train—when I felt your heart beating against mine that night—I
- found myself powerless to resist. I was overcome. I had cast honour, and
- truth, yes, and love—the love that exists for ever without hope of
- reward—to the winds. Thank God—thank God that I awoke from my
- madness. The sight which should have made me even more powerless to
- resist, awoke me to a true sense of the life which I had been living for
- some hours, and by God’s grace I was strong enough to fly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again there was a long silence. He could see her finely-cut profile as she
- sat upright, looking into the fire. He saw that her features had undergone
- no change whatever while he was speaking. It seemed as if his recital had
- in no respect interested her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The silence was appalling.
- </p>
- <p>
- She put out her hand and took from a small table beside her, the hook
- which apparently she had been reading when he had entered. She turned over
- the leaves as if searching for the place at which she had been
- interrupted.
- </p>
- <p>
- He came beside her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you no word for me—no word of pity—of forgiveness—of
- farewell?” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had apparently found her place. She seemed to be reading.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beatrice, Beatrice, I implore of you—one word—one word—any
- word!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had clutched her arm as he fell on his knees passionately beside her.
- The book dropped to the floor. She was on her feet at the same instant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh God—oh God, what have I done that I should be the victim of
- these men?” she cried, not in a strident voice, but in a low tone,
- tremulous with passion. “One man thinks it a good thing to amuse himself
- by pretending that I interest him, and another whom I trusted as I would
- have trusted my God, endeavours to ruin my life—and he has done it—he
- has done it! My life is ruined!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had never looked at him while he was speaking to her. She had not been
- able for some time to comprehend the full force of the revelation he had
- made to her; but so soon as she had felt his hand upon her arm, she seemed
- in a moment to understand all.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now she looked at him as he knelt at her feet with his head bowed down to
- the arm of the chair in which she had been sitting—she looked down
- upon him; and then with a cry as of physical pain, she flung herself
- wildly upon a sofa, sobbing hysterically.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was beside her in a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Beatrice, my love, my love, tell me what reparation I can make,” he
- cried. “Beatrice, have pity upon me! Do not say that I have ruined your
- life. It was only because I could not bear the thought that there was a
- chance of losing you, that I did what I did. I could not face that,
- Beatrice!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She still lay there, shaken with sobs. He dared not put his hand upon her.
- He dared not touch one of her hands with his. He could only stand there by
- her side. Every sob that she gave was like a dagger’s thrust to him. He
- suffered more during those moments than his father had done while the hand
- of the assassin was upon him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The long silence was broken only by her sobs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beatrice—Beatrice, you will say one word to me—one word,
- Beatrice, for God’s sake!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Some moments had passed while she struggled hard to control herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was long before she was successful.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go—go—go!” she cried, without raising her head from the satin
- cushion of the sofa. “Oh, Harold, Harold, go!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will go,” he said, after another long pause. “I will go. But I leave
- here all that I love in the world—all that I shall ever love. I was
- false to myself once—only once; I shall never be so again. I shall
- never cease loving you while I live, Beatrice. I never loved you as I do
- now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She made no sign.
- </p>
- <p>
- Even when she heard the door of the room open and close, she did not rise.
- </p>
- <p>
- And the fire burnt itself out, and the lamp burnt itself out, but still
- she lay there in her tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER L.—ON CONSOLATION AS A FINE ART.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>IS worst
- forebodings had come to pass. That was the one feeling which Harold had on
- leaving her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had scarcely ventured to entertain a hope that the result of his
- interview with her and of his confession to her would be different.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew her.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was why he had gone to her without hope. He knew that her nature was
- such as made it impossible for her to understand how he could have
- practised a fraud upon her; and he knew that understanding is the first
- step toward forgiving.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still, there ever pervades the masculine mind an idea that there is no
- limit to a woman’s forgiveness.
- </p>
- <p>
- The masculine mind has the best of reasons for holding fast to this idea.
- It is the result of many centuries of experience of woman—of many
- centuries of testing the limits of woman’s forgiveness. The belief that
- there is nothing that a woman will not forgive in a man whom she loves, is
- the heritage of man—just as the heritage of woman is to believe that
- nothing that is done by a man whom she loves, stands in need of
- forgiveness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Thus it is that men and women make (occasionally) excellent companions for
- one another, and live together (frequently) in harmony.
- </p>
- <p>
- Thus it was that, in spite of the fact that his reason and his knowledge
- of the nature of Beatrice assured him that his confession of the fraud in
- which he had participated against her would not be forgiven by her, there
- still remained in the mind of Harold Wynne a shadowy hope that she might
- yet be as other women, who, understanding much, forgive much.
- </p>
- <p>
- He left her presence, feeling that she was no as other women are.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the only grain of comfort that remained with him. He loved her
- more than he had ever done before, because she was not as other women are.
- </p>
- <p>
- She could not understand how that cold distrust had taken possession of
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- She knew nothing of that world in which he had lived all his life—a
- world quite full of worldliness—and therefore she could not
- understand how it was that he had sought to bind her to him beyond the
- possibility (as he meant her to think) of ever being separated from him.
- She had laid all her trust in him. She had not even claimed from him the
- privilege of consulting with someone—her father or someone with whom
- she might be on more confidential terms—regarding the proposition
- which he had made to her. No, she had trusted him implicitly, and yet he
- had persevered in regarding her as belonging to the worldly ones among
- whom he had lived all his life.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had lost her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had lost her, and he deserved to lose her. This was his thought as he
- walked westward. He had not the satisfaction of feeling that he was badly
- treated.
- </p>
- <p>
- The feeling on the part of a man that he has been badly treated by a
- woman, usually gives him much greater satisfaction than would result from
- his being extremely well treated by the same, or, indeed, by any other
- woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- But this blessed consciousness of being badly treated was denied to Harold
- Wynne. He had been the ill-treater, not the ill-treated. He reflected how
- he had taken advantage of the peculiar circumstances of the girl’s life—upon
- the absence of her father—upon her own trustful innocence—to
- carry out the fraud which he had perpetrated upon her. Under ordinary
- circumstances and with a girl of an ordinary stamp, such a fraud would
- have been impossible. He was well aware that a girl living under the
- conditions to which most girls are subjected, would have laughed in his
- face had he suggested the advisability of marrying him privately.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, he had taken a cruel advantage of her and of the freedom which she
- enjoyed, to betray her; and the feeling that he had lost her did not cause
- him more bitterness than deserved to fall to his lot.
- </p>
- <p>
- One bitterness of reflection was, however, spared to him, and this was why
- he cried again, as he threw himself into a chair, “Thank God—thank
- God!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had not been seated for long, before his servant entered with a card.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I told the lady that you were not seeing any one, my lord,” said Martin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The lady?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Not for a single instant did it occur to his mind that Beatrice had come
- to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, my lord; Miss Craven,” said Martin, handing him the card. “But she
- said that perhaps you would see her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Only for a minute</i>,” were the words written in pencil on Miss
- Craven’s card.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I will certainly see Miss Craven,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very good, my lord.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stood at the door. The light outside was very low; so was the light in
- the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Between two dim lights was where Helen looked her best. A fact of which
- she was well aware.
- </p>
- <p>
- She seemed almost pretty as she stood there.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had made up pale, which she considered appropriately sympathetic on
- her part. And, indeed, there can scarcely be a difference of opinion on
- this point.
- </p>
- <p>
- In delicate matters of taste like this she rarely-made a mistake.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was so good of you to come,” said he, taking her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could not help it, Harold,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mamma is in the brougham; she desired me to convey to you her deepest
- sympathy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am indeed touched by her thoughtfulness,” said Harold. “You will tell
- her so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mamma is not very strong,” said Helen. “She would not come in with me.
- She, too, has suffered deeply. But I felt that I must tell you face to
- face how terribly shocked we were—how I feel for you with all my
- heart. We have always been good friends—the best of friends, Harold—at
- least, I do not know where I should look in the world for another such
- friend as you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, we were always good friends, Helen,” said he; “and I hope that we
- shall always remain so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall—I feel that we shall, Harold,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes were overflowing with tears, as she put out a hand to him—a
- hand which he took and held between both his own, but without speaking a
- word. “I felt that I must go to you if only for a moment—if only to
- say to you as I do now, ‘I feel for you with all my heart. You have all my
- sympathy.’ That is all I have to say. I knew you would allow me to see
- you, and to give you my message. Good-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are so good—so kind—so thoughtful,” said he. “I shall
- always feel that you are my friend—my best friend, Helen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you may always trust in my friendship—my—my—friendship,”
- said she. “You will come and see us soon—mamma and me. We should be
- so glad. Lady Innisfail wanted me to go with her to Netherford Hall—several
- of your sister’s party are going with Lady Innisfail; but of course I
- could not think of going. I shall go nowhere for some time—a long
- time, I think. We shall be at home whenever you call, Harold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you may be certain that I shall call soon,” said he. “Pray tell Mrs.
- Craven how deeply touched—how deeply grateful I am for her kindness.
- And you—you know that I shall never forget your thoughtfulness,
- Helen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes were still glistening as he took her hand and pressed it. She
- looked at him through her tears; her lips moved, but no words came. She
- turned and went down the stairs. He followed her for a few steps, and then
- Martin met her, opened the hall-door, and saw her put into the brougham by
- her footman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said her mother, when the brougham got upon the wood pavement.
- “Well, did you find the poor orphan in tears and comfort him?” Mrs. Craven
- was not devoid of an appreciation of humour of a certain form. She had
- lived in Birmingham for several years of her life.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear mamma,” said Helen, “I think you may always trust to me to know what
- is right to do upon all occasions. My visit was a success. I knew that it
- would be a success. I know Harold Wynne.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know one thing,” said Mrs. Craven, “and that is, that he will never
- marry you. Whatever Harold Wynne might have done, Lord Fotheringay will
- never marry you, my dear. Make up your mind to that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her daughter laughed in the way that a daughter laughs at a prophetic
- mother clad in sables, with a suspicion of black velvet and beads
- underneath.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER LI.—ON THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE AND OTHERS.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>URING the next few
- days Harold had numerous visitors. A man cannot have his father murdered
- without attracting a considerable amount of attention to himself. Cards “<i>With
- deepest sympathy</i>” were left upon him by the hundred, and the majority
- of those sympathizers drove away to say to their friends at their clubs
- what a benefactor to society was the person who had run that knife into
- the ribs of Lord Fotheringay. Some suggested that a presentation should be
- got up for that man; and when someone asked what the police meant by
- taking so much trouble to find the man, another ventured to formulate the
- very plausible theory that they were doing so in order to force him to
- give sittings to an eminent sculptor for a statue of himself with the
- knife in his hand, to be erected by public subscription outside the House
- of Lords.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; <i>pour encourager les autres!</i>” said one of the sympathizers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Another of the sympathizers inquired where were the Atheists now?
- </p>
- <p>
- It was generally admitted that, as an incentive to orthodoxy, the tragic
- end of Lord Fotheringay could scarcely be over-estimated.
- </p>
- <p>
- It threw a flood of light upon the Ways of Providence.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Scotland Yard people at first regarded the incident from such a
- standpoint.
- </p>
- <p>
- They assumed that Providence had decreed a violent death to Lord
- Fotheringay, in order to give the detective force an opportunity of
- displaying their ingenuity.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had many interviews with Harold, and they asked him a number of
- questions regarding the life of his father, his associates, and his
- tastes.
- </p>
- <p>
- They wondered if he had an enemy.
- </p>
- <p>
- They feared that the deed was the work of an enemy; and they started the
- daring theory that if they only had a clue to this supposititious enemy
- they would be on the track of the assassin.
- </p>
- <p>
- After about a week of suchlike theorizing, they were not quite so sure of
- Providence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Some newspapers interested in the Ways of Providence, declared through the
- medium of leading articles, that Lord Fotheringay had been murdered in
- order that the world might be made aware of the utter incapacity of
- Scotland Yard, and the necessity for the reorganization of the detective
- force.
- </p>
- <p>
- Other newspapers—they were mostly the organs of the Opposition—sneered
- at the Home Secretary.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Durdan was heard to affirm in the solitude of the smoking-room of his
- club, that the days of the Government were numbered.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Harold had also to receive daily visits from the family lawyers; and
- as family lawyers take more interest in the affairs of the family than any
- of its members, he found these visits very tiresome; only he was
- determined to find out what was his exact position financially, and to do
- so involved the examination of the contents of several tin boxes, as well
- as the columns of some bank books. On the whole, however, the result of
- his researches under the guidance of the lawyers was worth the trouble
- that they entailed.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found that he would be compelled to live on an income of twelve
- thousand pounds a year, if he really wished—as he said he did—to
- make provision for the paying off of certain incumbrances, and of keeping
- in repair a certain mansion on the borders of a Welsh county.
- </p>
- <p>
- Having lived for several years upon an allowance of something under twelve
- hundred pounds a year, he felt that he could manage to subsist on twelve
- thousand. This was the thought that came to him automatically, so soon as
- he had discovered his financial position. His next thought was that, by
- his own folly, he had rendered himself incapable of enjoying this sudden
- increase in revenue.
- </p>
- <p>
- If he had only been patient—if he had only been trustful for one
- week longer!
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt very bitterly on the subject of his folly—his cruelty—his
- fraud; the fact being that he entertained some preposterous theory of
- individual responsibility.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had never had inculcated on him the principles of heredity, otherwise
- he would have understood fully that he could no more have avoided carrying
- out a plan of deception upon a woman, than the pointer puppy—where
- would the Evolutionists be without their pointer puppy?—can avoid
- pointing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Whether the adoption of the scientific explanation of what he had done
- would have alleviated his bitterness or not, is quite another question.
- The philosophy that accounts for suffering does not go the length of
- relieving suffering. The science that gives the gout a name that few
- persons can pronounce, does not prevent an ordinary gouty subject from
- swearing; which seems rather a pity.
- </p>
- <p>
- Among the visitors whom Harold saw in these days was Edmund Airey. Mr.
- Airey did not think it necessary to go through the form of expressing his
- sympathy for his friend’s bereavement. His only allusion to the
- bereavement was to be found in a sneer at Scotland Yard.
- </p>
- <p>
- Could he do anything for Harold, he wondered. If he could do anything,
- Harold might depend on his doing it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold said, “Thank you, old chap, I don’t think I can reasonably ask you
- to work out for me, in tabulated form, the net value of leases that have
- yet to run from ten to sixty years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Therein the patient must minister to himself,” said Edmund. “I suppose it
- is, after all, only a question of administration. If you want any advice—well,
- you have asked my advice before now. You have even gone the length of
- taking my advice—yes, sometimes. That’s more than the majority of
- people do—unless my advice bears out their own views. Advice, my
- dear Harold, is the opinion asked by one man of another when he has made
- up his mind what course to adopt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have always found your counsel good,” said Harold. “You know men and
- their motives. I have often wondered if you knew anything about women.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Airey smiled. It was rather ridiculous that anyone so well acquainted
- with him as Harold was, should make use of a phrase that suggested a doubt
- of his capacity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Women—and their motives?” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite so,” said Harold. “Their motives. You once assured me that there
- was no such thing as woman in the abstract. Perhaps, assuming that that is
- your standpoint, you may say that it is ridiculous to talk of the motives
- of woman; though it would be reasonable—at least as reasonable as
- most talk of women—to speak of the motives of a woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What woman do you speak of?” said Edmund, quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I speak as a fool—broadly,” said Harold. “I feel myself to be a
- fool, when I reflect upon the wisdom of those stories told to us by Brian
- the boatman. The first was about a man who defrauded the revenue of the
- country, the other was about a cow that got jammed in the doorway of an
- Irish cabin. There was some practical philosophy in both those stories,
- and they put all questions of women and their motives out of our heads
- while Brian was telling them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s no doubt about that,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By the way, didn’t you ask me for my advice on some point during one of
- those days on the Irish lough?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I did, I’m certain that I received good counsel from you,” said
- Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You did. But you didn’t take it,” said Edmund, with a laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I told you once that you hadn’t given me time. I tell you so again,” said
- Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Has she been to see you within the past few days? asked Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You understand women—and their motives,” said Harold. “Yes, Miss
- Craven was here. By the way, talking of motives, I have often wondered why
- you suggested to my sister that Miss Avon would make an agreeable addition
- to the party at Abbeylands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Not for a second did Edmund Airey change colour—not for a second did
- his eyes fall before the searching glance of his friend.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The fact was,” said he—and he smiled as he spoke—“I was under
- the impression that your father—ah, well, if he hadn’t that
- mechanical rectitude of movement which appertains chiefly to the walking
- doll and other automata, he had still many good points. He told me upon
- one occasion that it was his intention to marry Miss Avon. I was amused.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you wanted to be amused again? I see. I think that I, too, am
- beginning to understand something of men—and their motives,”
- remarked Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you make any progress in that direction, you might try and fathom the
- object of the Opposition in getting up this agitation about Siberia. They
- are going to arouse the country by descriptions of the horrors of exile in
- Siberia. They want to make the Government responsible for what goes on
- there. And the worst of it is that they’ll do it, too. Do you remember
- Bulgaria?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perfectly. The country is a fool. The Government will need a strong
- programme to counteract the effects of the Siberian platform.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m trying to think out something at the present moment. Well, good-bye.
- Don’t fail to let me know if I can do anything for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been gone some time before Harold smiled—not the smile of a
- man who has been amused at something that has come under his notice, but
- the sad smile of a man who has found that his sagacity has not been at
- fault when he has thought the worst about one of his friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- There are times when a certain imperturbability of demeanour on the part
- of a man who has been asked a sudden searching question, conveys as much
- to the questioner as his complete collapse would do. The perfect composure
- with which Edmund had replied to his sudden question regarding his motive
- in suggesting to Mrs. Lampson—with infinite tact—that Beatrice
- Avon might be invited to Abbeylands, told Harold all that he had an
- interest to know.
- </p>
- <p>
- Edmund Airey’s acquaintance with men—and women—had led him to
- feel sure that Mrs. Lamp-son would tell her brother of the suggestion made
- by him, Edmund; and also that her brother would ask him if he had any
- particular reason for making that suggestion. This was perfectly plain to
- Harold; and he knew that his friend had been walking about for some time
- with that answer ready for the question which had just been put to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is on his way to Beatrice at the present moment,” said Harold, while
- that bitter smile was still upon his features.
- </p>
- <p>
- And he was right.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER LII.—ON THE FLUSH, THE FOOL, AND FATE.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>R. AIREY had
- called on Beatrice since his return from that melancholy entertainment at
- Abbeylands, but he had not been fortunate enough to find her at home. Now,
- however, he was more lucky. She had already two visitors with her in the
- big drawing-room, when Mr. Airey was announced.
- </p>
- <p>
- He could not fail to notice the little flush upon her face as he entered.
- He noticed it, and it was extremely gratifying to him to do so; only he
- hoped that her visitors were not such close observers as he knew himself
- to be. He would not have liked them—whoever they were—-to
- leave the house with the impression that he was a lover. If they were
- close observers and inclined to gossip, they might, he felt, consider
- themselves justified in putting so liberal an interpretation upon her
- quick flush as he entered.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not blush: he had been a Member of Parliament for several years.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, she was clearly pleased to see him, and her manifestation of pleasure
- made him assured that he had never seen a lovelier girl. It was so good of
- him not to forget her, she declared. He feared that her flush would
- increase, and suggest the peony rather than the peach. But he quickly
- perceived that she had recovered from the excitement of his sudden
- appearance, and that, as a matter of fact, she was becoming pale rather
- than roseate.
- </p>
- <p>
- He noticed this when her visitors—they were feeble folk, the head of
- a department in the Museum and his sister—had left the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is delightful to be face to face with you once more,” he said. “I seem
- to hear the organ-music of the Atlantic now that I am beside you again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave a little laugh—did he detect something of scorn in its
- ring?—as she said, “Oh, no; it is the sound of the greater ocean
- that we have about us here. It is the tide of the affairs of men that
- flows around us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- No, her laugh could have had nothing of scorn about it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot think of you as borne about on this full tide,” said he. “I see
- you with your feet among the purple heather—I wonder if there was a
- sprig of white about it—along the shores of the Irish lough. I see
- you in the midst of a flood of sunset-light flowing from the west, making
- the green one red.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She saw that sunset. He was describing the sunset that had been witnessed
- from the deck of the yacht returning from the seal-hunt beyond the
- headlands. Did he know why she got up suddenly from her seat and pretended
- to snuff one of the candles on the mantelshelf? Did he know how close the
- tears were to her eyes as she gave another little laugh?
- </p>
- <p>
- “So long as you do not associate me with Mr. Durdan’s views on the Irish
- question, I shall be quite satisfied,” said she. “Poor Mr. Durdan! How he
- saw a bearing upon the Irish question in all the phenomena of Nature! The
- sunset—the sea—the clouds—all had more or less to do
- with the Irish question.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And he was not altogether wrong,” said Edmund. “Mr. Durdan is a man of
- scrupulous inaccuracy, as a rule, but he sometimes stumbles across a
- truth. The sea and sky are eternal, and the Irish question——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is the rock upon which the Government is to be wrecked, I believe,” said
- she. “Oh, yes; Mr. Durdan confided in me that the days of the Government
- are numbered.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He became confidential on that topic to a considerable number of
- persons,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And we are confidential on Mr. Durdan as a topic,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We have talked confidentially on more profitable topics, have we not?”
- said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We have talked confidently at least.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And confidingly, I hope. I told you all my aspirations, Miss Avon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, perhaps, I made some reservations.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps I shall tell you confidentially of some other aspirations of mine—some
- day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke slowly and with an emphasis and suggestiveness that could not be
- overlooked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you will speak confidently on that subject, I am sure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was lying back in her chair, with the firelight fluttering over her.
- The firelight was flinging rose leaves about her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was what the effect suggested to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He noticed also how beautiful was the effect of the light shining through
- her hair. That was an effect which had been noticed before.
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned her eyes suddenly upon him, when he did not reply to her word,
- “confidently.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He repeated the word.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Confidently—confidently;” then he shook his head. “Alas! no. A man
- who speaks confidently on the subject of his aspirations—on the
- subject of a supreme aspiration—is a fool.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet I remember that you assured me upon one occasion that man was
- master of his fate,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did I?” said he. “That must have been when you first appeared among us at
- Castle Innisfail. I have learned a great deal since then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For example?” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Modesty in making broad statements where Fate is concerned,” he replied,
- with scarcely a pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- She withdrew her eyes from his face, and gave a third laugh, closely
- resembling in its tone her first—that one which caused him to wonder
- if there was a touch of scorn in its ripple.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her very narrowly. She was certainly the loveliest thing that
- he had ever seen. Could it be possible that she was leading him on?
- </p>
- <p>
- She had certainly never left herself open to the suspicion of leading him
- on when at Castle Innis-fail—among the purple heather or the crimson
- sunsets about which he had been talking—and yet he had been led on.
- He had a suspicion now that he was in peril. He had so fine an
- understanding of woman and her motives, that he became apprehensive of the
- slightest change. He was, in respect of woman, what a thermometer is when
- aboard a ship that is approaching an iceberg. He was appreciative of every
- change—of every motive.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was looking forward to another pleasant week near you,” said he, and
- his remark somehow seemed to have a connection with what he had been
- saying—had he not been announcing an acquirement of modesty?—“Yes,
- if you had been with us at Abbeylands you might have become associated in
- my mind with the glory of the colour of an autumn woodland. But it was, of
- course, fortunate for you that you got the terrible news in time to
- prevent your leaving town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt that she had become suddenly excited. There was no ignoring the
- rising and falling of the lace points that lay upon the bosom of her gown.
- The question was: did her excitement proceed from what he had said, or
- from what she fancied he was about to say?
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a nice question.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he bore out his statement regarding his gain in modesty, by assuming
- that she had been deeply affected by the story of the tragic end of Lord
- Fotheringay, so that she could not now hear a reference to it without
- emotion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if you care for German Opera,” said he. There could scarcely be
- even the most subtle connection between this and his last remark. She
- looked at him with something like surprise in her eyes when he had spoken.
- Only to some minds does a connection between criminality and German Opera
- become apparent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “German Opera, Mr. Airey?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. The fact is that I have a box for the winter season at the Opera
- House, and my cousin, Mrs. Carroll, means to go to every performance, I
- believe; she is an enthusiast on the subject of German Opera—she has
- even sat out a performance of ‘Parsifal’—and I know that she is
- eager to make converts. She would be delighted to call upon you when she
- returns from Brighton.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is so kind of you to think of me. I should love to go. You will be
- there—I mean, you will be able to come also, occasionally?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her. He had risen from his seat, being about to take leave of
- her. She had also risen, but her eyes drooped as she exclaimed, “You will
- be there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not fail to perceive the compromising sequence of her phrases, “I
- should love to go. You will be there?” She was looking critically at the
- toe of her shoe, turning it about so that she could make a thorough
- examination of it from every standpoint. Her hands, too, were busy tying
- knots on the girdle of her gown.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt that it would be cruel to let her see too plainly that he was
- conscious of that undue frankness of hers; so he broke the awkward silence
- by saying—not quite casually, of course, but still in not too
- pointed a way, “Yes, I shall be there, occasionally. Not that my devotion
- will be for German Opera, however.” The words were well chosen, he felt.
- They were spoken as the legitimate sequence to those words that she had
- uttered in that girlish enthusiasm, which was so charming. Only, of
- course, being a man, he could choose his words. They were artificial—the
- result of a choice; whereas it was plain that she could not choose but
- utter the phrases that had come from her. She was a girl, and so spoke
- impulsively and from her heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Meantime,” said she—she had now herself almost under control again,
- and was looking at him with a smile upon her face as she put out her hand
- to meet his. “Meantime, you will come again to see me? My father is
- greatly occupied with his history, otherwise he also would, I know, be
- very pleased to see you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope that you will be pleased,” said he. “If so, I will call—occasionally—frequently.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frequently,” said she, and once again—but only for a moment this
- time—she scrutinized her foot.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frequently,” said he, in a low tone. Being a man he could choose his
- tones as well as his words.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went away with a deep satisfaction dwelling within him—the
- satisfaction of the clever man who feels that he has not only spoken
- cleverly, but acted cleverly—which is quite a different thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Later on he felt that he need not have been in such a hurry calling upon
- her. He had gone to her directly after visiting Harold. He had been under
- the impression that he would do well to see her and make his proposal to
- her regarding the German Opera season without delay. The moment that he
- had heard of Lord Fotheringay’s death, it had occurred to him that he
- would do well to lose no time in paying her a visit. After due
- consideration, he had thought it advisable to call upon Harold in the
- first instance. He had done so, and the result of his call was to make him
- feel that he should not any longer delay his visit to Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now, as has been said, he felt that he need not have been in such a hurry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>I should love to go—you will be there</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, those were the words that had sprung from her heart. The sequence of
- the phrases had not been the result of art or thought.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had clearly under-estimated the effect of his own personality upon an
- impressionable girl who had a great historian for a father. The days that
- he had passed by her side—carrying out the compact which he had made
- with Helen Craven—had produced an impression upon her far more
- powerful than he had believed it possible to produce within so short a
- space of time.
- </p>
- <p>
- In short, she was his.
- </p>
- <p>
- That is what he felt within an hour of parting from her; and all his
- resources of modesty and humility were unequal to the task of changing his
- views on this point.
- </p>
- <p>
- Was he in love with her?
- </p>
- <p>
- He believed her to be the most beautiful woman whom he had ever seen.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER LIII.—ON A SUPREME ASPIRATION.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was commonly
- reported that Mr. Durdan had stated with some degree of publicity that the
- days of the Government were numbered.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were a good many persons who were ready to agree with him before the
- month of December had passed; for the agitation on the subject of Siberia
- was spreading through the length and breadth of the land. The active and
- observant Leader of the Opposition knew the people of England, Scotland,
- and perhaps—so far as they allowed themselves to be understood—of
- Wales, thoroughly. Of course Ireland was out of the question altogether.
- </p>
- <p>
- Knowing the people so well, he only waited for a sharp frost to open his
- campaign. He was well aware that it would be ridiculous to commence an
- agitation on the subject of Siberia unless in a sharp frost. To try to
- move the constituencies while the water-pipes in their dwellings remained
- intact, would be a waste of time. It is when his pipes are burst that the
- British householder will join in any agitation that may be started. The
- British farmer invariably turns out the Government after a bad harvest;
- and there can be but little doubt that a succession of wet summers would
- make England republican.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was because all the water-pipes in England were burst, that the
- atrocities in Bulgaria stirred the great sympathetic heart of this England
- of ours, and the strongest Government that had existed for years became
- the most unpopular. A strong Government may survive a year of great
- commercial depression; but the strongest totters after a wet summer, and
- none has ever been known to survive a frost that bursts the household
- water-pipes.
- </p>
- <p>
- The campaign commenced when the thermometer fell to thirty-two degrees
- Fahrenheit. That was the time to be up and doing. In every quarter the
- agitation made itself felt.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The sympathetic pulse of the nation was not yet stilled,” we were told.
- “Six years of inefficient Government had failed to crush down the manhood
- of England,” we were assured. “The Heart was still there—it was
- beating still; and wherever the Heart of an Englishman beats there was
- found a foe—a determined, resolute foe—nay, an irresistible
- foe, to tyranny, and what tyranny had the world ever known that was equal
- to that which sent thousands and tens of thousands of noble men and women—women—women—to
- a living death among the snows of Siberia? Could any one present form an
- idea of the horrors of a Siberian winter?” (Cries of “Yes, yes,” from
- householders whose water-pipes had burst.) “Well, in the name of our
- common humanity—in the name of our common sympathies—in the
- name of England (cheers)—England, mind you, with her fleet, that in
- spite of six years of gross mismanagement on the part of the Government,
- was still the mistress of the main—(loud cheers) England, mind you,
- whose armies had survived the shocking incapacity of a Government that had
- refused a seven-hours day to the artisans at Woolwich and Aldershot—(tremendous
- cheers) in the name of this grand old England of ours let those who were
- responsible for Siberia—that blot upon the map of Europe”—(the
- agitator is superior to geography)—“let them be told that their day
- is over. Let the Government that can look with callous eyes upon such
- horrors as are enacted among the frosts and snows of Siberia be told that
- its day is over (cheers). Did anyone wish to know something of these
- horrors?” (‘Yes, yes!’) “Well, here was a book written by a correspondent
- to a New York journal, and which, consequently, was entitled to every
- respect”.... and so forth.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the way the opponents of the Government talked at every meeting.
- And in the course of a short time they had successfully mixed up the
- labour question, the army and navy retrenchment question, the agricultural
- question, and several other questions, with the stories of Siberian
- horrors, and the aggregate of evil was laid to the charge of the
- Government.
- </p>
- <p>
- The friends of the Government were at their wits’ end to know how to reply
- to this agitation. Some foolish ones endeavoured to make out that England
- was not responsible for what was done in Siberia. But this sophistry was
- too shallow for the people whose water-pipes were burst, and those who
- were responsible for it were hooted on every platform.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was at this critical time that the Prime Minister announced at a Dinner
- at which he was entertained, that, while the Government was fully sensible
- of the claims of Siberia, he felt certain that he was only carrying out
- the desire of the people of England, in postponing consideration of this
- vast question until a still greater question had been settled. After long
- and careful deliberation, Her Majesty’s Ministers had resolved to submit
- to the country a programme the first item of which was the Conversion of
- the Jews.
- </p>
- <p>
- The building where this announcement was made rang with cheers. The
- friends of the Government no longer looked gloomy. In a few days they knew
- that the Nonconformist Conscience would be awake, and as a political
- factor, the Nonconformist Conscience cannot be ignored. A Government that
- had for its policy the Conversion of the Jews would be supported by
- England—this great Christian England of ours.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My Lords and Gentlemen,” said the Prime Minister, “the contest on which
- we are about to enter is very limited in its range. It is a contest of
- England and Religion against the Continent and Atheism. My Lords and
- Gentlemen, come what may, Her Majesty’s Ministers will be on the side of
- Religion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was felt that this timely utterance had saved the Government.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not to be expected that, when these tremendous issues were
- broadening out, Mr. Edmund Airey should have much time at his disposal for
- making afternoon calls; still he managed to visit Beatrice Avon pretty
- frequently—much more frequently than he had ever visited anyone in
- all his life. The season of German Opera was a brilliant one, and upon
- several occasions Beatrice appeared in Mr. Airey’s box by the side of the
- enthusiastic lady, who was pointed out in society as having remained in
- her stall from the beginning to the end of “Parsifal.” Mr. Airey never
- missed a performance at which Beatrice was present. He missed all the
- others.
- </p>
- <p>
- Only once did he venture to introduce Harold’s name in her drawing-room.
- He mentioned having seen him casually in the street, and then he watched
- her narrowly as he said, “By the way, I have never come upon him here.
- Does he not call upon you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was only a little brightening of her eyes—was it scorn?—as
- she replied: “Is it not natural that Lord Fotheringay should be a very
- different person from Mr. Harold Wynne? Oh, no, he never calls now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have heard several people say that they had found him greatly changed,
- poor fellow!” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Greatly changed—not ill?” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wondered if the tone in which she spoke suggested anxiety—or was
- it merely womanly curiosity?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no; he seems all right; but it is clear that his father’s death and
- the circumstances attending it affected him deeply.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It gave him a title at any rate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The suspicion of scorn was once more about her voice. Its tone no longer
- suggested anxiety for the health of Lord Fotheringay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are too hard on him, Beatrice,” said Edmund. She had come to be
- Beatrice to him for more than a week—a week in which he had been
- twice in her drawing-room, and in which she had been twice in his opera
- box.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Too hard on him?” said she. “How is it possible for you to judge what is
- hard or the opposite on such a point?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have always liked Harold,” said he; “that is why I must stand up for
- him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, that is your own kindness of heart,” said she. “I remember how you
- used to stand up for him at Castle Innisfail. I remember that when you
- told me how wretchedly poor he was, you were very bitter against the
- destiny that made so good a fellow poor, while so many others, not nearly
- so good, were wealthy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe I did say something like that. At any rate I felt that. Oh,
- yes, I always felt that I must stand up for him; so even now I insist on
- your not being too hard on him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed, and so did she—yes, after a little pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come again—soon,” she said, as she gave him her hand, which he
- retained for some moments while he looked into her eyes—they were
- more than usually lustrous—and said,
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, I will come again soon. Don’t you remember what I said to you in
- this room—it seems long ago, we have come to be such close friends
- since—what I said about my aspirations—my supreme aspiration?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I remember it,” said she—her voice was very low.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have still to reveal it to you, Beatrice,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he dropped her hand and was gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- He made another call the same afternoon. He drove westward to the
- residence of Helen Craven and her mother, and in the drawing-room he found
- about a dozen people drinking tea, for Mrs. Craven had a large circle.
- </p>
- <p>
- It took him some time to get beside Helen; but a very small amount of
- manoeuvring on her part was sufficient to secure comparative privacy for
- him and herself in a dimly-lighted part of the great room—an alcove
- that made a moderately valid excuse for a Moorish arch and hangings.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The advice that I gave to you was good,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your advice was that I should make no move whatever,” said she. “That
- could not be hard advice to take, if he were disposed to make any move in
- my direction. But, as I told you, he only called once, and then we were
- out. Have you learned anything?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have learned that whomsoever she marries, she will never marry Harold
- Wynne,” said Edmund.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great heavens! You have found this out? Are you certain? Men are so apt
- to rush at conclusions.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; some men are. I have always preferred the crawling process, though
- it is the slower.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a confession—crawling! But how have you found out that she
- will not marry him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has treated her very badly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That has got nothing whatever to do with the question. Heavens! If women
- declined to marry the men that treat them badly, the statistics of
- spinsterhood would be far more alarming than they are at present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She will not marry him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will she marry you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Craven had sprung to her feet. She was in a nervous condition, and it
- was intensified by his irritating reiteration of the one statement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will she marry you?” she cried, in a voice that had a strident ring about
- it. “Will she marry you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think it highly probable,” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him in silence for a long time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let us return to the room,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- They went through the Moorish arch back to the drawing-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER LIV.—ON THE DECAY OF THE PAT AS A POWER.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was a few days
- after Edmund Airey had made his revelation—if it was a revelation—to
- Helen Craven, that Harold received a visitor in the person of Archie
- Brown. The second week in January had now come. The season of German Opera
- was over, and Parliament was about to assemble; but neither of these
- matters was engrossing the attention of Archie. That he was in a state of
- excitement anyone could see, and before he had even asked after Harold’s
- health, he cried, “I’ve fired out the lot of them, Harry; that’s the sort
- of new potatoes I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The lot of what?” asked Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t you know? Why, the lot of Legitimists,” said Archie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Legitimists? My dear Archie, you don’t surely expect me to believe
- that you possess sufficient political power to influence the fortunes of a
- French dynasty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “French dynasty be grilled. I said the Legitimists—the actors, the
- carpenters, the gasmen, the firemen, the check-takers, Shakespeare, and
- Mrs. Mowbray of the Legitimate Theatre. I’ve fired out the lot of them,
- and be hanged to them!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I see; you’ve fired out Shakespeare?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’s eternally fired out, so far as I’m concerned. Why should I end my
- days in a workhouse because a chap wrote plays a couple of hundred years
- ago—may be more?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, indeed? And so you fired him out?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve made things hum at the Legitimate this morning”—Archie had
- once spent three months in the United States—“and now I’ve made the
- lot of them git. I’ve made W. S. git.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Mrs. Mowbray?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She gits too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She’ll do it gracefully. Archie, my man, you’re not wanting in courage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What courage was there needed for that?”—Archie had picked up a
- quill pen and was trying, but with indifferent success, to balance it on
- the toe of his boot, as he leant back in a chair. “What courage is needed
- to tell a chap that’s got hold of your watch chain that the time has come
- for him to drop it? Great Godfrey! wasn’t I the master of the lot of them?
- Do you fancy that the manager was my master? Do you fancy that Mrs.
- Mowbray was my—I mean, do you think that I’m quite an ass?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, no,” said Harold—“not quite.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you suppose that my good old dad had any Scruples about firing out a
- crowd of navvies when he found that they didn’t pay? Not he. And do you
- suppose that I haven’t inherited some of his good qualities?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And when does the Legitimate close its doors?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This day week. Those doors have been open too long already. Seventy-five
- pounds for the Widow’s champagne for the Christmas week—think of
- that, Harry. Mrs. Mowbray’s friends drink nothing but Clicquot. She
- expects me to pay for her entertainments, and calls it Shakespeare. If you
- grabbed a chap picking your pocket, and he explained to the tarty chips at
- Bow Street that his initials were W. S. would he get off? Don’t you
- believe it, Harry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing shall induce me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The manager’s only claim to have earned his salary is that he has been at
- every theatre in London, and has so got the biggest list of people to send
- orders to, so as to fill the house nightly. It seems that the most
- valuable manager is the one who has the longest list of people who will
- accept orders. That’s theatrical enterprise nowadays. They say it’s the
- bicycle that has brought it about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anyhow you’ve quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? Give me your hand; Archie.
- You’re a man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quarrelled with Mrs. Mowbray? It was about time. She went to pat my head
- again to-day, when there was a buzz in the manager’s office. She didn’t
- pat my head, Harry—the day is past for pats, and so I told her. The
- day is past when she could butter me with her pats. She gave me a look
- when I said that—if she could give such looks on the stage she’d
- crowd the house—and then she cried, ‘Nothing on earth shall induce
- me ever to speak to you again.’ ‘I ask nothing better,’ said I. After that
- she skipped. I promised Norah that I’d do it, and I have done it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You promised whom?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Norah. Great Godfrey! you don’t mean to say that you haven’t heard that
- Norah Innisfail and I are to be married?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Norah—Innisfail—and—you—you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harold lay back in his chair and laughed. The idea of the straightlaced
- Miss Innisfail marrying Archie Brown seemed very comical to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are you laughing about?” said Archie. “You shouldn’t laugh,
- considering that it was you that brought it about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I? I wish that I had no more to reproach myself with; but I can’t for the
- life of me see how—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Didn’t you get Mrs. Lampson to invite me to Abbeylands, and didn’t I meet
- Norah there, bless her! At first, do you know, I fancied that I was
- getting fond of her mother?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes; I can understand that,” said Harold, who was fully acquainted
- with the systems which Lady Innisfail worked with such success.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, bless your heart! it was all motherly kindness on Lady Innisfail’s
- part—so she explained when—ah—later on. Then I went with
- her to Lord Innisfail’s place at Netherford and—well, there’s no
- explaining these things. Norah is the girl for me! I’ve felt a better man
- for knowing her, Harry. It’s not every girl that a chap can say that of—mostly
- the other way. Lord Innisfail heard something about the Legitimate
- business, and he said that it was about time I gave it up; I agreed with
- him, and I’ve given it up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Archie,” said Harold, “you’ve done a good morning’s work. I was going to
- advise you never to see Mrs. Mowbray again—never to grant her an
- interview—she’s an edged tool—but after what you’ve done, I
- feel that it would be a great piece of presumption on my part to offer you
- any advice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know what it is?” said Archie, in a low and very confidential
- voice: “I’m not quite so sure of her character as I used to be. I know you
- always stood up for her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I still believe that she never had more than one lover at a time,” said
- Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was that seventy-five pound’s worth of the Widow swallowed by one lover
- in a week?” asked Archie. “Oh, I’m sick of the whole concern. Don’t you
- mention Shakespeare to me again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I won’t,” said Harold. “But it strikes me that Shakespeare is like Madame
- Roland’s Liberty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whose Liberty?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madame Roland’s.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, she’s a dressmaker of Bond Street, I suppose. They’re all Madames
- there. I dare say I’ve got a bill from her to pay with the rest of them.
- Mrs. Mowbray has dealt with them all. Now I’m off. I thought I’d drop in
- and tell you all that happened, as you’re accountable for my meeting
- Norah.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will give her my best regards and warmest congratulations,” said
- Harold. “Accept the same yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You had a good time at their Irish place yourself, hadn’t you?” said
- Archie. “How was it that you didn’t fall in love with Norah when you were
- there? That’s what has puzzled me. How is it that every tarty chip didn’t
- want to marry her? Oh, I forgot that you—well, wasn’t there a girl
- with lovely eyes in Ireland?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have heard of Irish girls and their eyes,” said Harold.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She had wonderful gray eyes,” said Archie. Harold became grave. “Oh, yes,
- Norah has a pair of eyes too, and she keeps them wide open. She told me a
- good deal about their party in Ireland. She took it for granted that you—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Archie,” said Harold, “like a good chap don’t you ever talk about that to
- me again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, I’ll not,” said Archie. “Only, you see, I thought that you
- wouldn’t mind now, as everyone says that she’s going to marry Airey, the
- M.P. for some place or other. I knew that you’d be glad to hear that I’d
- fired out the Legitimate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So I am—very glad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Archie was off, having abandoned as futile his well-meant attempts to
- balance the quill on the toe first of one boot, then of the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was off, and Harold was standing at the window, watching him gathering
- up his reins and sending his horses at a pretty fair pace into the square.
- </p>
- <p>
- It had fallen—the blow had fallen. She was going to marry Edmund
- Airey.
- </p>
- <p>
- Could he blame her?
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt that he had treated her with a baseness that deserved the severest
- punishment—such punishment as was now in her power to inflict. She
- had trusted him with all her heart—all her soul. She had given
- herself up to him freely, and he had made her the victim of a fraud. That
- was how he had repaid her for her trustfulness.
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not stir from the window for hours. He thought of her without any
- bitterness—all his bitterness was divided between the thoughts of
- his own cruelty and the thoughts of Edmund Airey’s cleverness. He did not
- know which was the more contemptible; but the conclusion to which he came,
- after devoting some time to the consideration of the question of the
- relative contemptibility of the two, was that, on the whole, Edmund
- Airey’s cleverness was the more abhorrent.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Archie Brown, after leaving St. James’s, drove with his customary
- rapidity to Connaught Square, to tell of his achievement to Norah.
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Innisfail, while fully recognizing the personal obligations of Archie
- to the Shakesperian drama, had agreed with her father that this devotion
- should not be an absorbing one. She had had a hint or two that it absorbed
- a good deal of money, and though she had been assured by Archie that no
- one could say a word against Mrs. Mowbray’s character, yet, like Harold—perhaps
- even better than Harold—she knew that Mrs. Mowbray was an extremely
- well-dressed woman. She listened with interest to Archie’s account of how
- he had accomplished that process of “firing out” in regard to the
- Legitimate artists; and when he had told her all, she could not help
- wondering if Mrs. Mowbray would be quite as well dressed in the future as
- she had been in the past.
- </p>
- <p>
- Archie then went on to tell her how he had called upon Harold, and how
- Harold had congratulated him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You didn’t forget to tell him that people are saying that Mr. Airey is
- going to marry Miss Avon?” said Norah.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have I ever forgotten to carry out one of your commissions?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good gracious! You didn’t suggest that you were commissioned by me to
- tell him that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not likely. That’s not the sort of new potatoes I am. I was on the
- cautious side, and I didn’t even mention the name of the girl.” He did not
- think it necessary to say that the reason for his adoption of this prudent
- course was that he had forgotten the name of the girl. “No, but when I
- told him that Airey was going to marry her, he gave me a look.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A look? What sort of a look?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know. The sort of a look a chap would give to a surgeon who had
- just snipped off his leg. Poor old Harry looked a bit cut up. Then he
- turned to me and said as gravely as a parson—a bit graver than some
- parsons—that he’d feel obliged to me if I’d never mention her name
- again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you hadn’t mentioned her name, you said.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Neither I had. He didn’t mention it either. I can only give you an idea
- of what he said, I won’t take my oath about the exact words. But I’ll take
- my oath that he was more knocked down than any chap I ever came across.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew it,” said Norah. “He’s in love with her still. Mamma says he’s
- not; but I know perfectly well that he is. She doesn’t care a scrap for
- Mr. Airey.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How do you know that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER LV.—ON SHAKESPEARE AND ARCHIE BROWN.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T was early on the
- same afternoon that Beatrice Avon received intimation of a visitor—a
- lady, the butler said, who gave the name of Mrs. Mowbray.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not know any Mrs. Mowbray, but, of course, I’ll see her,” was the
- reply that Beatrice gave to the inquiry if she were at home.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was it possible,” she thought, “that her visitor was the Mrs. Mowbray
- whose portraits in the character of Cymbeline were in all the illustrated
- papers?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Before Beatrice, under the impulse of this thought, had glanced at herself
- in a mirror—for a girl does not like to appear before a woman of the
- highest reputation (for beauty) with hair more awry than is consistent
- with tradition—her mind was set at rest. There may have been many
- Mrs. Mowbrays in London, but there was only one woman with such a figure,
- and such a face.
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at Beatrice with undisguised interest, but without speaking for
- some moments. Equally frank was the interest that was apparent on the face
- of Beatrice, as she went forward to meet and to greet her visitor.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had heard that Mrs. Mowbray’s set of sables had cost someone—perhaps
- even Mrs. Mowbray herself—seven hundred guineas.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, I will not sit down,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “I feel that I must
- apologize for this call.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no,” said Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes; I should,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “I will do better, however, for I
- will make my visit a short one. The fact is, Miss Avon, I have heard so
- much about you during the past few months from—from—several
- people, I could not help being interested in you—greatly interested
- indeed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was very kind of you,” said Beatrice, wondering what further
- revelation was coming.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was so interested in you that I felt I must call upon you. I used to
- know Lady Innisfail long ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was it Lady Innisfail who caused you to be interested in me?” asked
- Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, not exactly,” said Mrs. Mowbray; “but it was some of Lady
- Innisfail’s guests—some who were entertained at the Irish Castle. I
- used also to know Mrs. Lampson—Lord Fotheringay’s daughter. How
- terrible the blow of his death must have been to her and her brother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have not seen Mrs. Lampson since,” said Beatrice, “but—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have seen the present Lord Fotheringay? Will you let me say that I
- hope you have seen him—that you still see him? Do not think me a
- gossiping, prying old woman—I suppose I am old enough to be your
- mother—for expressing the hope that you will see him, Miss Avon. He
- is the best man on earth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Beatrice had flushed the first moment that her visitor had alluded to
- Harold. Her flush had not decreased.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must decline to speak with you on the subject of Lord Fotheringay, Mrs.
- Mowbray,” said Beatrice, somewhat unequally.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not say that,” said Mrs. Mowbray, in the most musical of pleading
- tones. “Do not say that. You would make me feel how very gross has been my
- effrontery in coming to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no; please do not think that,” cried Beatrice, yielding, as every
- human being could not but yield, to the lovely voice and the gracious
- manner of Mrs. Mowbray. What would be resented as a gross piece of
- insolence on the part of anyone else, seemed delicately gracious coming
- from Mrs. Mowbray. Her insolence was more acceptable than another woman’s
- compliment. She knew to what extent she could draw upon her resources,
- both as regards men and women. It was only in the case of a young cub such
- as Archie that she now and again overrated her powers of fascination. She
- knew that she would never pat Archie’s red head again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, you will let me speak to you, or I shall feel that you regard my
- visit as an insolent intrusion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Beatrice felt for the first time in her life that she could fully
- appreciate the fable of the Sirens. She felt herself hypnotized by that
- mellifluous voice—by the steady sympathetic gaze of the lovely eyes
- that were resting upon her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is so fond of you,” Mrs. Mowbray went on. “There is no lover’s quarrel
- that will not vanish if looked at straight in the face. Let me look at
- yours, my dear child, and I will show you how that demon of distrust can
- be exorcised.” Beatrice had become pale. The word <i>distrust</i> had
- broken the spell of the Siren.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mrs. Mowbray,” said she, “I must tell you again that on no consideration—on
- no pretence whatever shall I discuss Lord Fotheringay with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not with me, my child?” said Mrs. Mowbray. “Because I distrust you—no
- I don’t mean that. I only mean that—that you have given me no reason
- to trust you. Why have you come to me in this way, may I ask you? It is
- not possible that you came here on the suggestion of Lord Fotheringay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No; I only came to see what sort of girl it is that Mr. Airey is going to
- marry,” said Mrs. Mowbray, with a wicked little smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- Beatrice was no longer pale. She stood with clenched hands before Mrs.
- Mowbray, with her eyes fixed upon her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she took a step toward the bell rope. “One moment,” said Mrs.
- Mowbray. “Do you expect to marry Edmund Airey?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Beatrice turned, and looked again at her visitor. If the girl had been
- less feminine she would have gone on to the bell rope, and have pulled it
- gently. She did nothing of the sort. She gave a laugh, and said, “I shall
- marry him if I please.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was feminine.
- </p>
- <p>
- So was Mrs. Mowbray.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you?” she said. “Do you fancy for a moment—are you so
- infatuated that you can actually fancy that I—I—Gwendoline
- Mowbray, will allow you—you—to take Edmund Airey away from me?
- Oh, the child is mad—mad!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean to tell me,” said Beatrice, coming close to her, “that Edmund
- Airey is—is—a lover of yours?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah,” said Mrs. Mowbray, smiling, “you do not live in our world, my
- child.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I do not,” said Beatrice. “I now see why you have come to me to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I told you why.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; you told me. Edmund Airey has been your lover.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Has been?</i> My child, it is only when I please that a lover of mine
- becomes associated with a past tense. I have not yet allowed Edmund Airey
- to associate with my ‘have beens.’ It was from him that I learned all
- about you. He alluded to you in his letters to me from Ireland merely as
- ‘a gray eye or so.’ You still mean to marry him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I still mean to do what I please,” said Beatrice. She had now reached the
- bell rope and she pulled it very gently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are an extremely beautiful young person,” said Mrs. Mowbray. “But you
- have not been able to keep close to you a man like Harold Wynne—a
- man with a perfect genius for fidelity. And yet you expect—”
- </p>
- <p>
- Here the door was opened by the butler. Mrs. Mowbray allowed her sentence
- to dwindle away into the conventionalities of leave-taking with a
- stranger.
- </p>
- <p>
- Beatrice found herself standing with flushed cheeks and throbbing heart at
- the door through which her visitor had passed.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was somewhat remarkable that the most vivid impression which she
- retained of the rather exciting series of scenes in which she had
- participated, was that Mrs. Mowbray’s sables were incomparably the finest
- that she had ever seen.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Mowbray could scarcely have driven round the great square before the
- butler inquired if Miss Avon was at home to Miss Innisfail. In another
- minute Norah Innisfail was embracing her with the warmth of a true-hearted
- girl who comes to tell another of her engagement to marry an eligible man,
- or a handsome man, let him be eligible or otherwise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to be the first to give you the news, my dearest Beatrice,” said
- Norah. “That is why I came alone. I know you have not heard the news.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hear no news, except about things that do not interest me in the
- least,” said Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My news concerns myself,” said Norah.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then it’s sure to interest me,” cried Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s so funny! But yet it’s very serious,” said Norah. “The fact is that
- I’m going to marry Archie Brown.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Archie Brown?” said Beatrice. “I hope he is the best man in the world—he
- should be, to deserve you, my dear Norah.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought perhaps you might have known him,” said Norah. “I find that
- there are a good many people still who do not know Archie Brown, in spite
- of the Legitimate Theatre and all that he has done for Shakespeare.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Legitimate Theatre. Is that where Mrs. Mowbray acts?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only for another week. Oh, yes, Archie takes a great interest in
- Shakespeare. He meant the Legitimate Theatre to be a monument to the
- interest he takes in Shakespeare, and so it would have been, if the people
- had only attended properly, as they should have done. Archie is very much
- disappointed, of course; but he says, very rightly, that the Lord
- Chamberlain isn’t nearly particular enough in the plays that he allows to
- be represented, and so the public have lost confidence in the theatres—they
- are never sure that something objectionable will not be played—and
- go to the Music Halls, which can always be trusted. Archie says he’ll turn
- the Legitimate into a Music Hall—that is, if he can’t sell the
- lease.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whether he does so or not, I congratulate you with all my heart, my
- dearest Norah.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you had come down to Abbeylands in time—before that awful thing
- happened—you would have met Archie. We met him there. Mamma took a
- great fancy to him at once, and I think that I must have done the same. At
- any rate I did when he came to stay with us. He’s such a good fellow, with
- red hair—not the sort that the old Venetian painters liked, but
- another sort. Strictly speaking some of his features—his mouth, for
- instance—are too large, but if you look at him in one position, when
- he has his face turned away from you, he’s quite—quite—ah—quite
- curious—almost nice. You’ll like him, I know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sure of it,” said Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes; and he’s such a friend of Harold Wynne’s,” continued the artful
- Norah. “Why, what’s the matter with you, Beatrice? You are as pale—dearest
- Beatrice, you and I were always good friends. You know that I always liked
- Harold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not talk about him, Norah.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should I not talk about him? Tell me that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is gone—gone away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not he. He’s too wretched to go away anywhere. Archie was with him
- to-day, and when he heard that—well, the way some people are talking
- about you and Mr. Airey, he had not a word to throw to a dog—Archie
- told me so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, do not talk of him, Norah.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should I not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because—ah, because he’s the only one worth talking about, and now
- he’s gone from me, and I’ll never see him again—never, never again!”
- Before she had come to the end of her sentence, Beatrice was lying sobbing
- on the unsympathetic cushion of the sofa—the same cushion that had
- absorbed her tears when she had told Harold to leave her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dearest Beatrice,” whispered Norah, kneeling beside her, with her face
- also down a spare corner of the cushion, “I have known how you were moping
- here alone. I’ve come to take you away. You’ll come down with us to our
- place at Netherford. There’s a lake with ice on it, and there’s Archie,
- and many other pretty things. Oh, yes, you’ll come, and we’ll all be
- happy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Norah,” cried Beatrice, starting up almost wildly, “Mr. Airey will be
- here in half an hour to ask me to marry him. He wrote to say that he would
- be here, and I know what he means.” Mr. Airey did call in half an hour,
- and he found Beatrice—as he felt certain she should—waiting to
- receive him, wearing a frock that he admired, and lace that he approved
- of.
- </p>
- <p>
- But in the meantime Beatrice and Norah had had a few words together beyond
- those just recorded.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER LVI.—ON THE BITTER CRY.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>DMUND AIREY drank
- his cup of tea which Beatrice poured out for him, and while doing so, he
- told her of the progress that was being made by the agitation of the
- Opposition and the counter agitation of the Government. There was no
- disguising the fact that the country—like the fool that it was—had
- been caught by the bitter cry from Siberia. There was nothing like a
- bitter cry, Edmund said, for catching hold of the country. If any cry was
- only bitter enough it would succeed. Fortunately, however, the Government,
- in its appeal against the Atheism of the Continent, had also struck a
- chord that vibrated through the length and breadth of England and
- Scotland. The Government orators were nightly explaining that no really
- sincere national effort had ever been made to convert the Jews. To be
- sure, some endeavours had been made from time to time to effect this great
- object—in the days of Isaac of York the gridiron and forceps had
- been the auxiliaries of the Church to bring about the conversion of the
- Hebrew race; and, more recently, the potent agency of drawing-room
- meetings and a house-to-house collection had been resorted to; but the
- results had been disappointing. Statistics were forthcoming—nothing
- impresses the people of Great Britain more than a long array of figures,
- Edmund Airey explained—to show that, whereas, on any part of the
- West coast of Africa where rum was not prohibited, for one pound sterling
- 348 negroes could be converted—the rate was 0.01 where rum was
- prohibited—yet for a subscription of five pounds, one could only
- depend on 0.31 of the Jewish race—something less than half an adult
- Hebrew—being converted. The Government orators were asking how long
- so scandalous a condition of affairs was to be allowed to continue, and so
- forth.
- </p>
- <p>
- Oh, yes, he explained, things were going on merrily. In three days
- Parliament would meet, and the Opposition had drafted their Amendment to
- the Address, “That in the opinion of this House no programme of
- legislation can be considered satisfactory that does not include a protest
- against the horrors daily enacted in Siberia.”
- </p>
- <p>
- If this Amendment were carried it would, of course, be equivalent to a
- Vote of Censure upon the Government, and the Ministers would be compelled
- to resign, Edmund explained to Beatrice.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was very attentive, and when he had completed a clever account of the
- political machinery by which the operations of the Nonconformist
- Conscience are controlled, she said quietly, “My sympathies are certainly
- with Siberia. I hope you will vote for that Amendment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed in his superior way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is so like a girl,” said he. “You are carried away by your
- sympathies of the moment. You do not wait to reason out any question.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dare say you are right,” said she, smiling. “Our conscience is not
- susceptible of those political influences to which you referred just now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘They are dangerous guides—the feelings’,” said he, “at least from
- a standpoint of politics.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But there are, thank God, other standpoints in the world from which
- humanity may be viewed,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are,” said he. “And I also join with you in saying, ‘thank God!’ Do
- you fancy that I am here to-day—that I have been here so frequently
- during the past two months, from a political motive, Beatrice?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot tell,” she replied. “Have you not just said that the feelings
- are dangerous guides?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They lead one into danger,” said he. “There can be no doubt about that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you ever allowed them to lead you?” she asked, with another smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only once, and that is now,” said he. “With you I have thrown away every
- guide but my feelings. A few months ago I could not have believed it
- possible that I should do so. But with God and Woman all things are
- possible. That is why I am here to-day to ask you if you think it possible
- that you could marry me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had risen to her feet, not by a sudden impulse, but slowly. She was
- not looking at him. Her eyes were fixed upon some imaginary point beyond
- him. She was plainly under the influence of some very strong feeling. A
- full minute had passed before she said, “You should not have come to me
- with that request, Mr. Airey.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should I not? Do you think that I am here through any other impulse
- than that of my feelings?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How can I tell?” she said, and now she was looking at him. “How can I
- tell which you hold dearer—political advancement, or my love?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How can you doubt me for a moment, Beatrice?” he said reproachfully—almost
- mournfully. “Why am I waiting anxiously for your acceptance of my offer,
- if I do not hold your love more precious than all other considerations in
- the world?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you so hold it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed I do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I have told you that my sympathies are altogether with Siberia. Vote
- for the Amendment of the Opposition.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What can you mean, Beatrice?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean that if you vote for the Amendment, you will have shown me that
- you are capable of rising above mere party considerations. I don’t make
- this the price of my love, remember. I don’t make any compact to marry you
- if you adopt the course that I suggest. I only say that you will have
- proved to me that your words are true—that you hold something higher
- than political expediency.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are unreasonable. I cannot do it,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-bye,” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at the hand which she had thrust out to him, but he did not take
- it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You really mean me to vote against my party?” said he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What other way can you prove to me that you are superior to party
- considerations?” said she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would mean self-effacement politically,” said he. “Oh, you do not
- appreciate the gravity of the thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned abruptly away from her and strode across the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- She remained silent where he had left her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did not think you capable of so cruel a caprice as this,” he continued,
- from the fireplace. “You do not understand the consequences of my voting
- against my party.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps I do not,” said she. “But I have given you to understand the
- consequences of not doing so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then we must part,” said he, approaching her. “Good-bye,” said she, once
- more.
- </p>
- <p>
- He took her hand this time. He held it for a moment irresolutely, then he
- dropped it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you really in earnest, Beatrice?” said he. “Do you really mean to put
- me to this test?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never was more in earnest in my life,” said she. “Think over the matter—let
- me entreat of you to think over it,” he said, earnestly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you will think over it also?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I will think over it. Oh, Beatrice, do not allow yourself to be
- carried away by this caprice. It is unworthy of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not be too hard on me, I am only a woman,” said she, very meekly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was only a woman. He felt that very strongly as he walked away.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet he had told Harold that he had great hope of Woman, by reason of
- her femininity.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet he had told Harold that he understood Woman and her motives.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Papa,” said Beatrice, from the door of the historian’s study. “Papa, Mr.
- Edmund Airey has just been here to ask me to marry him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s right, my dear,” said the great historian. “Marry him, or anyone
- else you please, only run away and play with your dolls now. I’m very
- busy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This was precisely the answer that Beatrice expected. It was precisely the
- answer that anyone might have expected from a man who permitted such a <i>ménage</i>
- as that which prevailed under his roof.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER LVII.—ON THE REJECTED ADDRESSES.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE next day
- Beatrice went with Norah Innisfail and her mother to their home in
- Nethershire. Two days afterwards the Legitimate Theatre closed its doors,
- and Parliament opened its doors. The Queen’s Speech was read, and a member
- of the Opposition moved the Amendment relating to Siberia. The Debate on
- the Address began.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the second night of the debate Edmund Airey called at the historian’s
- house and, on asking for Miss Avon, learned that she was visiting Lady
- Innisfail in Nethershire. On the evening of the fourth day of the debate—the
- Division on the Amendment was to be taken that night—he drove in
- great haste to the same house, and learned that Miss Avon was still in
- Nethershire, but that she was expected home on the following day.
- </p>
- <p>
- He partook of a hasty dinner at his club, and, writing out a telegram,
- gave it to a hall-porter to send to the nearest telegraph office.
- </p>
- <p>
- The form was addressed to Miss Avon, in care of Lord Innisfail, Netherford
- Hall, Netherford, Nethershire, and it contained the following words, “<i>I
- will do it. Edmund</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did it.
- </p>
- <p>
- He made a brief speech amid the cheers of the Opposition and the howls of
- the Government party, acknowledging his deep sympathy with the unhappy
- wretches who were undergoing the unspeakable horrors of a Siberian exile,
- and thus, he said he felt compelled, on conscientious grounds (ironical
- cheers from the Government) to vote for the Amendment.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went into the lobby with the Opposition.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was an Irish member who yelled out “Judas!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Government was defeated by a majority of one vote, and there was a
- “scene” in the House.
- </p>
- <p>
- Some time ago an enterprising person took up his abode in the midst of an
- African jungle, in order to study the methods by which baboons express
- themselves. He might have spared himself that trouble, if he had been
- present upon the occasion of a “scene” in the House of Commons. He would,
- from a commanding position in the Strangers’ Gallery, have learned all
- that he had set his heart upon acquiring—and more.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was while the “scene” was being enacted that Edmund Airey had put into
- his hand the telegraph form written out by himself in his club.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Telegraph Office at Netherford closes at 6 p.m</i>.,” were the words
- that the hall-porter had written on the back of the form.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day he drove to the historian’s, and inquired if Miss Avon had
- returned.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was in the drawing-room, the butler said.
- </p>
- <p>
- With triumph—a sort of triumph—in his heart, and on his face,
- he ascended the staircase.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought that he had never before seen her look so beautiful. Surely
- there was triumph on her face as well! It was glowing, and her eyes were
- more lustrous even than usual. She had plainly just returned, for she had
- on a travelling dress.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Beatrice, you saw the newspapers? You saw that I have done it?” he cried,
- exultantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Done what?” she inquired. “I have seen no newspaper to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What? Is it possible that you have not heard that I voted last night for
- the Amendment?” he cried.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I heard nothing,” she replied.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wrote a telegram last evening, telling you that I meant to do it, but
- it appears that the office at Netherford closes at six, so it could not be
- sent. I did not know how much you were to me until yesterday, Beatrice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stop,” she said. “I was married to Harold Wynne an hour ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked at her for some moments, and then dropped into a chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have made a fool of me,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she said. “I could not do that. If I had got your telegram in time
- last evening I would have replied to it, telling you that, whatever step
- you took, it would not bring you any nearer to me. Harold Wynne, you see,
- came to me again. I had promised to marry him when we were together at
- that seal-hunt, but—well, something came between us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you revenged yourself upon me? You made a fool of me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I had tried to do so, would it have been remarkable, Mr. Airey?
- Supposing that I had been made a fool of by the compact into which you
- entered with Miss Craven, who would have been to blame? Was there ever a
- more shameful compact entered into by a clever man and a clever woman to
- make a victim of a girl who believed that the world was overflowing with
- sincerity? I was made acquainted with the nature of that compact of yours,
- Mr. Airey, but I cannot say that I have yet learned what are the terms of
- your compact—or is it a contract?—with Mrs. Mowbray. Still, I
- know something. And yet you complain that I have made a fool of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had completely recovered himself before she had got to the end of her
- little speech. He had wondered how on earth she had become acquainted with
- the terms of his compact with Helen. When, however, she referred to Mrs.
- Mowbray, he felt sure that it was Mrs. Mowbray who had betrayed him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was beginning to learn something of women and their motives.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing is likely to be gained by this sort of recrimination,” said he,
- rising. “You have ruined my career.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed, not bitterly but merrily, he knew all along that she had
- never fully appreciated the gravity of the step which she had compelled
- him—that was how he put it—to take. She had not even had the
- interest to glance at a newspaper to see how he had voted. But then she
- had not read the leading articles in the Government organs which were
- plentifully besprinkled with his name printed in small capitals. That was
- his one comforting thought.
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no, Mr. Airey,” said she. “Your career is not ruined. Clever men are
- not so easily crushed, and you are a very clever man—so clever as to
- be able to make me clever, if that were possible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have crushed me,” he said. “Good-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I wished to crush you I should have married you,” said she. “No woman
- can crush a man unless she is married to him. Good-bye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The butler opened the door. “Is my husband in yet?” she asked of the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “His lordship has not yet returned, my lady,” said the butler, who had
- once lived in the best families—far removed from literature—and
- who was, consequently, able to roll off the titles with proper effect.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you will not have an opportunity of seeing him, I’m afraid,” she
- said, turning to Mr. Airey.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I already said good-bye, Lady Fotheringay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do believe that you did. If I did not, however, I say it now. Good-bye,
- Mr. Airey.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He got into a hansom and drove straight to Helen Craven’s house. It was
- the most dismal drive he had ever had. He could almost fancy that the
- message boys in the streets were, in their accustomed high spirits,
- pointing to him with ridicule as the man who had turned his party out of
- office.
- </p>
- <p>
- Helen Craven was in her boudoir. She liked receiving people in that
- apartment. She understood its lights.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found that she had read the newspapers.
- </p>
- <p>
- She stared at him as he entered, and gave him a limp hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What on earth did you mean by voting—” she began.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may well ask,” said he. “I was a fool. I was made a fool of by that
- girl. She made me vote against my party.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And she refuses to marry you now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She married Harold Wynne an hour ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Helen Craven did not fling herself about when she heard this piece of
- news. She only sat very rigid on her little sofa.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” resumed Edmund. “She is ill-treated by one man, but she marries
- him, and revenges herself upon another! Isn’t that like a woman? She has
- ruined my career.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then it was that Helen Craven burst into a long, loud, and very unmusical
- laugh—a laugh that had a suspicion of a shrill shriek about some of
- its tones. When she recovered, her eyes were full of the tears which that
- paroxysm of laughter had caused.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a fool, indeed!” said she. “You are a fool if you cannot see that
- your career is just beginning. People are talking of you to-day as the
- Conscientious One—the One Man with a Conscience. Isn’t the
- reputation for a Conscience the beginning of success in England?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Helen,” he cried, “will you marry me? With our combined money we can make
- ourselves necessary to any party. Will you marry me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will,” she said. “I will marry you with pleasure—now. I will
- marry anyone—now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give me your hand, Helen,” he cried. “We understand one another—that
- is enough to start with. And as for that other—oh, she is nothing
- but a woman after all!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He never spoke truer words.
- </p>
- <p>
- But sometimes when he is alone he thinks that she treated him badly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Did she?
- </p>
- <h3>
- THE END.
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
-End of Project Gutenberg’s A Gray Eye or So, by Frank Frankfort Moore
-
-*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GRAY EYE OR SO ***
-
-***** This file should be named 51946-h.htm or 51946-h.zip *****
-This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
- http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/9/4/51946/
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will
-be renamed.
-
-Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
-law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
-of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
-concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
-and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive
-specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this
-eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook
-for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports,
-performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given
-away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks
-not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the
-trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.
-
-START: FULL LICENSE
-
-THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
-PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
-
-To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
-distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
-(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
-Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
-Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at
-www.gutenberg.org/license.
-
-Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic works
-
-1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
-electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
-and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
-(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
-the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
-destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your
-possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
-Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
-by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
-person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph
-1.E.8.
-
-1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
-used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
-agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
-things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
-even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
-paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
-agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
-electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
-
-1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
-Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
-of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual
-works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
-States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
-United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
-claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
-displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
-all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
-that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting
-free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
-works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
-Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily
-comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
-same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when
-you share it without charge with others.
-
-1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
-what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
-in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
-check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
-agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
-distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
-other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no
-representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
-country outside the United States.
-
-1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
-
-1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
-immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear
-prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work
-on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
-phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
-performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
-
- This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
- most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the
- United States, you’ll have to check the laws of the country where you
- are located before using this ebook.
-
-1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is
-derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
-contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
-copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
-the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
-redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
-Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
-either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
-obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm
-trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
-
-1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
-with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
-must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
-additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
-will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
-posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
-beginning of this work.
-
-1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
-License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
-work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
-
-1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
-electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
-prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
-active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
-Gutenberg-tm License.
-
-1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
-compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
-any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
-to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
-other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
-version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site
-(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
-to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
-of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
-Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
-full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
-
-1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
-performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
-unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
-
-1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
-access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
-provided that
-
-* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
- the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
- you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
- to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has
- agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
- Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
- within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
- legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
- payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
- Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
- Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
- Literary Archive Foundation.”
-
-* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
- you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
- does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
- License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
- copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
- all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm
- works.
-
-* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
- any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
- electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
- receipt of the work.
-
-* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
- distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
-
-1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
-are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
-from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The
-Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm
-trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
-
-1.F.
-
-1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
-effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
-works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
-Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
-electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
-contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
-or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
-intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
-other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
-cannot be read by your equipment.
-
-1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
-of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
-Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
-Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
-liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
-fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
-LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
-PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
-TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
-LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
-INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
-DAMAGE.
-
-1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
-defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
-receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
-written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
-received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
-with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
-with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
-lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
-or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
-opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
-the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
-without further opportunities to fix the problem.
-
-1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
-in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
-OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
-LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
-
-1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
-warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
-damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
-violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
-agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
-limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
-unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
-remaining provisions.
-
-1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
-trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
-providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in
-accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
-production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
-electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
-including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
-the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
-or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
-additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
-Defect you cause.
-
-Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
-
-Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
-electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
-computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
-exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
-from people in all walks of life.
-
-Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
-assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s
-goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
-remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
-Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
-and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
-generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
-Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
-Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
-www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg
-Literary Archive Foundation
-
-The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
-501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
-state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
-Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
-number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
-Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
-U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
-
-The Foundation’s principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the
-mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its
-volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous
-locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt
-Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to
-date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s web site and
-official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
-
-For additional contact information:
-
- Dr. Gregory B. Newby
- Chief Executive and Director
- gbnewby@pglaf.org
-
-Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
-Literary Archive Foundation
-
-Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
-spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
-increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
-freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
-array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
-($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
-status with the IRS.
-
-The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
-charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
-States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
-considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
-with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
-where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
-DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
-state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate
-
-While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
-have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
-against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
-approach us with offers to donate.
-
-International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
-any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
-outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
-
-Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
-methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
-ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
-donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate
-
-Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works.
-
-Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
-Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
-freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
-distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
-volunteer support.
-
-Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
-editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
-the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
-necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
-edition.
-
-Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search
-facility: www.gutenberg.org
-
-This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
-including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
-Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
-subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
- </body>
-</html>
|
