Chapter Eleven.A Bear’s Hug.About a fortnight after the events mentioned in the last chapter, my quiet time in the queer little lodgings at Putney came to an end. Jack was declared free from infection, Hetty was quite well again, and with some difficulty we managed to get them both admitted to a Convalescent Home at Broadstairs.It was quite affecting to see the meeting between Jack and Hetty. Jack’s illness had both improved and refined him. He was always the best-looking of the family, and he really looked quite handsome as he took that little confiding gentle wife of his into his arms and kissed her three or four times. Poor Jack,—he kissed me too with a fervour he had never hitherto shown. He murmured something I could not quite catch about never being able to show sufficient gratitude to me, and then he and Hetty went away.I saw them off from the railway station. The last glimpse I got of Hetty, she was sitting very close to her husband, and looking into his face. That poor young face of his looked worn and anxious enough, but Hetty knew nothing of the anxiety, and nothing of Jack’s fall from the paths of honour;—to her he was a prince—the first of men.I sighed as I left the railway station. “Poor Jack!” I said to myself, “the path that lies before him will not be too easy to climb. Fancy having a little wife like Hetty to look after and support, and no means whatever to earn money for either of them. His character and chance of success practically gone. What is to be done with them both after their fortnight at Broadstairs is over?”I returned home that afternoon to my dear mother. It was mid-winter and bitterly cold. Christmas was come and gone, we were well into January; snow rested on the ground, and as I entered the cottage, I saw by the look of the sky that more was likely to fall.My mother welcomed me with just that degree of warmth which seemed to me the perfection of greeting. It consisted of very little in the way of embraces, scarcely anything in the shape of endearing words, but the expression in my mother’s eyes told me all I wanted to know. She was very, very happy to have me back again; and as to me, I felt for the time being rested and satisfied. Why not? I was with the human being I loved best on earth.We had tea together, and then my mother began to speak.“You saw Jack off, poor fellow?”“Yes, mother,” I answered; “I saw Jack and Hetty off.”“Oh, Hetty,” repeated my mother, with the faintest perceptible toss of her head. She had been very good about Hetty at first, but to have her coupled with Jack in this cool and easy manner gave her something of a shock.“Mother,” I said with enthusiasm, “Jack had no right to marry any girl secretly, but as he did so we cannot be too thankful that he has taken this sweet little creature. She is as good as gold, mother, and as innocent as a little flower, and she thinks Jack perfection.”“My dear,” said my mother, “that’s the right way; that’s as it should be. Though every one, I fear,” she added with a sigh, “cannot live up to it.”“Hetty will,” I said quickly, for I did not want my mother to have time to make unhappy comparisons even in her heart.“She has got an excellent husband,” proceeded my mother. “Rose, I did not know there was half as much in Jack as I find there is. He surprised me wonderfully during his illness; he really is a very fine fellow.”I was silent.“It was a great comfort to be alone with him,” proceeded my mother; “I got really to know my boy at last. Yes, his wife is a lucky woman. I trust she will prove worthy of him.” This time I was spared making any further remarks, for my father’s latch-key was heard in the front-door. The next moment he and George entered the little drawing-room together. “Bitterly cold night,” said my father, walking up to the fire, and monopolising the whole of it. “A sharp frost has set in already. Ha! is that you, Rosamund? Home again? How do you do? My dear,” turning to his wife, “did you register the thermometer as I told you to do this afternoon?”“Yes, George. There were five degrees of frost then.”“Ha! there’ll be fifteen by nine o’clock to-night. Why do you women keep such miserable fires? This thimbleful is enough to freeze any one.”My father turned, and seizing the coal-scuttle, dashed a quantity of loose coal into the grate. It raised a dust, and almost extinguished the fire, but we none of us expostulated, for my father was unquestionably master in his own house.George meanwhile flung himself into a deep easy-chair, crossed one muddy boot over the other, and seizing my mother’s favourite tabby cat, began to stroke it the wrong way, and otherwise to worry it. He laughed once or twice, when pussy resisted his endearments. He suddenly flung her on the ground almost roughly.“Do turn that ugly thing out of the room, Rosamund,” he said.I did not stir. I thought the time had come when I would cease to allow George to bully me.“By the way,” said my father suddenly, in his harsh voice, “what’s this I hear, that Chillingfleet has given Jack the sack? You gave me the information, didn’t you, George?”“Yes, sir, and it’s correct,” replied George. “I suppose Jack was playing the fool in some way, and Chillingfleet took advantage of his illness to get rid of him.”“Monstrous, I call it,” interrupted my father; “an unprecedented sort of thing to do. I shall call on Chillingfleet to-morrow morning, and sift this matter to the very bottom.”My mother looked up in alarm when my father spoke in this tone.“I understand,” she said in her gentle voice, “that Jack has had a particularly kind letter from Mr Chillingfleet. He did not show it to me, but he told me of it.”“Then you knew of this?” said my father, angrily.“Yes, George, Jack told me that he was going about a fortnight ago.”“H’m—ha! The young cub doesn’t choose to confide in me. Did he give you any reason for his dismissal?”“No, I did not think any necessary. Jack has been ill for weeks, and unable to attend to his work. Mr Chillingfleet had naturally to get some one to take his place.”“Naturally, indeed! That’s all you women know!”My father began to pace the floor in his indignation.“Much chance a poor young clerk would have, if just because he was unlucky enough to take fever, he was dismissed from his post. But, of course, people who know nothing jump to conclusions. Now if I had been consulted at the time, as I ought to have been, I might have talked Chillingfleet round, and shown him the enormity of his own proceeding.”“I don’t think your talking would have had the least effect,” suddenly interrupted George. “If there is a hard old flint in this world, its Chillingfleet. Every one knows his character.” My father frowned at George’s presuming to doubt his powers of eloquence. After a pause, he said, emphatically:“Your mother has acted in a very foolish way, keeping this affair to herself; but even now it is not too late, and notwithstanding your opinion, George, for which I am much obliged, I shall tackle Chillingfleet in the morning.”With these last words my father left the room, banging the door noisily after him. My mother looked disturbed, George cross. How little they knew what revelations might reach them, what agony and distress might be theirs through my father’s untimely interference! I felt that I must prevent his having an interview with Mr Chillingfleet at any cost.It was easier, however, to make this resolve than to act upon it.“Rose, you don’t look at all well,” said my father, as we sat over our evening meal. “You have knocked yourself up nursing that common place young woman. I might have told you that would be the case. If you go on in this erratic fashion you will be old before your time.”Even this rather gruff notice from my father was so unusual that I quite blushed with pleasure.“I will not let him be humiliated,” I said to myself. “After all he is my father. Hard he is—sometimes cruel—but always, always the very soul of honour. I must—I will save him from what would bring his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave.”My eyes travelled slowly from my father’s face to George’s.George was also hard. George could also be cruel, but he at least was young. George might share my burden. If George knew, it would be his interest to keep the thing quiet, and I felt sure that where I was powerless to keep my father from turning even a hair’s-breadth from his own way, George might have many means of influencing him.After dinner I came up to where George was idly reading the newspaper.“Can I speak to you before you go to bed?” I said, in a low voice.“What about?” he asked, crossly.“I can’t tell you in this room. Will you come to my bedroom before you go to sleep?”“Very well,” he answered, still very gruffly.“Now what is it?” he asked, when he came to my room between ten and eleven that night. “What girl’s confidence am I to be worried, with?”“No girl’s confidence, as you are pleased to call it, George. Now listen. Our father must not see Mr Chillingfleet in the morning. Hemustnot—heshallnot. You, George, must prevent it.”“I must prevent it! Is that what you have kept me out of my bed to say? Upon my word, Rose, you are unreasonable. Pray tell me how I am to keep my father from doing what he wishes.”“Oh! George, you are very clever, and you can find a way when I—I can’t, although I’d give all the world to. George, George! he must not see Mr Chillingfleet, and this is the reason.”Then I told my story. I told it quite calmly and without any outward show of shame. I found as I talked that I had grown accustomed to this tragedy, that the first edge of its agony was blunted to me.I was not prepared, however, for the effect it had on my brother. As my story proceeded I saw all the colour leave George’s large, healthily-tinted face; drops of perspiration stood on his forehead. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the moisture from his lips and brow.When I ceased speaking he sank down on the nearest chair. I had expected a perfect storm of angry and bitter words. George did not utter one.“Well?” I could not help saying at last.“Well,” he answered, “there’s an end of everything, that’s all. I meant to ask an honest girl with a nice little bit of money to be my wife. I thought I’d ask her next Sunday. I love her, too, ’tisn’t on account of the money; that’s at an end. She shan’t ever say she married the brother of a thief!”“Oh! George, don’t be too hard on him. He was sorely tempted, and he is so young.”“Am I hard on him, Rose? Am I saying anything?”“George, dear brother, I wish I could help you.”“You can’t; I’m off to bed now.”“George, you will keep this from my father?”“Rather!”“You will manage that he shall not see Mr Chillingfleet?”“I will manage that he never hears the story you have told me to-night. Good-night, Rose.”“Kiss me, George. Oh! George, I’m bitterly sorry for you.”I ran after him and flung my arms round his neck, and gave him what we used in the old childish days to call a bear’s hug.When I pressed my lips to his cheek I saw tears in his eyes.
About a fortnight after the events mentioned in the last chapter, my quiet time in the queer little lodgings at Putney came to an end. Jack was declared free from infection, Hetty was quite well again, and with some difficulty we managed to get them both admitted to a Convalescent Home at Broadstairs.
It was quite affecting to see the meeting between Jack and Hetty. Jack’s illness had both improved and refined him. He was always the best-looking of the family, and he really looked quite handsome as he took that little confiding gentle wife of his into his arms and kissed her three or four times. Poor Jack,—he kissed me too with a fervour he had never hitherto shown. He murmured something I could not quite catch about never being able to show sufficient gratitude to me, and then he and Hetty went away.
I saw them off from the railway station. The last glimpse I got of Hetty, she was sitting very close to her husband, and looking into his face. That poor young face of his looked worn and anxious enough, but Hetty knew nothing of the anxiety, and nothing of Jack’s fall from the paths of honour;—to her he was a prince—the first of men.
I sighed as I left the railway station. “Poor Jack!” I said to myself, “the path that lies before him will not be too easy to climb. Fancy having a little wife like Hetty to look after and support, and no means whatever to earn money for either of them. His character and chance of success practically gone. What is to be done with them both after their fortnight at Broadstairs is over?”
I returned home that afternoon to my dear mother. It was mid-winter and bitterly cold. Christmas was come and gone, we were well into January; snow rested on the ground, and as I entered the cottage, I saw by the look of the sky that more was likely to fall.
My mother welcomed me with just that degree of warmth which seemed to me the perfection of greeting. It consisted of very little in the way of embraces, scarcely anything in the shape of endearing words, but the expression in my mother’s eyes told me all I wanted to know. She was very, very happy to have me back again; and as to me, I felt for the time being rested and satisfied. Why not? I was with the human being I loved best on earth.
We had tea together, and then my mother began to speak.
“You saw Jack off, poor fellow?”
“Yes, mother,” I answered; “I saw Jack and Hetty off.”
“Oh, Hetty,” repeated my mother, with the faintest perceptible toss of her head. She had been very good about Hetty at first, but to have her coupled with Jack in this cool and easy manner gave her something of a shock.
“Mother,” I said with enthusiasm, “Jack had no right to marry any girl secretly, but as he did so we cannot be too thankful that he has taken this sweet little creature. She is as good as gold, mother, and as innocent as a little flower, and she thinks Jack perfection.”
“My dear,” said my mother, “that’s the right way; that’s as it should be. Though every one, I fear,” she added with a sigh, “cannot live up to it.”
“Hetty will,” I said quickly, for I did not want my mother to have time to make unhappy comparisons even in her heart.
“She has got an excellent husband,” proceeded my mother. “Rose, I did not know there was half as much in Jack as I find there is. He surprised me wonderfully during his illness; he really is a very fine fellow.”
I was silent.
“It was a great comfort to be alone with him,” proceeded my mother; “I got really to know my boy at last. Yes, his wife is a lucky woman. I trust she will prove worthy of him.” This time I was spared making any further remarks, for my father’s latch-key was heard in the front-door. The next moment he and George entered the little drawing-room together. “Bitterly cold night,” said my father, walking up to the fire, and monopolising the whole of it. “A sharp frost has set in already. Ha! is that you, Rosamund? Home again? How do you do? My dear,” turning to his wife, “did you register the thermometer as I told you to do this afternoon?”
“Yes, George. There were five degrees of frost then.”
“Ha! there’ll be fifteen by nine o’clock to-night. Why do you women keep such miserable fires? This thimbleful is enough to freeze any one.”
My father turned, and seizing the coal-scuttle, dashed a quantity of loose coal into the grate. It raised a dust, and almost extinguished the fire, but we none of us expostulated, for my father was unquestionably master in his own house.
George meanwhile flung himself into a deep easy-chair, crossed one muddy boot over the other, and seizing my mother’s favourite tabby cat, began to stroke it the wrong way, and otherwise to worry it. He laughed once or twice, when pussy resisted his endearments. He suddenly flung her on the ground almost roughly.
“Do turn that ugly thing out of the room, Rosamund,” he said.
I did not stir. I thought the time had come when I would cease to allow George to bully me.
“By the way,” said my father suddenly, in his harsh voice, “what’s this I hear, that Chillingfleet has given Jack the sack? You gave me the information, didn’t you, George?”
“Yes, sir, and it’s correct,” replied George. “I suppose Jack was playing the fool in some way, and Chillingfleet took advantage of his illness to get rid of him.”
“Monstrous, I call it,” interrupted my father; “an unprecedented sort of thing to do. I shall call on Chillingfleet to-morrow morning, and sift this matter to the very bottom.”
My mother looked up in alarm when my father spoke in this tone.
“I understand,” she said in her gentle voice, “that Jack has had a particularly kind letter from Mr Chillingfleet. He did not show it to me, but he told me of it.”
“Then you knew of this?” said my father, angrily.
“Yes, George, Jack told me that he was going about a fortnight ago.”
“H’m—ha! The young cub doesn’t choose to confide in me. Did he give you any reason for his dismissal?”
“No, I did not think any necessary. Jack has been ill for weeks, and unable to attend to his work. Mr Chillingfleet had naturally to get some one to take his place.”
“Naturally, indeed! That’s all you women know!”
My father began to pace the floor in his indignation.
“Much chance a poor young clerk would have, if just because he was unlucky enough to take fever, he was dismissed from his post. But, of course, people who know nothing jump to conclusions. Now if I had been consulted at the time, as I ought to have been, I might have talked Chillingfleet round, and shown him the enormity of his own proceeding.”
“I don’t think your talking would have had the least effect,” suddenly interrupted George. “If there is a hard old flint in this world, its Chillingfleet. Every one knows his character.” My father frowned at George’s presuming to doubt his powers of eloquence. After a pause, he said, emphatically:
“Your mother has acted in a very foolish way, keeping this affair to herself; but even now it is not too late, and notwithstanding your opinion, George, for which I am much obliged, I shall tackle Chillingfleet in the morning.”
With these last words my father left the room, banging the door noisily after him. My mother looked disturbed, George cross. How little they knew what revelations might reach them, what agony and distress might be theirs through my father’s untimely interference! I felt that I must prevent his having an interview with Mr Chillingfleet at any cost.
It was easier, however, to make this resolve than to act upon it.
“Rose, you don’t look at all well,” said my father, as we sat over our evening meal. “You have knocked yourself up nursing that common place young woman. I might have told you that would be the case. If you go on in this erratic fashion you will be old before your time.”
Even this rather gruff notice from my father was so unusual that I quite blushed with pleasure.
“I will not let him be humiliated,” I said to myself. “After all he is my father. Hard he is—sometimes cruel—but always, always the very soul of honour. I must—I will save him from what would bring his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave.”
My eyes travelled slowly from my father’s face to George’s.
George was also hard. George could also be cruel, but he at least was young. George might share my burden. If George knew, it would be his interest to keep the thing quiet, and I felt sure that where I was powerless to keep my father from turning even a hair’s-breadth from his own way, George might have many means of influencing him.
After dinner I came up to where George was idly reading the newspaper.
“Can I speak to you before you go to bed?” I said, in a low voice.
“What about?” he asked, crossly.
“I can’t tell you in this room. Will you come to my bedroom before you go to sleep?”
“Very well,” he answered, still very gruffly.
“Now what is it?” he asked, when he came to my room between ten and eleven that night. “What girl’s confidence am I to be worried, with?”
“No girl’s confidence, as you are pleased to call it, George. Now listen. Our father must not see Mr Chillingfleet in the morning. Hemustnot—heshallnot. You, George, must prevent it.”
“I must prevent it! Is that what you have kept me out of my bed to say? Upon my word, Rose, you are unreasonable. Pray tell me how I am to keep my father from doing what he wishes.”
“Oh! George, you are very clever, and you can find a way when I—I can’t, although I’d give all the world to. George, George! he must not see Mr Chillingfleet, and this is the reason.”
Then I told my story. I told it quite calmly and without any outward show of shame. I found as I talked that I had grown accustomed to this tragedy, that the first edge of its agony was blunted to me.
I was not prepared, however, for the effect it had on my brother. As my story proceeded I saw all the colour leave George’s large, healthily-tinted face; drops of perspiration stood on his forehead. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the moisture from his lips and brow.
When I ceased speaking he sank down on the nearest chair. I had expected a perfect storm of angry and bitter words. George did not utter one.
“Well?” I could not help saying at last.
“Well,” he answered, “there’s an end of everything, that’s all. I meant to ask an honest girl with a nice little bit of money to be my wife. I thought I’d ask her next Sunday. I love her, too, ’tisn’t on account of the money; that’s at an end. She shan’t ever say she married the brother of a thief!”
“Oh! George, don’t be too hard on him. He was sorely tempted, and he is so young.”
“Am I hard on him, Rose? Am I saying anything?”
“George, dear brother, I wish I could help you.”
“You can’t; I’m off to bed now.”
“George, you will keep this from my father?”
“Rather!”
“You will manage that he shall not see Mr Chillingfleet?”
“I will manage that he never hears the story you have told me to-night. Good-night, Rose.”
“Kiss me, George. Oh! George, I’m bitterly sorry for you.”
I ran after him and flung my arms round his neck, and gave him what we used in the old childish days to call a bear’s hug.
When I pressed my lips to his cheek I saw tears in his eyes.
Chapter Twelve.My Brother’s Sin.When George left my room I sat down near my dressing-table, and to comfort myself after all the worries of the day, took out my ruby ring to feast my eyes on its beauty. I had a vision of George’s face with the queer pallor on it. I heard again his voice as he spoke of the girl who had a little money, and whom he loved—the girl, however, who would never now be asked to be his wife. My brother George was a hard man, but he was righteous, he was honourable. I respected him for his words; and at that moment I pitied the girl who would lose him because of Jack’s sin.“Oh, Jack, Jack, what have you done to us all?” I cried aloud.How pitiable is weakness; how mean is cowardice; and of all things, how dreadful is thatmoralcowardice which leads men into crooked ways. Oh, Jack, if only you had told us about Hetty, and not stooped to theft for her sake.I wiped some slow tears from my eyes. I was determined that my regrets should not overmaster me. I looked down at the ruby ring on my finger; it had the usual effect upon me; banishing my anxieties, lifting my mind from the sordidness of my surroundings, and taking me with it into a land of dreams, loveliness, and hope.I said to myself, “Now I will touch the secret spring. Now, little ring, you shall open your heart and show me the very depths of your secret life. First, however, I shall make an illumination in your honour.” I opened my trunk; took out my bits of candles and lighted them; turned the key in the lock of my door, and sat down again by the dressing-table. It did not take me long to discover the slight nick by the serpent’s eye. I pressed my finger lightly on the spring, and to my joy the central splendid ruby revolved aside on its hidden hinge, and the serpents with their brilliant flashing eyes moved apart like doors. The inner mechanism of the ring was bare; the tiny, hidden chamber was open.“What a secret I could put in here!” I said to myself. “Some hairs from a beloved head might be buried here along with thousands of brilliant hopes. Love itself could lie hidden here to leap into life and fulness when the right moment came.” I wondered if love, with his thousand hopes and fears, could ever in such a sense come to me. Scarcely likely. I was one of the women who, in all probability, would never marry. I should have a strong life and plenty to do. I should have a courageous life and many battles to fight; but it was scarcely likely that my portion in the book of fate could also include the passionate lover, the tender and devoted husband, and the clinging, soft love which would come from baby lips, and enter into my heart through sweet child voices.I expected none of these things, and yet the trembling desire to grasp them all, to claim them all, to cry to fortune, “Give, give, give fully, give abundantly; don’t starveme, but feed me until my whole nature is satisfied,” swept over me as I looked into the heart of the ruby ring.As I did so I noticed for the first time that the little recess, which appeared at the first glance to be quite empty, contained a tiny piece of paper, which might have been placed there as a bed on which to lay a treasure. The paper was white, of the finest texture, exquisitely cut to fit the exact shape of the chamber. There was nothing whatever written on the paper. I touched it with the point of my small finger, it did not move; I pressed it, it did not stir.I was about to close the ring, but something induced me to look again more narrowly at the paper. Why was it put there? Why did it take up space so minute, so valuable?I put my hand into my pocket, and taking out a penknife, opened the smallest blade and inserted the point delicately under the paper. After a very slight resistance, I detached it from the base of the little secret chamber. I took it out of the ring, and laid it on the palm of my hand. There was no writing on the upper surface of the paper. I looked underneath and saw, to my amazement, that something was faintly ciphered there. The writing was perfect, but so minute that I could not possibly read it with my naked eye. My mother possessed amongst her treasures an old microscope.I guessed shrewdly, although she never told me so, that this microscope had been given to her by Cousin Geoffrey. My mother kept her microscope on her own little work-table in the drawing-room.The house was quiet now; all its inhabitants, with the exception of myself, asleep and in bed. I knew there was little chance of sleep for me that night.Placing the treasured morsel of paper under a glass on my dressing-table, I slipped off my shoes, softly unlocked my door, and ran down-stairs. I felt provoked with the small and poor cottage stairs for creaking so desperately. I reached the drawing-room, however, without disturbing any one, found the microscope, and brought it back in triumph to my room.Again I locked my door, and opening the microscope, took out the strongest lens it possessed. I arranged the lens as I had seen my mother do; steadied the candles until I managed to secure a powerful ray of direct light; placed the morsel of paper under the magnifier, and applied my eye to the glass.The minute writing was now magnified some hundreds of times. So largely was it increased that I could not see the whole of the writing at once. In large type I read, however, the following words:“Look in the—”I felt myself trembling all over. Where was I to look? Why was I to look? Was the ruby ring going to tell me a secret? Was it going to confide to me—to me, the mystery of Cousin Geoffrey’s unknown heir?With great difficulty, and with fingers that trembled, I moved the morsel of paper until I got the microscope to bear on the remaining words of the sentence. They came out clear at last. Clear and large they flashed upon my vision.The conclusion of the sentence was as follows:“Chamber of Myths.”The ruby ring had given up its secret; it had brought me a message.“Look in the Chamber of Myths.”“Yes,” I said, “I will look there to-morrow.”
When George left my room I sat down near my dressing-table, and to comfort myself after all the worries of the day, took out my ruby ring to feast my eyes on its beauty. I had a vision of George’s face with the queer pallor on it. I heard again his voice as he spoke of the girl who had a little money, and whom he loved—the girl, however, who would never now be asked to be his wife. My brother George was a hard man, but he was righteous, he was honourable. I respected him for his words; and at that moment I pitied the girl who would lose him because of Jack’s sin.
“Oh, Jack, Jack, what have you done to us all?” I cried aloud.
How pitiable is weakness; how mean is cowardice; and of all things, how dreadful is thatmoralcowardice which leads men into crooked ways. Oh, Jack, if only you had told us about Hetty, and not stooped to theft for her sake.
I wiped some slow tears from my eyes. I was determined that my regrets should not overmaster me. I looked down at the ruby ring on my finger; it had the usual effect upon me; banishing my anxieties, lifting my mind from the sordidness of my surroundings, and taking me with it into a land of dreams, loveliness, and hope.
I said to myself, “Now I will touch the secret spring. Now, little ring, you shall open your heart and show me the very depths of your secret life. First, however, I shall make an illumination in your honour.” I opened my trunk; took out my bits of candles and lighted them; turned the key in the lock of my door, and sat down again by the dressing-table. It did not take me long to discover the slight nick by the serpent’s eye. I pressed my finger lightly on the spring, and to my joy the central splendid ruby revolved aside on its hidden hinge, and the serpents with their brilliant flashing eyes moved apart like doors. The inner mechanism of the ring was bare; the tiny, hidden chamber was open.
“What a secret I could put in here!” I said to myself. “Some hairs from a beloved head might be buried here along with thousands of brilliant hopes. Love itself could lie hidden here to leap into life and fulness when the right moment came.” I wondered if love, with his thousand hopes and fears, could ever in such a sense come to me. Scarcely likely. I was one of the women who, in all probability, would never marry. I should have a strong life and plenty to do. I should have a courageous life and many battles to fight; but it was scarcely likely that my portion in the book of fate could also include the passionate lover, the tender and devoted husband, and the clinging, soft love which would come from baby lips, and enter into my heart through sweet child voices.
I expected none of these things, and yet the trembling desire to grasp them all, to claim them all, to cry to fortune, “Give, give, give fully, give abundantly; don’t starveme, but feed me until my whole nature is satisfied,” swept over me as I looked into the heart of the ruby ring.
As I did so I noticed for the first time that the little recess, which appeared at the first glance to be quite empty, contained a tiny piece of paper, which might have been placed there as a bed on which to lay a treasure. The paper was white, of the finest texture, exquisitely cut to fit the exact shape of the chamber. There was nothing whatever written on the paper. I touched it with the point of my small finger, it did not move; I pressed it, it did not stir.
I was about to close the ring, but something induced me to look again more narrowly at the paper. Why was it put there? Why did it take up space so minute, so valuable?
I put my hand into my pocket, and taking out a penknife, opened the smallest blade and inserted the point delicately under the paper. After a very slight resistance, I detached it from the base of the little secret chamber. I took it out of the ring, and laid it on the palm of my hand. There was no writing on the upper surface of the paper. I looked underneath and saw, to my amazement, that something was faintly ciphered there. The writing was perfect, but so minute that I could not possibly read it with my naked eye. My mother possessed amongst her treasures an old microscope.
I guessed shrewdly, although she never told me so, that this microscope had been given to her by Cousin Geoffrey. My mother kept her microscope on her own little work-table in the drawing-room.
The house was quiet now; all its inhabitants, with the exception of myself, asleep and in bed. I knew there was little chance of sleep for me that night.
Placing the treasured morsel of paper under a glass on my dressing-table, I slipped off my shoes, softly unlocked my door, and ran down-stairs. I felt provoked with the small and poor cottage stairs for creaking so desperately. I reached the drawing-room, however, without disturbing any one, found the microscope, and brought it back in triumph to my room.
Again I locked my door, and opening the microscope, took out the strongest lens it possessed. I arranged the lens as I had seen my mother do; steadied the candles until I managed to secure a powerful ray of direct light; placed the morsel of paper under the magnifier, and applied my eye to the glass.
The minute writing was now magnified some hundreds of times. So largely was it increased that I could not see the whole of the writing at once. In large type I read, however, the following words:
“Look in the—”
I felt myself trembling all over. Where was I to look? Why was I to look? Was the ruby ring going to tell me a secret? Was it going to confide to me—to me, the mystery of Cousin Geoffrey’s unknown heir?
With great difficulty, and with fingers that trembled, I moved the morsel of paper until I got the microscope to bear on the remaining words of the sentence. They came out clear at last. Clear and large they flashed upon my vision.
The conclusion of the sentence was as follows:
“Chamber of Myths.”
The ruby ring had given up its secret; it had brought me a message.
“Look in the Chamber of Myths.”
“Yes,” I said, “I will look there to-morrow.”
Chapter Thirteen.Geoffrey Rutherford’s Keys.It is scarcely to be wondered at when I say that I did not close my eyes that night. I arose early the following morning, determined to lose no time in seeking Mr Gray, and receiving a renewed order to visit Cousin Geoffrey’s house. I rose long before dawn, dressed myself neatly, and went down-stairs. I felt far too excited to remain in bed any longer. It was still dark when I entered our tiny drawing-room, but I busied myself in helping our one servant to clean and tidy the little sitting-room. She polished the grate and laid the fire, and I put a match to it and caused it to blaze up merrily.“Oh, Miss Rosamund, you are wasteful,” exclaimed Sally. “And there ain’t any too much coal left in the cellar,” she continued. “My missus, she never has the fire lit in the droring-room afore dinner-time, and you knows that well, Miss Rosamund.”“Never mind, Sally, I must have a fire this morning,” I replied.I felt reckless and extravagant. What if we never needed to economise more! What if—? My brain seemed to reel; I almost shook myself in my anger. “How silly you are, Rosamund Lindley!” I said under my breath. “What if you have got the secret which will lead to the discovery of Cousin Geoffrey’s will? is it likely that that will can affect you? Oh, what a conceited, foolish girl you are!”Nevertheless, I toasted myself before a warm fire, and dreamed my dreams until breakfast time.At that meal I called forth angry words both from my father and George. I calmly announced my intention of going up to town with them. When I said this, George’s face grew red with indignation. His eyes looked full at me. They said as plainly as eyes could speak: “Nowwhat whim have you taken into your head? Are you going to interfere still further in this wretched, disgraceful affair of Jack’s?”My own eyes danced as they replied to him with a gay and confident smile. He almost turned his back on me, and upset half a cup of coffee in disgust.I jumped up to fetch a cloth to wipe up the mess he had made. My father said:“Rosamund, it is out of my power to gratify all your restless whims; you are scarcely at home when you are off again. You will turn into one of those gadding women, those busy-bodies who are a disgrace to their sex. Mary,” turning to my mother, “I wonder you allow it.”“Could not you stay at home to-day, Rose, dear?” she asked, gently, looking at me with a sweet piteous sort of smile.“I’ll stay at home to-morrow, mother darling,” I answered. “I am ever so sorry to leave you to-day, but it is absolutely necessary for me to go to town.”“Stuff and nonsense,” said my father. “I shan’t pay for your ticket, miss.”“I’ve enough money to do that for myself,” I replied.The sorrow in my mother’s eyes deepened. She could never bear any of us to oppose our father. I followed her into the little drawing-room.“A fire already!” she exclaimed. “What can Sally have been thinking of?”“It was my fault, mother. I lit the fire.”“Rosamund, dear, how very wasteful! And we have scarcely any coal in the cellar, and your father says he will not be able to order a fresh supply before Monday.”“Mother darling, sit down in your easy-chair and warm yourself by the fire; you look so white and shivery. Mammie dear,” I continued, kneeling down and rubbing my cheek affectionately against hers, “I feel full of hope to-day—I cannot economise to-day—don’t ask me.”My mother smoothed back my hair, kissed me on my forehead, and gave herself up to the enjoyment of the fire.“Do you know why I am going to town?” I whispered.“I wish you would not go at all, Rose. Your father is vexed.”“I fear I must vex him to-day, mother. I am going to Cousin Geoffrey’s house.”Two pink roses stole into my mother’s pretty cheeks. She looked at me inquiringly.“Last night,” I continued, “the ruby ring brought me a message.”“Rosamund, my darling, what do you mean?”“What I say. I will explain everything when I return from town. I am going now on the business which the ring told me of.” I sprang to my feet as I spoke, kissed my mother again, and ran out of the room to get ready.I had a silent journey up to Paddington; neither my father nor George would say a word to me.When I arrived at the terminus I coolly desired George to hail a hansom for me.“I think you must be mad,” he said, raising his eyebrows.“Will you get me a hansom?” I repeated, in a quiet voice. He stared at me again; but the steady look in my eyes quelled him. He held up his umbrella to a hansom driver, and walked unwillingly across the platform with me. My father had long ago left us to our own devices.“Shall I give you a lift, George?” I said. “I am going towards the City.”“No, thank you,” he replied. “I at least am too honest to ride in a vehicle I cannot afford.”“George,” I said, looking earnestly at him, “believe me, I am doing nothing rashly. I am upheld by a hope to-day—a hope which may turn out a mere chimera, but which is yet sufficiently real to induce me to take steps to see Mr Gray with as little delay as possible.”“Who is Mr Gray?”“Cousin Geoffrey Rutherford’s lawyer.”“That crazed old man who died in the autumn?”“Good-bye, George,” I said, springing into the hansom and waving my hand to him. I shouted Mr Gray’s address to the driver through the little window in the roof. George was so angry that he did not even vouchsafe to take off his hat to me as I drove away.I arrived at Mr Gray’s in good time. He was within, and I was shown almost directly into his presence.“How do you do, Miss Lindley?” he said; “please be seated.”His manner was calm and pleasant, but his eyes said plainly, “Now, what’s up? Have you got any news for me?”I answered Mr Gray’s eyes, not his voice. I did not sit down, but stood close to him, as if I was in haste to be gone.“I want an order to view Cousin Geoffrey’s house,” I said.“What, again?” he asked.“Yes, and I am in a great hurry.”Mr Gray’s eyes grew absolutely eager and hurried in their speech, but his voice was as cool as ever.“You had better take a chair,” he said.Still replying to his eyes, I continued to stand.“I want an order to view the house,” I said. “I want you to give me a letter to the caretakers asking them to allow me to go where I pleasealone; and I want you to give me all Cousin Geoffrey’s keys.”“All Mr Rutherford’s keys! What do you mean?”“I cannot tell you. Will you trust me? May I have them?”“You are making a bold and extraordinary request.”“I know it.”“And you won’t explain?”“I can’t explain. Oh! Mr Gray, please let me have the keys.”The lawyer looked me all over from head to foot; his searching eyes travelled over my person.“At least, Rosamund Lindley, you are honest,” he said. “If you open drawers, you won’t steal.”“No,” I said, proudly.“If you peer into secret places, you won’t disturb? I see order written across your forehead, Rosamund, and determination sits comfortably on those firm lips of yours, and courage and honesty dwell in your eyes. There! I’m an old fool, I suppose; but chit of a girl as you are, I am going to trust you. If you want those keys, you may have them.”“Thank you, Mr Gray; they shall be all safely returned to you to-night.”“I should rather think so, indeed. I only meant you to have them for an hour or two.”“I shall probably want them for the whole of to-day; and if I do not come across what I am looking for, I shall be obliged to ask you to let me have the keys again to-morrow, again the next day, again every day until my search is ended.”“Pooh, pooh!” he said. “You are intent on a search for the hidden will, I suppose. May you find it! you have my best wishes.”“Thank you.”“By the way, Miss Lindley, you have got that ruby ring of yours safe, I hope?”“Quite safe; it is on my finger.”“How often have I warned you not to wear a valuable ring of that kind in so careless a manner! Good heavens! it may slip off when you are washing your hands.”“I will take care of that,” I answered.The lawyer sighed, favoured me with another keen glance, and then rose deliberately from his chair.“I had better get you the keys,” he said. “Shall I come with you to the house?”“No, thank you.”“But the keys are heavy. I must send a messenger with you to carry them.”“I will take them myself, please.”“I warn you that they are heavy.”“And I am strong.”Mr Gray smiled.“Wilful girl,” he said. He ceased to combat any more of my objections, and, walking across his office, opened an iron safe which was let into the wall. He pushed his hand far into the safe and took out a leather bag. There was a label on the bag which I could read.“Geoffrey Rutherford’s keys” was written in clear type on the white label.Mr Gray untied the label, placed it in the safe, and brought me over the bag.“Here they are,” he said, “the precious keys! here they are, one and all—some bright, some rusty; some large, some small. You will have to take pains with these keys, Miss Rosamund. They were made specially for their owner by a skilled locksmith; they are full of curious tricks; some must turn twice before they open, some must lock and unlock and lock again and yet again; some remain immovable until they find the secret spring. Don’t break any of them, for it would be difficult to replace them. Now take the bag; its contents are heavy and more precious than gold.”Mr Gray placed the leather bag in my hand. Its weight surprised me. I would not show dismay, however, but girding up my courage and all the muscles of my strong right arm, went out into the street.I had to walk the whole length of this long street before I came across an empty hansom. Both arms ached by this time. From right hand to left I changed that bag; from left hand back again to right. I never carried anything so heavy before. I wished more than once that I had accepted Mr Gray’s offer of sending a trusty messenger with me.At last, however, my earnestly desired hansom crawled slowly into view. I hailed it, got in, and a few minutes later found myself standing in the hall of Cousin Geoffrey’s house.The caretaker, Drake, was within. He knew me this time, and smiled a welcome.“Drake,” I said, “I have come to spend some hours here. Mr Gray says that I am to have full liberty, and am not to be questioned or interfered with in any way.”“Certainly, miss; whatever Mr Gray wishes must be done.”“Is Mrs Drake within this morning, Drake?”“The missus is down in the kitchen, miss; shall I fetch her to you?”“I don’t think you need do that. I only wanted to say that as I shall probably have to spend the day here, I should like to have something to eat.”“Yes, Miss Lindley; the missus had better come up and take your orders.”“No, Drake; I have no time to waste in that way. Go down-stairs and tell her that I will come to her in the kitchen at two o’clock. Ask her to have a cup of tea for me and a boiled egg, if quite convenient. I shall pay, of course.”“Oh, miss, there ain’t no need. Mr Gray provides us very liberally. I’ll give the wife your orders, Miss Lindley.”
It is scarcely to be wondered at when I say that I did not close my eyes that night. I arose early the following morning, determined to lose no time in seeking Mr Gray, and receiving a renewed order to visit Cousin Geoffrey’s house. I rose long before dawn, dressed myself neatly, and went down-stairs. I felt far too excited to remain in bed any longer. It was still dark when I entered our tiny drawing-room, but I busied myself in helping our one servant to clean and tidy the little sitting-room. She polished the grate and laid the fire, and I put a match to it and caused it to blaze up merrily.
“Oh, Miss Rosamund, you are wasteful,” exclaimed Sally. “And there ain’t any too much coal left in the cellar,” she continued. “My missus, she never has the fire lit in the droring-room afore dinner-time, and you knows that well, Miss Rosamund.”
“Never mind, Sally, I must have a fire this morning,” I replied.
I felt reckless and extravagant. What if we never needed to economise more! What if—? My brain seemed to reel; I almost shook myself in my anger. “How silly you are, Rosamund Lindley!” I said under my breath. “What if you have got the secret which will lead to the discovery of Cousin Geoffrey’s will? is it likely that that will can affect you? Oh, what a conceited, foolish girl you are!”
Nevertheless, I toasted myself before a warm fire, and dreamed my dreams until breakfast time.
At that meal I called forth angry words both from my father and George. I calmly announced my intention of going up to town with them. When I said this, George’s face grew red with indignation. His eyes looked full at me. They said as plainly as eyes could speak: “Nowwhat whim have you taken into your head? Are you going to interfere still further in this wretched, disgraceful affair of Jack’s?”
My own eyes danced as they replied to him with a gay and confident smile. He almost turned his back on me, and upset half a cup of coffee in disgust.
I jumped up to fetch a cloth to wipe up the mess he had made. My father said:
“Rosamund, it is out of my power to gratify all your restless whims; you are scarcely at home when you are off again. You will turn into one of those gadding women, those busy-bodies who are a disgrace to their sex. Mary,” turning to my mother, “I wonder you allow it.”
“Could not you stay at home to-day, Rose, dear?” she asked, gently, looking at me with a sweet piteous sort of smile.
“I’ll stay at home to-morrow, mother darling,” I answered. “I am ever so sorry to leave you to-day, but it is absolutely necessary for me to go to town.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” said my father. “I shan’t pay for your ticket, miss.”
“I’ve enough money to do that for myself,” I replied.
The sorrow in my mother’s eyes deepened. She could never bear any of us to oppose our father. I followed her into the little drawing-room.
“A fire already!” she exclaimed. “What can Sally have been thinking of?”
“It was my fault, mother. I lit the fire.”
“Rosamund, dear, how very wasteful! And we have scarcely any coal in the cellar, and your father says he will not be able to order a fresh supply before Monday.”
“Mother darling, sit down in your easy-chair and warm yourself by the fire; you look so white and shivery. Mammie dear,” I continued, kneeling down and rubbing my cheek affectionately against hers, “I feel full of hope to-day—I cannot economise to-day—don’t ask me.”
My mother smoothed back my hair, kissed me on my forehead, and gave herself up to the enjoyment of the fire.
“Do you know why I am going to town?” I whispered.
“I wish you would not go at all, Rose. Your father is vexed.”
“I fear I must vex him to-day, mother. I am going to Cousin Geoffrey’s house.”
Two pink roses stole into my mother’s pretty cheeks. She looked at me inquiringly.
“Last night,” I continued, “the ruby ring brought me a message.”
“Rosamund, my darling, what do you mean?”
“What I say. I will explain everything when I return from town. I am going now on the business which the ring told me of.” I sprang to my feet as I spoke, kissed my mother again, and ran out of the room to get ready.
I had a silent journey up to Paddington; neither my father nor George would say a word to me.
When I arrived at the terminus I coolly desired George to hail a hansom for me.
“I think you must be mad,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Will you get me a hansom?” I repeated, in a quiet voice. He stared at me again; but the steady look in my eyes quelled him. He held up his umbrella to a hansom driver, and walked unwillingly across the platform with me. My father had long ago left us to our own devices.
“Shall I give you a lift, George?” I said. “I am going towards the City.”
“No, thank you,” he replied. “I at least am too honest to ride in a vehicle I cannot afford.”
“George,” I said, looking earnestly at him, “believe me, I am doing nothing rashly. I am upheld by a hope to-day—a hope which may turn out a mere chimera, but which is yet sufficiently real to induce me to take steps to see Mr Gray with as little delay as possible.”
“Who is Mr Gray?”
“Cousin Geoffrey Rutherford’s lawyer.”
“That crazed old man who died in the autumn?”
“Good-bye, George,” I said, springing into the hansom and waving my hand to him. I shouted Mr Gray’s address to the driver through the little window in the roof. George was so angry that he did not even vouchsafe to take off his hat to me as I drove away.
I arrived at Mr Gray’s in good time. He was within, and I was shown almost directly into his presence.
“How do you do, Miss Lindley?” he said; “please be seated.”
His manner was calm and pleasant, but his eyes said plainly, “Now, what’s up? Have you got any news for me?”
I answered Mr Gray’s eyes, not his voice. I did not sit down, but stood close to him, as if I was in haste to be gone.
“I want an order to view Cousin Geoffrey’s house,” I said.
“What, again?” he asked.
“Yes, and I am in a great hurry.”
Mr Gray’s eyes grew absolutely eager and hurried in their speech, but his voice was as cool as ever.
“You had better take a chair,” he said.
Still replying to his eyes, I continued to stand.
“I want an order to view the house,” I said. “I want you to give me a letter to the caretakers asking them to allow me to go where I pleasealone; and I want you to give me all Cousin Geoffrey’s keys.”
“All Mr Rutherford’s keys! What do you mean?”
“I cannot tell you. Will you trust me? May I have them?”
“You are making a bold and extraordinary request.”
“I know it.”
“And you won’t explain?”
“I can’t explain. Oh! Mr Gray, please let me have the keys.”
The lawyer looked me all over from head to foot; his searching eyes travelled over my person.
“At least, Rosamund Lindley, you are honest,” he said. “If you open drawers, you won’t steal.”
“No,” I said, proudly.
“If you peer into secret places, you won’t disturb? I see order written across your forehead, Rosamund, and determination sits comfortably on those firm lips of yours, and courage and honesty dwell in your eyes. There! I’m an old fool, I suppose; but chit of a girl as you are, I am going to trust you. If you want those keys, you may have them.”
“Thank you, Mr Gray; they shall be all safely returned to you to-night.”
“I should rather think so, indeed. I only meant you to have them for an hour or two.”
“I shall probably want them for the whole of to-day; and if I do not come across what I am looking for, I shall be obliged to ask you to let me have the keys again to-morrow, again the next day, again every day until my search is ended.”
“Pooh, pooh!” he said. “You are intent on a search for the hidden will, I suppose. May you find it! you have my best wishes.”
“Thank you.”
“By the way, Miss Lindley, you have got that ruby ring of yours safe, I hope?”
“Quite safe; it is on my finger.”
“How often have I warned you not to wear a valuable ring of that kind in so careless a manner! Good heavens! it may slip off when you are washing your hands.”
“I will take care of that,” I answered.
The lawyer sighed, favoured me with another keen glance, and then rose deliberately from his chair.
“I had better get you the keys,” he said. “Shall I come with you to the house?”
“No, thank you.”
“But the keys are heavy. I must send a messenger with you to carry them.”
“I will take them myself, please.”
“I warn you that they are heavy.”
“And I am strong.”
Mr Gray smiled.
“Wilful girl,” he said. He ceased to combat any more of my objections, and, walking across his office, opened an iron safe which was let into the wall. He pushed his hand far into the safe and took out a leather bag. There was a label on the bag which I could read.
“Geoffrey Rutherford’s keys” was written in clear type on the white label.
Mr Gray untied the label, placed it in the safe, and brought me over the bag.
“Here they are,” he said, “the precious keys! here they are, one and all—some bright, some rusty; some large, some small. You will have to take pains with these keys, Miss Rosamund. They were made specially for their owner by a skilled locksmith; they are full of curious tricks; some must turn twice before they open, some must lock and unlock and lock again and yet again; some remain immovable until they find the secret spring. Don’t break any of them, for it would be difficult to replace them. Now take the bag; its contents are heavy and more precious than gold.”
Mr Gray placed the leather bag in my hand. Its weight surprised me. I would not show dismay, however, but girding up my courage and all the muscles of my strong right arm, went out into the street.
I had to walk the whole length of this long street before I came across an empty hansom. Both arms ached by this time. From right hand to left I changed that bag; from left hand back again to right. I never carried anything so heavy before. I wished more than once that I had accepted Mr Gray’s offer of sending a trusty messenger with me.
At last, however, my earnestly desired hansom crawled slowly into view. I hailed it, got in, and a few minutes later found myself standing in the hall of Cousin Geoffrey’s house.
The caretaker, Drake, was within. He knew me this time, and smiled a welcome.
“Drake,” I said, “I have come to spend some hours here. Mr Gray says that I am to have full liberty, and am not to be questioned or interfered with in any way.”
“Certainly, miss; whatever Mr Gray wishes must be done.”
“Is Mrs Drake within this morning, Drake?”
“The missus is down in the kitchen, miss; shall I fetch her to you?”
“I don’t think you need do that. I only wanted to say that as I shall probably have to spend the day here, I should like to have something to eat.”
“Yes, Miss Lindley; the missus had better come up and take your orders.”
“No, Drake; I have no time to waste in that way. Go down-stairs and tell her that I will come to her in the kitchen at two o’clock. Ask her to have a cup of tea for me and a boiled egg, if quite convenient. I shall pay, of course.”
“Oh, miss, there ain’t no need. Mr Gray provides us very liberally. I’ll give the wife your orders, Miss Lindley.”
Chapter Fourteen.Keys and Locks.As the saying is, I had my task cut out for me. Never did any one go more nearly mad over the subject of keys than I. Cousin Geoffrey, with all his eccentricities, had in many respects a well-balanced mind. Nothing could have been neater than the queer arrangements of his house. Everywhere there were locked cupboards, locked bureaus, locked chests of drawers, boxes with locks to them, portfolios which could only be opened by fitting a key into a lock. In short, there never was a more thoroughly locked-up house. No wonder the bag which contained Cousin Geoffrey’s keys should prove heavy.It was one thing, however, for the owner of the said keys to know where to apply each—it was quite another thing for me. To my horror when I unfastened the brown leather bag, I found that the great bunches of keys of all sorts and sizes were unlabelled. When I made this discovery I almost gave up my task in despair. I had to look twice at the ruby ring, and think of the voice which spoke so confidently within its secret chamber before I had the courage to commence my search.I don’t believe, however, that my heart was a particularly faint one, and after girding myself to the fray, I toiled up-stairs, carrying the bag of keys with me.I knew well that my search must be confined to the octagon room.To reach this room I had to go up-stairs to the first landing of the house. I had then to turn to the left, and to descend some four or five steps; a narrow passage here led me to a spiral staircase which communicated directly with the Chamber of Myths.This quaint and beautiful room was evidently an afterthought. It was built when the rest of the house was completed. It stood alone, and I found afterwards that it was supported from the ground by massive pillars. No pains and no money had been spared upon it. The middle of London, or at least the middle of Bloomsbury, could scarcely contain a lovely view. Geoffrey Rutherford had clearly apprehended this fact when he built the octagon chamber: he did the next best thing he could for it; he supplied it with painted glass, of modern workmanship it is true, but exquisite in colour and artistic in design. The eight windows which the room contained were narrow, high, and pointed; they were filled in with glass copied from the designs of masters. Geoffrey must have travelled over a great part of Europe to supply himself with these designs. He must have gone with an artist as his companion, for in no other way could these perfectly painted glass pictures from old Flemish Cathedrals and old Roman Council Chambers have been so exquisitely and perfectly reproduced.“I wonder if he copied the designs himself,” I thought. “I remember that my mother told me what an accomplished artist Cousin Geoffrey was. Oh, what lovely glass! I could sit here and study. I will sit here and study. If I cannot acquire art in any other way, I will learn it from Cousin Geoffrey’s windows.”The Chamber of Myths had always exercised a fascination over me, but never more so than to-day. I was so excited by what I saw that I forgot for a time the mission on which I had come. The subjects of the different windows represented Woman in various guises and forms: there was the mother with the baby in her arms: there was the maiden crowning herself with spring flowers, there was the wife tending the vines and watching for the return of her absent husband. One window was larger than the rest, and it contained what I supposed was a copy of a well-known masterpiece. The world’s greatest Friend sat in the centre of a group of children. Some had climbed into His arms, some leant against His knees, some knelt at His feet, the tender and gracious hands were raised in blessing, the eyes shone with the highest love. In the background a mother stood, worship in her face; adoration, humility, joy, thanksgiving in her smile. This picture of Christ blessing children made me weep.“Oh, if I could but see the original,” I murmured.I did not know then what I afterwards learnt that I was looking at the original; that this painted window was the work, the greatest work, of the eccentric owner of the house. Between each of the pointed windows hung valuable Gobelin tapestries, some the work of the great French artist, Noel Coypel; others by the splendid workman, Jans. I learned the value of these rare tapestries later on; now I scarcely noticed them, so absorbed was I in the fascination of the windows. Each window contained a deep seat, which was approached by oak steps, highly polished and black with age. The floor of the room was also of black oak. The roof was high and pointed, made of oak and exquisitely carved. Behind each of the tapestry curtains I discovered a small locked cupboard. There were four oak bureaus in the room, each of which contained ten separate locked drawers. A work-table of ivory, inlaid with lovelylapis lazuli, was also locked. There was an old-fashioned writing-table, and three or four oak chests. Everything that could be fitted with a key in this chamber had a lock which was securely fastened. I thought it highly probable that each lock would have to be fitted with a separate key. In this case, after making a careful calculation, I found that if I were to acquaint myself with all the secrets contained in the Chamber of Myths, I must be supplied with about sixty separate keys. No wonder the task before me seemed to increase in magnitude as I approached it.Opening my brown leather bag, I laid the keys which Mr Gray had given me on a slender Queen Anne table, which stood near one of the tapestry recesses. My first task was to arrange them according to size. This occupied me until two o’clock, when a slow, somewhat heavy step on the stairs warned me that Mrs Drake was approaching. I did not want her to see me at my task, and hastened to meet her. She had provided a dainty little lunch for me; not in the kitchen, but in the queer and desolate sitting-room where I had first seen Cousin Geoffrey. I ate my chop off old Sèvres china, and drank a refreshing draught of water out of a tall, rose-coloured Flemish glass. I was far too excited to linger long over the meal. The moment I had satisfied my hunger, I ran back to the octagon room, and continued my task of arranging and sorting the keys. I had provided myself with paper and ink, and as I fitted each key to its lock I fastened a label to it. Night overtook me, however, before my work was a quarter done. I put the keys once more into the brown bag—the unsorted ones at the bottom, those with the labels at the top. I went down-stairs, desired Drake to fetch a cab for me, told him I should return to the house early the next day, and took the precious bag containing the keys back to the lawyer’s office. He was within, and evidently expecting me.“Well, Miss Rosamund,” he said, “and what luck have you had?”“None up to the present,” I replied. Then I continued: “There must have been a sad want of order in some person’s brain not to have had these keys labelled.”“Ah, you have found that out, have you?”“Yes, and I am rectifying the omission.”“Good girl—clever, methodical girl.”“Here is the bag, Mr Gray; I will come to fetch it early to-morrow.”“Oh, you will, will you?”“Certainly; expect me before eleven o’clock.” I bade Mr Gray good-night, and took an omnibus which presently conducted me to the neighbourhood of Paddington Station.In course of time I got home. My father and George had arrived before me. It was quite contrary to the doctrines of our house for a woman to assert her independence in the way I was doing. My conduct in staying out in this unwarrantable fashion called forth contemptuous glances from my father, sighs of regret from my gentle mother, and sharp speeches from my brother George. I bore all with wonderful patience, and ran up-stairs to take off my things.As I was arranging my thick hair before the glass, and giving a passing thought to my dear little sister Hetty’s curling brown locks, and remembering how deftly she had tried to arrange mine according to modern fashion, a knock came to my door, and George stood outside.“You don’t deserve me to treat you with any confidence. You are the most curious mixture of childishness, folly, and obstinacy that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting,” he said in his cold voice; “but, nevertheless, as you were good enough to confide in me last night, and as your communication was of importance, you will be pleased to learn that I was able to persuade my father not to see Chillingfleet.”“I am delighted,” I said, running up to George, and kissing him, very much against his will. “How did you manage it, George? Do tell me.”“Dear me, Rosamund, how impulsive you are! What does it matter how I managed the thing, provided it was done? I think it due to you to let you know that I have taken steps to prevent our father ever becoming acquainted with Jack’s wickedness; and now let us drop this revolting subject at once and for ever.”“I am more than willing,” I replied, “provided we do not drop Jack as well.”“What do you mean? Do you suppose I am going to have anything further to say to the fellow?”“I cannot say whether you are or not, George, but I am. Jack must live; Hetty must be cared for.”“Hetty! How dare you speak to me of that low-born girl?”“I know nothing about her birth,” I retorted. “I only know that she Is a lady at heart; that she is a sweet little thing, and that I love her tenderly.”“I don’t want to stand here any longer, Rosamund, to listen to your childishness.”“Just as you please, George.”“One word, however, before I go,” continued my brother. “You will have the goodness to give up this gadding into town in future, and will arrange to stay quietly at home with our mother.”“I am sorry I cannot oblige you,” I replied. “It will be necessary for me to go back to town early to-morrow, and to continue to do so for several days.”“I shall ask my father to forbid you.”“Very well, George; you can please yourself, only I warn you, you had better not.”“What do I care for your warnings?” He slammed the door behind him, and went down-stairs in the worst possible humour.I wondered if George had quite made up his mind to give up the girl whom he loved, and who possessed a little money, and if this was the reason he was even crosser than his wont.This thought helped me to be patient with him; and I went down-stairs to supper, resolved to show no ill-temper, but to make myself as agreeable as I possibly could.I had never in my whole life wilfully disobeyed a direct command of my father’s, and I did not want to begin to do so now. I took it upon me, therefore, to make myself agreeable to him. I put his worsted-work slippers before the fire to warm. I pulled forward his favourite arm-chair, and cut the pages of a new magazine and laid it by his side. George was not in the room. My father received these attentions without any outward show of thanks; but when I came close to him for a moment, he bent forward and patted my head.“It’s a good thing to have you at home again, Rose,” he said.“Father,” I said, suddenly, “I should always like to do whatyouwish, of course; but I need not obey George, need I?”“Obey George!” echoed my father. “I should think not, indeed. The fellow is growing much too hectoring. Obey George! What next, I wonder?”“He wants me not to go to town to-morrow,” I said; “but if you give me leave, I may, may I not?”“Of course, child, of course.”“Then I’ll tell George that I have your leave. It isn’t as if I were a little girl, is it? I shall always wish to please you and mother.”My father muttered something which might have signified approval or the reverse; but when George came into the room and began, according to my father’s verdict, to hector me once again, he received a sudden and unlooked-for check.I could not help feeling myself quite double, and even deceitful, when I discovered that I had so easily gained my point.
As the saying is, I had my task cut out for me. Never did any one go more nearly mad over the subject of keys than I. Cousin Geoffrey, with all his eccentricities, had in many respects a well-balanced mind. Nothing could have been neater than the queer arrangements of his house. Everywhere there were locked cupboards, locked bureaus, locked chests of drawers, boxes with locks to them, portfolios which could only be opened by fitting a key into a lock. In short, there never was a more thoroughly locked-up house. No wonder the bag which contained Cousin Geoffrey’s keys should prove heavy.
It was one thing, however, for the owner of the said keys to know where to apply each—it was quite another thing for me. To my horror when I unfastened the brown leather bag, I found that the great bunches of keys of all sorts and sizes were unlabelled. When I made this discovery I almost gave up my task in despair. I had to look twice at the ruby ring, and think of the voice which spoke so confidently within its secret chamber before I had the courage to commence my search.
I don’t believe, however, that my heart was a particularly faint one, and after girding myself to the fray, I toiled up-stairs, carrying the bag of keys with me.
I knew well that my search must be confined to the octagon room.
To reach this room I had to go up-stairs to the first landing of the house. I had then to turn to the left, and to descend some four or five steps; a narrow passage here led me to a spiral staircase which communicated directly with the Chamber of Myths.
This quaint and beautiful room was evidently an afterthought. It was built when the rest of the house was completed. It stood alone, and I found afterwards that it was supported from the ground by massive pillars. No pains and no money had been spared upon it. The middle of London, or at least the middle of Bloomsbury, could scarcely contain a lovely view. Geoffrey Rutherford had clearly apprehended this fact when he built the octagon chamber: he did the next best thing he could for it; he supplied it with painted glass, of modern workmanship it is true, but exquisite in colour and artistic in design. The eight windows which the room contained were narrow, high, and pointed; they were filled in with glass copied from the designs of masters. Geoffrey must have travelled over a great part of Europe to supply himself with these designs. He must have gone with an artist as his companion, for in no other way could these perfectly painted glass pictures from old Flemish Cathedrals and old Roman Council Chambers have been so exquisitely and perfectly reproduced.
“I wonder if he copied the designs himself,” I thought. “I remember that my mother told me what an accomplished artist Cousin Geoffrey was. Oh, what lovely glass! I could sit here and study. I will sit here and study. If I cannot acquire art in any other way, I will learn it from Cousin Geoffrey’s windows.”
The Chamber of Myths had always exercised a fascination over me, but never more so than to-day. I was so excited by what I saw that I forgot for a time the mission on which I had come. The subjects of the different windows represented Woman in various guises and forms: there was the mother with the baby in her arms: there was the maiden crowning herself with spring flowers, there was the wife tending the vines and watching for the return of her absent husband. One window was larger than the rest, and it contained what I supposed was a copy of a well-known masterpiece. The world’s greatest Friend sat in the centre of a group of children. Some had climbed into His arms, some leant against His knees, some knelt at His feet, the tender and gracious hands were raised in blessing, the eyes shone with the highest love. In the background a mother stood, worship in her face; adoration, humility, joy, thanksgiving in her smile. This picture of Christ blessing children made me weep.
“Oh, if I could but see the original,” I murmured.
I did not know then what I afterwards learnt that I was looking at the original; that this painted window was the work, the greatest work, of the eccentric owner of the house. Between each of the pointed windows hung valuable Gobelin tapestries, some the work of the great French artist, Noel Coypel; others by the splendid workman, Jans. I learned the value of these rare tapestries later on; now I scarcely noticed them, so absorbed was I in the fascination of the windows. Each window contained a deep seat, which was approached by oak steps, highly polished and black with age. The floor of the room was also of black oak. The roof was high and pointed, made of oak and exquisitely carved. Behind each of the tapestry curtains I discovered a small locked cupboard. There were four oak bureaus in the room, each of which contained ten separate locked drawers. A work-table of ivory, inlaid with lovelylapis lazuli, was also locked. There was an old-fashioned writing-table, and three or four oak chests. Everything that could be fitted with a key in this chamber had a lock which was securely fastened. I thought it highly probable that each lock would have to be fitted with a separate key. In this case, after making a careful calculation, I found that if I were to acquaint myself with all the secrets contained in the Chamber of Myths, I must be supplied with about sixty separate keys. No wonder the task before me seemed to increase in magnitude as I approached it.
Opening my brown leather bag, I laid the keys which Mr Gray had given me on a slender Queen Anne table, which stood near one of the tapestry recesses. My first task was to arrange them according to size. This occupied me until two o’clock, when a slow, somewhat heavy step on the stairs warned me that Mrs Drake was approaching. I did not want her to see me at my task, and hastened to meet her. She had provided a dainty little lunch for me; not in the kitchen, but in the queer and desolate sitting-room where I had first seen Cousin Geoffrey. I ate my chop off old Sèvres china, and drank a refreshing draught of water out of a tall, rose-coloured Flemish glass. I was far too excited to linger long over the meal. The moment I had satisfied my hunger, I ran back to the octagon room, and continued my task of arranging and sorting the keys. I had provided myself with paper and ink, and as I fitted each key to its lock I fastened a label to it. Night overtook me, however, before my work was a quarter done. I put the keys once more into the brown bag—the unsorted ones at the bottom, those with the labels at the top. I went down-stairs, desired Drake to fetch a cab for me, told him I should return to the house early the next day, and took the precious bag containing the keys back to the lawyer’s office. He was within, and evidently expecting me.
“Well, Miss Rosamund,” he said, “and what luck have you had?”
“None up to the present,” I replied. Then I continued: “There must have been a sad want of order in some person’s brain not to have had these keys labelled.”
“Ah, you have found that out, have you?”
“Yes, and I am rectifying the omission.”
“Good girl—clever, methodical girl.”
“Here is the bag, Mr Gray; I will come to fetch it early to-morrow.”
“Oh, you will, will you?”
“Certainly; expect me before eleven o’clock.” I bade Mr Gray good-night, and took an omnibus which presently conducted me to the neighbourhood of Paddington Station.
In course of time I got home. My father and George had arrived before me. It was quite contrary to the doctrines of our house for a woman to assert her independence in the way I was doing. My conduct in staying out in this unwarrantable fashion called forth contemptuous glances from my father, sighs of regret from my gentle mother, and sharp speeches from my brother George. I bore all with wonderful patience, and ran up-stairs to take off my things.
As I was arranging my thick hair before the glass, and giving a passing thought to my dear little sister Hetty’s curling brown locks, and remembering how deftly she had tried to arrange mine according to modern fashion, a knock came to my door, and George stood outside.
“You don’t deserve me to treat you with any confidence. You are the most curious mixture of childishness, folly, and obstinacy that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting,” he said in his cold voice; “but, nevertheless, as you were good enough to confide in me last night, and as your communication was of importance, you will be pleased to learn that I was able to persuade my father not to see Chillingfleet.”
“I am delighted,” I said, running up to George, and kissing him, very much against his will. “How did you manage it, George? Do tell me.”
“Dear me, Rosamund, how impulsive you are! What does it matter how I managed the thing, provided it was done? I think it due to you to let you know that I have taken steps to prevent our father ever becoming acquainted with Jack’s wickedness; and now let us drop this revolting subject at once and for ever.”
“I am more than willing,” I replied, “provided we do not drop Jack as well.”
“What do you mean? Do you suppose I am going to have anything further to say to the fellow?”
“I cannot say whether you are or not, George, but I am. Jack must live; Hetty must be cared for.”
“Hetty! How dare you speak to me of that low-born girl?”
“I know nothing about her birth,” I retorted. “I only know that she Is a lady at heart; that she is a sweet little thing, and that I love her tenderly.”
“I don’t want to stand here any longer, Rosamund, to listen to your childishness.”
“Just as you please, George.”
“One word, however, before I go,” continued my brother. “You will have the goodness to give up this gadding into town in future, and will arrange to stay quietly at home with our mother.”
“I am sorry I cannot oblige you,” I replied. “It will be necessary for me to go back to town early to-morrow, and to continue to do so for several days.”
“I shall ask my father to forbid you.”
“Very well, George; you can please yourself, only I warn you, you had better not.”
“What do I care for your warnings?” He slammed the door behind him, and went down-stairs in the worst possible humour.
I wondered if George had quite made up his mind to give up the girl whom he loved, and who possessed a little money, and if this was the reason he was even crosser than his wont.
This thought helped me to be patient with him; and I went down-stairs to supper, resolved to show no ill-temper, but to make myself as agreeable as I possibly could.
I had never in my whole life wilfully disobeyed a direct command of my father’s, and I did not want to begin to do so now. I took it upon me, therefore, to make myself agreeable to him. I put his worsted-work slippers before the fire to warm. I pulled forward his favourite arm-chair, and cut the pages of a new magazine and laid it by his side. George was not in the room. My father received these attentions without any outward show of thanks; but when I came close to him for a moment, he bent forward and patted my head.
“It’s a good thing to have you at home again, Rose,” he said.
“Father,” I said, suddenly, “I should always like to do whatyouwish, of course; but I need not obey George, need I?”
“Obey George!” echoed my father. “I should think not, indeed. The fellow is growing much too hectoring. Obey George! What next, I wonder?”
“He wants me not to go to town to-morrow,” I said; “but if you give me leave, I may, may I not?”
“Of course, child, of course.”
“Then I’ll tell George that I have your leave. It isn’t as if I were a little girl, is it? I shall always wish to please you and mother.”
My father muttered something which might have signified approval or the reverse; but when George came into the room and began, according to my father’s verdict, to hector me once again, he received a sudden and unlooked-for check.
I could not help feeling myself quite double, and even deceitful, when I discovered that I had so easily gained my point.
Chapter Fifteen.Method in this Madness.I came down-stairs the next morning dressed in my best brown cashmere. I had a neat white frill round my throat, and my hair was dressed with attention. I looked smart for me, and I felt certain that George would notice this fact, and begin to make himself disagreeable. The meal that morning was particularly appetising. I myself had seen to this. I had supplemented our inefficient maid-of-all-work’s efforts. I had boiled the porridge myself, and took care that it was thick, but not too thick, and that it was smooth in substance and admirably done. I had also made the toast; and that delicate brown toast, crisp and thin, was certain to meet with my somewhat fastidious father’s approval. The coffee, too, was strong, and the milk which was to add to its flavour was thoroughly well boiled. While my father drank his fragrant coffee, and munched that thin crisp toast, good humour sat upon his brow, his deep-set and somewhat fierce eyes glanced at me complacently. He made a remark which I was almost certain he would make—“It is a good thing to have you back again, Rose. I do not need you to tell me, but I am quite certain that we do not owe this breakfast to Bridget.”“Yes,” suddenly responded George; “it’s always well to have a capable woman in the house. You are staying at home of course to-day, Rosamund—the right place for you too. I am sure, sir, you must agree with me,” continued George, glancing at my father, “when I say that young women have no business to spend their time gadding about.”“Much you know about young women,” answered my father. He was about to continue, when I suddenly interrupted.“And I am going to town this morning,” I said, in my meekest voice, “and father knows all about it, and he has given me leave.”“Tut! I am not so sure of that,” said my father, with a frown.“I hope, sir, you will once for all forbid Rose to spend her time in this thoroughly unprofitable, not to say extravagant and improper manner,” said George, his face turning crimson.“It is not your place to interfere,” said my father.“And ifyougive me leave, I may go, may I not, father? You said last night I need not obey George.”“Most certainly you need not. George, stop that hectoring.”My father stamped his foot vehemently. George dropped his eyes on to his plate, and I ate my breakfast feeling that my cause was won.“Rose,” said my mother, when the meal was over, calling me into the drawing-room as she spoke, “are you really going back to London to-day?”“I must, mother darling.”“My dear child, your present strange proceedings agitate me a good deal.”“Dearest mother! you shall know everything as soon as ever I can tell you. Perhaps to-night you shall know all.”My mother sighed. “And where is the good of vexing George?” she continued.“George shall not stand between us and—and happiness,” I said with vehemence. “Mother, it is impossible for me to explain. I shall, I must, Iwillgo to London to-day. Mother darling, you won’t blame me when I tell you everything by and by.”“I never blame you, Rosamund,” said my mother; “you are the great comfort of my life. How could I possibly find fault with you, my dear, dear daughter?”She kissed me as she spoke.I ran up-stairs for my hat and jacket, and as my father was putting on his great-coat in the hall, I tripped up to him, equipped for my little expedition.“So you are coming, Rosamund?” he said. “Yes, of course,” I replied, “if only to show that George is not to lay down the law to you.”Oh! how double I felt as I said this. I hated myself. I blushed and fidgeted. It is a most uncomfortable sensation to fall a peg or two in your own estimation. It ruffles the nerves in the most extraordinary manner. As I walked to the station, leaning on my father’s arm, I kept saying to myself, “Rosamund, you are a detestable, double-minded, deceitful girl. You must do penance for this. You must be punished by yourself—by the better part of yourself, Rosamund Lindley. Some day, Rosamund, you will have to confess your real motives to your father. You must let him know what a low, double sort of a creature he has got for a daughter.”George did not speak at all during our journey up to town, but my father was quite chatty and confidential with me. He even confided some fears, much to my surprise, which he entertained with regard to my dear mother’s health.“Your mother ought never to spend her winters in England,” he said. “She has always been fragile; she grows more fragile every year; she ought to winter abroad—in the Riviera, or some other dry and sheltered place.”He spoke quite kindly, with real anxiety in his voice. I never loved him so well. We parted the best of friends at Paddington, and I went off to Mr Gray’s office, secured my bag of keys, and before ten o’clock that day found myself once again in Cousin Geoffrey’s house, with many long hours before me to spend as I thought fit. I went up to the octagon room, and spent the whole of that long day arranging and sorting those dreary bundles of keys. I had made up my mind that I would not commence my task of examination until each key fitted each lock. I was firmly convinced that if I did not use method I should effect nothing. I was aware that the task before me was one of great difficulty. I would not add to it by any irregularity with regard to my method of search. Methodical work is always more or less successful, and as the day wore on I fitted key after key into the locks they were meant to open. My spirits rose as my work proceeded, and I felt almost sure that I might commence my search in good earnest to-morrow.The light was beginning to fade, and I was thinking of putting my nicely-sorted keys away and retiring from my hard day’s work, when I heard steps on the deserted stairs, the murmur of voices—several voices, one of them high and sweet, the others low and deep in tone, evidently proceeding from men’s throats.The sounds approached nearer and nearer, and a moment afterwards the door of the octagon room was opened, and Drake, accompanied by three people, entered. In this dark room, which, with all its beauty, never admitted the uninterrupted light of day, it was difficult for me at first to recognise the people who so suddenly invaded my solitude. But the clear, high voice was familiar, and when an eager figure ran across the room, and two hands clasped mine, and a fervent kiss was implanted on my somewhat dusty forehead, I did not need to look again to be quite sure that Lady Ursula Redmayne stood before me.“Here I am, Rosamund. Whether welcome or not, I am here once more. Ursula, the impetuous, comes to visit Rosamund, the mysterious. Now, my dear, what are you doing? and have you no word of greeting for me, your real friend, and for your cousin, for he is your cousin, Rupert Valentine? Have you no word of affectionate greeting, Rosamund?”I stammered and blushed. I was not very glad to see Lady Ursula Redmayne. At this moment her presence confused me. I avoided looking at Captain Valentine, and wondered quickly what he must think of my present very remarkable occupation.“How do you do?” I said, not returning her kiss, but trying hard to seem pleased; “how do you do, Captain Valentine? I won’t shake hands with you because my hands are very, very dirty.”“And why are they dirty, Rose?” asked Lady Ursula, her merry eyes twinkling. “A lady should never have dirty hands. Oh, fie! Rose; I am shocked at you. I will only forgive you on one condition—that you tell me what you are doing here.”“Nothing wrong,” I replied; “but Mr Gray knows. You had better ask Mr Gray.”“Don’t worry her, Ursula,” said Captain Valentine. “Miss Lindley has a perfect right to employ her time as she pleases. You remember, Miss Lindley, the last time I had the pleasure of meeting you, how we established a sort of cousinship. I believe we are undoubtedly cousins. May I therefore have the pleasure of introducing to you another relative—my brother Tom?”Mr Tom Valentine now came forward. He was a little shorter than his brother, broader set, with a good-humoured and kind face.(Forgive me, Tom, if at that moment I saw nothing more in your face.)He shook hands with me kindly, said a word or two about being glad to meet a relative, and then began to examine the curious room for himself with much interest.“But what are you doing here?” said the irrepressible Lady Ursula; “and oh! Rupert, do look at these keys. Fancy our methodical Rose arranging these keys in bunches, and labelling them. Oh! what a model of neatness you are, Rose! What a housewife you would make!”“Don’t worry her, Ursula,” said Captain Valentine again. Then he added, turning to me: “The fact is, my brother Tom and I are very much interested in this old house. Tom is my eldest brother, Miss Lindley. He is a great traveller—a sort of lion in his way. You must get him at some propitious moment to tell you all about his many adventures. He has met the savages face to face. He has been through the heart of darkest Africa. He has fought with wild beasts. Oh, yes! Tom, you need not blush.”“Who would suppose you could blush, Tom?” said his future sister-in-law, patting him familiarly on his shoulder. “I should imagine that swarthy skin of yours too dark to show a blush.”“I hate making myself out a hero,” said Tom Valentine in his gruff voice. “Do stop chaffing, Rupert, and let us tell Miss Lindley why we have come here.”“Curiosity,” said Captain Valentine; “curiosity has brought us. I told Tom last night about Cousin Geoffrey Rutherford’s death, and about the curious will he had made. Tom and I spent many happy months in this old house; long, long, long ago, Miss Lindley. I told Tom last night the story of your ruby ring. Altogether I excited his curiosity to an enormous extent; and he said he himself would like to have a search for the missing document. May I ask you a blunt question, Miss Lindley? Are you looking for it now?”I hesitated for a moment. I felt my face turning white; then raising my eyes, I said, steadily, “I am.”As I uttered these words I encountered the direct and full gaze of my new cousin, the bearded and bronzed traveller, Tom Valentine. If ever there were honest eyes in the world they dwelt in Tom’s rather plain face. They looked straight into mine as I uttered these words, and I read approval in their glance.“Yes, I am looking for the will,” I said, encouraged by the glance Tom had given me.“I may never find it; but I am not without a clue. Look here!” I added, suddenly, “I will confide in you all. Two of you are cousins, the other is, I am sure, my true friend. Look at my ruby ring.” I held up my hand—my dirty hand. I pulled the ring off my third finger. “You know the secret of the ring,” I said to Rupert Valentine. “Open it carefully; let it show its secret chamber. You thought that secret chamber revealed nothing; that it was empty and without its secret. You were mistaken. Look again, but carefully—very carefully.”I was so excited that I absolutely forgot that I was addressing my words to three comparative strangers. I gave the ring back to Captain Valentine.“Be very, very careful,” I repeated.He looked at me gravely, took the ring over to the light, motioned to his brother to follow him, and touched the spring. The central ruby revolved out of its place, the serpents’ heads opened wide their doors, and the little chamber inside the ring was once more visible.“Raise that white paper,” I said; “there is writing under it.”“Rosamund, you shake all over,” said Lady Ursula.I flashed an impatient glance at her.“Can you wonder?” I said. “Yes, perhaps you can. It is impossible for you to understand. If you wanted money as badly as I do, and saw the bare possibility of getting it, you too would shake—you would find it impossible to control your emotion.”Again Tom Valentine’s eyes met mine. Now they were less approving. Their glance expressed a sense of being puzzled, of being disappointed.Meanwhile, Captain Valentine, lifting the tiny portion of paper, was trying to decipher the very minute writing on the other side.“You cannot read that with the naked eye,” I remarked. “Has any one here got a magnifying glass?”“I have,” said my cousin Tom.He took a tiny little lens, exquisitely mounted, out of his pocket, and handed it gravely to his brother. Captain Valentine applied the lens to his eye, looked at the ring, and uttered an exclamation.“Look in the Chamber of Myths,” he read aloud.”‘Look in the Chamber of Myths!’ What does this mean? I always thought Geoffrey Rutherford was off his head. Dear Miss Lindley, are you allowing wild words of this sort to guide you?”“There is method in this madness,” I returned, “for this is the Chamber of Myths.”“This room, this lovely room?” exclaimed Lady Ursula.“Yes; it was one of Cousin Geoffrey’s fancies to name each room in his house. This was called by him the ‘Chamber of Myths’—why, I cannot tell you. The fact I can verify. Go to the door and look.”I brought them all to the door of the room, pushed aside the sliding panel, and showed the name in white letters on a dark ground.
I came down-stairs the next morning dressed in my best brown cashmere. I had a neat white frill round my throat, and my hair was dressed with attention. I looked smart for me, and I felt certain that George would notice this fact, and begin to make himself disagreeable. The meal that morning was particularly appetising. I myself had seen to this. I had supplemented our inefficient maid-of-all-work’s efforts. I had boiled the porridge myself, and took care that it was thick, but not too thick, and that it was smooth in substance and admirably done. I had also made the toast; and that delicate brown toast, crisp and thin, was certain to meet with my somewhat fastidious father’s approval. The coffee, too, was strong, and the milk which was to add to its flavour was thoroughly well boiled. While my father drank his fragrant coffee, and munched that thin crisp toast, good humour sat upon his brow, his deep-set and somewhat fierce eyes glanced at me complacently. He made a remark which I was almost certain he would make—
“It is a good thing to have you back again, Rose. I do not need you to tell me, but I am quite certain that we do not owe this breakfast to Bridget.”
“Yes,” suddenly responded George; “it’s always well to have a capable woman in the house. You are staying at home of course to-day, Rosamund—the right place for you too. I am sure, sir, you must agree with me,” continued George, glancing at my father, “when I say that young women have no business to spend their time gadding about.”
“Much you know about young women,” answered my father. He was about to continue, when I suddenly interrupted.
“And I am going to town this morning,” I said, in my meekest voice, “and father knows all about it, and he has given me leave.”
“Tut! I am not so sure of that,” said my father, with a frown.
“I hope, sir, you will once for all forbid Rose to spend her time in this thoroughly unprofitable, not to say extravagant and improper manner,” said George, his face turning crimson.
“It is not your place to interfere,” said my father.
“And ifyougive me leave, I may go, may I not, father? You said last night I need not obey George.”
“Most certainly you need not. George, stop that hectoring.”
My father stamped his foot vehemently. George dropped his eyes on to his plate, and I ate my breakfast feeling that my cause was won.
“Rose,” said my mother, when the meal was over, calling me into the drawing-room as she spoke, “are you really going back to London to-day?”
“I must, mother darling.”
“My dear child, your present strange proceedings agitate me a good deal.”
“Dearest mother! you shall know everything as soon as ever I can tell you. Perhaps to-night you shall know all.”
My mother sighed. “And where is the good of vexing George?” she continued.
“George shall not stand between us and—and happiness,” I said with vehemence. “Mother, it is impossible for me to explain. I shall, I must, Iwillgo to London to-day. Mother darling, you won’t blame me when I tell you everything by and by.”
“I never blame you, Rosamund,” said my mother; “you are the great comfort of my life. How could I possibly find fault with you, my dear, dear daughter?”
She kissed me as she spoke.
I ran up-stairs for my hat and jacket, and as my father was putting on his great-coat in the hall, I tripped up to him, equipped for my little expedition.
“So you are coming, Rosamund?” he said. “Yes, of course,” I replied, “if only to show that George is not to lay down the law to you.”
Oh! how double I felt as I said this. I hated myself. I blushed and fidgeted. It is a most uncomfortable sensation to fall a peg or two in your own estimation. It ruffles the nerves in the most extraordinary manner. As I walked to the station, leaning on my father’s arm, I kept saying to myself, “Rosamund, you are a detestable, double-minded, deceitful girl. You must do penance for this. You must be punished by yourself—by the better part of yourself, Rosamund Lindley. Some day, Rosamund, you will have to confess your real motives to your father. You must let him know what a low, double sort of a creature he has got for a daughter.”
George did not speak at all during our journey up to town, but my father was quite chatty and confidential with me. He even confided some fears, much to my surprise, which he entertained with regard to my dear mother’s health.
“Your mother ought never to spend her winters in England,” he said. “She has always been fragile; she grows more fragile every year; she ought to winter abroad—in the Riviera, or some other dry and sheltered place.”
He spoke quite kindly, with real anxiety in his voice. I never loved him so well. We parted the best of friends at Paddington, and I went off to Mr Gray’s office, secured my bag of keys, and before ten o’clock that day found myself once again in Cousin Geoffrey’s house, with many long hours before me to spend as I thought fit. I went up to the octagon room, and spent the whole of that long day arranging and sorting those dreary bundles of keys. I had made up my mind that I would not commence my task of examination until each key fitted each lock. I was firmly convinced that if I did not use method I should effect nothing. I was aware that the task before me was one of great difficulty. I would not add to it by any irregularity with regard to my method of search. Methodical work is always more or less successful, and as the day wore on I fitted key after key into the locks they were meant to open. My spirits rose as my work proceeded, and I felt almost sure that I might commence my search in good earnest to-morrow.
The light was beginning to fade, and I was thinking of putting my nicely-sorted keys away and retiring from my hard day’s work, when I heard steps on the deserted stairs, the murmur of voices—several voices, one of them high and sweet, the others low and deep in tone, evidently proceeding from men’s throats.
The sounds approached nearer and nearer, and a moment afterwards the door of the octagon room was opened, and Drake, accompanied by three people, entered. In this dark room, which, with all its beauty, never admitted the uninterrupted light of day, it was difficult for me at first to recognise the people who so suddenly invaded my solitude. But the clear, high voice was familiar, and when an eager figure ran across the room, and two hands clasped mine, and a fervent kiss was implanted on my somewhat dusty forehead, I did not need to look again to be quite sure that Lady Ursula Redmayne stood before me.
“Here I am, Rosamund. Whether welcome or not, I am here once more. Ursula, the impetuous, comes to visit Rosamund, the mysterious. Now, my dear, what are you doing? and have you no word of greeting for me, your real friend, and for your cousin, for he is your cousin, Rupert Valentine? Have you no word of affectionate greeting, Rosamund?”
I stammered and blushed. I was not very glad to see Lady Ursula Redmayne. At this moment her presence confused me. I avoided looking at Captain Valentine, and wondered quickly what he must think of my present very remarkable occupation.
“How do you do?” I said, not returning her kiss, but trying hard to seem pleased; “how do you do, Captain Valentine? I won’t shake hands with you because my hands are very, very dirty.”
“And why are they dirty, Rose?” asked Lady Ursula, her merry eyes twinkling. “A lady should never have dirty hands. Oh, fie! Rose; I am shocked at you. I will only forgive you on one condition—that you tell me what you are doing here.”
“Nothing wrong,” I replied; “but Mr Gray knows. You had better ask Mr Gray.”
“Don’t worry her, Ursula,” said Captain Valentine. “Miss Lindley has a perfect right to employ her time as she pleases. You remember, Miss Lindley, the last time I had the pleasure of meeting you, how we established a sort of cousinship. I believe we are undoubtedly cousins. May I therefore have the pleasure of introducing to you another relative—my brother Tom?”
Mr Tom Valentine now came forward. He was a little shorter than his brother, broader set, with a good-humoured and kind face.
(Forgive me, Tom, if at that moment I saw nothing more in your face.)
He shook hands with me kindly, said a word or two about being glad to meet a relative, and then began to examine the curious room for himself with much interest.
“But what are you doing here?” said the irrepressible Lady Ursula; “and oh! Rupert, do look at these keys. Fancy our methodical Rose arranging these keys in bunches, and labelling them. Oh! what a model of neatness you are, Rose! What a housewife you would make!”
“Don’t worry her, Ursula,” said Captain Valentine again. Then he added, turning to me: “The fact is, my brother Tom and I are very much interested in this old house. Tom is my eldest brother, Miss Lindley. He is a great traveller—a sort of lion in his way. You must get him at some propitious moment to tell you all about his many adventures. He has met the savages face to face. He has been through the heart of darkest Africa. He has fought with wild beasts. Oh, yes! Tom, you need not blush.”
“Who would suppose you could blush, Tom?” said his future sister-in-law, patting him familiarly on his shoulder. “I should imagine that swarthy skin of yours too dark to show a blush.”
“I hate making myself out a hero,” said Tom Valentine in his gruff voice. “Do stop chaffing, Rupert, and let us tell Miss Lindley why we have come here.”
“Curiosity,” said Captain Valentine; “curiosity has brought us. I told Tom last night about Cousin Geoffrey Rutherford’s death, and about the curious will he had made. Tom and I spent many happy months in this old house; long, long, long ago, Miss Lindley. I told Tom last night the story of your ruby ring. Altogether I excited his curiosity to an enormous extent; and he said he himself would like to have a search for the missing document. May I ask you a blunt question, Miss Lindley? Are you looking for it now?”
I hesitated for a moment. I felt my face turning white; then raising my eyes, I said, steadily, “I am.”
As I uttered these words I encountered the direct and full gaze of my new cousin, the bearded and bronzed traveller, Tom Valentine. If ever there were honest eyes in the world they dwelt in Tom’s rather plain face. They looked straight into mine as I uttered these words, and I read approval in their glance.
“Yes, I am looking for the will,” I said, encouraged by the glance Tom had given me.
“I may never find it; but I am not without a clue. Look here!” I added, suddenly, “I will confide in you all. Two of you are cousins, the other is, I am sure, my true friend. Look at my ruby ring.” I held up my hand—my dirty hand. I pulled the ring off my third finger. “You know the secret of the ring,” I said to Rupert Valentine. “Open it carefully; let it show its secret chamber. You thought that secret chamber revealed nothing; that it was empty and without its secret. You were mistaken. Look again, but carefully—very carefully.”
I was so excited that I absolutely forgot that I was addressing my words to three comparative strangers. I gave the ring back to Captain Valentine.
“Be very, very careful,” I repeated.
He looked at me gravely, took the ring over to the light, motioned to his brother to follow him, and touched the spring. The central ruby revolved out of its place, the serpents’ heads opened wide their doors, and the little chamber inside the ring was once more visible.
“Raise that white paper,” I said; “there is writing under it.”
“Rosamund, you shake all over,” said Lady Ursula.
I flashed an impatient glance at her.
“Can you wonder?” I said. “Yes, perhaps you can. It is impossible for you to understand. If you wanted money as badly as I do, and saw the bare possibility of getting it, you too would shake—you would find it impossible to control your emotion.”
Again Tom Valentine’s eyes met mine. Now they were less approving. Their glance expressed a sense of being puzzled, of being disappointed.
Meanwhile, Captain Valentine, lifting the tiny portion of paper, was trying to decipher the very minute writing on the other side.
“You cannot read that with the naked eye,” I remarked. “Has any one here got a magnifying glass?”
“I have,” said my cousin Tom.
He took a tiny little lens, exquisitely mounted, out of his pocket, and handed it gravely to his brother. Captain Valentine applied the lens to his eye, looked at the ring, and uttered an exclamation.
“Look in the Chamber of Myths,” he read aloud.
”‘Look in the Chamber of Myths!’ What does this mean? I always thought Geoffrey Rutherford was off his head. Dear Miss Lindley, are you allowing wild words of this sort to guide you?”
“There is method in this madness,” I returned, “for this is the Chamber of Myths.”
“This room, this lovely room?” exclaimed Lady Ursula.
“Yes; it was one of Cousin Geoffrey’s fancies to name each room in his house. This was called by him the ‘Chamber of Myths’—why, I cannot tell you. The fact I can verify. Go to the door and look.”
I brought them all to the door of the room, pushed aside the sliding panel, and showed the name in white letters on a dark ground.