THE WARNING
Mindful that a premature engagement might lead to gossip, Montrose and his beloved acted with great discretion. They gave vent to their ardent feelings in private, and behaved prudently in public. Certainly the young man paid many visits to Mrs. Barrast's house, and was markedly attentive to her visitor. But it was natural that a bachelor should admire a pretty maid, so people merely remarked indulgently that evidently Montrose was falling in love with Miss Enistor. They little knew that the inevitable had already happened, and in a scandalously short space of time. Mrs. Barrast, with a shrewdness which did her credit, guessed that the couple understood one another better than they would admit; but even she did not guess how far matters had gone. She would have been annoyed had she really known the truth, not because of the private engagement, but for the simple reason that she had not been admitted into the confidence of the lovers. As it was, all she saw led her to believe that Montrose was conventionally approaching her guest with a view to marriage, and quite approved of his intentions. Therefore she welcomed him to the house, and made use of him and his money. It was only right, she thought, that he should pay for her kindness in forwarding his aims.
And the payment took the form of Mrs. Barrastplundering Montrose on all and every occasion. Frederick supplied her with ample funds for her frivolity, but Mrs. Barrast always wanted more than she could reasonably obtain, and cleverly got what she desired from Douglas. As both lovers were in deep mourning for Lady Staunton, the aunt of one and the benefactress of the other, they did not take much part in the gaieties of the waning season. All the same, Mrs. Barrast made Montrose give her concert tickets and boxes at theatres, which she used freely for herself and her friends. And as on these occasions she usually left Alice to entertain the donor in the Hans Crescent house, the young man was quite willing to be lavish in this direction. Indeed, he was in others also, for he supplied the butterfly with flowers and scent and gloves and similar trifles, which every woman likes to have and which no woman likes to pay for. Alice did not object at the outset to this generosity, as it was necessary to keep Mrs. Barrast in a good temper; but in the end she protested against such wholesale robbery.
"You will ruin Mr. Montrose if you take everything he gives you," she said to Amy, two weeks after that momentous agreement in Kensington Gardens.
"Oh, nonsense!" replied Mrs. Barrast airily. "The man has got more money than he knows what to do with. It's a man's duty to be agreeable. But of course, dear, if you are jealous——"
"I—jealous?"
Mrs. Barrast shrugged her elegant shoulders. "Well, my dear, it looks like it, you know. You needn't be if you are, I'm sure, for I can't marryhim, and I have no intention of running away with the dear thing."
"He wouldn't run away with you if you wanted to," said Alice crossly, and could have bitten out her tongue for the speech.
"Really!" Mrs. Barrast tittered significantly. "Has it gone as far as that?"
"What do you mean?" Alice grew red.
"My dear! You are a woman talking to a woman, so there is no need for you to try and deceive me. You want to marry this charming young fellow!"
"I don't admit that, Amy."
"Whether you admit it or deny it, what I state is the case."
"You have no right to say so. I like Mr. Montrose. I admire him!"
"Words! Words! Words! You love him. Look at yourself in the glass, my dear. I think your colour tells the truth."
"What if it does?"
"Ah! Then you admit that I am right?"
Alice saw that it was useless to fence with Mrs. Barrast, who was much too clever to be deceived and far too dangerous to be tampered with. "Yes! I am in love with—Mr. Montrose."
"Why not say with Douglas?" tittered the little woman.
"Douglas, if it pleases you."
"My dear, the question is if it pleasesyouand—him. Am I blind?" asked Mrs. Barrast dramatically. "Am I a fool? Do you think that during the past three weeks I have left you and that nice boy together without guessing the truth ages and ages ago? Inever ask for tickets. He gives them to me to get me out of the way, which"—ended the butterfly justly—"is not complimentary to me."
"I don't mind Mr.—well then, Douglas, giving you boxes at the theatres," said Alice petulantly; "but why take flowers and gloves and——"
"Because I want such things," retorted Mrs. Barrast coolly. "If you are foolish enough not to take presents from him, I don't see why I should not. But I am glad that we have come to an understanding, dear, as I wish to know if you are in earnest, or if you are merely flirting."
"And if I am flirting?"
"Then I think it's very horrid of you. He has a heart and hearts can be broken. I don't flirt myself," said Mrs. Barrast, uttering the lie with the greatest composure, "but if you are making a fool of that nice boy I shall take him off your hands and be a—a—well, a mother to him."
Alice laughed outright. "You are much too young and pretty to be a mother to any one, Amy!"
"That's right. Taunt me because I haven't any children. Frederick is always complaining, as if it was my fault, which I'm sure it isn't. But as to this flirting——"
"It isn't flirting. Douglas and I understand one another."
"Really. How sly you are! Has he said anything?"
"All that I wished him to say."
"Then he has proposed?"
"Yes!" Alice contented herself with the affirmative and did not trouble to give the date of theproposal. Mrs. Barrast understood that it had taken place within the last day or so, and even that displeased her.
"It's quite immoral for him to be so hasty," she exclaimed, because the idea of Montrose adoring Alice and not herself was annoying and hurt her vanity.
The girl smiled, wondering what her hostess would say if she knew that the proposal had been made three weeks previously. "He's in love, you see!"
"There is sense in all things, my dear. He has only known you a month."
"Of course! But love at first sight——"
"I don't believe in such a thing."
"Oh, Amy, what about Romeo and Juliet?"
"They are only things in a play. I don't think Juliet was at all respectable, and if she had lived in London instead of Verona, I should never have allowed her to visit me. Mr. Montrose should have behaved himself properly."
"What do you call proper behaviour on his part?"
"Well, he should have spoken to me first!"
"Douglas's idea of propriety differs from yours, Amy. He thought it was best to tell my father that he wished to marry me, before speaking to you."
"He could do no less," snapped Mrs. Barrast, still ruffled. "Has he written to Mr. Enistor?"
"Yes. Two days ago; but he has not yet received an answer. Nor have I, for I wrote to my father at the same time, asking him to consent to our engagement."
"Oh, he'll consent quick enough—your father, that is," sniffed the little woman. "He owes me agreat deal for bringing back that lost money to the family. If he is nice—I suppose heisnice, though Julian doesn't like him at all—I expect he'll give me a bracelet, or a muff-chain, or a——"
"Do you really mean that?" interrupted Alice, opening her eyes very wide.
"Of course! Why shouldn't I mean what I say?"
"How rapacious you are, Amy."
"What a nasty word when I'm only sensible. What is the use of men if they don't give us things?"
"Douglas will give you all you want, dear. After all, you brought us together."
This diplomatic remark cleared the air and banished the frown from Mrs. Barrast's small-featured face. "Of course I did. I saw that you two were meant for each other the moment you set eyes on one another. I advised you to get back your aunt's money by marriage, didn't I?"
"You certainly did," admitted Miss Enistor dryly, not thinking it necessary to explain that she loved Montrose for himself alone. "What you said has come true, Amy. Douglas desires to make me his wife, if my father consents."
"Oh, bother your father," cried Mrs. Barrast vigorously. "What does his consent matter when you have hooked a rich man?"
"Don't be vulgar, Amy!" said Alice, wincing.
"And don't be romantic. You can't deceive me. Mr. Montrose is rich."
"I would marry him without a sixpence."
"So you will," rejoined Mrs. Barrast caustically. "He has the sixpence, remember. I am glad, dear: you have played your cards well. Frederick will bepleased. He likes Mr. Montrose immensely, and you a great deal."
"I am glad he does," said Alice soberly, "but don't say anything until we hear from my father, Amy!"
It was with some difficulty that Miss Enistor induced the little woman to be silent, for Mrs. Barrast was so immensely pleased with what she took to be her own cleverness in bringing the matter to a favourable issue that she wanted to trumpet the news all over the place. There was no word now of impropriety or hasty wooing, for Alice let the butterfly think that the match was quite of her own making, and the butterfly spread sheltering wings over the happy pair. She did not tell Frederick, and as Frederick was wholly occupied with politics he did not see what was going on under his very nose. But with many mysterious becks and smiles and significant looks, the little woman managed to intimate that she was the fairy godmother of these particular lovers, whose romance was rapidly progressing towards fulfilment. Thus she made everything safe in a respectable way for Montrose to be constantly invited to dinner, and to be left alone with Alice more frequently than would have met with public approval had he not been courting. The young man's gratitude showed itself substantially and took the form of several pieces of jewellery, which the guardian angel was pleased to accept. Everything went as merry as a marriage bell, pending the reply of Enistor to Montrose's letter. That came four days after Alice had remonstrated with Mrs. Barrast for her shameless looting.
Mr. Enistor had written not only to Montrose but to his daughter with regard to the proposal, and when the two came together on this particular evening, they let one another know immediately that the fatal missives had been received. Luckily Mrs. Barrast, with a merry party, had gone to the Empire Music Hall and would not return until late. Montrose, as usual, had provided the box, purposely having done so to rid himself of an inconvenient third. Frederick was at the House, so he could not interfere, and Douglas had Alice all to himself in the large drawing-room. Mrs. Barrast, for the sake of propriety, had made him promise to await her return and have supper. Therefore everything was nicely arranged, and when quite alone, the lovers sat together on the sofa and looked into one another's eyes.
"Now," said Alice breathlessly, "the letters!"
"Not just yet," replied Montrose, taking her in his arms, "remember I have not seen you for forty-eight hours!"
"Oh, you foolish boy!"
Alice had some excuse for calling him so, although she liked the foolishness he displayed immensely. He dropped on his knees, holding her waist in his arms, and said all manner of delightful things, only interrupting his speeches to kiss her again and again and again. What he babbled need not be reported, as the talk of lovers, however pleasing to themselves, is extraordinarily silly when repeated to others. But the splendid glamour of love was over this pair, and what Douglas said sounded sublimely sensible to the girl, while the looks of Alice were those of a goddessto her adorer. Yet Montrose was a common-sense young man, and Miss Enistor only a tolerably pretty girl. The misleading passion of love excused each regarding the other as a divinity. They certainly did so and were as foolishly happy as Antony and Cleopatra were in their day of power. And like those famous lovers they would have regarded the world as well lost for love.
"But really!" cried Alice at last, recovering her reason first, which was natural since she was a woman, "we must be sensible."
"I think we are very sensible indeed."
"Other people would not think so."
"Why trouble about other people?" replied Montrose, reluctantly getting on his feet. "There are no other people. You and I are alone in the world."
"Indeed, I think we shall be unless my father consents," sighed Miss Enistor. "Not that there will be any loneliness with you beside me," she added.
"Darling!" Then another kiss and embrace before settling down to more prosaic conversation. "Tell me, dear, what does he say to you?"
"Much the same as he writes to you, Douglas, I expect." Alice took the letter from her pocket. "He is not angry as I expected he would be, and says nothing about Don Pablo. All he desires—so he says—is my happiness, and if he approves of you he is quite willing that we should marry."
"If he approves of me," echoed Montrose, reading the paternal letter over Alice's shoulder, "quite so. But suppose he doesn't approve?"
"Don't try to cross the bridge until you come to it, Douglas. Why shouldn't my father approve, nowthat he evidently has given up his idea of my marrying Don Pablo? Has my father asked you down to Tremore?"
"Yes!" said Montrose, producing his letter in turn, "how clever of you to guess that, dearest."
"I did not guess it, as you might have seen if you read my father's letter properly," said Alice quickly. "He says that he has asked you down, or intends to ask you down. I don't know which."
"Oh, here is the invitation," remarked the young man, waving his letter. "Mr. Enistor says that before he can consent to place your future in my hands he must become well acquainted with me. He invites me to Tremore for a visit of one month. In four weeks he hopes to give his decision."
Alice disconsolately replaced her epistle in her pocket and watched her lover put away his communication. "That doesn't sound very promising."
"Oh, but I think it does," said Montrose hopefully. "I don't see what else he could say if he entertains at all the idea of my marrying you. It is only natural that he should wish to know what kind of a husband I am likely to be to his adored daughter."
"Oh!" said Alice ironically, "does my father call me that?"
"Twice he calls you that in his letter."
"He doesn't mean it," the girl assured Montrose in a troubled way; "my father and I endure one another's society, but little love exists between us. The fault isn't mine, Douglas, as I was willing enough to love him when I came from school. But father has always kept me at arm's length, and hitherto my life has been loveless—save for Julian."
"Julian!" There was a jealous note in the young man's voice. "That is the name of Mrs. Barrast's brother, is it not?"
"Yes. I call him Julian and he calls me Alice."
"Confound his impudence!" fumed Montrose angrily.
"No impudence at all, Douglas. Julian is my very good friend: nothing more, I assure you. But if I had not met you, and if my father had insisted upon my becoming Don Pablo's wife, I should have married Julian."
"Oh, Alice," in a tone of deep reproach, "do you love him and not me?"
"No. I respect him. If I loved him you would not now be sitting beside me."
Still Montrose was not satisfied. "Is he good-looking?"
"Very; in a large stolid Anglo-Saxon way. He's an artist, but I don't think one would call him clever except as a painter of pictures."
"I see that you don't love him," said Douglas, his brow clearing; "but does Hardwick—that is his name, isn't it?—love you?"
"No," rejoined Alice promptly, "he thought that he did, but he really does not in the way a woman wants to be loved. He proposed and I rejected him on those grounds. Now he understands that I am right, and we have settled to be great friends."
"All the same you said you would have married him if——"
"If my father had insisted on my becoming the wife of Don Pablo," interrupted Alice swiftly. "Can't you understand, Douglas? I detest thisSpaniard, who is such a friend of my father, and of two evils I was prepared to choose the lesser. I did not want to marry Julian any more than I wanted to marry Don Pablo. But Julian is at least human, so——"
"Isn't Don Pablo human?" asked Montrose, interrupting in his turn.
"I don't believe he is," said Alice thoughtfully, "there is something dreadfully wicked about him. I can't explain, but when you meet him you will in some way guess my meaning."
"Humph! I shall certainly accept your father's invitation both to see this Spaniard and Hardwick also."
"And you understand my position?" urged Alice anxiously.
"Yes. I think I do. All the same I want you to assure me positively that you love no one else but me."
"There is no need to tell you what you already know," returned the girl in a calm positive way. "We are made for one another!"
"Darling!" he caught her in his arms, "I know. But I hope your father will think as we do."
"He means well," said Miss Enistor with a sigh of relief, "or he would not ask you down to Tremore."
It was at this interesting point in their interview that the lovers were interrupted. The footman opened the door to announce Dr. Eberstein, and when that gentleman entered the room the servant promptly retired. Montrose came forward with a look of amazed inquiry, which was reflected on the face of Alice. Both the young people wereastonished by the unexpected appearance of the doctor.
"I thought you were still in Paris, Eberstein," cried Douglas, as his friend shook hands with both.
"I arrived in London to-day!"
"Why didn't you let me know?"
"There was no need to. It was necessary that you should quite understand one another before I came on the scene." Eberstein looked from one flushed face to the other with a smile. "You do understand, I see."
"We are engaged," blurted out Montrose awkwardly.
"Then that means an understanding," said the doctor cheerfully, with a benevolent look in his grey eyes. "I hope it means also mutual trust."
"I am quite sure it does," cried Alice vehemently, "nothing Douglas could say or do would ever make me doubt him."
"And I would believe in Alice if all the world were against her," said the young man decisively.
"That is good hearing," observed the doctor pleasantly, "union is strength."
"Every one knows that, don't they, doctor?" said Miss Enistor rather pertly.
"Perhaps," he replied, "but few practise it. You wonder why I have come here to-night. It is because you both need me. All seems to be sunshine at the present moment. You love one another devotedly: you think that Mr. Enistor is well disposed towards your engagement——"
"Oh!" interrupted Alice, with a frightened lookin her eyes. "How do you know that my father is aware of our engagement?"
"The letters you received to-day——"
This time Montrose interrupted, and there was a note of awe in his voice. "I believe you know everything, Eberstein."
"I know that you are invited down to Cornwall, so that Mr. Enistor may judge if you are the man he would choose to be his son-in-law."
"But how do you know?" said Alice, startled. "You make me afraid!"
Eberstein took her hand and gazed directly into her eyes. "Are you sure that I make you afraid?" he asked gently.
"Why, no!" Alice felt the momentary fear vanish in an unaccountable way.
"And you trust me even though you have known me such a short time? Remember, you have only met me once, Miss Enistor." He loosened his soft, reassuring grasp and leaned back in his chair.
"I do trust you," said the girl promptly, "you have been kind to Douglas."
"Is that the sole reason?"
Alice stared at him doubtfully. "It is the only reason I can give. No one but a good man and a kind friend would have saved Douglas's life as you did."
"Perhaps no, perhaps yes," said the doctor enigmatically, "but I advised our friend here to keep Lady Staunton's money. My interest in him may not be so philanthropic as you imagine it to be."
"Doctor!" said Montrose indignantly, "how can you talk so?"
"Hush!" Eberstein threw up his hand. "I want Miss Enistor to speak."
"What can I say but that I trust you? I am sure there is some good reason why Douglas should keep my aunt's money. You would not have advised him to keep it otherwise."
"But if your father pointed out that he should have enjoyed the fortune and that I wish Montrose to keep it so that I can make use of the money through him? What then?"
"Still I must believe in you and trust you," persisted Alice steadily. "My father does not want the fortune." Eberstein smiled slightly. "Oh, I assure you he does not. He has said nothing about it. As to doubting you, doctor, he does not know you."
"He will some day and then he may doubt me. Remember when he does and tries to turn you against me that I have foretold the possibility of such a warning. You say you will trust me. Good! I accept the assurance. Montrose?"
"I believe in you now as I always have done," said the young man eagerly. "I don't understand why you are talking in this way, though."
"You don't understand many things at present," said Eberstein dryly; "when you do, pain will come with the knowledge. Necessary pain. Go to Cornwall and meet Mr. Enistor. While the sun still shines you will not see me. But when dark clouds obscure the light, then I shall be at your side."
"You will come to Cornwall?" asked Alice quickly.
"When the need arises."
"Will it arise?"
Eberstein looked from one to the other quietly. "Yes! The need will arise."
"What need?" demanded Montrose, bewildered.
"Enough for the day is the evil thereof," said Eberstein serenely, "and that also applies to the good. All is well with you as yet, so enjoy the passing moment and draw from peace the necessary strength for conflict. Gold must be refined in the fire, and you must both be cast into the furnace. Yet be not afraid. The same God who saved Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego will save you. You are neither of you afraid," he ended positively.
Arm in arm the lovers stood and they glanced at one another as the doctor spoke. "We are not afraid," they declared simultaneously, and spoke the truth.
"Behold then," said Eberstein solemnly, "how great is Love which can cast out fear!" and over them he made the holy sign.
IN CORNWALL
It was August when Alice returned home. As soon as her father learned that she had become engaged to Montrose, he sent for her. Now that the mouse had entered the trap there was no need for the girl to remain in London and spend money. Mrs. Barrast was sorry to lose the companionship of Miss Enistor, not only because she liked her as much as one of her shallow nature could like any one, but for a more selfish reason. With Alice departed Montrose, and although he did not go immediately down to Cornwall, he scarcely came near the house in Hans Crescent. Thus Mrs. Barrast was deprived of the many presents which she loved to receive. However, she had done very well, and made the best of her loss, since the girl's visit, because of Montrose's love-making, had not been unprofitable to her. Mrs. Barrast was very affectionate when Alice departed, and made her promise to return when she became Mrs. Douglas Montrose. Alice readily consented, for though Amy was vain and selfish, yet the fact that the love-romance had taken place beneath her roof made the girl regard her as a most excellent friend. All the same she was not sorry to return to Cornwall, as she was weary of the frivolous London life.
In the railway train Alice became quite depressed. She was coming back to dreary Tremore, to her father's uncongenial society, and perhaps to theunpleasant attentions of Don Pablo. But on this latter point she was reassured by her father's letter. Although he had not quite consented to the marriage with Montrose, and would not consent until he had seen the young man, yet, in the face of his half-approval, he certainly would not allow her to be troubled by Don Pablo. Certainly the Spaniard had great influence with the squire of Polwellin, and might not be inclined to surrender the girl whom he desired to make his wife. But Douglas, as Alice reflected, would soon be on the spot, and he would deal with Narvaez, if the old man became troublesome. On the whole, therefore, even though matters were a trifle unsettled, Alice concluded that the new life would be better than the old. At all events she would not be quite so lonely, and that was something. Of course Dr. Eberstein had predicted trouble, but also he had agreed to come down when the trouble arrived. This comforted the girl not a little, as she had the greatest confidence in Montrose's friend. Why, she could scarcely say, as she knew next to nothing about him. But his mere look, let alone the touch of his hand, was enough to make her feel strangely brave and happy. If Don Pablo was all evil, Dr. Eberstein was all good. Yet why one should be this and the other that, Alice could not tell. Doubtless, as Douglas had suggested, Eberstein could have enlightened both on this point. But he had not done so, and beyond warning them that they could count upon his help in the trouble which was surely coming, he had said very little. Therefore, these two young people had to walk by faith, and very bravely did so.
At Perchton, which was the nearest station toPolwellin, Alice quite expected to find her father waiting for her, since, little as he loved her, he must surely be anxious to see how she looked after her long absence. But Mr. Enistor was not on the platform, and Alice with a rather forlorn feeling alighted from her compartment. In London she had grown accustomed to love and attention, so the neglect of the present moment brought on her depression again. But that vanished in a trice when a strong hand took the small bag she was carrying, and a strong voice sounded in her ears.
"Here you are at last," said Julian brightly. "I have been waiting for nearly an hour, Alice."
"Oh, Julian!" she took his hand, to press it warmly. "I am so glad you are here. I was feeling quite dismal because father has not come to meet me."
"I thought you would be. Yesterday I asked him if he intended to come to Perchton, but as he said that he had no time I came in his stead."
"And left your painting. How good of you."
"Not at all. We are brother and sister, are we not?"
"I don't think many brothers would take so much trouble to be kind to their sisters," said Alice brightly. "Did father send the carriage?"
"No. One of the horses is laid up. But a friend of mine has a motor, so I made him lend it to take you to Tremore. Where is your baggage?"
"Oh, I must look for it in the van and get a porter and——"
"You'll do nothing of the sort," interrupted Hardwick quickly, "go and sit in the motor; there it is. I can see to your boxes. How many?"
"Two large and one small," said Alice, and gladly settled herself in the very comfortable vehicle, while Julian went back into the station.
Shortly he returned with a porter and the boxes were duly placed on the motor. Julian stepped in beside the girl, and a word to the chauffeur sent the splendid machine humming down the narrow street like a giant bee. Then the two had time to look at one another, and Julian approved of the girl's appearance. Love had made her blossom like a rose. She was less ethereal than she had been, and the sad look on her delicate face had vanished. Also, as Mrs. Barrast had attended to her frocks, and had introduced her to Madame Coralie, the girl was singularly smart and attractive as regards clothes. A smile was on Julian's face as he looked at her.
"You went away a duckling and you return a swan," he said.
"Oh, what a doubtful compliment," said Alice gaily; "am I then, or rather was I, an ugly duckling?"
"No, my dear, you were never anuglyduckling, but what I mean is that you have turned from a fairy into a pretty nymph."
"That is better," said Miss Enistor graciously, as the motor whizzed out of the town and began to climb the long winding road to the moors. "You are improving, Julian. But you don't ask me how I have enjoyed myself."
"There is no need. Your appearance speaks for you."
Alice laughed. "Do you think that my looks are due simply to a short season of pleasure in London?"
"Well, not exactly," rejoined Hardwick in hisstolid way; "in fact, seeing that you have been staying with Amy, I expected you to look more fagged than you do. Amy makes a toil of pleasure and is certainly a very wearing woman to live with."
"She is a dear," said Miss Enistor warmly, "and has been most kind. But you are right about her feverish pursuit of pleasure," she said, with an after-thought. "Amy never rests!"
"And never lets any one else rest, which is worse," said Julian grimly; he looked at her sideways. "Yes! Mere London pleasure cannot account for your happy looks. Well, let me know who he is!"
"Let you know who he is?" repeated Alice, blushing and looking prettier than ever, "do you mean——"
"I think you know what I mean. You are in love at last."
Like a woman Alice did not reply directly to the remark. "Are you very angry, Julian?" she asked, laying a timid hand on his arm.
"My dear, I am not angry at all. We are brother and sister, you know. Long ago I discovered that you were right as to my proposal and I was wrong. All that I could do for you was to accept the situation of your future husband if Don Pablo insisted upon marrying you. But I presume I can now resign that position," ended Hardwick gravely.
"He is called Douglas Montrose," said Alice, still evasive.
"A very pretty name for Prince Charming. Yes, your father mentioned to me that the young man had written to him, and he also mentioned that Montrose is the fortunate person who has inheritedLady Staunton's money. So Amy got her own way, as I knew she would. An inveterate matchmaker is Amy."
Alice opened her eyes widely. "Did you guess then?"
"Not so much guess as know," replied Hardwick composedly. "Amy wrote about her desire that you should become Mrs. Montrose."
"And you?"
"I was pleased, of course. Amy told me how deeply you loved the man."
"She could not tell that for certain," pouted Alice doubtfully.
"I am not so sure of that. Women are proverbially clever and shrewd in anything that has to do with love-making. However, it seems she was right: your bright eyes and crimson cheeks tell me as much."
"I may as well confess that I love Douglas," admitted Alice boldly, "and he loves me. Already we have asked father's consent to our marriage."
"He will give it without doubt, Alice. It is a happy way of getting back the lost money."
"Oh the money! the money!" she cried petulantly; "you talk just as Amy talks, Julian. As if I cared for money. I love Douglas, and if he were a pauper I would marry him. And my father has not jumped at the chance of getting back the money, as you seem to think. He won't say yes and he won't say no."
"He must say something," remarked Julian, with a shrug.
"Nothing. He refuses to give his decision until he knows more about Douglas."
Hardwick nodded. "That is natural and sensible. So the young man is coming to Tremore to be put through his paces?"
"How clever of you to guess that. He is—in a few days. Oh, how anxious I feel, Julian. So much depends upon my father."
"He will consent, I am sure, Alice. With such a disposition as you have, you could choose no one but a really good man for your husband."
Alice laughed a trifle bitterly, which was strange considering her prospects and happy state of mind. "Goodness or badness matter very little when one is in love, Julian. And they do not matter at all to my father so long as I marry a rich man. It is a good thing for me that Douglas has plenty of money, for only in that way will things run smoothly for both of us. Otherwise I feel certain that my father would still insist upon my marrying Don Pablo."
"Humph!" said Hardwick meditatively. "The question is, 'Would Don Pablo marry you?' my dear girl."
"He is supposed to be in love with me," said Alice, puzzled. "You know how he has bothered me, Julian."
"Oh, yes, I know. But there is Rose Penwin, you know, that fisherman's pretty daughter."
Alice turned to look at him in astonishment. "What about her?"
"Señor Narvaez has taken an unaccountable admiration for her since you departed for London."
"Unaccountable!" Miss Enistor's lip curled. "There is nothing unaccountable in any man admiring a pretty girl, and Rose is more than pretty!"
"She is," said Hardwick calmly. "Pretty is not the word to apply to a beautiful and stately woman such as Rose Penwin is."
"Brunhild or Brynhild—what do you call that Norse goddess you said you so admired until you met me?"
"I never admired any Norse goddess," said Hardwick, laughing. "I simply quoted Brynhild as a type. Yes, Rose Penwin is of that type, but I am not in love with her."
"Don Pablo is?"
"So I am given to understand from village gossip. You know I chatter frequently to the fishermen and their wives. Well, Don Pablo has been paying great attention to Rose; giving her presents and——"
"Does she accept his attentions?" interrupted Miss Enistor, astonished.
"Yes and no. She does in a way, as she wants to make Job Trevel jealous!"
"Job Trevel," said Alice thoughtfully; "to be sure! He is my foster-brother, Julian, as I told you how Dame Trevel brought me up. But I thought it was understood that Rose was to marry Job."
"Too thoroughly understood," said Julian dryly. "It seems that Job is so certain of Rose that he does not trouble to pay her those pretty attentions which a lover should. Thus, to make him jealous, Rose pretends to accept the attentions of Don Pablo."
"That old mummy. He can't even feel love."
"No! I agree with you there, and I am puzzled to know what his game is. Why should an old man of eighty run after a girl of nineteen?"
"He ran after me and bothered me enough, as youknow," said Alice in a thoughtful manner. "He must be mad. Yet I do not think a madman would or could exercise such an influence over my father. However, Job can scarcely be jealous of Señor Narvaez, who might be Rose's great-grandfather."
"He is jealous, however. Don Pablo is wealthy and Rose likes pretty things, you know. She may not love the old reprobate: she could not. All the same the prospect of unlimited money——"
"Oh, nonsense!" broke in Alice vigorously, "she would not be so wicked. If I see anything of her treating Job badly I shall speak to her. I am very fond of my foster-brother even though he has a bad temper."
"All the worse for Don Pablo if he has," said Hardwick significantly. "Rose is playing with fire. Love on one hand, wealth on the other: which will she choose, do you think? I assure you, Alice, that there are the elements of a tragedy in these things."
"It may be all imagination on your part," said the girl after a pause, "and in any case, if Don Pablo now admires Rose, he will leave me alone, and my father will have no excuse to forbid my marrying Douglas."
Julian wrinkled his brow disapprovingly. "Isn't that a selfish way of looking at the matter?"
"It is! It is!" acknowledged Alice with sudden compunction. "Love does make one selfish, Julian."
"Yet love should have the opposite effect, my dear girl. You usually have such a high standard that it seems strange you should fall short of it in this way. But you have been with Amy, and although she ismy own sister, even a short time in her company does harm. She is not bad—I don't mean that, Alice: but Amy is excessively selfish and she seems to have contaminated you in some way."
Alice grew scarlet, as never before had Julian dared to speak to her in this reproving style. Yet she felt that he was right, and took no offence. "I am glad you have said what you have said, Julian. I should not have spoken as I did. It was narrow and selfish, as you say. I must think of others even if love for Douglas fills my heart. I shall see Dame Trevel and Job and in some way I shall learn the truth. You may be sure that I shall do what I can to put matters right between Rose and Job."
Hardwick patted her hand. "That is spoken like the trump you are, Alice, my dear. I knew that you were not thinking of what you were saying. As you are in love, there is some excuse——"
"No! No! Don't weaken your good advice, Julian. There is no excuse for one to fall short of one's standard. Your warning has done me good. You are a dear kind boy, and if I had not met Douglas——"
"You would have loved me," ended Hardwick, smiling. "No, dear, don't deceive yourself. If we had married we should have been comrades, but never man and wife in the true spiritual sense. The marriage made in heaven is the only true marriage. You said something of that sort when you refused me. How entirely right you were, Alice!"
The girl looked at him with a whimsical look in her eyes and wondered at his simplicity. "What a child you are, Julian. Nine women out of ten wouldtake offence at such a cool assurance that your love for me has perished."
"Probably," returned Julian composedly, "nine women out of ten are dogs in the manger, but you, my dear Alice, are the tenth. I shall be glad to see Montrose. Tell me all about him."
"That is difficult," said Miss Enistor absently, "let me think for a moment."
Julian could not see why it should be difficult for a young girl in the first delicious phase of a perfect passion to talk to an intimate friend, such as he truly was, of her feelings. But he did not understand what was passing in Alice's mind. Her wooing was of so unusual a character, and had so much to do with psychic matters concerning which Hardwick knew nothing, that it was hard to explain the swift love which had drawn her and Douglas together. For one moment she hesitated, and the next decided not to speak. Julian would not understand, and she evaded a direct answer to his question by a truly feminine subterfuge. "I would rather you judged Douglas for yourself without looking at him through my eyes. He will be here in a few days and then you can give me your opinion."
"Well," said Julian in his usual stolid way, "perhaps you are right!" after which calm acceptance of the situation he became silent.
While the two young people had been talking, the car had pursued its way towards Tremore steadily and swiftly. Along the winding white roads it glided, with the spreading no-man's-land of purple heather on either side. How Alice loved it all; the vast moorlands sprinkled with grey blocks of granite;the tumbled steepness of black cliffs; the far-stretching spaces of the gleaming ocean and the life-giving winds that breathed across the limitless lands. For the moment she wondered how she had ever endured the narrow, muffling London streets, with their twice-breathed airs and garish lights. Like a thing of life the great car swung untiringly along, and the landscape widened out at every turn of the road. She felt as though she had come out of a stifling cavern into a spacious world, and flung out her hands in ecstatic greeting to the majesty of Nature. Reborn through love into a wider consciousness, the girl's seeing and hearing now embraced an appreciation of much to which she had been formerly deaf and blind. Sound seemed sweeter, colour more vivid and life dearer. There was a feeling of spring in the autumnal air, and Alice felt that she wished to dance and sing and generally rejoice out of sheer lightheartedness.
"I am made one with Nature," she exclaimed, thrilling to the beauty of land and sea. "Doesn't Shelley say something like that in 'Adonais'?"
"I never read poetry," replied Julian stolidly. "To my mind poets only say in many words what a journalist says in few."
"What a pagan sentiment," cried Miss Enistor gaily, "and how untrue. Oh, there is Tremore!"
Assuredly it was, and the grey house looked more sinister than ever in the pale sunshine. It placed its dark spell on Alice, for as the motor-car breasted the hill, her gay spirits left her and she became as pale as hitherto she had been rosy. With wonderment and regret Julian saw again the wan girl whohad left for London weeks before, and anxiously inquired if she felt ill.
"No," said Alice, rousing herself with an effort from the lethargy which had fallen on her. "I feel quite well, but less full of vitality than when I arrived at Perchton. It is the idea of Tremore, I think," she shuddered. "You know what a gloomy house it is."
"Montrose will dispel the gloom when he arrives," suggested Hardwick.
Alice brightened. "Oh, I am sure he will. But how nice of you to say that. You are not a bit jealous."
"I believe you are annoyed because I am not, my dear girl," laughed the artist.
"Julian, how can you say such a thing?" she replied absently; then added in a markedly irrelevant manner, "I hope father will be glad to see me."
Mr. Enistor may have been glad, but he certainly did not appear at the door to show his gladness. Alice's boxes were taken into the house, and Julian departed in the car, declining to enter, on the plea that father and daughter would have much to say to one another. Alice did not seek to stay him. She felt chilled by the absence of welcome and the sombre atmosphere of the big house. The beaten space of ground upon which it stood seemed to isolate it from the warm laughing world of vivid life, and she entered with the feeling that she was descending into a vault. Nor did the greeting of her father tend to dissipate this impression of dismay. He received her in the library with a cold kiss and without rising from his chair.
"Well, Alice, how are you?" He looked at her keenly as she stood by the table, white and frozen into silence. "Your stay in town does not appear to have done you much good."
"Oh, I feel all right," said the girl, with an effort to be her true self.
"You don't look all right," snapped Enistor, rather disappointed. "After all the money you have spent you certainly should have a more healthy appearance. H'm! I think I understand," he paused a moment, then added bitingly, "your new lover has disappointed you. Is that it?"
"No!" Alice roused herself to offer a protest. "Douglas is all that I can wish, father."
"I hope for your sake that he is allIcan wish. If he isn't I shall certainly not allow you to marry him. There is always Don Pablo to——"
At this speech Alice did wake up and a colour flushed her cheeks. "Don Pablo, if I am to believe Julian, has fallen in love with Rose Penwin."
"I didn't know that Hardwick was such a gossip," said Enistor coolly. "As to falling in love, Narvaez is much too sensible a man. He admires the girl for her beauty and has given her several presents of jewellery. At Don Pablo's age no one can object to that."
"Job Trevel can, and Job Trevel does."
"More gossip," sneered Enistor. "Your artist friend appears to have informed himself accurately of the situation. But it matters nothing to you or to me, since neither of us has any right to interfere with Don Pablo's likes or dislikes. You are the one he loves, Alice."
"I thought you said a moment ago that he was too sensible to fall in love!"
The Squire shrugged his shoulders. "I meant in the silly way of boys and girls. Narvaez' love is of a deeper and more spiritual kind. He admires Rose as a beautiful girl; he adores you as a soul."
"I don't want his adoration!" said Alice wearily, for it seemed hard that the usual wrangling should begin the moment she returned home.
"You prefer Montrose's adoration no doubt. Well, I have no objection so long as I approve of the young man and he does what I want."
"What is that?"
"He must restore the money which your aunt left him."
"I thought you did not care for the money, father?"
"I care very much indeed for the money, although I have never emphasised the fact. Only because he has it did I even consider the possibility of your marrying him. I should much prefer you to be Narvaez' wife. However, we shall see when the young man arrives. Meantime you had better lie down as you seem to be worn out by your journey. It's waste of money to send you away."
Alice bit her lips to keep back her tears and breathed a prayer that Eberstein should help her to throw off the deadly influence of the house. Even as she did so the relief came, and she felt a wave of vitality run through her body. The weary, languid sense of utter desolation left her; the colour returned to her cheeks, the brightness to her eyes and the strength to her whole being. Enistor saw the statue come tolife, and in place of a wan, weak girl beheld a living, breathing woman, very much alive. He stared amazed.
"What has come to you?" he demanded, startled and puzzled.
"Love," said Alice quietly, "love and life instead of hate and death!"
Enistor quivered, since he knew that the first mentioned forces were at war with himself and his dark Master.