CHAPTER XXI.
Asthe time went by, with this new-found happiness and energy Skelton began every day to take more optimistic views of the future. If only the Blairs would keep quiet, the story about Lewis might remain unknown to the world at large indefinitely; and how excellent would this be for all—for the boy, for Sylvia, and for Skelton himself.
There was, of course, one way of inducing Blair to say nothing and to make no attempts to prove what he considered his rights, and that was to offer him a sum of money in hand for his shadowy prospects in the future. At first, this plan was intolerably distasteful to Skelton; he only thought of it to dismiss it. But however he might dismiss it, still it returned. It is true it would give aid and comfort to his enemy, but it would also give peace and pleasure to the only two persons on earth whom he loved; for he was certain that, however Sylvia might be willing to brave talk for his sake, it would be an immeasurable relief to her to know that there would be no talk. Skelton also knew perfectly well that the Blairs stood no show whatever; for, even if Lewis should die, the Blairs could not inherit from him, because in the eyes of the law he was no relation tothem, and it had pleased Skelton to think how completely he could checkmate Blair at every turn. But once the plan had entered his mind, his relentless and logical good sense forced him to consider it. He thought so much more clearly and rapidly and conclusively than the ordinary man that in a very little time his mind had made itself up. He did not all at once love Blair, but he saw that, in order to effect a great gain for the only two beings he loved in the world, he must agree to benefit his enemy; and so, under new and better influences, he brought himself to yield. As Bulstrode was Lewis’s guardian, of course Skelton could arrange with him as he chose.
When his determination was finally fixed, he told Bulstrode, who said:
“Humph! Best thing you could do. Perhaps the story about Lewis may never be positively known.Idon’t want to publish it, and he doesn’t, and you don’t; so just get the Blairs to hold their tongues, and it need not be known any farther than it is now, for God knows how long—perhaps not until you and I both are dust. Dear, sweet Mrs. Blair can hold her tongue, I warrant, if any of the sex can.�
Bulstrode, fearing that, after all, the Blairs stood no chance, was glad for his dear Mrs. Blair to get enough to put her beyond the reach of poverty.
Skelton felt compelled to mention it to Sylvia. Her relief at the thought that the story need not be published broadcast was so intense that Skelton saw that she had suffered much from the apprehension of it. As she had said not one word about it, he was touched at her reticence and self-sacrifice. He smiled at the thought that he was being influencedby a woman and a boy, and the trio was completed when the parson finished the job. Conyers coming down to Deerchase on a visit about that time, Skelton, very unexpectedly to the clergyman, talked the subject over with him on ethical grounds. Naturally, Conyers endorsed the idea that Skelton’s money could not be put to a better use than to helping Mrs. Blair and her children; and so, by the three influences that Skelton was supposed to be least governed, he made up his mind to do that which a year before he would have scoffed at. Conyers’s ideas on matters of right and wrong were so clear and logical, he was so little befogged by interest and prejudice, that Skelton could not but respect his opinion. True, his mind was made up when he talked with Conyers about the matter; but the clergyman’s clearness of belief that the thing was right nullified some of the old restless hatred of Blair.
“Of course, we shall hate each other as long as we live,� said Skelton, in his cynically good-natured way, when talking with Conyers about Blair. “But, however Blair may congratulate himself on getting something for nothing—for that is what it is—I shall get a great deal more. I shall keep people from knowing my private affairs for at least several years to come, and that is worth a fortune to any man.�
Skelton acted promptly on his decision. He wrote Blair briefly and clearly how things stood, but that, if he would refrain from making any attempt to prove his supposed claims to the property upon Skelton’s approaching marriage, a modest sum in ready money would be forthcoming. He offeredBlair every facility for finding out the actual state of the case, and invited him to come over to Deerchase and consult about it.
Blair told his wife, who, womanlike, advised him to take the bird in the hand.
But during the discussion in the Deerchase library one mild September morning, between the two men, the whole thing liked to have fallen through. Blair saw so conclusively he had no show that he perceived he was accepting hush money. This his pride could by no means admit, and he professed not to consider Skelton’s proofs so positive as Skelton thought them. This angered Skelton. He saw in a moment where the shoe pinched. The sum that Skelton offered him was by no means commensurate with the interests he was giving up, if he had any interests at all; but still it would put him on his feet; it would make him solvent; he would once more be a free man. But Blair would not acknowledge this; he professed to be quite indifferent to it, and, as men will do under such circumstances, declared he preferred that the law should settle it. It was as much as Skelton could do to refrain from calling him a fool. However, Blair was no fool; he was only an intensely human man, who loved and hated as most men do, and who wanted to satisfy his creditors, but who did not like the idea of his enemy knowing that he was taking money for holding his tongue because his rights in the matter had proved to be a chimera. It looked at one time as if the final word would be a disagreement. Skelton sat on one side of the table, with a contemptuous half-smile on his countenance, drawing pen-and-ink sketches upon scraps of paper.Blair sat on the other side, his face as black as midnight. But in the end Skelton’s strong determination prevailed on Blair’s more violent but less certain will power; coolness prevailed over hot-headedness, reason over unreason. At the very last, when Blair had yielded and agreed to take some thousands of dollars, a strange thing happened to Skelton. A perfectly sudden, overpowering, and phenomenal generosity seized upon him. All at once he realised how hard he had been upon Blair’s susceptibilities; Blair was a gentleman, and high-strung for all his faults; it was humiliating to him to want the money so badly that he was obliged to take it; he would have liked to have flung it in Skelton’s face; and, thinking this over rapidly, without a word Skelton sat down, pulled the completed draft of the agreement toward him, and doubled the first figure of the sum named.
Blair could hardly believe his eyes. He looked at Skelton for fully five minutes, while the thing was slowly impressing itself upon his mind. His face flushed scarlet; his lips worked; he was deeply agitated. Skelton walked to the window and looked out. His eyes sought the river, and fell upon a boat with its one white sail gleaming like silver in the morning light; and in the boat were Sylvia and Lewis. His heart stirred; those two young creatures were doing their work of humanising him.
Presently Blair spoke some incoherent words of thanks, and Skelton turned. The two enemies of long standing faced each other. It was a moment exquisitely painful to both. Skelton, in being generous, could be thoroughly so; and he was moreanxious to escape from Blair than Blair was to escape from him. He motioned with his hand deprecatingly and rang the bell. Bob Skinny appeared, and Skelton directed him to call Mr. Bulstrode and Miles Lightfoot. Skelton had no mind to take up any more time in the business than he could help. The subject was distasteful to him, and he intended to settle it all at one sitting. Likewise he employed no lawyer. He was lawyer enough for so simple a thing as an agreement of that sort; so in two minutes it was signed, witnessed, and sealed, and Blair had Skelton’s cheque in his pocket. Blair went off, half dazed, with his cheque and his agreement in his breast pocket. Skelton put his copy in his strong box, and when he had turned the key upon it he felt as if he had locked up his hatred with it. Bulstrode wanted to see him about some work he had finished, and Miles Lightfoot was eager to tell him something about his horses, but Skelton sent them both off impatiently. He was in no mood for books or horses then. He threw himself in his chair and enjoyed for the first time the luxury of befriending an enemy. Strange, strange feeling!