CHAPTER XXIII.
Miss Lawson kept to her word and departed on the following day for Hurstley, despite all Margery’s pleading and wishes. The short visit had been a great pleasureto them both. To Margery the very sight of her governess had brought back a wave of her brief past happiness, and unconsciously soothed her; and Miss Lawson had felt her heart thrill with pride and gladness to see her pupil grown so fair and lovely a woman, and surrounded by all that she could desire. Yet the strange sadness in Margery’s eyes would haunt her. What could be the secret that had destroyed her girlishness and brought such an expression to the young face? Miss Lawson pondered this deeply, but could arrive at no solution of the mystery, and indeed would have been no little astonished had she learned what link it was that bound Margery’s heart to Hurstley. She knew the girl had been acquainted with Stuart Crosbie; but that fact was not strange, for Stuart had a kind word and smile for every one in the village, and Margery, of course, shared this general friendship with the rest.
Lord Court had welcomed Miss Lawson warmly and courteously, and even in their brief meeting a mutual liking sprung up between them. The earl was delighted to see the flush of pleasure, called up by her presence, on Margery’s face, and he added his entreaties to his wife’s to urge the governess to stay longer; but their pleadings were vain, and Margery could only kiss her true friend and let her depart, having first extracted from her a promise of an early visit to Court Manor.
The afternoon on which Miss Lawson left was gloomy and wet, and Margery felt sad and a little lonely as she sat with her books and work. Her husband had gone to the club before luncheon, and she had decided to make the best of a long afternoon when the door opened and he appeared.
“Do you feel inclined to go out, my darling?” he asked, tenderly, bending to imprint a kiss on her brow.
Margery looked up inquiringly.
“Because,” he explained, “I should like to take you with me to call on an old friend who is ill. I had no idea he was in England. As a rule, he is wandering round the world in a most extraordinary fashion. But I saw Notteway at the club, and he told me Gerant has been down with rheumatic fever for the last six weeks and was quite alone. So I looked in on him for a few minutes,and, having mentioned my young wife, he pressed me to bring you around to see him, if you had nothing better to do.”
“I will go with pleasure,” replied Margery, rising. “Who is he, Nugent?”
“Sir Douglas Gerant. I knew him years ago in England; but we met abroad principally, and I liked him very much. He is a peculiar, almost uncouth, man, but so kind and good—as tender as a woman and most unselfish. For these weeks past he has been very ill; but he would not let his people know, and has been attended only by his servant, who has been his companion in all his travels.”
“And he would really like to see me?” queried Lady Court, putting her dainty work into its basket.
“He seemed to wish it. I happened to mention that I was married; and, when I spoke of my happiness, he said, in his old abrupt manner: ‘Bring her to see me, Court, if she will not be frightened by such an old savage;’ so I came at once. But if you would rather not go——”
“Oh, I should like to see him!” broke in Margery. “Poor man, all alone! And I have nothing to do this afternoon. I will not be long, Nugent.”
With a tender smile the earl watched her graceful figure flit through the doorway; then he walked to the fireplace, and, leaning his back against it, gave himself up to pleasant thoughts. The careworn look, the expression of trouble and pain was gone from his face; hope seemed written on every manly feature, and the handsome, dark eyes flashed with a light of gladness that spoke plainly of his altered life.
Margery was soon back. She had put on her sables, a round cap of the same rich fur surmounting her red-gold curls, and for once she wore no veil. She had determined to hide herself no longer. She had nothing to fear; it was she who had been wronged and insulted. Pride lent her strength, and she felt that her eyes could meet Vane’s clearly and coldly now, even though her heart still ached with the pain Stuart Crosbie had caused.
The earl settled her comfortably in the carriage, and then stepped in himself.
“This weather is terrible,” he said, as they started. “Once this law business is settled, Margery, I think I shall take you to a warmer climate, to see the sunshine and breathe the scent of flowers.”
“There is one pilgrimage I must make before we do that,” returned Margery, in a low voice. “I cannot rest till I have visited Enid’s grave.”
The earl raised her little black-gloved hand to his lips.
“You speak only of my heart’s thoughts, my own; but I hesitated to take you to the manor in this wet, gloomy weather. I thought the sunshine would——”
“Sunshine is beautiful; but the manor is home, and is near her.”
Margery smiled faintly; she was compelled to speak these words, for she felt almost overpowered by this tender devotion, and suffered miserably as she thought how poorly she could return it. Henceforth it mattered little to her where she lived; but, if her choice of the manor brought him pleasure, she was glad.
“Home!” repeated Lord Court, tenderly. “Ah, Margery, you cannot know what a wealth of happiness there is in that word! Thank you, dear, for uttering it. Yes, we will go home.”
They were silent after this till they reached a quiet street in an unfashionable quarter, and presently the earl handed Margery into the doorway of a tall, gloomy-looking house.
“Gerant always stays here,” he said, as they went upstairs. “Will you remain here, my dearest, till I see if he is ready to receive you?”
Margery smiled, and waited in a room that looked cozy and picturesque in the fireglow. The walls were hung with weapons of all nations; a heterogeneous mass of quaint, curious things were grouped in corners; carved and painted gourds were placed here and there, with ivory ornaments and rare bits of china. It represented a strange contrast to the dull, ordinary exterior of the house, and Margery found much to attract her till her husband returned.
“Now, my darling, come with me. Loose that heavycloak, or you will be too warm; and, if the old man asks you to sing, will you gratify him?”
“With all my heart.”
Lord Court led his wife across a passage, and pushed open a door hung with curtains. The room that she entered was almost dark, but Margery saw a low, flat couch pulled near the fire, with a gray head resting on the pillow. She could not see the invalid’s face properly, but a faint something in the dark eyes struck her as familiar.
“I have brought my wife to see you, as I promised, Gerant,” said the earl, cheerfully, leading Margery to the couch.
“It is kind of you to come, Lady Court,” the sick man answered, in a faint, weak voice. “I have known your husband a long, long time—years, eh, Court?”
Where had Margery heard that voice before? It sounded familiar, faint and husky as it was.
“I am very glad to come,” she responded, simply, and took the chair the servant pushed forward.
“And Margery will sing for you, if you like.”
“Margery!” whispered the sick man; and then he tried to raise his head from the pillow. “Margery!” he repeated.
“I think Sir Douglas is ill,” said Margery, rather frightened, turning to the servant.
“It is weakness, my lady,” returned the man.
“Let me raise him a little,” said the earl. “I think he wants to speak.” In a lower tone he added to the servant: “He’s much weaker than he was this morning; what is it?”
“Spasms at the heart, my lord; his heart is very weak.”
“Don’t be alarmed, my darling,” whispered the earl to Margery. Then he put his arm round the sick man, and raised him easily into a sitting posture.
Sir Douglas tried to murmur thanks, but for a few seconds his weakness was too great. Then, as his strength came back, he stretched out a thin, white hand to the girl sitting in the shadow.
“Come into the light,” he whispered, “that I might see your face.”
Margery slipped her hand into the speaker’s weak,trembling one, and bent toward him as the earl stirred the fire into a blaze.
The girl’s eyes met the sick man’s hollow, dark ones, which were full of strange eagerness and excitement, and again she seemed to remember them.
Sir Douglas closed his long fingers over hers, and drew her nearer and nearer, till she bent over him.
“Closer,” he murmured. “Yes—I—can see—it is! Heaven is—good! You are——”
His strength seemed to fail entirely. Margery bent still nearer as he sunk back upon the cushion, and her heart-shaped locket escaped and dangled against his withered hand.
“He is fainting!” she said, hurriedly. “Look how pale he is!”
His eyes opened as he spoke, and wandered from her face to the little gold locket. A spasm of pain caused his mouth to twitch; his breath came in gasps; he tried to open the locket, and his eyes spoke words that his lips refused to utter. Then, as the earl drew Margery back, the lids closed over them, and the face became calm.
“It is only a faint. Come away, my darling! I wish I had not brought you; but he was almost well this morning.”
Margery suffered her husband to lead her into the other room and place her in a chair. Her nerves were unstrung, and she was full of vague, incomprehensible excitement.
“Go back to him,” she murmured. “I am quite well. I cannot leave till I know that he is better. Poor man! How strange he looked!”
The earl obeyed her; and, when she was alone, Margery put her hands over her eyes and tried to think what the memory was the sick man had brought back to her.
“Is he better?” asked Lord Court, on his return to Sir Douglas’ side. “It was only a faint, Murray?”
The man looked up from his prostrate master, and shook his head sadly.
“It is the end, I fear. May I make so bold as to ask you, my lord, to ring that bell? I shall send to his cousin immediately. Mr. Stuart should come at once.I hope her ladyship is not frightened? Sir Douglas always seemed strange when he heard the name of Margery.”
“She is anxious to know how he is. I will take her home, and return as soon as possible. Yes, send for his relatives, Murray. The Crosbies, you say? Well, they ought to come. Poor old Gerant!”
“Thank you kindly, my lord; I will. He will be glad to see you, I know, if he recovers; but I never saw him so bad as this before.”
The earl waited till he saw the heavy eyelids raised, then he returned to Margery.
“Yes, he is better, darling,” he said, in answer to her eager inquiry. “Come—I will take you home, and then I will return to learn how he is progressing. Murray is going to send to his people, the Crosbies, of Crosbie Castle, and they will look after him.”
“The Crosbies, of Crosbie Castle!” The words rung in Margery’s ears. In an instant she remembered where she had met this man before. She saw once again the hot, dusty lane, the lodgekeeper’s wife, the strange man who had questioned her so curiously and spoken the terrible words that blighted her young heart, and she knew that Sir Douglas Gerant and that man were one and the same. She stood silent, almost overcome by the conflicting feelings within her breast, and was scarcely conscious that the earl led her downstairs, and she was driving home.