Nell turned from her in despair, and met Lady Angleford's eyes bent upon her with smiling and friendly interest. Nell went up to her appealingly.
"I want some one to sing or play—or do something, Lady Angleford," she said.
Lady Angleford laughed, the comprehensive, American laugh which conveys so much.
"And they won't? I know. It isn't worth while till the gentlemen come in," she said. "I know that—now. It used to puzzle me at first; but I know now. You English are so—funny! In America a girl is quite content to sing to her lady friends; but here—well, only men count as audience. They will all wake up when the men appear. I have learned that. Or perhaps you will play or sing?"
Lady Wolfer was near enough to hear.
"Yes, Nell, sing," she said, with a forced smile.
Nell looked round shyly, then went to the piano.
"That's the sweetest girl I've seen in England," said Lady Angleford to her neighbor, who happened to be the dowager duchess. Her grace put up her eyeglasses, with their long holder, and surveyed the slim, girlish figure on its way to the grand piano.
"Yes? She's awfully pretty. And very young, too. A connection of the Wolfers', isn't she? Rather sad face."
"A face with a history," said Lady Angleford, more to herself than the duchess. "Do you know anything about her, duchess?"
Her grace shrugged her fat shoulders sleepily.
"Nothing at all. She's here as a kind of lady companion, or something of the sort. Yes, she's pretty, decidedly. Are you going on to the Meridues' reception?"
Nell sat down and played her prelude rather nervously; then she sang one of the songs which she had sung in The Cottage at Shorne Mills—one of the songs to which Drakehad never seemed tired of listening. There was a lull in the lifeless, perfunctory conversation, and one or two of the sleepy women murmured: "Thank you! Thank you very much!"
"Bravo! Sing us something else, Nell!" said Lady Wolfer.
Nell was in the middle of the second song when the men filed in. Some of them came straight into the room and sought the women they wanted, others hung about the doors, and, hiding their yawns, glanced quite openly at their watches.
The earl made his way to his wife where she was sitting by the fire, her eyes fixed on the flames, which she could just see over the top of her hand screen.
"I have to go on to the Meridues' when these have gone," he said. "Are you coming, Ada?"
She glanced up at him. His eyes were fixed on the bosom of her dress, on the spot where the white blossom had shone conspicuously, but shone no longer; and there was a wistful, yearning expression on his grave face.
She did not raise her eyes.
"I don't know. I may be tired. Perhaps I may follow you."
He bowed, almost as he would have bowed to a stranger; then, as he was turning away, he said casually, but with a faint tremor in his voice:
"You have lost your flower!"
She raised her eyes and looked at him coldly.
"My flower? Ah, yes. My maid must have put it in insecurely."
The earl said nothing, but his grave eyes slowly left her face and wandered to Sir Archie and the flower in his buttonhole.
"I will wait for you until twelve," he said, with cold courtesy.
Lady Wolfer rose and went toward Lady Angleford.
"I wish you'd join us, my dear," she said. "Why, the woman movement sprang from America. You ought to sympathize with us."
"Oh, but I'm English now," said Lady Angleford, "and, being a convert, I'm more English than the English. What a charming specimen of your country you have in Miss Lorton! I don't want to rob you of her, but do you think you could spare her to come to us at Anglemere? We are going there almost directly."
Lady Wolfer replied absently:
"Yes, certainly; ask her. It will not matter to me."
"Not matter!" said Lady Angleford. "Why, I shouldhave thought you would have suffered pangs at the mere thought of parting with her. She is an angel! Did you hear her sing just now? I don't know much about your English larks, but I was comparing her with them——"
Lady Wolfer fanned herself vigorously.
"Ask her, by all means," she said. "Oh, yes; of course I shall miss her."
As she spoke, Sir Archie came toward her. A faint flush rose to her face. Her eyes fell upon the white flower in his buttonhole.
"Why—how——Is that my flower?" she said, in a low voice.
"Yes," he replied. "It is yours. You dropped it, and I picked it up. Has any one a better right to it?"
She looked up at him half defiantly, half pleadingly.
"You have no right to it," she said, in a low voice, which she tried in vain to keep steady. "You—you are attracting attention——"
She glanced at the women near her, some of whom were eying the pair with sideway looks of curiosity.
"I am desperate," he said; "I can bear it no longer. I told you the other day that I had come to the end of my power of endurance. You—you are cold—and cruel. I want your decision; I must have it. I cannot bear——"
"Hush!" she said warningly, the screen in her hand shaking. "I will speak to you later—after—after some of them have gone. No; not to-night. Do not remain here any longer."
"As you please," he said, with a sullen resentment; and he crossed the room to Nell, and began to talk to her. As a rule, he talked very little; but the wine had loosened his tongue, and he launched out into a cynical and amusing diatribe against society and all its follies.
Nell listened with surprise at first; then she began to feel amused, and laughed.
He drew a chair near her and bent toward her, lowering his voice and speaking in an impressive tone quite unusual with him. To the casual observer it might well have seemed that they were carrying on a desperate flirtation; but every now and then he paused absently, and presently he rose almost abruptly and went into an anteroom.
An antique table with writing materials stood in a recess. He wrote something rapidly on a half sheet of note paper, and placing it inside a book, laid the volume on the pedestal of a Sèvres vase standing near the table.
When he left Nell, Lady Wolfer crossed over to her.
"Sir Archie has been amusing you, dear?" she said, casuallyenough; but the smile which accompanied the remark did not harmonize with the unsmiling and anxious eyes.
"Oh, yes," said Nell, laughing. "He has been talking the most utter nonsense."
"He—he is very strange to-night," said Lady Wolfer, biting her lip softly. Not to innocent Nell could she even hint that Sir Archie had taken more wine than was good for him. "He has been talking utter nonsense to me. Did you notice the flower in his coat?"
"No," said Nell, with some surprise. "Why?"
Lady Wolfer laughed unnaturally.
"Nothing. Yes! Nell, I want you to get that flower from him. It—is a bet."
"I—get it from him?" said Nell, opening her gray eyes.
Lady Wolfer flushed for a moment.
"It is only a piece of folly," she said. "But—but I want you to get it. Ask him for it—he cannot refuse. Oh, I can't explain! I will, perhaps; but get it!"
She moved away as Sir Archie reappeared in the doorway. He came straight up to Nell.
"I think I'll be off," he said. "Some of the others have gone already."
He went toward Lady Wolfer as if to say "Good night," but, with the skill which every woman can display on occasion, Lady Wolfer turned from him as if she did not see him, and joined in the conversation which was being carried on by the duchess and Lady Angleford.
"I've come to say good night, Lady Wolfer," he said.
She met his gaze for a moment.
"Good night," she said, in the conventional tone. He bowed over her hand, looked at her with an intense and questioning gaze for an instant, then left her and came back to Nell.
"Oh, I've forgotten!" he exclaimed, half turning as if to rejoin the group he had left; then he hesitated, and added: "Will you be so kind as to give Lady Wolfer a message for me?"
"Yes, certainly," said Nell, rather absently; for she was wondering how she could ask for the flower, on which her eyes were unconsciously fixed.
"Thanks! You are always so kind. Will you tell her, please, that the book she wants is on the Sèvres pedestal, just behind the vase. She will want it to-night."
Nell nodded.
"I won't forget," she said. "Are you going to take that poor flower into the cold, Sir Archie?"
She blushed as she asked the question; but he was tooabsorbed in the fatal game of passion to notice her embarrassment.
"The flower?" he said unthinkingly. "It is nearly faded already; too poor an offering to make you, Miss Lorton; but if you will accept it——"
He had expected her to refuse laughingly, but she replied simply:
"Thank you; yes, I should like to have it," and in his surprise he took it from his coat, and, with a bow, handed it to her, wished her good night, and left her. At the door he paused and looked in the direction of Lady Wolfer, met her eyes for an instant, then went out.
Nell was about to place the flower on the table, but, quite unthinkingly, stuck it in the bosom of her dress. As she was crossing the room to some people who were taking their departure, the earl came up to her.
"I am going to the library presently, and may not see Lady Wolfer before I leave. Will you please tell her that I hope she will not go out to-night? I think she is looking tired—and—and overstrained. Do you not think so?"
His tone was so full of anxiety, there was so sad and strained an expression in his grave face, as he looked toward his young wife, who was talking rather loudly and laughing in a way women will when there is anything but laughter in their hearts, that Nell's sympathy went out to him. It was as if suddenly she understood how much he cared for the woman who was wife to him in little more than the name.
"Yes, yes! I will tell her," she said. "I am sure she will not go if you do not wish it."
He smiled bitterly, and, for once dropping the cold reserve which usually masked him, said, with sad bitterness:
"You think she considers my wishes so closely?"
Nell looked up at him, half frightened by the intensity of his expression.
"Why—yes!" she faltered.
He smiled as bitterly as he had spoken; then his manner changed suddenly, and his eyes became fixed on the flower in her dress.
"Where did you get that flower? Who——" he asked, almost sternly.
Nell's face flamed; then, ashamed of the uncalled-for blush, she laughed.
"Sir Archie Walbrooke gave it me," she said.
The earl looked at her with surprise, which gradually changed to a keen scrutiny, under which Nell felt her blush rising again. But she said nothing, and, after a momentduring which he seemed to be considering deeply, he passed on, his hands clasped behind his tall figure, his head bent.
Immediately the last guest had gone, Lady Wolfer went to her own apartments. Nell stood in the center of the vast and now empty room, and looked round her absently, and with that sense of some pending calamity which we call presentiment.
Innocent of the world and its intrigues, as she was, she could not fail to have seen that neither the earl nor the countess was happy; and that the endless work and excitement in which they endeavored to absorb themselves only left them dissatisfied and wretched.
She liked them both; indeed, she had grown very fond of Lady Wolfer, and her heart ached for the woman who had striven to hide her unhappiness behind the mask of a forced gayety and recklessness. For a moment, a single moment, as she caught sight of the flower, a vague suspicion of the danger which threatened the countess arose in Nell's mind; but she put the suspicion from her with a shudder, for it was too dreadful to be entertained.
Sometimes she went to Lady Wolfer's room after she had retired, and, remembering the earl's message, she went now upstairs and knocked at the countess' door.
A low voice bade her come in, and Nell entered and found Lady Wolfer sitting on a low chair before the fire. She was alone, and the figure crouching before the blaze, as if she were cold, aroused Nell's pity. She crossed the room and bent over her.
"Are you ill, dear, or only tired?" she asked gently.
Lady Wolfer started and looked up at her, and Nell saw that her face was white and drawn.
"Is it you?" she said. "I thought it was Wardell"—Wardell was her maid. "Yes, I am tired."
"Lord Wolfer has asked me to beg you not to go out to-night. He saw that you looked tired," she said.
Lady Wolfer gazed in the fire, and her lips curled sarcastically.
"He is very considerate," she said. "Extraordinarily so! One would think he cared whether I was tired or not, wouldn't one, eh, dear?"
"Why do you say that, and so bitterly?" Nell said, in a low voice. "Of course he cares. He is always kind and thoughtful."
Lady Wolfer rose abruptly and, with a short, hard laugh, began to pace up and down the room.
"He does not care in the least!" she said, in a harsh, strained voice. "Why did you come in to-night? I wish you hadn't! I—I wanted to be alone. No, do not go! Stay,now you are here," for Nell had moved to the door. She went back and laid her hand on the unhappy woman's arm.
"Won't you tell me what is the matter?" she said.
Lady Wolfer stopped and sank into the chair again.
"I'm almost tempted to!" she said, with a reckless laugh. "It might be useful to you—as a 'frightful example,' as the temperance people say. Oh, don't you know? You are young and innocent, Nell, but—but you cannot fail to have seen how wretched I am! Nell, you are not only young and innocent, but beautiful. You have all your life before you—you, too, will have to choose your fate—for we do choose it! Don't wreck your life as I have wrecked mine; don't, don't marry a man who does not love you—as I did!"
"Hush!" said Nell, startled and shocked. "You are wrong, quite wrong!"
Lady Wolfer laughed bitterly.
"I've said too much; I may as well tell you all," she said, with a shrug of her white shoulders. "It was a marriage of convenience. We—my people—were poor, and it was a great match for me. There was no talk of love—love!" She laughed again, and the laugh made Nell wince. "It was just a bargain. Such bargains are made every day in this vile marriage market of ours. I was as innocent as you, Nell. The glitter of the thing—the title, the big house, the position—dazzled me. I thought I should be more contented and satisfied. Other girls have done the same thing, and they seemed happy enough. But I suppose I am different. I wearied of the whole thing—the title, the big house, the diamonds, everything—before the first month. I wanted something else; I scarcely knew what——Ah, yes, I did! I did! I wanted love—the thing they all laugh and sneer at! I had sold myself for gold and place and power, and when I had gotten them they all turned to Dead Sea fruit, dust and ashes, on my lips!"
She gripped her hands tightly, and bent lower over the fire, and Nell sank on her knees beside her, pale herself, and incapable of speech.
"For a time I tried to bear it, to live the weary, dragging life; then, when I was nearly mad—I tried to find relief in the world outside my own home. I was supposed to be clever—clever! I could write and talk. I took up this woman's rights business!" She laughed again. "All the time they were lauding me to the skies and flattering and fooling me, I knew how stupid the whole thing was. But it seemed the only chance for me, the only way of forgetting myself and—and my slavery. At any rate, it served as an excuse for getting out of the house, for not inflicting my presence uponthe man who had bought me, and who regarded me simply as the figurehead for his table, the person to receive his guests and play the necessary part in his public life."
"No, no! You're wrong, wrong!" said Nell earnestly.
Lady Wolfer seemed scarcely to have heard her.
"I ought to have known that it would not help me long. It has come to an end. I am going to end it. I cannot bear this life any longer—I cannot, I cannot! I will not! I have only one life—that I know of——"
"Oh, hush, hush!" Nell implored. "You are all wrong! I know it, I am sure of it! You think he does not care for you. He does, he does! If you had seen his face to-night—had heard his voice!"
Lady Wolfer looked at her with a half-startled glance; then she shook her head and smiled bitterly.
"No, I am not wrong," she said. "I know what love is—at last! It beckons me—I have resisted—God knows I have struggled with and fought against it—have kept it from me with both hands—but my strength has failed me at last, and——"
Nell caught her arm and clung to it.
"Oh, what do you mean?" she asked, in vague terror.
Lady Wolfer started, and slowly unclasped Nell's hands.
"I have said too much," she said, panting and moistening her parched lips. "I did not mean to tell you—no, I will not say another word. I don't know why I am so unnerved, why I take it so much to heart I think—Nell, I am fond of you; you know it?"
Nell made a gesture of assent, and touched the countess' clasped hands lovingly, tenderly.
"I—I think it is your presence here that—that has made me hesitate—has made me realize the gravity of what I am going to do. I—I never look at you, hear you speak, but I am reminded that I was once, and not so long ago, as innocent as you. But I can hesitate no longer. I have to decide, and I have decided!"
She rose and stood with her hands before her face for the moment; then she let them fall with a sigh, and forced a smile.
"Go now, dear!" she said. "I—I wish I had not spoken so freely; but that tender, loving heart of yours is hard to resist."
"What is it you have decided to do?" Nell asked, scarcely above her breath.
A deep red rose slowly to the countess' face, then slowly faded, leaving it pale and wan, and set with determination.
"I cannot tell you, Nell," she said. "You—you will know soon enough. And when you know, I want you—I wantyou to think not too badly of me, to remember how much I have suffered, how hard and cruel my life has been—how I have hungered and thirsted for one word, one look of love; that I have struggled and striven against my fate, and have yielded only when I could endure no longer. Oh, go now, dear!"
"Let me stay with you to-night! I can sleep on this couch—on this chair—beside you, if you like," pleaded Nell, confused and frightened, but aching with pity and sympathy. "I know that it is all wrong, that you are mistaken. If I could only convince you! If I could only tell you what I saw in Lord Wolfer's eyes as he looked at you to-night!"
The countess shook her head.
"It is you who are mistaken," she said, "and it is too late. No, you shall not stay. I have done wrong to say so much. Try—try and forget it. But yet—no, don't forget it, Nell. Remember me and my wretchedness, and let it be a warning to you, if ever you are tempted to marry a man who does not love you, whom you do not love. Ah, but you must go, Nell! I am worn out!"
Nell went to her and put her arm round her neck, and drew her face down that she might kiss her, but the countess gently put Nell's arm from her, and drew back from the proffered kiss.
"No; you shall not kiss me!" she said, in a low voice. "You will be glad that you did not—presently! Stay—give me that flower!" she said, holding out her hand, but looking away.
Nell started, and drew the flower from her bosom as if it had been something poisonous, and flung it in the fire.
The countess shrugged her shoulders with an air of indifference, and turned to watch the flower withering and consuming in the fire, and Nell, with something like a sob, left her.
What should she do? She understood that her friend stood on the verge of a precipice; but how could she—Nell—with all her desire to save her, drag her back?
As she was going to her room she heard a step in the hall, and, looking over the balustrade, saw the earl pass from the library to the drawing-room. For an instant she was half resolved to go down to him, to—what? How could she tell him? She dared not!
Lord Wolfer wandered into the drawing-room and stood before the fire, looking into it moodily, as he leaned against the great mantelpiece of carved marble.
He was thinking of the flower which he had seen first in his wife's possession, then in Sir Archie's, and lastly in Nell's; and of her blush and confusion when he had askedher how she came by it. He knew Sir Archie, knew him better and more of his life than Sir Archie suspected. The man was a perfect type of the modern lover; incapable of a fixed passion, as fickle as the wind. Could it be that he had transferred, what he would have called his "devotion," from the countess to Nell? It seemed at first sight too improbable; but Wolfer knew his world and the ethics of the smart set of which Sir Archie Walbrooke was a conspicuous member too well to scout the idea as impossible. The fact that Sir Archie had spent the last three months flirting with one woman would be no hindrance to his transferring his attentions to a younger and prettier one.
The harassed man turned away with a weary sigh, wandered purposelessly into the anteroom, and, in a mechanical fashion, fingered the various articles on the writing table. His eye fell on the book on the pedestal, and he took up the volume absently, intending to restore it to its place in the bookcase. On his way he opened the book, and a half sheet of note paper fell from it and fluttered to his feet. He picked it up, read what was written on it, and stood for a moment motionless, his eyes fixed on the carpet, his lips writhing.
How long he stood there he did not know, but presently he was aroused by the sound of footsteps. He listened. Some one—the rustling of a dress—was approaching the room. He slipped the note into the book and replaced the volume on the pedestal, and quickly stepped behind the portière curtains.
He expected his wife. Should he come forward and confront her? His stern face grew red with shame—for her, for himself. Then, with a sudden leap of the heart, with a sensation of relief which was absolutely painful in its intensity, he saw Nell enter the room and go straight to the pedestal. Her face was pale and troubled, and she looked round with what seemed to him a guilty expression in the gray eyes. Then she opened the book as he had done, but, as if she expected to find something, took out the note, and after a moment of hesitation read it. He saw her face flush hotly, then grow white, and her hand go out to the pedestal as if for support. For a moment she stood as motionless as he had done, then she thrust the note into her pocket, dropped the book from her hand—it fell on the floor unregarded by her—and slowly left the room.
Wolfer passed his hand over his brow with a bewildered air, then, as if obeying an irresistible impulse, he followed her up the stairs.
Quietly but slowly. He knew that she had not seen him, did not know that he was following her, and he waited atthe end of the corridor, watching her with a heart throbbing with an agony of anxiety. Was she going to carry the note to his wife? But she did not even hesitate at the door of Lady Wolfer's room, but went straight to her own, and he heard the key turn as she locked it.
The sweat was standing in great drops upon his forehead, and he put up a trembling hand and wiped them away as he looked toward his wife's door. Should he go in and question her? Should he ask her straightly whether the note was intended for her or Nell? It seemed too horrible to suspect the girl who had seemed innocence and purity itself, and yet had he not seen her go straight for the book, as if she had known that it was there waiting for her?
Like a man in a dream he went down to the library, and, locking the door, flung himself into a chair, and buried his face in his hands. What was he to think?
Nell stood in the middle of the room with the note which she had found in the book in her hand. She had read it half mechanically and unsuspectingly, as one reads a scrap of paper found in a volume, or in some unexpected place; and, trembling a little, she went to the electric light and read the note again. It ran thus—and with every word Nell's face grew pale:
"I can wait no longer. You cannot say I have been impatient—that I haven't endured the suspense as well as a man could. If you love me, if you are really willing to trust yourself to me, come away with me to-morrow. God knows I will try and make you happy, and that you can never be under this roof with a man who doesn't care for you. I will come for you at seven to-morrow morning—we can cross by the morning boat. Don't trouble about luggage; everything we want we can get on the other side. For Heaven's sake, don't hesitate! Be ready and waiting for me as the clock strikes. Don't hesitate! The happiness of both our lives lies in your hands.Archie."
Nell sank into a chair and stared at the wall, trying to think; but for a moment or two the horror and shame of the thing overwhelmed her. She had read of such incidents as these, for now and again one of the new school of novels reached The Cottage; but there is a lot of difference between reading, say, of a murder, and watching the committal ofone. She was almost as much ashamed and shocked as if the note had been intended for herself.
She was not ashamed of having read it—though the mere touch of the paper was hateful to her—for she felt that Providence had ordained it that she should stand between Lady Wolfer and the ruin to which Sir Archie was beckoning her.
But what should she do? Should she take the letter to Lady Wolfer and implore her to send Sir Archie a refusal? This was, of course, Nell's first impulse, but she dared not follow it; dared not run the risk of letting Lady Wolfer see the note. The unhappy woman's face haunted Nell, and her reckless words, and her tone of desperation, still rang in Nell's ears. No; she dared not let Lady Wolfer know that this man would be waiting for her. Few women in the position of the countess could resist such a note as this, such an appeal from the man who, she thought, loved her. But if she did not take the note to the countess, what was she to do?
Sir Archie would be, then, in the library at seven o'clock; he would ask for the countess; she would go to him, and—Nell shuddered, and walked up and down. If there were any one to whom she could go for advice! But there was no one. At all costs, the truth must be kept from the earl; his wife must be saved.
It was a terrible position for a young and inexperienced girl; but, despite her youth and inexperience, the note could scarcely have fallen into better hands than Nell's; for she possessed courage, and was not afraid for herself. Most girls, keenly though they might desire to save their friend, would have destroyed the note and left the rest to Providence; but Nell's spirit had been trained in the bracing air of Shorne Mills, and her views tempered by many a tussle with tide and wind in theAnnie Laurie; and the pluck which lay dormant in the slight figure rose now to the struggle for her friend's safety. She had grown to love the woman who had confided her heart's sorrow to her that night, and she meant to save her. But how? Sir Archie would be there at seven, and Lady Wolfer must be kept in ignorance of his presence; and he must be sent away convinced of the hopelessness of his passion.
Nell walked up and down, unconscious of weariness, ignorant that in his own room the earl was listening to her footsteps, and putting his own construction upon her agitation. Now and again she thought of Drake and her own love affair. Were all men alike? Were there no good men in the world? Were they all selfish and unscrupulous in the quest of their own interest and amusements? Love! The word soundedlike a mockery, a delusion, a snare. Drake had loved, or thought he loved her, until Lady Luce had beckoned him back to her; and this other man, Sir Archie—how long would he continue to love the unhappy woman if she yielded to him?
The silver clock on the mantelshelf struck five, and Nell, worn out at last, and still apparently far away from any solution of the problem which she had set herself, flung herself on the bed. She had scarcely closed her eyes before a way of helping Lady Wolfer presented itself to her.
Her face crimsoned, and she winced and closed her eyes with a slight shudder; but though she shrank from the ordeal, she resolved to make it. Lady Wolfer had been kind to her, had won her love, and, more than all else, had confided in her, and she—Nell—would save her at any cost.
A little before seven she rose, and changed her dinner dress for a plain traveling one, and, putting on her hat and jacket, went down to the library slowly and almost stealthily. A maidservant was sweeping the hall, and she looked up at Nell, clad in her outdoor things, with some surprise.
"I expect Sir Archie Walbrooke at seven o'clock," said Nell. "I am in the library, please."
She spoke quite calmly and casually, buttoning her glove in a leisurely fashion as she passed on her way; and the maid responded unsuspiciously, for the coming and going at Wolfer House were always somewhat erratic.
Nell went into the library, and, closing the door, turned up the electric light a little—for the maids had not yet been to the room, and the shutters were still closed. The morning was a wet and chilly one, and Nell shuddered slightly as she sat and watched the second hand of the clock, which at one moment seemed to move slowly and at the next appeared to fly. She had not decided upon the words she would use; she would be guided by those which Sir Archie might speak; but she was resolved to fight as long as possible, to hide every tremor which, at these moments of waiting and suspense, quivered through her.
Then she heard his voice, his slow step—no quicker than usual this morning—crossing the hall; the door opened, and he was in the room. Nell rose, and stood with her back to the light; and, closing the door, he came toward her with a faint cry of satisfaction and relief.
"Ada!" he said. "You have come——"
Nell raised her veil, but, before she had done so, he had seen that she was not the countess; and he stopped short and stared at her.
"Miss Lorton!" he exclaimed, under his breath, so taken aback that the shock of his disappointment was revealed inhis face and voice. "I—I thought—expected—to see Lady Wolfer. Is—is she up? Does she know that I am here? You have a message for me?"
He tried to speak casually, and forced a smile, as if the appointment was quite an ordinary one; but Nell saw that the hand that held his hat shook, and that his color, which had risen as he entered the room and greeted her, had slowly left his face, and her courage rose.
"Yes, I have a message for you, Sir Archie," she said, keeping her voice as steady as she could, and saying to herself: "It is to save her—save her!"
"Yes?" he said, with suppressed eagerness and anxiety. "What is it? I—I am rather pressed for time." He glanced at his watch. "Won't she see me? If you would go up and ask her. I shan't detain her more than a minute."
"No; she cannot see you," said Nell. "I am to ask you to go—where you are going—without seeing her."
He looked at her steadily, gnawing his lip softly.
"I—I don't understand," he said, still trying to smile. "She—told you that I am going—abroad?"
Nell inclined her head gravely.
"Yes? But didn't she tell you that—that I must see her before I go? That—that it is important?"
"She cannot see you," said Nell, her heart beating fast. "She wishes you to go, and—and to remain abroad——"
His face crimsoned, then went pale.
"You know—she has told you why—why I have come this morning?" he said, in a low voice.
"Yes, I know," assented Nell, the shame, for him, dyeing her face.
He stared at her for a moment in silence; then he said, half defiantly, half sullenly:
"Very well, then. If you know why I am here, you must know that I cannot take such a message, that I cannot go—without her. For Heaven's sake, Miss Lorton, go and fetch her! There is no time to lose. Her—my happiness is at stake. I beg your pardon; I'm afraid I'm brusque; but——For Heaven's sake, bring her! If I could see her, speak to her for a moment——"
Nell shook her head.
"I cannot," she said. "It would be of no use. Lady Wolfer would not go with you."
He came nearer to her and lowered his voice, almost speaking through his teeth.
"See here, Miss Lorton, you—you have no right to be in this business—to interfere with it. You—you are too young to understand——"
Nell crimsoned.
"No," she said, almost inaudibly. "I understand. I—I have seen your letter." Her calm, almost her courage, broke down, and, clasping her hands, she pleaded to him. "Oh, yes, I do understand! Sir Archie, go; do, do go! It is cruel of you to stay. If—if you really love her, you will go and never come back."
His face went white and his eyes flashed.
"No, you don't understand, although you think you do. You say that I am cruel. I should be cruel if I did what she asks me, what you wish me to do, to leave her in this house, to the old life of misery. I love her; I want to take her away with me from the man who doesn't care an atom for her, whom she does not love."
"It isn't true!" said Nell, with a sudden burst of indignation, and with a sudden insight as inexplicable as it was sudden. "He loves her, and she, though she does not know it, cares for him. They would have discovered the truth if you had not come between them and made them hard and cold to each other. Yes, you are cruel, cruel and wicked! But—but perhaps it has not been all your fault—and—I'm sorry if—if I have spoken too harshly."
He scarcely seemed to have heard her concluding words, but repeated to himself: "She cares for him. She cares for Wolfer—her husband!"
"Yes, yes!" said Nell eagerly, anxiously. "I know it; I have seen her when she was most unhappy. I have heard the truth in her voice—I remember little things—the way she has behaved to him, spoken to him, when she was off her guard. Yes, it is true she cares for him as much as he cares for her; but they have hidden it from each other—and you—you have made it harder for them to show their love! But you know the truth now, and—and you will go, will you not?"
In her anxiety she laid her hand on his arm imploringly, and looked up at him with eyes moist with tears.
He looked at her, his brows knit, his lips set closely.
"By Heaven, if I thought you were right!" broke from him; then his tone changed, and his eyes grew hard with resentment. "No; you are wrong, quite wrong! And it is you who have come between us, and will rob us of our happiness! I—I—beg your pardon!" he faltered, for this slave of passion was, after all, a gentleman. "I beg your pardon! If you knew what I am suffering, what she must be suffering at this moment! Miss Lorton, you are her friend—you have no reason to bear me any ill will—I honor you for—for your motives in all this—but I implore you to stand aside. If you will go and bring her, I will wait here, and you shall hear from her own lips that you are wrong insupposing that any affection exists between her and him. I will wait here. Go, I beg of you! There is no time to lose!"
"I will not!" said Nell, her slight figure erect, her eyes more eloquent than the tone of her resolution to save her friend.
"Then I will ring and ask her to come," he said, and he went toward the bell.
Nell sprang in front of it.
"No," she said, in a low voice. "It is I who will ring, and it is the earl who shall come."
Sir Archie stood, his hand outstretched to push her aside. Men of his class and character dislike a scene. He was not physically afraid of Lord Wolfer, but—a scene and a scandal which would leave Lady Wolfer at Wolfer House, while he was turned out, was a contretemps to be avoided, if possible.
"You must be mad!" he said, between his teeth. "Worse; you are laboring under a hideous mistake. She loves me, and you know it—she has never cared for Lord Wolfer. Please stand aside."
He put out his hand to gently remove her from before the bell, and at his touch the strain which Nell was undergoing became too tense for endurance. The color left her face and left it deathly white. With a faint moan she put her hand to her throat as if she were choking, and swayed to and fro as if she were giddy.
Sir Archie caught her just in time.
"Good heavens, don't faint!" he exclaimed, in a horrified whisper.
At the sound of his voice, at his touch, Nell recovered her full consciousness.
"Let me go! Don't touch me!" she breathed, with a shudder; but, before she could free herself from his hold, the door opened, and the earl entered.
With an oath, Sir Archie turned and glared at him, and Nell sank against the mantelshelf, and leaned there, faint and trembling.
The two men stood quite still and looked at each other. In these days we have taught ourselves to take the most critical moments of our lives quietly. There is no loud declamation, no melodramatic denunciation, no springing at each other's throats, or flashing of swords. We carry our wrongs to the law courts, and an aged gentleman in an ermine tippet, and a more or less grimy wig, avenges us—with costs and damages.
The earl was pale enough, and his eyes wore a stern expression as they rested upon his "friend"; but yet therewas something in his face which seemed to indicate relief; and, presently, after a moment which seemed an age to Nell, his gaze left the other man's face and fixed itself on her.
"Were you going out with Sir Archie Walbrooke, Miss Lorton?" he asked coldly.
Sir Archie started slightly, and would have spoken, but Nell looked at him quickly, a look which smote him to silence. She, too, remained silent, her hands clasped, her eyes fixed on the ground.
"Is my inference a correct one?" said the earl, still more coldly. "I find you here—at this unusual hour—and dressed for traveling. And he is here—by appointment, I presume? Ah, do not deny it! It is too obvious."
Sir Archie opened his lips, but once more Nell looked at him, and once more her eyes commanded, rather than asked, his silence. He suppressed an oath, and stood with clenched hands, waiting in helpless irresolution. What was this girl going to do? Was she—was it possible that she was going to screen Lady Wolfer at the cost of her own reputation! The man was not altogether bad, and the remnant of honor which still glowed in his breast rose against the idea of such a sacrifice. And yet—it was for the woman he loved!
The perspiration broke out on his pale face, and he looked from the stern eyes of the earl to Nell's downcast ones.
"I can't stand this!" broke from his lips. "Look here, Wolfer!"
The earl raised his head.
"I have nothing to say to you. I decline to hear you," he said grimly. "I am addressing Miss Lorton. I have asked her a question; but it is not necessary to inflict the pain of an answer. I am aware that I have no legal right to interfere in Miss Lorton's movements, but she is under my roof, she is a connection"—his voice grew a shade less stern—"I am, indeed, almost in the position of her guardian. Therefore, I deem it my duty to acquaint her with the character of the man with whom she proposes to—elope."
Nell raised her head, the crimson staining her whole face; and it seemed to Sir Archie as if her endurance had broken down; but she checked the indignant denial which had sprung to her lips, and, closing her lips tightly, sank back into her former attitude—an attitude which convinced Lord Wolfer of her guilt.
"Are you aware that this gentleman, who has honored you by an invitation to fly with him, is already a married man, Miss Lorton?"
Nell made no sign, but Sir Archie started and ground his teeth.
"He has carefully concealed the fact; but—well, I happen to know it, and I think he will not venture to deny it."
He paused, but Sir Archie remained silent.
"Were you ignorant of it?" asked the earl.
Nell opened her lips, and they formed the word "Yes."
"I expected as much," said the earl. "And now that you know the truth, are you still desirous of accompanying him?"
Nell, with her eyes fixed on the ground, shook her head.
"No!" she whispered.
Sir Archie swore under his breath.
"I can't stand this!" he said desperately. "Look here, Wolfer, you are making a damnable mistake. Miss Lorton——"
The earl turned to him, but looked above his head.
"Excuse me," he said, "I have no desire to hear any explanation of your conduct—it would be impossible for you to defend it. But, having received Miss Lorton's reply to my question, I have the right to ask you to quit my house—and I do so!"
Sir Archie went up to Nell and looked at her straight in the face.
"Do you—do you wish me to remain silent?" he said hoarsely. "Think before you speak! Do you?"
Nell looked up instantly.
"Yes!" she replied, in a low voice. "If you will go—forever!"
Sir Archie gazed at her as if he had suddenly become unconscious of the earl's presence.
"My God!" he breathed. "You—you are treatin' me better than I deserve. Yes, I am goin'," he said, turning fiercely to the earl, who had made a slight movement of impatience. "But I want to say this. I want"—he moistened his lips, as if speech were difficult—"to tell you—and—and her—that—that what has taken place will never be spoken of by me while I live. I am goin'—abroad. I shall not return for some time."
The earl made a gesture of indifference.
"Your movements can be of no interest to me," he said, "and I trust that they may be of as little importance to this unhappy girl, now that she knows the character of the man whom she was about to trust."
Sir Archie laughed—a laugh that sounded hideously grotesque at such a moment; then he took up his hat and gloves; but he laid them down again.
"Will you give me a minute—three—with Miss Lorton, alone?" he asked, biting his lip.
The earl hesitated for a moment, and glanced at Nell searchingly; then, as if satisfied, he said:
"Yes, I will do so, on condition that you leave this house at the expiration of that time. I will rejoin you when he has gone."
As he left the room, Sir Archie turned to Nell.
"Do you know what you have done?" he asked hoarsely, and almost inaudibly. "Do you know what this means: that you have sacrificed yourself for—for her?"
Nell had sunk into a chair, and she looked up at him, and then away from him; but in that momentary glance he had read the light of an inflexible resolution, an undaunted courage in the gray eyes.
"Yes, I know," she said. "He—he thinks, will always think, that it was I——" She broke off with an irrepressible shudder.
Sir Archie's hand went to his mustache to cover the quiver of his lips.
"My God! it's the noblest thing! But—have you counted the cost—the consequences?"
"Yes," she said. "But it does not matter. I—I am nobody—only a girl, with no husband, no one who loves, cares for me; while she——Yes, I know what I have done; but I am not sorry—I don't regret. I have your promise?" she looked up at his strained face solemnly. "You will keep it?—you will not break your word? You will go away and—and leave her?"
His hands clenched behind him, and he was silent for a moment; then he said:
"Yes, by Heaven! I will! The sacrifice shall not be all on your side. Tell her—no, tell her nothin', or you will have to tell her all. Tell her nothin'. Miss Lorton——" His voice broke, and he hesitated. Nell waited, and he found his voice again. "When I hear that there are no good women, no noble ones, I—I shall think of what you have done this mornin'. Good-by. I—I can't ask you to shake hands. My God! I'm not fit for you to touch! I see that now. Good-by!"
He went out of the room with drooping head, but he raised it as he passed the earl, and the two men nodded—for the benefit of the footman who opened the door.
Nell hid her face in her hands and waited, and presently the earl reëntered the library.
Lord Wolfer stood, with his hand resting upon the table, in silence for a moment or two, regarding Nell, no longer sternly, but with an expression of pity which was novel in him. Nell sat with her head resting in her hands, her eyes downcast. She was still pale, but her lips were set firmly, as if she were prepared for rebuke and reproach.
"Do not be afraid," he said, at last. "I have not returned to—to blame you. You are too young to understand the peril—perhaps, too, the sin—of the step which you meditated taking. I am a man of the world, and I can appreciate the temptation to which you have been subjected. Sir Archie—well, all the world knows that such men are difficult to resist, and—and your inexperience betrayed you. I know the arts by which he gained your affections and hoped to mislead you."
It was almost more than she could bear; but Nell set her teeth hard and held her breath; for she felt it well-nigh impossible to resist the aching longing to utter the cry of the unjustly accused. "I am innocent—innocent!" But she remembered the unhappy woman whom she had saved, and suffered in silence.
"That you bitterly regret your—your weakness I am convinced," said Lord Wolfer; "and I am quite satisfied with your promise that you will not see him—I wish I could add, not think of him—again. He is a dangerous man, Miss Lorton"—he paused and paced to the window, and his lips twitched—"such men are a peril to every woman upon whom they—they chance to set their fickle fancy. At one time—yes, I owe it to you to be candid—at one time I feared"—he stopped again, and drummed upon the windowsill with his forefinger—"I feared he was paying Lady Wolfer too much attention. Even now I am not sure that my fears were groundless. He came to the house frequently, and was at my wife's side perpetually, before you came."
Nell held her breath. Had her sacrifice been in vain? Had he got an inkling of the truth? But he went on sternly and in a low voice:
"If there were any reason for my suspicions, it is evident that he transferred his affections to you. It is a terrible thing to say, but—but I feel as if—as if—your presence here had averted a dreadful catastrophe from us. Yes; that letter might have been meant for my wife, and I might have found her here instead of you. Do not think it heartless ofme if I say that, deeply as I sympathize with you and grieve for your—your trouble, I am relieved—relieved of an awful apprehension on—on Lady Wolfer's account. I have suffered a great deal during the past few months."
"Yes," said Nell, forgetting her own misery in sympathy for him.
He looked at her quickly.
"You have noticed it?"
Nell inclined her head.
"I have lived in the house—I have seen——" she faltered.
He nodded once or twice.
"Yes; I suppose that you could not help seeing that there has been a—a gulf between us; that we are not as other, happier, husbands and wives."
He sighed, and passed his hand across his brow wearily.
"But we are not the only couple who, living in the same house, are asunder. I am not the only man who has to endure, secretly and with a smiling face, the fact that his wife does not care for him."
Nell raised her head, and the color came to her pale face.
"You are wrong—wrong!" she said, in a low voice, but eagerly.
"Wrong? I beg your pardon?" he said gravely.
"It is all a terrible mistake," said Nell. "She does care for you. Oh, yes, yes! It is you who have been blind; it is your fault. It is hers, too; but you are the man, and it is your place to speak—to tell her that you love her——"
He reddened as he turned to her with a curious eagerness and surprise.
"I don't understand you," he said, with a shake in his voice. "Do you mean me to infer that—that I have been under a delusion in thinking that my wife——"
Nell rose and stretched out her hands with a gesture of infinite weariness.
"Oh, how blind you are!" she said, almost impatiently. "You think that she does not care for you, and she thinks that of you, and you are both in love with each other."
His face glowed, and a strange brightness—the glow of hope—shone in his eyes.
"Take care!" he said huskily. "You—you use words lightly, perhaps unthinkingly——"
Nell laughed, with a kind of weary irritation.
"I am telling you the truth; I am trying to open your eyes," she said. "She loves you."
"Why—why do you think so? Have you ever heard her address a word to me that had a note of tenderness in it?"
"Have you ever addressed such a word to her?" retorted Nell.
He started, and gazed at her confusedly.
"You have always treated her as if she were a mere acquaintance, some one who was of no consequence to you. Oh, yes, you have been polite, kind, in a way, but not in a way a woman wants. I am only a girl, but—but"—she thought again of Drake, of her own love story, and her lips trembled—"but I have seen enough of the world to know that there is nothing which will hurt and harden a woman more than the 'kindness' with which you have treated her. I think—I don't know, but I think if I cared for a man, I would rather that he should beat me than treat me as if I were just a mere acquaintance whom he was bound to treat politely. And did you think that it was she who was to show her heart? No; a woman would rather die than do that. It is the man who must speak, who must tell her, ask her for her love. And you haven't, have you, Lord Wolfer?"
He put his hand to his brow and bit his lips.
"God forgive me!" he murmured. Then he looked at her steadily. "Yes, you have opened my eyes! Heaven grant that I may see this thing as you see it! Heaven grant it! My dear"—his voice shook with his gratitude—"where—where did you learn this wisdom, this knowledge of the human heart?"
Nell drew a long breath painfully, and her gray eyes grew dark.
"It isn't wisdom," she said wearily. "Any schoolgirl knows as much, would see what I have seen—though a man might not. You have been too busy, too taken up with politics—politics!—and she—she has tried to forget her troubles in lecturing, and meetings and committees. And all the while her heart was aching with longing, with longing for just one word from you."
The earl turned his head aside.
"Ah! if you doubt it still, go to her!" said Nell. "Go and ask her!"
"I will," he said, raising his head, his eyes glowing. "I will go."
He moved to the door, then stopped and came back to her; he had forgotten her, forgotten the tragic scene in which he had just taken part.
"I beg your pardon! Forgive me! It was ungrateful of me to forget your trouble, my dear!"
Nell made a gesture of indifference.
"It does not matter," she said dully. "I—I will go."
"Go?" he said.
"Yes. I will go—leave the house at once. I could not stay."
She looked round as if the walls were closing in on her.
Wolfer knit his brows perplexedly.
"I—I do not like the idea of your going. Where will you go?"
"Home," she said; and the word struck across her heart and almost sent the tears to her eyes.
He went to the window and came back again.
"If—if you think it best," he said doubtfully. "I know that—that it must be painful to you to remain here, that the associations of this house——"
"Yes—yes," said Nell, almost impatiently.
"I need not say—indeed, I know that I need not—that no word of—of what has occurred this morning will ever pass my lips," he said in a low voice.
Nell looked up swiftly.
"Yes. Promise me, promise me on your honor that you will not tell Lady Wolfer!" she said.
"I promise," said the earl solemnly.
Nell glanced at the clock and mechanically took up her gloves, which she had torn from her hands.
"I will go straight to the station."
"You do not wish to see Ada?" he said, speaking of his wife by her Christian name, for the first time in Nell's hearing.
"No," she said, quietly but firmly.
"Perhaps it is best," he murmured. "I will order a carriage for you—you will have something to eat?"
"No, no; I will not! The carriage, please! Tell—tell Lady Wolfer that I had to go home suddenly. Tell her anything—but the truth."
He inclined his head; then he went to the bureau and took out some notes.
"You will let me give you these?" he asked, very humbly and anxiously.
Nell looked at the money with a dull indifference.
"What is owing to me, please. No more," she said.
"If I gave you that, it would leave me beggared," he said gravely. "Please give me your purse."
He folded some notes and put them in her purse, and held out his hand.
"You will let me go to the station?" he asked.
"No, no!" said Nell. "I would rather go alone."
"You are not afraid?" he ventured, in a low voice.
Nell was puzzled for a minute; then she understood that he meant afraid of Sir Archie. It was the last straw, and she broke down under it; but, instead of bursting into tears, she laughed—so wild, so eerie a laugh, that Wolfer was alarmed. But the laugh ceased suddenly, and she loweredher veil. He held out his hand again, and held hers in a warm and grateful grasp.
"God bless you, my dear!" he said. "If you are right, I—I shall owe my life's happiness to you!"
Nell went up to her room and told Burden to pack a small hand bag. "I am going away for a few days," she said; and though she endeavored to speak easily, the maid looked at her anxiously.
"Not bad news, miss, I hope?" she said.
"No; oh, no!" replied Nell.
The earl was waiting for her in the hall, and put her into the brougham; and he stood and looked after the carriage with conflicting emotions.
Then he went upstairs, and, after pausing for a moment or two, knocked at his wife's door.
"It is I," he said.
He heard her cross the room, and presently she opened the door. She was in her dressing robe, and she looked at him as if she were trying to keep her surprise from revealing itself in her face.
"May I come in?" he said, his color coming and going. "I—I want to speak to you."
She opened the door wide, and he entered and closed it after him.
She moved to the dressing table, and took up a toilet bottle in an aimless fashion.
"I have come to tell you that I have to go abroad," he said. He had thought out what he would say, but his voice sounded strange and forced, and, by reason of his agitation, graver even than usual.
"Yes," she said, with polite interest. "When do you go?"
"To-day—at once," he said. "Can you be ready in time for us to catch the afternoon mail?"
She turned her head and looked at him. The sun had come out, and shone through the muslin curtains upon her pretty face and soft brown hair.
"I!" she said, surprised and startled. "I! Do you want me to go?"
"Yes," he said.
He stood, his eyes fixed on hers, his brows knit in suspense and anxiety.
"Why?" she asked.
He came a little nearer, but did not stretch out his hands, though he longed to do so.
"Because—I want you," he replied.
She looked at him, and something in his eyes, something new, strange, and perplexing, made her heart beat fast, and caused the blood to rush to her face.
"You—want—me?" she said, in a low voice, which quavered. Its tremor drew him to her, and he held out his arms.
"Yes; I have wanted you—I have always wanted you. Ada, forgive me! Come to me!"
She half yielded, then she shrank back, her face white, her eyes full of remorse and something like fear.
"You—you don't know!" she panted.
"Yes, I know all—enough!" he said. "It was my fault as much—more than yours. Forgive me, Ada! Let us forget the past; let us begin our lives from to-day—this hour! No, don't speak! It is not necessary to say a word. Don't let us look back, but forward—forward! Ada, I love you! I have loved you all along, but I was a fool and blind; but my eyes are opened, and——Do you care for me? Or is it too late?"
She closed her eyes, and seemed as if about to fall, but he caught her in his arms, and, with a sob, she hid her face on his breast, weeping passionately.
Nell sank into a corner of the luxurious carriage, and stared vacantly before her. The reaction had set in, and she felt bewildered and confused. She was leaving Wolfer House "under a cloud." For all her life one person, at least—Lord Wolfer—would deem her guilty of misconduct. She shuddered and closed her eyes. How should she account to mamma for her sudden return? Then she tried to console herself, to ease her aching heart with the thought of the meeting, the reconciliation of the husband and wife. She had not sacrificed herself in vain, not in vain!
What did it matter that the earl deemed her guilty? As she had said, she was nobody, a girl for whom no one cared. She was going back to Shorne Mills. Well, thank God for that! In six hours she would be home. Home! Her heart ached at the word, ached with the longing for rest and peace.
She found that a train did not start until three, and she walked up and down the station for some time, trying to forget her unhappiness in the bustle and confusion which, even at the end of this nineteenth century, make traveling a burden and a trial.
Presently she began to feel faint rather than hungry, and she went into the refreshment room and asked for a glass of milk. While she was drinking it a gentleman came in. She saw that it was Lord Wolfer, and set down the glass and waited. The man seemed totally changed. The sternness had disappeared from his face, and his eyes were bright with his newly found happiness.
"Why have you come?" she asked dully.
"I had to," he said. "I—I wanted to tell you—you were right—yes, you were right! I was blind. We were both blind! We are going abroad to-day—together. She has asked for you—almost directly—almost as if she—she suspected that you had brought us together! I told her that you had been sent for by Sophia. I wish you were not going; I wish you were coming with us!"
Nell shook her head wearily; and he nodded. He seemed years younger; and his old stiffness had disappeared from his manner, the grave solemnity from his voice.
"That is my train," said Nell.
He looked at her wistfully, as if he longed to take her back with him, but Nell walked resolutely down the platform, and he put her into a first-class compartment. Then he got some papers and magazines, and laid them on the seat beside her. It was evident that he did not know how sufficiently to express his gratitude.
"Your going is the only alloy to my—our happiness!" he said.
Nell smiled drearily.
"You will soon forget me," she could not help saying.
"Never! Don't think that!" he said. "Have you wired to say that you are coming?"
Nell shook her head.
"I will do so," he said.
The guard made his last inspection of the carriages, and Wolfer held her hand.
"Good-by," he said. "And—and thank you!"
The words were conventional enough, but Nell understood, and was comforted.
As the train left the station, the boys from the book stall came along with the early edition of the evening papers.
"Paper, miss?" asked one, standing on the step. "Evening paper? Sudden death of the Hearl of Hangleford!"
But Nell had no desire for an evening paper, and, shaking her head, sank back with a sigh.