A day or so after the scene in the Lincoln's Inn Fields office, a party of those interested in the circumstances connected with the amethyst cross assembled in the library of The Court. George was present with Lesbia by his side--Lesbia, still ignorant of her true parentage. Mrs. Walker, looking less grim than usual, had a seat near Mr. Jabez, who had come down to hear Lord Charvington's story and to witness the righting of the wrong which had been done to Lesbia. But two people who should have been on the spot were absent--Walter Hale and Lady Charvington.
On returning from London, where he had admitted the truth, Charvington had interviewed his wife. What took place between them was never known, for out of shame for the lady's behaviour Charvington said as little as he could, when explaining fully. But his wife must have been dissatisfied with the conversation, for she left The Court and returned to London. In spite of what her husband said, she absolutely refused to be present at the rehabilitation of Lesbia, and it must be confessed that Charvington felt relieved. He knew his wife's fiery temper and vindictive nature well, and therefore dreaded lest she should make a scene. Besides he was manifestly in the wrong, and when given an inch Lady Charvington immediately took an ell with all the zest of an ungenerous woman. Mrs. Walker having been the lady's schoolfellow had something to say on the subject: but she reserved her remarks until she heard Charvington's story. She, for one, was not astonished at Lady Charvington's failure to put in an appearance at the conference. She had never credited her with a kindly heart willing to forgive and forget. And time proved that her estimate was right.
As to Hale, the interview in Jabez's office had more or less done away with the necessity for his presence.
He admitted the truth of Charvington's statement to Jabez, and after confessing the whole of his wicked plots to gain possession of Mrs. Walker's money--or rather the money which now belonged to Lesbia as her mother's heiress,--he had been permitted to depart. This he did, knowing that the police were on his track, and that unless he could get out of the country he would be in danger of arrest. And if he were arrested he knew well enough that he would suffer a long term of imprisonment. Destiny, as Mrs. Walker had remarked, had been very kind to him, but the hour had arrived when she demanded the return of all the good fortune which she had lent. And Hale lurked in byways, trembling for the payment of the bill which the police--as Destiny's agents--were trying to present. He did his best to give the police no chance of presenting it, and longed--like David--for the wings of a dove that he might fly away and be at rest.
But enough people were present to give Charvington an opportunity of confessing his weakness and folly and, to be plain, cowardice, or, to be generous, want of courage. Only George and Jabez knew what he was about to say, as they already had heard the confession in the office. But Mrs. Walker and Lesbia were ignorant, and although they guessed that they had been brought there to hear how things could be righted, they little suspected the way in which this would be accomplished.
Lord Charvington glanced round at the attentive faces, and then abruptly plunged into the middle of his his story. It was not an easy one for him to tell, and only sincere repentance made him bold enough to open his mouth. "I have to right a great wrong," he said with considerable emotion, "a wrong done to you, Lesbia."
"To me!" The girl looked surprised and clutched George's hand tighter.
"Yes! Listen. For you to understand I must go back over twenty years. You remember that time, Judith?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Walker quietly, "but you should go back nearly thirty years, Philip. George is now five-and-twenty and I married his father some seven years previous to the time you speak of."
"I begin some twenty-three years ago," said Charvington, after a pause, "as it was then that I married your sister Katherine. Lesbia," he turned to the girl, "you are now twenty I believe?"
"Yes, but what have I to do with----"
"You have everything to do with it," interrupted Charvington, "for I am your father, Lesbia--your guilty, cowardly, cruel father."
"What!" Mrs. Walker rose slowly with a pale face and indignant eyes, "do you mean to say that this girl is my sister's child?"
"Yes, and as such inherits the money."
"I don't want it," said Lesbia, who was as pale as a wintry moon, for she could scarcely grasp the significance of her father's statement.
Mrs. Walker waved the objection aside. "I don't mind about the money," she said harshly, "and if George marries Lesbia the money is well bestowed. But to think that you, Philip, should know the truth and conceal it. I always thought that you were more sinned against than sinning, Philip, as Hale was your evil genius. But if you knew that Lesbia was your daughter why did you permit her to call that wretch father?'
"I am about to explain," said Charvington, trying to speak quietly, "and I remember the time, Judith, when you would not have called Hale a wretch."
"I remember it also," said Mrs. Walker, sitting down, "a time when I loved the man. But you know, Philip, how he deceived me and left me and threw me into the arms of George's father. I can neither forgive nor forget the cruelty with which he treated me. And you allowed your own child--my poor Kate's daughter--to call him father. How could you? how could you?"
"I was wrong, Judith----"
"Wrong," she repeated strongly, "you were wicked and cruel. What induced you to arrange matters so? Why was not Lesbia given into my charge? I was her aunt; I had the right to look after her. But I expect you and Mr. Jabez made up the matter between you and----"
"Pardon me," said the lawyer politely, "but I knew nothing for ever so long, and if I had known, I should have given the money which I held in trust to Miss Lesbia Hale."
"Is my name Lesbia Hale?" asked the girl, who looked pale and scared.
"Yes," said her father, "Hale is my family name. You are Lesbia Hale, as your half-sisters are Agatha and Lena Hale."
"My half-sisters?" muttered Lesbia bewildered.
"Of course. Your mother was my first wife, and you are her child; Helen Harrowby is my second wife, the mother of Agatha and Lena."
"Helen Harrowby," said Mrs. Walker with scorn. "Oh, I know her well, better than you know her, Charvington, or you would never have married her."
"Heaven knows that I have learned to know her," said the man bitterly, "but allow me to explain myself, and----"
"One moment," put in Jabez, "I wish to explain on my part to Mrs. Walker, that I knew nothing of the truth for years. It was only when you, madam," he addressed himself directly to Mrs. Walker, "told me of the theft of the amethyst cross, and how your son had obtained it from Miss Hale, that I got an idea. I fancied--on account of the cross--that Miss Hale might be your sister's child, but Hale swore, if you remember, that there was no child."
"Yes," said George caustically, "and then tried to pass off Maud Ellis as the child so as to get the money."
"That plot was doomed to fail from the first," said Jabez waving his hand, "as by then, I knew too much. I did not like to declare my belief that Miss Hale was the missing child, until I had further proof. In one way and another the proofs came to hand. When Lord Charvington appeared in my office at my request, immediately before Hale called with Miss Ellis, I was then pretty well convinced that he was Miss Hale's father. I was right."
"But you knew for years that he had been my sister's husband," said Mrs. Walker, "and knowing that, you should have asked him about the child."
"You knew also. Why did notyouask?"
"Because from Kate's letter to me saying that the child was dangerously ill, I believed that it had died."
"You told me that," said Jabez, "and I thought so also. Perhaps I have been blind and have not done justice to my legal training. However, the case is a very peculiar one. Let us hear what Lord Charvington has to say, and then, if necessary, I can exonerate myself further."
Mrs. Walker moved her chair and caught Lesbia's disengaged hand. "I am quite ready," she said calmly, "and before Charvington speaks, I must thank him for giving me back Kate's child."
Lesbia was too overcome to speak coherently, but muttering something unintelligible, she sat between mother and son, her aunt and her cousin, allowing them to hold her hands, and feeling, poor child, that at last she had someone to love her, and cherish her, and take care of her. Lord Charvington cast a longing glance at the trio. He would have liked to take Lesbia in his arms, but it was part of his punishment to see her cling to others, while he detailed the folly that had led to his isolation.
"When I was young," he said in a steady voice, and speaking slowly, "there were two people between myself and the title I hold. I was then merely Philip Hale."
"The Honourable Philip Hale," said Mrs. Walker promptly.
"No," he contradicted, "no, Judith, my father was only a younger son. I had no title whatsoever until the death of my cousins by drowning placed me here as head of the family. And I had no expectation then of becoming rich and titled. I was simply a briefless barrister."
"And Walter's closest companion," muttered Mrs. Walker.
"Yes. But Walter was not so wicked in those days as he has since proved to be."
"He was always wicked," snapped the woman, "he was your evil genius."
Charvington passed his hand through his white hair. "I fear he was. However, we can talk of that later. Walter and I were the best of friends, and it was Walter who introduced me to Mr. Samuel Morse, a City merchant. He had two daughters. Judith----"
"That was me," murmured Mrs. Walker, "and the other daughter was my sister Kate. You loved Kate, and I thought that Walter loved me."
"Walter behaved very badly," said Charvington promptly. "He was poor while pretending to be rich, and so, when your father, not approving of his scampish ways, learned that you loved him, Judith, he threatened to disinherit you."
"Quite so, and learning that, Walter threw me over. Later, I married George's father, who was quite as scampish, but kind-hearted and honourable."
"Yes!" Charvington nodded, "I always wondered why Mr. Morse permitted that marriage as he knew that Walker was quite as wild as Hale."
"But he knew also that Aylmer was honourable, which Walter never was. Let that pass, I was jilted by Walter and married Aylmer. I lost my money and my husband, and was left with George to live on nothing. That's my story, I want to hear yours."
"You know most of it," said Lord Charvington, now speaking rapidly as though anxious to end a disagreeable task. "I loved Kate; she was the only woman I ever loved, but your father, thinking me as dissipated as Walter, refused to permit the match. Kate eloped with me, and your father would have altered his will but that he died before he could send for his lawyer."
"And that was me," said Jabez, "however, the will was very fair. You, Mrs. Walker, got your fifty thousand when you married your husband, and he soon got rid of it. The other fifty thousand pounds belonged to Kate, but she never appeared to get it. Why not?" he asked Charvington.
"Walter Hale again," said that gentleman quickly. "Kate and I were married and went on the Continent. I was poor and we lived quietly, hoping that some day Mr. Morse would relent. Then we heard that he had died. Walter undertook to find out about the will, and told us that Kate inherited nothing, that all had been left to you, Judith."
"And you believed him," said Jabez. "Why didn't you communicate with me?"
"I had no reason then to doubt Walter," said Charvington stiffly.
"Augh," groaned Mrs. Walker softly, "you were always an honourable fool."
"I was, in believing Walter," said Charvington, "and not until lately have I learned how I was deceived. Walter was always plausible and clever. Besides, I kept the fact of my marriage secret from my father lest he should disinherit me. Walter made capital out of that also. Then there was Helen----"
"Helen," cried Mrs. Walker, rising, much agitated. "She always hated me and hated Kate because Kate was pretty and you loved her. Helen and Walter caused all the trouble."
"I know that now; I did not know it then," said Charvington sadly. "I was always foolish as you remarked just now. I was living in Paris with my wife. Lesbia was a baby then. We met Helen, who pretended to be our friend."
"A friend such as Walter was," muttered Mrs. Walker.
"I fear so, but let us say nothing since Helen is now my wife."
"You let her off too easily."
"She is now my wife," said Charvington determinedly, "so that puts an end to all discussion. Besides, Walter was to blame, as my wife informed me in a conversation we had when she refused to be present at this meeting. He worked on Kate's feelings and made her believe that I was in love with Helen. I was wrong also, for then I went about much with Helen, while my wife was ill, so that in the end Kate grew jealous."
"You treated her worse than I thought," said Mrs. Walker darkly.
Charvington threw out his hands. "I never was a hero," he said entreatingly, "but surely I have suffered for my weakness--the weakness of a pleasure-loving man. I was wrong; I here admit publicly that I was wrong. Surely you will believe that my repentance is sincere."
Mrs. Walker looked at his drawn face and admitted that it was. After all, few men would have had the courage to stand up and speak as Charvington was now speaking--to lay bare the secrets of their weakness and strive, even at the eleventh hour, to make amends. Charvington had sinned through weakness; he confessed through strength gained from the lessons of a hard life, hard in spite of his outward show of prosperity. "I forgive you," said Mrs. Walker in softer tones, "go on."
"I come to the cruellest part," said Charvington in a thick voice. "Kate was so jealous that she fled with the child. I searched for her but could not find her. It was in winter. Then Walter sent for me. I came to England and he told me that Kate had come to him weak and ill and almost starving. She had sold what jewels she possessed to feed herself and her child, and only retained the amethyst cross which her father had given her. Then she went to Walter at Wimbledon, and there died in the arms of Bridget Burke."
"Was Mr. Hale married then?" asked George anxiously.
"No. He never married in his life. But when I arrived my wife was buried and had left the child to the care of Bridget, and also had given her the cross saying it was to be handed to Lesbia when she grew up."
"Bridget gave it to me on her death-bed," sighed Lesbia, who wept bitterly.
"Yes, I learned that," said Charvington with a heavy sigh. "But to go back to my story. I repented deeply of the way in which I had behaved. I meant no harm, and would have explained to my wife had she not left me secretly. I never had an opportunity of explaining. Kate simply disappeared and died. Owing to my conduct I did not dare to go near you, Judith, or I might have placed the child in your care. As it was Hale proposed that Lesbia should be nursed by Bridget and that I should allow him money. I agreed to this, as at the time it seemed the best way out of the difficulty. Then my cousins were lost at sea in their yacht. I came in for a large income and for the title. My relatives urged me to marry again. Chance threw me once more into Helen's company----"
"Chance!" snorted Mrs. Walker. "Chance! I know the minx."
Charvington passed over this remark. "I married Helen and took up the station I now hold. I arranged to allow Walter an annuity if he looked after Lesbia. He did so, and gradually she began to look on him as her father."
"And you permitted that--you permitted that," cried Mrs. Walker furiously.
"Yes," said Charvington with an effort. "Weakness again. My wife knew the truth and I did not dare to bring my child into the house. I provided that Lesbia should have a good education, and saw that she had everything she desired. Walter was kind to her in his own way. Gradually I came to accept the situation. Then the cross passed into Walker's possession, and--" he threw out his hand--"you know the rest."
George nodded. "But how did Lady Charvington learn the truth, and why did she want the cross?"
Charvington sighed again and hung his head. "I do not wish to speak ill of my wife," he said in a low voice; "but in justice to Lesbia I must be frank. Hale learned about the money waiting for Lesbia, and knew that it could be obtained if the cross was shown to you, Jabez, But Hale could not find the cross."
"I know why," said Lesbia quickly, "Bridget kept it secretly beside her, as my mother thought that Mr. Hale."--she did not say father--"might take it away. My mother told Bridget that the cross would prove that I was her child should any money be waiting for her. Bridget gave the cross to me and made me promise to say nothing to Mr. Hale, but to give it to the man I loved. While I was giving it to George, Mr. Hale came and then----"
"Then," said Lord Charvington, "he went to Cookham and told Sargent that you, Walker, had the cross. My wife had already learned through Sargent, who obtained the information from Hale, that if Lesbia produced the cross she would inherit a fortune. Then--she--" he hesitated.
Mrs. Walker took up the explanation. "I can see it all," she said scornfully, "Helen hated Kate so that she was determined that Lesbia should not get the money and hired Sargent to get the cross. He did through his brother. We know all about that. But did Helen know that Sargent was a thief?"
"No," said Charvington sharply. "Helen is not altogether bad. She did not know of that, nor did she ever suspect that Walter was such a rascal. I was amazed myself when I heard the truth. I only learned it during the last few weeks. But you can see how the cross came into my wife's possession."
"Yes," said George, "but why did she tell the lie about its being in the library?"
"To conceal the fact of how she came to get it, as she knew perfectly well that Sargent had obtained it in some underhand way. She guessed that if she swore I had given her the cross, that no inquiry would be made and, of course," he added apologetically, "as my wife, I should have been obliged to support her."
"Philip," cried Mrs. Walker, rising, "you are as weak as ever."
"No," denied the man, "I am strong. Things being as they are, I must make the best of them. Helen is my wife, and to save the honour of my name all that I have told you must be kept silent."
Mrs. Walker shrugged her stately shoulders. "I shall say nothing," she observed, "neither will anyone else. As to Walter, he can be left to the punishment of the law. But I am certain," she added, with emphasis, "that as he knows everything, he will speak if only out of revenge."
Charvington winced. "As I have sown, so must I reap," he murmured. "Let us hope that out of shame Walter will be silent and not add to my burden, which is already sufficiently heavy. If I have sinned through weakness, I have repented and I have been punished."
Mrs. Walker offered her hand. "You shall not be punished further by me," she said generously, "you were always good and kind, Philip, but very weak. I held my tongue about you, and I shall hold it still. As to Walter----"
"Oh," said Jabez, rising, "I daresay I shall find some means to square him. In the interests of all parties, it will be best to give him a sum of money and assist him to escape. Once abroad he will say nothing, besides which he will not dare to venture back to England. You forget, Lord Charvington, that although he has a hold on you by knowing so much, you have a hold on him by what you know. Now if I----"
"Do what you think best," said Charvington, whose hungry, bloodshot eyes were fixed on Lesbia, "I give you full permission. But my child--" he held out his arms to Lesbia, who rose pale and trembling--"will you not forgive me?" said the man in a thick voice. "I have done you wrong, but I have suffered and I will make amends and I--I----"
Lesbia ran forward and threw her arms round his neck. "I forgive you," she whispered, "and I will learn to love you, and--and--father!"
Her voice rose in a scream. Unable to bear the joy of this forgiveness, a long-threatened attack of apoplexy seized on the man's weakened frame. He tried to speak, choked, grew purple in the face and fell full length on the floor from the arms of the daughter he had not acknowledged for so many years.
A week later and George was seated beside Lesbia on the well-known bench under the famous chestnut tree. Lord Charvington had recovered from his apoplectic fit, and was now progressing favourably. For two or three days Lesbia and Mrs. Walker had nursed him; but when Lady Charvington heard of her husband's illness she came down to The Court at once. A furious passage of arms took place between her and Mrs. Walker, which resulted in the defeat of the latter lady. Her enemy, being Charvington's wife and mistress of the house, had the power to send away those whom she regarded as interlopers, and she exercised this power forthwith. Lesbia departed under the wing of Mrs. Walker, and Charvington was too ill to prevent his wife from behaving in this despotic manner.
Mrs. Walker desired the girl to come to Medmenham, there to remain until such time as she could be married. But Lesbia, thinking of Tim, insisted on returning to Rose Cottage. Jabez allowed her sufficient money to live on, pending his handing over to her the invested fifty thousand pounds, so there was no difficulty on the score of money. Then it was unlikely that Hale would come back to see Lesbia, now that she knew the truth; and under the charge of the devoted Tim, she could remain quietly until George found occasion to make her his wife.
But there was another reason why Hale could not come. He was in hiding, for the information given to the police by Canning--forced, in order to save himself, to turn king's evidence--had resulted in the arrest of Tait and Mrs. Petty and several members of the infamous gang, whose names Canning had supplied. But Hale had managed to escape, likewise Captain Sargent, who had been warned by Maud. That clever young lady, having seen at Jabez's office that the game was up, did what she could to put the rest of the gang on the alert and then vanished like a bubble. Things were in this position when George sat hand in hand with Lesbia under the chestnut tree, discussing the future.
"I saw Lord Charvington yesterday," explained the young man, "and he is now rapidly getting better. He proposes that we shall get married next month and accompany him to the south of France. He has a villa there which he will place at our disposal."
"And Lady Charvington?" asked Lesbia timidly.
"Your stepmother," said Walker, smiling.
"No," said Lesbia shuddering, "don't call her that."
"Why not? She has behaved exactly as a stepmother does--in fiction."
Lesbia shook her head. "I think of her merely as Lady Charvington--a stranger, and when we are married I shall never set eyes on her again."
"I don't think she wants to see you," said George drily. "She is still vindictive. It seems that she always loved your father and can never forgive your dead mother for having married him. Thus she visits her anger upon you, my dear. However, what she does or what she says matters little. And for her own sake she will say as little as possible."
"She is a strange woman," sighed Lesbia, "and very unhappy."
"Don't make any mistake, my dear. Lady Charvington is too hard-hearted to be unhappy. So long as she has her rank and her title and her crowds of adorers, she cares for no one. Whatever love she may have had for your father she has long since given entirely to herself."
"Do Agatha and Lena know that I am their half-sister?"
"No. I was talking about that yesterday to Lord Charvington. As you know he has not been able to do anything because of his illness, but he is only waiting to get on his feet again to put matters straight."
"In what way?" asked the girl anxiously.
"Well, you are his daughter, my dear, and he desires to acknowledge you as such in the most public manner."
"No," said Lesbia firmly and sadly, "that would be useless and would do no good. Such an acknowledgment would only lead to a lot of questions being asked by my father's friends, and then the whole unhappy business would be raked up. I don't want my miserable story to be published in the papers, especially as Mr. Hale's name is so notorious. Let me marry you quietly, my dear, and then we can go away to France with my father for a few months. I have you, I have the money left to me by my mother, and I have found my real father--the rest matters very little."
George kissed her. "You wise little darling," he said admiringly, "I think your decision is exactly what I should expect from your commonsense way of looking at things. I agree with you, that it is best to let sleeping dogs lie, and not to stir up muddy water, and not to--to--what other proverb shall I use, Lesbia?"
"'Let the dead past bury its dead,'" she replied, seriously. "We have had much trouble, and we have been parted. Now the troubles appear to have come to an end and we are together. Let us marry and enjoy our good fortune and be happy in our own small way."
"Amen! amen! amen!" said George, laughing, "and indeed I think we deserve the good fortune for we did not refuse to bear the cross."
"And so have gained the crown of perfect love," said Lesbia contentedly as she nestled in her lover's arms.
The garden was still brilliant with many-hued roses, and the river murmured a joyous song as it flowed tranquilly under the deeply blue summer sky. But the blackbird and his mate had gone away with their brood and the nest was deserted. Still other birds remained and other birds were singing lustily of summer joys. Basking in the warm sunshine, contented with each other's company, George and Lesbia passed into that hour of silence, which speaks of love so deep that no speech is needed. They listened to the birds, to the river, to the whispering of the breeze, and dreamed of a future that would always be happy. They were together, they understood each other, so nothing else mattered.
But their golden hour was disturbed by Tim, who hobbled down the pathway with a distressed look on his ugly, kind face. The two expected him, so the arrival was not an intrusion. For several days Lesbia had insisted that Tim should explain how much he had known of the many disgraceful things lately found out. Hitherto Tim had evaded an explanation, but on that morning he had gravely promised to tell what he knew. Therefore, when he halted before the dreaming couple, George roused himself.
"Here is Tim, my darling," he said with a laugh, "put him in the witness-box."
"Ye might say the confessional, Masther Garge," replied Tim, squatting on the dry grass and looking like a good-tempered gnome. "What is it ye want to know, me darlin' heart?"
"About my father--that is about Mr. Hale," said Lesbia, who had been addressed.
"The bands av death on him," muttered Tim, using an ancient Irish oath. "Sure I knew he wasn't any kith or kin av yours, Miss, though by the same token I niver rightly knew as his lardship was yer father."
"Tim," said his young mistress severely, "you told Mrs. Walker in my presence that there was no child with the poor lady who died at Wimbledon."
"Is ut yer mother ye talk av, Miss?" asked Tim innocently. "Sure ut was lyin' I wor, an' if I hadn't lied, that divil--ut's the masther I mane--wud have brought throuble on ye."
"In what way, Tim?" asked George, looking puzzled.
"Augh, nivir ask me, sor. But wasn't I always listenin' and pokin' an' pryin' when that divil--ut's the masther I mane--had thim dirthy tatterdemalions here? Thaves they wor, an' spies, an' racavers av stolen goods, bad luck to thim! The masther caught me wan night an' larned as I knew av the divilments he wor indulgin' in. An' ses he, 'Tim,' ses he, if ye breathe wan wurrd I go to gaol, an' by the same token I'll see that Miss Lesbia goes wid me. Well ye know,' ses he, 'as she lies whin callin' me her father, but if ye tell her I am not,' ses he, 'it manes gaol fur us both.' Augh!" Tim rocked in much distress, "an' what cud I do, Miss dear, me not knowin' the true father av ye."
"And if you had known, Tim?" asked Lesbia anxiously.
"If I'd known as his lardship wor yer father," said Tim emphatically, "I wud have gone on me bare shinbones to ask him to take ye out av this divil's house. But me masther--bad luck to him!--lied like the father av lies, as he'll some day go to, an' being in the dark as it wor, I didn't dare to let a mouse's squeak av what I knew come to yer purty ears, Miss."
"But you hinted that the cross would bring trouble, Tim."
"I did that, Miss. Sure, whin the mother that bore ye died in the arrums av me own mother she guv the crass, 'an',' ses she, wid her last gasp, 'let me choild have it, whin she grows up to prove as she's me lawful choild. An' if there's money comin',' ses she, 'though be the same token, me sister has got it all, the crass may git it fur the choild. But nivir let her see her father,' ses she, 'for a bad man he's bin to me.'"
"Not altogether bad, Tim," said Lesbia gently, "my mother was deceived. Did she tell Bridget my father's name?"
"No, Miss," said Tim promptly, "had she towld, I'd have larned it whin me own mother died, and thin I'd have asked his lardship to take ye from this divil--ut's the masther I mane. But me mother sid nothin' for she knew nothin', save what she towld ye about the crass. 'And,' ses me mother to me whin she guv ye the crass, there'll be throuble over yon crass,' ses she, 'fur th' Sight's on me being near me latter end,' ses she. 'Throuble there'll be over the crass, an' sorrow an' tears an' sudden death. But thim who love will win clear and thim as is bad will come to the black grave.'"
"There has been trouble certainly, Tim," said Lesbia sighing, "and the cross both began it and ended it, as your mother declared it would. But now, thank God," she turned to place her arms round George's neck, "it's all over and we shall have no more. Your mother prophesied rightly, Tim, save that there has been no sudden death or black grave, and there isn't likely to be."
Tim rocked and shook his huge head. "Thim as is goin' to their long rest sees things as thim aloive can't get a squint at. Me mother foresaw th' sorrow an' tears av th' crass an' the joy which ye an' Masther Garge there have now, good luck to both ay ye! So the sudden death an' the black grave will come I doubt not. But here, me dears," said Tim, after a pause, "there's wan thing ye don't know as I'll tell ye."
"And what is that?" asked George, smiling.
"'Twas me, Masther Garge, as carried ye from the river bank to the room in yonder," Tim nodded towards the cottage. "I wor out fishin' an' I saw ye in the moonlight lying on the path, though be me sowl I nivir dreamed 'twas you. I rowed ashore an' found ye stunned an' bound, bad luck to the divil who did ut! I tuke ye into the cottage and called softly to the young misthress there. She thought 'twas a drame an' come down to see to you. An' now ye know, both av ye."
Lesbia and George looked at one another in astonishment. "Why didn't you tell us this before?" asked Walker sharply. "And why did you bring me to the cottage?"
"Sure now," said Tim in injured tones, "didn't I think as 'twas the masther had been up to some divilment, and didn't dare spake in case he'd get Miss Lesbia clapped into gaol 'longside him? But I knew as the masther wud nivir dare to harrum ye in his own house wid Miss Lesbia by the side av ye, an' so I brought ye here into his very jaws as it wor. An' wasn't I right, me dear sor?"
"Yes," assented Walker promptly, "I think you were. It was very clever of you to have protected me in that way, even though it was Canning and not Hale who assaulted me. Well, Lesbia," he turned to the girl, "here is another thing made clear. Quite a surprise."
"I hope it is the last surprise," said the girl, wearily, "I am very tired of being surprised."
"In that case," said a smooth voice at her elbow, "you will be tired at seeing me."
Lesbia started to her feet with a cry, and George with an exclamation of astonishment. As to Tim, he scrambled to his feet with an oath. "Augh, murther! murther!" cried the Irishman, "it's the black divil his own silf."
"That's complimentary," said Hale, who was standing calm and composed near the lovers. "You were so busily engaged talking, Lesbia, that you did not hear me come down the path."
"How dare you come here?" said the girl indignantly.
"It's my own house. I had the key," retorted Hale coolly. "I opened the front door and entered. Finding no one within I came here and find that Tim is giving me away. But I am not so black as I am painted."
"You are much worse, I daresay," said George bluntly.
"Oh, you're there, you lucky young man," said Hale, raising his eyebrows. "I congratulate you on marrying Lesbia and on getting the money."
"In spite of all your plotting," said Walker sharply.
Hale sat down on the bench with a sudden look of fatigue. He was cool and smiling and bore himself both shamelessly and dauntlessly. But it was apparent that he behaved thus out of bravado. In spite of his boldness, and of the fact that he was dressed as carefully as ever, he was thoroughly ill and had his back to the wall.
"You had better leave this place," said Lesbia, to her lover, "the police are hunting for you."
"Someone else is hunting for me," said Hale gloomily, "Maud Ellis is on my track swearing vengeance."
"Why should she?"
"Because to get the money and induce her to play her part, I promised to marry her. I have no intention of doing so. Then again, for my own safety, I have sent a communication to the police offering to tell all I know about Tait and his gang on condition that I am let off. Maud, confound her, has found this out, and swears to have my life."
"She would scarcely go so far as that," said George scornfully.
"Oh, I think so," said Hale quietly, "she can't show herself, as she is in danger from the police also, and so will revenge herself as she best can. I don't think there's much she would stick at. I caught sight of her on the London platform as I came down this morning, so I expect she will follow me to this house. There will be trouble unless you can aid me to get away."
"How can we compound a felony?" asked George, frowning.
"It is better than to see a tragedy," retorted Hale. "I am not afraid of Maud unless she takes me by surprise; but that is just what she will do. I am not your father, Lesbia, as you know now, and perhaps I have not been kind in my treatment. All the same I ask you to exercise that kind nature which you always declared you possessed, and give me fifty pounds to get abroad with. Once across the Channel I can shift for myself."
"I have not got fifty pounds," said Lesbia hesitating. Badly as Hale had treated her she yet wished to assist him, and truly he was in great need of the coals of fire which she could heap upon his head.
"You can soon get it," said Hale eagerly. "Charvington will give you anything. Send Walker to ask him for the money and I can remain concealed in the cottage until he returns."
The lovers looked at one another. Both were inclined to assist the miserable man, little as he deserved kindness at their hands. Tim, with a grim face, stood neutral, but being of a less forgiving nature, would gladly have pitched his old master into the river had Lesbia but lifted a finger. But she gave no sign, so Tim waited. It was hard to say what would have happened had not Fate decided the matter.
The four people in the garden were so deeply engaged in conversation that they did not observe a boat crossing the river from the opposite shore, some distance above the garden. Tim, indeed, did catch a glimpse of a craft holding two people, but did not take much notice. The boat reached the near shore and then dropped down alongside the bank until it was directly abreast of the chestnut tree. Then for the first time, George and Lesbia looked round at the sound of dipping oars. Hale raised his head and looked also. The next moment there was the sharp report of a revolver and he rolled off the bench shot through the breast. Twice again the revolver spoke and twice Hale was wounded. Maud Ellis was a sure shot.
"There," cried she, flinging the weapon ashore to Lesbia, "you can finish him off. He betrayed my uncle, he betrayed me, he betrayed us all. Only Sargent, who is rowing me, and I have escaped. Good-bye, Lesbia, you have your lover--my lover--the man I adore. I hope you'll be happy. I have done justice on that blackguard, so I am going to clear. You'll never see me again, and you can thank your stars that I did not kill you as well as that scoundrel there. George--good-bye--good-bye."
She sat down quickly in the boat, which was already receding rapidly from the garden. Sargent apparently had not expected that Maud would have been so thorough in her vengeance and could be seen talking angrily to her. He rowed with all his might across the river, let the boat drift down-stream and leaped ashore. Maud followed alertly and the two set off running rapidly. Where they went, or how they escaped George never knew; but that was the last seen of them in England.
Meanwhile Lesbia was on her knees beside the wretched man who had done her so much harm, striving to staunch his wounds with her handkerchief. Tim already had run up the path shouting for the police, and George was about to follow, as he wanted Maud to be arrested for her dastardly crime, when Hale opened his eyes.
"Are you there, Lesbia?" he asked faintly. "It's no use my asking for your forgiveness, as I hate being a sneak at the last moment. I have lived bad and I have died bad. But I can say this, that you are the sole human being I regret having injured. You are a fool, as you have always been, like your father--but you are a sweet fool. And I--I----" he choked.
"Hush! hush!" said Lesbia distractedly. "George, take him into the house, and fetch the doctor. We must save him----"
"No," gasped Hale with a flash of energy, "don't save me to let me rot in gaol. Maud has done me a good turn after all. I die and--and--I cheat--I cheat the law," he opened his eyes again and stared at the two pale faces, then smiled. "God bless you," he gasped, "oh, to think that I should bless----" he laughed, but the effort was too great and he fell back dead.
At the same moment Tim came running down with a policeman at his heels.
"It's too late, Tim, he is dead," said Lesbia faintly.
"Dead is ut?" muttered Tim, staring and crossing himself. "Then me mother wor right in all she said. Sudden death and the black grave. Augh! Sure 'twas the truth me mother spake afther all."
THE villa owned by Lord Charvington at Nice was beautifully situated, beautifully furnished, and beautifully built. Endless money had been spent upon it to make it as perfect as any human habitation could be. Lady Charvington was particularly fond of it, and her extravagance was evident both in the house and in the lovely gardens. Great was her rage when she heard that her husband had invited George and his young wife and her arch-enemy Mrs. Walker to stay there with him. But she was even more angry when she learned that Charvington had made a free gift of the villa to his daughter.
"His conduct has always been atrocious," said Lady Charvington to Jabez, who was the sole person to whom she could speak of such things, since for her own sake she was forced to hold her tongue to the world at large, "but this is the worst thing he has ever done. How dare he give my villa to that horrid girl?"
"He has every right to," said Jabez drily, "as the villa is Lord Charvington's own property. And I beg leave to state that I do not consider young Mrs. Walker a horrid girl. She is very sweet, and is bearing her good fortune as modestly as she bore her bad luck bravely."
"I hate her," said Lady Charvington fervently.
"Why, may I ask?"
"Because I hated her mother. I always loved Charvington, and she took him from me."
"But you got him in the end," Jabez reminded her.
"Got him. Yes, I got the rags and tatters of the passion he had for that detestable Kate Morse. I never forgave her while she lived, and I certainly shall not forgive her now she is dead."
"Very good; but you needn't hate her daughter," expostulated Jabez earnestly; "consider how unhappy the poor girl has been, and through no fault of her own. Even now--in deference to her own wish, I admit--she is not acknowledged by her father, publicly at least."
"I don't care," cried Lady Charvington, with all the venom of an angry woman. "I hate the girl, and I shall always hate her. But I didn't come here to listen to your views, Mr. Jabez. What I wish to know is if I can insist that my villa shall be given back to me."
"No," said Jabez, and very glad he was to be able to reply in the negative, "the villa was never settled on you, and Lord Charvington has a perfect right to deal as he pleases with his own property."
"It is my property, and Charvington's a brute. I wonder that I ever loved him--indeed I do," cried the lady vehemently, "and to think of that horrid girl getting the husband she wanted and the fifty thousand pounds, and my villa, and--oh!" she stamped, "it makes one doubt if there is a Providence."
"I fear," said Jabez gravely, as she rose to depart, "that some day, if you bear such ill-will towards one who has never injured you, that you will find thereisa Providence."
"Pooh! pooh! That's all goody-goody talk," said Lady Charvington contemptuously, "but that I have to think of Agatha and Lena I should get a separation from my husband. As it is, I shall spend as much money as I can, and enjoy myself in my own way. I don't want to see him."
"I fancy you'll see very little of him," said Jabez drily, as he accompanied her to the door. "Lord Charvington is fond of a quiet life. All you have to do is to enjoy your position and the ample income which he allows you, and hold your tongue about these family troubles."
"Oh, of course you are on his side," cried Lady Charvington in a rage. "I really believe that you suggested he should give that nasty girl my villa."
"Pardon me," said the solicitor, skilfully dodging the question, "it never was your villa."
"It was, and she has stolen it. I only hope she'll be as thoroughly unhappy as she well can be, with the fool she's married and her disagreeable mother-in-law. Judith was always horrid."
"I fear you will be disappointed. Young Mrs. Walker adores her mother-in-law, and is adored in turn. They are, as you know, all at the villa with Lord Charvington and, as I gather, perfectly happy."
"How disgusting," cried Lady Charvington vindictively, "but I shall wait for the interference of an overruling Providence. Some day the sins of the lot of them will come home to them, and they will be thoroughly miserable."
"And your ladyship's sins?" inquired Jabez very gravely.
"Sins," she stared, "I have none." After which speech, which completely silenced the lawyer, so taken aback was he by its amazing impudence, she took her departure. All the same she also took his advice and said nothing of what had happened in connection with the affairs of the amethyst cross. And in time--as she could not keep up a hostile attitude for ever--she found it politic to smooth over things with her worried husband. But she never forgave Lesbia to her dying day.
Not that Lesbia cared. She was absolutely happy with her husband and mother-in-law and father at the villa. The income derived from her mother yielded over two thousand a year, and this had been supplemented by Lord Charvington, anxious to make amends. What with a large income and a lovely villa, and a handsome, affectionate husband, Lesbia was very fortunate indeed, and felt quite glad that she had gone through so much trouble, to get to such a goal. Something of this sort she said to her father one evening after dinner.
The party were seated on the terrace which overlooked the deeply blue waters of the Mediterranean. At the moment, these were dyed with rosy hues from the setting sun. Mrs. Walker, looking much less stern and much more composed, was seated in a deep arm-chair near Lesbia, whom she could scarcely bear out of her sight. Lord Charvington, now looking wonderfully hale and hearty--for it was six months since his attack of apoplexy--sat near a small round table upon which stood coffee and liqueurs. George lounged about with a cigar, casting looks of affection on Lesbia. The quartette, arrayed in evening dress amidst beautiful surroundings, looked thoroughly happy and well-to-do. After the storm had come the calm, and when recalling the storm, as sometimes she could not help doing, Lesbia always spoke cheerfully.
"The trouble was worth going through, to come to this," she said, smiling in a happy manner.
"I think so too, dear," observed George, who was always hovering in her vicinity. "And I think we have learned the lesson which those very troubles were sent to teach."
"What lesson?" asked Lord Charvington lazily.
"To trust in God."
"Yes," said Mrs. Walker, who was knitting, "you and Lesbia have learned that, and I have learned a lesson also. I have learned to be more sympathetic and more liberal-minded. We are all mortal, and no one has any right to judge another person not knowing that person's temptations."
"Do you allude to Walter?" asked Charvington.
"Yes. He behaved badly, I allow; but then his will was not strong enough to struggle against the evil that was in him. And after all," Mrs. Walker laid down her knitting, "he was terribly punished. He was snatched out of life unprepared. I hope he has found mercy. But the evil that he did lived after him. Alas! Alas!"
"I think Tait and his gang found that was so," said George grimly. "From what was said at the trial, it seemed that Hale was the soul of the gang, even though Tait posed as the head. Canning, of course, escaped because he turned king's evidence and is now in Italy; but Tait got a long sentence."
"Mrs. Petty and the rest of the gang also," observed Charvington, "but Maud Ellis and Alfred Sargent escaped."
"They were very lucky," said George reflectively. "The police, advised by Tim, were on their track almost at once, but they never caught them. As they were not disguised I wonder that they ever escaped."
"Hale was not disguised either, I heard you say," remarked Charvington. "It seems to me that audacity favoured the lot of them. Hale would have escaped also, I doubt not, had he not been shot by that wretched woman."
"Why do you shudder, George?" asked Mrs. Walker, at this point.
"I am thinking how easily she could have shot Lesbia," said George reluctantly. "She had two or three shots left after she polished off Hale. But she flung the revolver ashore and made a sentimental speech wishing myself and Lesbia good luck. I should have thought--but there," George sighed, "no man can understand a woman."
"No woman can understand a man," said Lesbia, laughing. "But I am glad Maud did not shoot me. Where is she now?"
Charvington removed his cigar. "I have reason to believe, from some facts which came to Jabez's ears, that she has married Alfred Sargent and is engaged in making trouble in a South American Republic."
"Sargent is not strong enough to do much," objected George.
Mrs. Walker shook her head. "I believe Alfred Sargent was a much cleverer man than his appearance warranted," she said sharply. "He looked like a fool, but he acted like a wise man. Not only did he escape, but he managed to carry off his thievish earnings. Then look how cleverly he behaved in society in never being suspected. Yet he stole--as we learned at the trial of Tait and the rest--at balls, at weddings, from private houses, and blackmailed any number of people. A dangerously clever man, I call him."
"Well, don't let us talk any more about him," said Charvington impatiently, "Maud is clever if you like, and probably will end in imposing him on some second-rate republic, as its President, even though he is a foreigner. I believe that there is no end to that woman's ambition. But he and she are both out of our lives. Also Hale is dead, and as Lesbia has now changed her name, she will not be connected with the sordid past in any way. Let us talk of something more agreeable."
"The amethyst cross for instance," said Lesbia pointedly.
Charvington wriggled. "Why? That belongs to the disagreeable past."
"It taught George and me a lesson," said Lesbia seriously, "and I am sorry that it has been lost sight of."
"It has not been lost sight of," said Charvington, after a pause. "Jabez got it from Hale and restored it to me. But I did not show it to you, Lesbia child, because I thought that the sight of it would be painful."
"Not now, that I have learned its lesson. Where is it, father?"
"Call Tim."
Lesbia rang a silver bell which was on the table and shortly Tim, looking more grotesque and more like a gnome than ever, appeared. He was with the young couple as the majordomo of their small household, and enjoyed himself hugely. "Tim," ordered Lord Charvington, giving him a key, "go to my study and open my dispatch box. Bring me the morocco case you will find in it. A red morocco case."
"Yes, yer lardship," said the majordomo gravely, as he departed.
"Are you sure you want the cross, Lesbia?" asked Mrs. Walker seriously.
"Yes. Whenever I forget to be kind and thoughtful, whenever I am inclined to judge others harshly, the cross will remind me of my own shortcomings."
"You have none, dear," said George fondly.
"George," Mrs. Walker smiled, "you are spoiling her."
"I know someone else who spoils me more," whispered Lesbia roguishly, and Mrs. Walker smoothed the girl's hair.
At this moment Tim returned with the case. Lord Charvington opened it and took out the ornament which glittered in the rosy hues of sunset.
"Presarve us!" whispered Tim crossing himself. "The unlucky crass!"
"Lucky now, Tim," said Charvington, slipping a slender watch-chain he wore from his waistcoat. "It found me my daughter. Here, Lesbia," he threaded the loop at the top of the cross, "you can wear it now."
Lesbia bent her head and her father threw the chain on her neck. The amethyst cross gleamed with purple fire on her white bosom, a symbol of all that had passed and a symbol also of a brighter future. "I shall always wear it," said Lesbia with serious lovely eyes.
"'Refuse and lose,'" said George meditatively, "well we have not refused the cross although I daresay had it been in our powers to do so we should have shirked the burden."
"Thank Heaven you were not allowed to, for the bearing of the burden has taught you much," said Mrs. Walker devoutly.
"It has earned me the crown of perfect love," said George, drawing Lesbia to his breast.
"And that is worth everything," Lesbia replied, kissing him.