That evening, Dan paid a visit to Mr. Jarner in order to confess his newly born passion. After the rebuff he had received from Miss Linisfarne, he judged it as well to enlist the sympathy of the vicar, so that if the one retarded the other would speed his wooing. Miss Linisfarne had taken up a distinctly hostile attitude towards Meg. She monopolized Dan all the tea-time, and seemed displeased when he addressed the girl even in the most casual manner. Dan was quite unaware of her reason for acting thus, and so wished to seek the advice and assistance of Mr. Jarner.
The vicar was installed in the oaken parlour, and, according to his usual custom, had placed himself at the open window with his beer and his long clay pipe. There was no light in the room save what was given by the soft twilight. Dan hailed his host outside, and was bidden to enter with hearty hospitality.
"Hey, lad, I'm glad to see you," said Mr. Jarner, in his usual loud voice; "come inside--come inside. A tankard and a pipe and a chat ye shall have. Down, Jane! Down, Mike!"--this to the yapping terriers. "Come in, my lord."
"Hush!" said Dan, pausing on the threshold of the parlour; "not that name here."
"Ay, ay! I forgot. It is Dan I'm to call you. Sit ye down. Yonder's the chair. Wait, and I'll light up."
"Not on my account, sir," said his visitor, seating himself on the window seat. "Let us sit down here and enjoy the beauty of the evening. It is good to live on days like these. You remember Keble on the evening, vicar?"
"Ay, sir; Keble and Cowper. Both knew the quiet of eventide. Isn't that a pretty picture, sir?"--the vicar pronounced it 'pratty.' "Yon's the church tower black against the clear glow of the sky. Bats and owls are abroad; I've been watching their flittings. And hark, if you have a soul for music, Dan."
"The nightingale!"
"He's in the thicket yonder, and sings his evening hymn nightly to me. To think that yonder strain is but an invitation to battle--the cock nightingale calling to his rival!"
"Then all the sorrow of the bird----"
"Comes from the poets. Poetic invention, sir! though I don't deny the ideal view is finer than the real. But we can talk of birds and beasts another time. What brings you here, Dan?"
"A desire for your company, vicar."
"Pooh-pooh, sir! Am I a young maiden that ye should come slipping through the dark to talk with me? You've--ay, ay, here's a tankard for you, Dan. Come, drink up!"
"To tell you the truth, Mr. Jarner, I wish to speak seriously with you," said Dan, after they had pledged each other in ale.
"Is it about those mysteries, Dan? Have you found out anything new?"
"I have seen Miss Linisfarne."
The vicar laid down his pipe on the window sill, and, with his hands on his knees, stared in surprise at his visitor. The news astonished him.
"You--seen--Miss--Linisfarne!" said he, with a pause between each word. Dan nodded thrice to assure him that such was the case. Whereat the vicar picked up his pipe again, and proceeded to proclaim his wonderment. "It is the first time she has seen a stranger for years. How did you chance on her, may I ask?"
"Meg took me to the Court to see the picture of Sir Alurde Breel, and, while we were looking at it, Miss Linisfarne made her appearance."
"Ay?"
"She was most agreeable, and very curious to know who I was."
"Did you gratify her curiosity, Dan?" demanded the vicar, with a twinkle in his eye. His short acquaintance with Lord Ardleigh had shown him something of the young man's character.
"No, sir. I managed to keep my secret with some difficulty, so she made another attempt to find it out, and asked me to tea."
"Preserve us!" cried Jarner, breaking his pipe in his astonishment; "if this is not the most remarkable thing I have heard. Tea at Farbis Court, and you a stranger! In all the years I have known Miss Linisfarne, I have never broken bread under her roof. Look after yourself, lad. There's woman's guile at work. If you don't take care of yourself, the old lady will marry you. You'll be mated, my lord, before you know where you are. There is no trusting Eve's daughters," finished the vicar, rising to get a fresh pipe.
"I'll be married soon, no doubt, Mr. Jarner, but not to Miss Linisfarne."
In the glow of the match, with which the vicar was lighting his new pipe, Dan saw that his face had suddenly grown serious.
"Are you talking of Meg, my lord?"
"Yes. Of whom else should I talk? I am in love with Meg, sir, and, with your assistance, hope to make her my wife."
"Is this a joke, my lord?" demanded Mr. Jarner, sternly.
"I was never more serious in my life."
"Then you're a lunatic, sir--a crazy person! What?--what? To love a woman you've seen but twice--to----"
"Pardon me! I've seen her four times."
"When, and where?"
"First, at the Gates of Dawn. Second, on the crest of the ridge. Third, at afternoon tea, in my dell, yesterday. Fourth, to-day at Farbis Court."
"My lord--my lord, you----"
"Don't call me 'my lord'!"
"Ay, but I shall, my lord. This is a serious matter, and it behoves you to talk with me in your true colours. As a priest, my Lord Ardleigh, I tell you that it is wrong for you to behave so!"
"I don't understand you, sir," said Dan, placidly. He was not at all put out by the vicar's anger, which he considered just enough, in the parson's present state of misapprehension.
"She has been to your dell, sir--alone."
"Don't go too far, sir! You have no right to judge me without a hearing!"
"The Lord forgive me if I am harsh!" said Jarner, wiping his forehead; "but the girl is dear to me, and I would not have a hair of her head harmed for all the gold of Ophir. I listen, my lord."
"There is not much to tell, Mr. Jarner. Meg had tea with me in the dell; and it was there I fell in love with her."
"You cannot love so suddenly, sir! This is a young man's fancy!"
"Indeed, no! I am in love with her beauty, her heart, and her noble character. Can you blame me?"
"No! It is natural that you should love so fine a creature. But so soon--so soon! Ay, there's the rub, my lord! Easy in--easy out!"
"My dear vicar, if you had constructed an ideal, and suddenly found it realized in the flesh, would you not fall in love with it forthwith?"
"Probably, my lord--probably!"
"Well, that is what I have done. For years I have sought a woman like Meg, in the hope of making her my wife. Now I have found her, I am not inclined to let her go."
"But your rank--your relatives."
"A fig for both, my dear sir. I shall woo, and, I hope, win, under the name of Dan, and as to my relatives, I can settle with them. Believe me, Mr. Jarner, Meg will make a noble Countess of Ardleigh."
"That is true!--that is true! A heart of gold, my lord--of gold unalloyed!"
"From what I have seen of her, from what you have told me of her, I see well that I can find no better mate. If she will accept me as her husband, vicar, I shall feel proud and happy. You see, sir, the gipsy's prophecy is coming true, after all."
Mr. Jarner wiped his eyes. He was deeply affected for the moment, for, knowing the merits of Meg, he wished her to marry a man worthy of her. Such a one Dan appeared to be, for, lord or no lord, he was an honest, noble young fellow, whom any girl might be proud to have at her feet. It was greatly to Mr. Jarner's credit that Dan's rank weighed not one iota in his estimation of the situation.
"Good! good!" said Jarner, gripping Dan's hand; "if it is no fancy, but real, enduring love, I'll help you, my lord. But," he added, springing to his full height, "if you play her false----"
"I shall not play her false," rejoined Dan, seriously. "On my honour, I swear that she shall be my wife."
The vicar would have replied, but at that moment a whistle rang out in the garden. Jarner raised his head and listened. It was repeated.
"Not a word more, Dan," said he, hurriedly; "here is Tinker Tim, I know his whistle--we will talk of this again. Be honest and true, and I shall be your friend."
They had just time to exchange a hearty hand-shake, when Tim's huge bulk appeared at the window. The dogs barked furiously; but, nothing dismayed, the gipsy thrust in his mighty shoulders, and nodded to the gentlemen.
"Evening to both o' ye," said Tim, familiarly. "I looked in at your dell, young man, but the fire was out and you also. Hy! passin, I've got ye the dorg."
"What, another dog?" laughed Dan, as the gipsy hauled a fox-terrier pup out of his pocket. "Why, vicar, you must have a dozen."
"Nay, five only! This makes the sixth," replied Jarner, taking the dog from Tim. "Light the lamp, Dan, and we'll have a look at this one."
Thereafter ensued an argument over the dog, its breed, its price, and its condition, between the vicar and Tim. Dan listened with great amusement, and the buyer and seller went at it hard, the one trying to get the better of the other. At length a satisfactory bargain was concluded, and Tim, before taking his departure, accepted a drink of ale from the hospitable clergyman.
"I'll go with you, Tim," said Dan, putting on his cap; "it will be company up to my dell."
"Right, rye!" replied the Tinker, draining the tankard. "Good night t' ye, my noble gentleman," he added, nodding to Jarner.
"Come and see me to-morrow; we will resume our conversation."
This was the parting salutation of Jarner to Dan, and after he promised to call, he strode away with Tim into the darkness. At the top of the ridge, Dan halted to look down at the Gates of Dawn, which reared themselves like the portals of night in the gloom. Tim chuckled and clapped his companion heavily on the shoulder.
"What about the prophecy, my lord?" said he, in a dry voice.
"My lord!" repeated Dan, starting. "What, you know?"
"I know that you are Lord Ardleigh, and that the prophecy of the Mother is fulfilled."
Summer was giving place to autumn, and still Lord Ardleigh lingered at Farbis. A constant succession of fine days enabled him to continue his outdoor life; and so many weeks had he dwelt in the dell, that he quite looked on it in the light of a home. Instructed and guided by Meg, who was proficient in woodcraft, he soon became conversant with moors and valleys, and pine woods and adjacent hamlets. For miles round he explored the country, and learned the fascination exercised on the thoughtful mind by the barren hills. Those summer days were henceforth to rank among the pleasant memories of his life; and with reason, for were they not the days of his wooing? Who forgets the time when Cupid was king?
It may be questioned whether he would have professed such ardent admiration of Bohemianism, had not Meg been with him daily from morn till sunset. She was his companion in all excursions, and treated him in a sisterly fashion. Such chilly affection he was far from relishing, being deeply in love, but the time was not yet ripe for him to speak. Meg had still to learn the pains and sweetness of love, but such knowledge had not yet come to her. In vain did Dan, by looks and words, endeavour to touch her heart. She could not understand, and though she professed to like him greatly, gave no sign of experiencing any deeper feeling. Her namesake Diana were scarce colder than this rustic maiden.
"She is like Undine," complained Dan to his friend the vicar; "she has no soul."
"No heart, you mean," replied Jarner, dryly; "there you are wrong. She has a warm and loving heart. Never a tale of poverty but----"
"I know all that, sir; but I want her heart to melt to my tale, not to the whining of a sturdy mendicant."
"I am afraid I cannot instruct you how to gain her affection, my lord; I have never felt the tender passion myself. Ho! ho! You come to a bad adviser when you seek my opinion on such points."
This was but cold comfort, and Dan went away in despair. He likened his case to that of Pygmalion, and then took courage from such comparison, remembering that even the marble statue turned to warm flesh and blood in the end. Meanwhile, he followed his divinity about the hills, and hoped that he would gain her heart in the days to come. His wish was gratified, but in a most unexpected fashion. It was the jealous tongue of Miss Linisfarne, that first opened the eyes of Meg, and changed her from girl to woman.
Dan was not offensively conceited. He entertained a reasonably good opinion of his looks and capabilities, but did not deem himself an Apollo with whom every woman was bound to fall in love. Yet, resolutely as he strove to thrust the notion from him, he became aware in more ways than one that Miss Linisfarne looked on him with great favour. Whether it was his appearance or his conversation he was unable to determine, but the pale lady of Farbis Court showed him plainly that he had taken her heart by storm. In place of lying for hours on her couch or limiting her walk to terrace and picture-gallery, she became almost as great a pedestrian as Meg. She invited Dan to the Court on every possible occasion, she followed him to the dell on the pretext of wishing to see his caravan, and frequently formed an undesirable third in those excursions on the moorlands. And, to put the matter beyond all doubt, she showed by her altered demeanour that she was wildly jealous of Meg.
Dan began to find his life anything but pleasant. He did not love Miss Linisfarne, whom he looked on as quite an old woman, and objected strongly to her incessant attentions. She never left him alone for a single moment, and was always finding pretexts to be in his company. At first he laughed at such madness, but soon began to weary of his elderly admirer, the more so as she took to treating Meg in a very unpleasant fashion. With the instinct of a jealous woman she saw that Dan was in love with Meg, and since she could not revenge herself on the man, took every opportunity of doing so on the girl. She subjected her to all kinds of petty spite, sneered at her masculine habits, and always sent her out of the room when Dan happened to be at the Court. Meg resented this behaviour, though she was far from guessing the cause, and so went but seldom to see her benefactress. On his part Dan, learning from experience that Meg was not to be found as formerly at the Court, kept away also, and thus inflamed Miss Linisfarne's heart with rage and envy. So far had her unrequited passion carried her that she was rapidly approaching a stage when she might be expected to be dangerous. Dan noted this fact, and kept as much as possible from intruding on her privacy. The remedy was worse than the disease.
Like the ostrich which thinks itself unseen because its head is thrust into the sand, Miss Linisfarne never deemed that her passion was patent to all Farbis. The villagers saw it, and made remarks on her age and folly; Mr. Jarner noticed it and frowned, and a rumour even reached Dr. Merle in the seclusion of his house. Only Meg was ignorant, for no one dared to say a word about Miss Linisfarne in her hearing. She was too mindful of former benefits to hear her benefactress blamed in the smallest degree.
The last to hear of it was Mother Jericho, and she mentioned it to Tinker Tim as a good joke. Instead of looking on it as such, the gipsy scowled and swore, and finally went to the dell in search of Dan. Why he should trouble himself about Miss Linisfarne and her follies it is impossible to say; but he certainly spoke freely to Dan on the subject.
"Morning, rye," said he, striding into the dell like Hercules. "What's all this about the old woman?"
Ardleigh looked up in surprise. He was astonished to hear the tone in which Tim spoke, and resented the scowl with which the gipsy greeted him.
"What do you mean, Tim?" he asked coldly.
"She told me," said the Tinker, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, "that the old lady at the Court wants t' marry ye."
"That is news to me! And how did she, by whom you no doubt mean Mother Jericho, learn this?"
"It's all over the place. Miss Linisfarne wants to become your wife."
Dan did not know whether to laugh or to frown. Although he was aware that there was some truth in the rumour, he was by no means inclined to admit as much to Tim; the more so as the attitude of the gipsy was distinctly hostile, and he eyed Dan in a gloomy and threatening manner.
"Is it true, rye?" he demanded savagely.
"What business is it of yours, even if it is true?" said Dan, wrathfully, springing to his feet.
"It's every business," retorted the tinker, scowling; "it is--it is---- By Heaven!" he cried, his passion breaking loose, "I'll twist her neck!"
"Twist Miss Linisfarne's neck?"
"Ay! That I shall!"
Dan advanced, and, laying his hand on the giant's shoulder, looked at him curiously. The man was strongly moved, though by what Dan could not conjecture. Such an unexpected display of anger was all of a piece with the other mysteries connected with Miss Linisfarne.
"See here, my man," said Dan, deliberately; "we had better understand one another. I allow no man to speak to me as you have done. You are keeping something from me."
"It's a lie!" said Tim, hoarsely.
Dan, in nowise moved by the insult, persisted in his questioning. "It's the truth. How did you know my name?"
"That's my business."
"And mine also. I was directed to Farbis by your kinsfolk. I was met here by Mother Jericho, and a few weeks ago you called me by my name. Now you are angry because my name is connected with Miss Linisfarne's by lying gossip."
"Is it lying gossip?" asked Tim, eagerly ignoring the rest of the speech.
"Of course it is. I am in love with Meg. Do you think I want to marry Miss Linisfarne, who is old enough to be my mother?"
Tim drew his hand across his brow, and heaved a sigh of relief. The declaration was evidently a great relief to him. He tried to evade an answer to the other questions by talking about Meg.
"It was for the girl's sake, rye," said he, hurriedly. "I know you love her, and that she loves you, so I didn't want ye to love the old woman."
"That is untrue, Tim. I love Meg, but she does not love me."
"She will some day, rye."
"Mind your own business, my man," said Dan, sharply. "Meg has nothing to do with you, or you with her. What I wish to know is, why you threaten ill to Miss Linisfarne?"
"I can't tell ye--I can't tell ye."
"You must; and also how you came to know my name."
"Ho! ho! rye! That's easy. A pal o' mine had a cart made at the place where your caravan was built. He saw it there, and asked whose it was, so, when they said Lord Ardleigh, he passed the word round our people that a rye was on the wing."
"So you knew who I was from the first?" said Dan, in a vexed tone.
"Ay, that I did, my lord, and Mother Jericho also."
"Had such knowledge anything to do with her prophecy?"
"No."
In spite of this denial, Tim looked so uneasy that Dan felt sure he was not speaking the truth. Determined to know it at any cost, he was about to ask a leading question, when Tim caught his hand and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Don't ask me any questions, rye. When the time comes, I'll tell ye all."
"All what?"
"All these things ye wish to know--about the old lady and Dr. Merle and the prophecy."
"When will the time come?"
"On the day ye take Meg to church," said Tim, and with a significant nod marched away.
Dan did not attempt to stay him, but stood reflectively looking at the ground.
"I'll speak to Jarner again," he said, thoughtfully; "in spite of what he says, there is some mystery about Meg. If Jarner doesn't know it, Dr. Merle does. I'll see him."
He lifted up his eyes, and saw the very man of whom he spoke coming down the path.
It was with considerable astonishment that Dan saw Dr. Merle approaching the dell. That so habitual a recluse should break through his customary rules, and visit a comparative stranger showed that he must be influenced by a powerful motive. What that motive might be Dan was unable to conjecture, but hurriedly fixed on the only reason likely to account for the unexpected presence of his guest. It might be, Dan thought, that Merle had heard rumours of his attentions to Meg; and, therefore, had come to demand an explanation. This Dan was quite prepared to give, and, indeed, rather congratulated himself on the opportunity thus afforded of placing matters on a proper footing. His expectation was vain, for it soon appeared from the ensuing conversation that Merle had sought an interview for an entirely different purpose.
Although it was a warm day, the wretched creature shivered as he came down the path, and blinked his eyes constantly in the unaccustomed sunshine. For so many years he had lived in that darkened room, that the access of light and the keen air rendered him uncomfortable. He was wrapped up as though it were winter, and crawled feebly along with the aid of a staff. With his pallid face, loose mouth, and red-rimmed eyes, he looked a most pitiable object, and Dan secretly wondered that this decrepit wreck should be the father of so splendid a specimen of womanhood as Meg.
"A most undesirable father-in-law," said Dan to himself, as he went forward to assist his visitor. "But there is one comfort--he cannot live much longer. Even now he looks as though about to tumble into his grave."
In order to pay this visit Merle had evidently omitted to take his usual dose of laudanum; but in place of such abstinence rendering his brain clear, it made him weak and irritable. The sudden cessation of the drug unstrung his nerves and clouded his intellect, so that he sank on the log, to which Dan conducted him, in a state of mental and physical collapse. His breath came in quick gasps, his hands trembled, and his lean body shook as with the palsy. In all his experience, Dan had never seen so degenerate a specimen of the human race. Much as he despised him, yet he could not refrain from pitying the creature. He was so weak and prostrate and broken up.
All this time Merle said nothing, his whole attention being taken up in getting himself settled. When on the log, he coughed, and wiped the perspiration off his brow, and shivered and shook, until able to speak. It was quite five minutes before he could do so, and all the time Dan, after a brief word of welcome, held his peace, and eyed his visitor with strong curiosity.
"Ow, ow!" coughed Merle, weakly. "What a hill that is to climb! I haven't climbed one for years. Why do you live in this out-of-the-way place? It is quite a journey from my house."
"Why did you not send word that you wished to see me, Dr. Merle?" said Dan, gently. "Had you done so I should have called at your house, and so saved you the journey."
"I didn't want you to call, young man. Meg would have asked the reason of your visit, and I do not wish her to know what I have to say."
"Indeed! Does it then concern her?" said Dan, anxiously.
"No! It has nothing to do with her," retorted Merle, querulously; "why should it? I wish to speak of myself, and of Miss Linisfarne, and of you."
"Well, and what have you to say?" asked Dan, guessing from this speech that the errand had something to do with the rumours pervading Farbis.
"You must not be offended, young man."
"I can safely promise you that," said Dan, with veiled contempt; "nothing you could say would offend me. Pray proceed, Dr. Merle! I am all attention."
"It is said that you are in love with Miss Linisfarne!"
"So I have heard before."
"Is it true?" demanded Merle, eagerly, putting out one shaking hand--"is it true?"
Dan did not answer at once. That two such different individuals as Tinker Tim and Dr. Merle should display emotion in regard to Miss Linisfarne astonished him greatly. He could not conceive what influence that faded old woman could exercise over the recluse and the gipsy; the more so as neither, so far as he knew, had ever set eyes on the lady. It had been impossible to get the truth out of Tim; but there was a possibility of forcing a weak creature like Merle to explain himself. This Dan determined to do, and so spoke with forethought and deliberation.
"Is it true?" said Merle again, seeing that the young man kept silent.
"Before I answer that question I must ask you to explain your connection with Miss Linisfarne."
Merle stared at him with a terrified expression, and could hardly force his dry lips to speak. When he did manage to find his tongue it was to tell an untruth.
"I have no connection with Miss Linisfarne. All the time she has been in Farbis I have never seen her."
"Then why trouble to ask if I love her?"
"Because you have no right to love her," replied Merle, vehemently. "I forbid you--I forbid you! I shall speak to Tinker Tim. I--I----"
His voice faltered and died away in his throat, for Dan had seized him by the shoulder, and was speaking to him in a very peremptory manner.
"There must be an end to this, Dr. Merle," he said decisively. "I cannot allow you to meddle with my private affairs without having some explanation. You spoke of Miss Linisfarne--you speak of Tinker Tim. Between the three of you there is some understanding. Now, what is it?"
"I daren't tell," whimpered the wretched creature, thoroughly frightened by this vehemence. "There is nothing--nothing."
"Yes, there is! Out with it, sir. Before you leave this place I must know."
Merle half arose from his seat as to escape; but Dan, now thoroughly angry at what he regarded as an unjustifiable interference, forced him down. The man snarled and muttered. Like a rat driven into a corner he turned at bay.
"I shan't tell you!"
"I'll drop you into the well if you don't," said Dan, grimly. "I'm not going to have you and Tim interfering with my business without knowing your reasons."
"Has Tim been here?"
"He left as you came. I wonder you did not meet him. And he asked me the same question as you have done. What business is it of yours or of his if I marry Miss Linisfarne? It has nothing to do with you."
"Yes, it has--yes, it has! I love her--I love her!"
"How can that be, when, by your own confession, you never saw her till you came to Farbis?"
"I didn't say that! I said that I had not seen her since she came to Farbis."
"Indeed! Then you knew her before she settled at the Court?"
"Yes! I--that is--oh, don't ask me any more!" said Merle, in an hysterical manner. "I can't tell you. If Tinker Tim knew he would kill me."
The alarm of the man was so genuine that Dan soothed him with soft words, as one would soothe a frightened child. And, indeed, Merle was little else, for the pernicious drug had effectually destroyed his manhood, and converted him into a nervous, irresponsible being.
"Don't be afraid, Merle," said Dan, quietly; "no one shall hurt you. I can protect you from Tim; only tell me all!"
"I cannot tell you about Tim, for I know hardly anything of him. But I can tell you my own story."
"Very good; do so! Tim has promised to tell me his later on. Meanwhile, let me hear yours. You say you knew Miss Linisfarne?"
"Yes, twenty-three years ago, it may be more. I have quite lost count of time."
"I don't wonder at that," said Dan, gravely.
"I--I only use it to soothe my pain," said Merle, hurriedly. "It makes me dream, and forget the past. If you only knew how I have been tortured--how I am tortured by memory--how burdensome my life is to me, you would not grudge me the drug which enables me to bear my accursed existence."
"Why are you tortured by memory? Have you committed a crime?"
"No! Do I look like a criminal! My sole crime is in having loved this woman too well. My name is not Merle--what it is does not matter. Three and twenty years ago I was a man, not a creature like I am now; but a man with a career before me. I met with Laura Linisfarne and loved her. She said she loved me, and then we were engaged. I lived in a fool's paradise for some months, and then found out her treachery, her wickedness. She ruined my life; she made me an outcast and a bye-word. I followed her here--to the exile to which her sin had condemned her. For years I have not seen her, but watched over her agony. For every pang I have felt, she has likewise suffered, for she has no opium to dull the stings of memory. If she says she loves you, she lies. She is a viper, a devil, a fiend! Were I strong enough, I would kill her! I was a man once--now look at me!"
He sprang to his feet and stretched out his arms. A look of fury distorted his face, and he shook like a reed.
"Look at me!" he cried. "This is he that was once Richard Mallard!"
"Ah! Mallard--not Merle."
"Oh, what have I said--what have I said?" cried Merle, with a sudden revulsion of feeling. "I did not mean to tell you my name, I--I----"
"Hush, hush, no harm is done."
"You know my secret; I shall tell you no more. Let me go--let me go. If you would know more, ask Tim. He can tell you why I came here--how bitterly I have suffered at the hands of that woman. And now she would marry you. Avoid her--avoid her, or she will ruin you as she has done me!"
"She will not marry me. I don't love her," said Dan, slowly. "I am in love with your daughter Meg; I want to marry her."
Merle looked at him with a dazed expression, then tossed up his arms, and, with a sudden access of strength, ran away up the path, laughing hysterically.
"Ha! ha! you love my daughter," he cried, shrilly. "Go and tell Laura so! It will make her suffer. After all these years her sin has found her out. Go! go! tell her all! It will fill the measure of my revenge."
He disappeared, still laughing loudly, and Dan could hear the echoes of that cruel mirth dying away in the distance. Astonished as he was at the way in which Merle had received his announcement, he made no attempt to follow; but, without changing his position, reflected on his course of action. His decision was soon made.
"I shall see Jarner," he said, "and then Miss Linisfarne."
It was the custom of Mr. Jarner to visit at Farbis Court once a week. He pitied the loneliness of Miss Linisfarne, and did all in his power to divert her from melancholy reflections, by attempting to interest her in the duties of his three parishes. His weekly conversations were generally of a parochial character, and, eager to propitiate her only friend, Miss Linisfarne feigned an interest in these local affairs, which she was far from feeling. Still, they introduced a new element into her life, and gave her an opportunity of enjoying the society of the vicar, for which she was ever grateful. Meg was constantly with her; but, though Miss Linisfarne liked such companionship, she relished infinitely more the calls of Mr. Jarner. She was more inclined to the society of men than to that of her own sex.
The unexpected appearance of Dan at Farbis wrought a revolution in her quiet life. Here was a handsome young gentleman--for she had no doubt on that point--who conversed intelligently, and who had plenty of time at his disposal to idle away at Farbis Court. Deprived for so many years of such congenial companionship, Miss Linisfarne welcomed Dan with enthusiasm, and made him free of her house. As has before been stated, she was jealous of Dan's partiality for Meg; and, having shown the girl plainly that she did not wish a third in their conversations, managed to keep her out of the road. But, alas for her plans! When Dan found that the presence of Meg in the dreary drawing-room was no longer to be counted on, he ceased to visit the Court, as was his custom.
With the instinct of a jealous woman, Miss Linisfarne guessed the reason of his non-appearance, and was deeply angered that he should so scorn her. But she was by no means disposed to abandon him without a struggle, for, strange as it may appear, this faded beauty was really in love with the young man. Had she not been so, she would scarcely have made up her mind to marry him, and this is what she now intended to do. After due deliberation, she determined to bestow herself and her fortune on this unknown vagrant.
Such a resolution was inconceivably rash, for she knew absolutely nothing about him. That he was a gentleman she was convinced, but was quite ignorant of his character, name, station, or wealth. To marry an adventurer, was what she intended; and, though she tried to salve her conscience with the reflection that one so handsome must be desirable in all other respects, yet she could not help feeling that it would be as well to discover his antecedents before committing herself further. To this end she sent for the vicar, in the belief that he, if any one, would know something of this attractive stranger. If the inquiry proved satisfactory, she was resolved to make him her husband. To such a pitch of rashness did her mad passion bear her.
Jarner guessed that the coming interview had something to do with Dan, as he also had heard the rumour of Miss Linisfarne's infatuation. Also he had been present when Dan was visiting, and had seen the eager looks of the lady at her guest. Needless to say he greatly disapproved of the way in which she was behaving, and resolved to speak his mind at the interview, should it turn on the subject. And, indeed, as Miss Linisfarne had never sent for him before, he was perfectly certain that it was for the purpose of asking him to aid in her schemes that she invited his presence. This the vicar did not intend to do, as he by no means desired to break off the projected match between Dan and Meg.
On his arrival at the Court, he was shown up to the picture-gallery, where he found Miss Linisfarne seated before the portrait of Sir Alurde. This was her favourite resort, for which she had quite deserted the drawing-room. For hours she gazed on that face which so resembled that of the man she loved, and glanced occasionally at a book on her lap, which set forth the history of the Elizabethan. This history she had found in the library, and on reading it had discovered that Sir Alurde and the vagrant possessed many traits in common. Yet, strange to say, it never crossed her mind that there must be a reason for such resemblance, nor did she guess that Sir Alurde was the ancestor of the man who chose to call himself Dan. Had she made such a discovery, it would have given her no pleasure, as she saw that Dan was not in love with her, and trusted to his poverty and her wealth to bring about the desired marriage.
The vicar contracted his brows as he saw how infatuated she was with the picture, for he also was aware of the resemblance. Meg had told him as a jest, and now that he knew that Dan was Lord Ardleigh, he no longer wondered at the likeness. But it was not at the portrait he looked, but at Miss Linisfarne. The change in her appearance quite astonished him, for she seemed years younger, and in the flush of her mad passion had almost regained the beauty of her youth. When Jarner appeared, she arose, with a bright smile, and came towards him with outstretched hands.
"You are much stronger, I see," said Jarner, in reply to her greeting. "That comes of walking in the open air, and of mixing more with your fellow-creatures. Hey, ma'm! There is nothing like exercise and society for bringing back the roses to pale cheeks."
"I think it is more than exercise or society," replied Miss Linisfarne, joyously, and glanced at the portrait.
The vicar glanced also, but wilfully chose to misinterpret her meaning. It was his intention to make her confession as difficult as possible, and, if there was any chance, to avert it altogether.
"Hey, ma'm! Are you in love with Sir Alurde?"
"No. Not with Sir Alurde," said Miss Linisfarne, pointedly; "but with some one who greatly resembles him."
"And who may that be?" asked Jarner, dryly.
"Cannot you guess? I have sent for you in order to speak on this very subject."
The vicar pretended to search his memory, and shook his head with feigned vexation.
"No, Miss Linisfarne; I cannot guess with whom you are infatuated."
"Infatuated, sir!" she cried, starting to her feet.
"Does the word displease you, ma'm?"
"It is hardly courteous. Is love so ridiculous in a woman that you should hesitate to use the word?"
"Love!" repeated Jarner, reflectively. "I think you told me, Miss Linisfarne, that you had loved many years ago, and had lost your lover."
"I did," said she, paling at the irony of his accent.
"Pardon me, if my memory fails," he continued; "but you also informed me that your love ended in disaster--that your heart was dead, and that for such reason you buried yourself in our solitudes.",
Miss Linisfarne covered her face with her hands. All the joy had died out of her eyes, and she looked the miserable woman she was.
"For twenty years and more you have lived here," continued Jarner, ponderously, "and all that time have remained faithful to the memory of that early passion. With the details you have not seen fit to honour me; but I can guess your story."
She lifted her haggard face in surprise, but he took no notice of the action.
"You loved and lost, ma'm, and so sought to be constant in this solitude to your dead lover. For twenty years you have been faithful. Why, then," added the vicar, pointing to the picture,--"why, then, let that displace his image in your heart? It is sacrilege to the dead."
"You do not understand!"
"Ay, ma'm, I understand well enough. I also have noted the resemblance which chains you to that portrait. You love the young man who calls himself Dan."
"I do!" she cried with a bright flush. "Is there dishonour in such a love?"
"Ay, to the dead!"
"Tush! You know not of what you speak, sir. I have not made you my father confessor. I love this man. What have you to say against it? He is handsome, he is a gentleman, he is of a noble nature."
"I grant all that, but----"
"Make no objections, Mr. Jarner, for they carry no weight with me. I love now as I never loved before. You smile! You think I am too old to set my heart on him, but I tell you that I love this man fondly, and I shall marry him."
"Marry him!"
"Why not?" said she, pressing her hands on her heaving breast. "Do you know anything against him?"
"No, indeed; still----"
"Then there can be no obstacle to my union with him. He is poor, but I am rich. If he has no name of his own, he can take mine. What obstacle is there to our union?"
"The greatest of all," answered Jarner, dryly; "he loves another woman."
"Meg!"
"Ah! you have seen as much. Yes, he loves Meg Merle, and wishes to make her his wife."
"That he shall never do! Will he prefer that unformed girl to me--her poverty to my wealth? She shall not marry him. I love him, and will surrender him to no rival. Rival! Ha, is it I who call that girl a rival!"
"Yes, it is you; and it were wiser if you did not. She is fond of you, Miss Linisfarne; you have brought her up; she looks on you as a mother----"
"Mother!"
"Yes, as a mother. So do not ruin her life, and destroy the memory of your kindness by seeking to marry this man. He is not for you, but for Meg."
"I shall not give him up," she said, doggedly; "mine he shall be. Do you think that, after all these years of sorrow, I shall willingly surrender the only chance of joy that has come to me? He shall be my husband."
The vicar picked up his hat as to go, and bowed. "In that case, ma'm, I need not remain. I disapprove altogether of your infatuation, and shall do my best to thwart your schemes. One woman only shall he marry,--Margaret Merle."
"You seem very interested in this match," sneered Miss Linisfarne. "Is it of your making?"
"No. It is his own desire."
"Who is this man?" she asked, abruptly. "Do you know his name?"
"I do, madam, but I shall not tell it to you."
"Mr. Jarner----"
"No more, ma'm! I have wasted too many words as it is. You shall not interrupt the course of true love. He is not for you, but for Meg Merle."
She strove to detain him, but he strode away, deeply angered at her pertinacity. She stamped her foot, and looked at the picture of Sir Alurde.
"Meg shall never marry you," she said, thinking of Dan,--"never! never! never!"