Volume Two—Chapter Four.A Lesson in Pistol Practice.The reason for Sir Harry Payne’s sneering remark was patent to Colonel Mellersh as soon as he opened the door, for from the Linnells’ rooms came the sweet harmonies of a couple of exquisitely-played violins, and for a few minutes the Colonel seemed to forget the trouble on hand, as he stood with his face softened, and one delicate hand waving to the rhythm of the old Italian music.“Poor lad!” he said, as his face changed, and a look of pain crossed his brow. “And for her, too. Weak, foolish lad! He’s infatuated—as we all are at some time or other in our lives.”He stood in his doorway, thoughtful, and with brow knit.“That chattering pie will spread it all over the town. Clode will get to know, and then—well, we must take care.”He crossed the hall, tapped lightly on the opposite door, and then entered.“Bravo—bravo!” he cried, clapping his delicate white hands. “Admirable!”“Ah, Mellersh, come and join us,” said the elder Linnell, raising his glasses on to his forehead. “Just in time for a trio.”“No, no, not to-day. Impossible. My head is terrible this morning. Late hours—cards—strong coffee. I came to ask Dick here if he would be my companion for a six-mile walk to Shankley Wood.”The elder Linnell looked from one to the other with a smile.“Oh, I’m sure he will,” he said. “Eh, Dick?”“Of course, father, of course.”“And out all the morning, too! Well, well, fresh air for health.”“Why don’t you get more then, Linnell?”“I—I?” said the grave, elderly man slowly. “I don’t know. I don’t want fresh air. I’m very well as I am. I shall do for my time here.”“Why, father,” said Richard merrily, as he clapped him on the shoulder, “what a tone to take.”He exchanged a quick, agonised glance with Mellersh, and then proceeded to replace his violin and bow in the case.“Come to me, Dick,” said the Colonel; “I want to go to my room:” and he went out, busied himself for a few minutes in his bedroom, and then came out again into the hall, to find Mrs Dean disappearing up the staircase, and Cora giving some orders to her little groom.He waited till she turned and came towards him with a scornful look in her eyes.“Well,” he said, in a low voice, and with a longing undertook in his eyes that he evidently tried to conceal, “how many poor fellows slain this morning?”“How many are there here worth slaying?” she said, in the same low tone.“A matter of taste,” he said, gravely. “A matter of taste, Miss Cora Dean.”“Not one,” she said, giving him her hand in response to his own held out.“I don’t know,” he said, looking very keenly in her eyes, “anger—love—jealousy.”She snatched her hand away.“Don’t fool!” she cried angrily. “I? Jealous?”“Yes, you—jealous,” he said; and then as she hurried up the stairs, “and there would be another emotion to trouble you, Cora Dean, if you knew all that I know now. Ah, Dick! Ready?”“Yes. Who was that, here?”“Your fair enslaver—Cora Dean!”Richard looked up at him keenly and laughed as they left the house, ignorant of the fact that Cora was watching them intently, and Mrs Dean was keeping up a running fire of comment on what she called her “gal’s foolery.”Mellersh led the way at a good brisk pace along the parade, and they had not gone far before they became aware of the tall figure of the Master of the Ceremonies showing himself, as was his wont, king of the place apparently, and bowing and acknowledging bows.Richard Linnell drew his breath with a slight hiss, but there was no avoiding the encounter, and as they drew near and raised their hats, there was a smile and most courteous bow for Colonel Mellersh, and the most distant of salutes for his companion.“Old impostor,” said the Colonel, as they took the first turning and made for the country beyond the Downs.“No,” said Richard Linnell gravely, “I don’t think him that. He is a gentleman at heart, fond of his children, and his ways are forced upon him by his position.”“Fond of his children! Bah! As objects of merchandise. I tell you, Dick, I hate the man.”“And when you hate a man you are unjust.”“Not here. My dear Dick, you look at old Denville through rose-coloured glasses. Pah! I detest him, and, by Jove, sir, I don’t acquit him of some knowledge of that terrible affair at his house.”“Colonel Mellersh!”“My dear boy!”They walked on in silence for a few minutes, and then, clear now of the town, Colonel Mellersh exclaimed:“My dear Dick, you have always known my feelings regarding this unfortunate attachment.”“Yes,” said the young man sadly.“She is very beautiful, but see how she has been brought up. Look at her sister—a weak, vain, foolish child more than a married woman, about whom there is bound to be some scandal soon.”“Can the sister help that?”“Look at the brother; that careless young ne’er-do-weel, who is to be trained up in his father’s steps.”“Poverty seems to be their greatest sin,” replied Richard quietly.“Then, there is another son, who quarrelled with the father and went off and enlisted. My dear Dick, is such a family one that you ought to enter?”“My dear Colonel,” said Richard with a sad smile, “I do not seem likely to enter it. You saw the look old Denville gave me. But, for heaven’s sake, don’t throw out hints again about that murder.”“Very well, but you must promise me that there shall be an end to all this infatuation. I speak as your father’s oldest and dearest friend, and as one who feels as if he had a share in you—you reckless wild young scapegrace.”“I can promise nothing,” said Richard coldly.“Not now that you have been dragged into this serious affair?”“Miss Denville has dragged me into no serious affair. Her conduct to me has always been that of a refined and modest lady.”“My dear boy! Have you forgotten that this has been going on between her and Rockley for months?”“There is nothing between Major Rockley and Miss Denville,” said Richard hoarsely; and his cheeks began to burn and his eyes to flash.“Dick! Have you forgotten the serenade that night?”“Have I forgotten it!” cried Richard fiercely.“Well, what does that show?”“That this scoundrel—thisroué—this libertine—dared to cast his vile eyes on as sweet and pure a girl as ever breathed. Look here, Colonel Mellersh—no, no—my dear old friend—I found that dog insulting Miss Denville.”“Where?”“Away there, beyond the Downs, out past the fishermen’s cottages.”“How came Claire Denville out there alone with one of the wildest officers at the barracks?”“Heaven knows,” cried Richard. “I tell you I found him grossly insulting her, and I took the dog’s whip from him, and thrashed him till my arm ached.”“And the lady flung herself into your arms, called you her gallant, her brave preserver, and you embraced and swore fidelity, while the wicked villain, the dog that you had thrashed, sneaked off snarling, with his tail between his legs.”Richard turned upon him fiercely, but he checked his anger as he met the Colonel’s mocking eyes.“You do not know Claire Denville,” he said coldly.“But, Dick, lad, come—there was the embracing and thanks?”“Miss Denville is a sweet, true lady,” said Richard, “whom I fear I may never win.”“Never win!” said the Colonel mockingly. “Dick, Dick, what a child you are! I used, a year or two back, to be glad you were so different to the other men here; but now I almost regret that you have not led a faster life. You are such an innocent boy.”“Shall we turn back?” said Richard abruptly.“Turn back, man, no. We have not said a word yet about your meeting. Don’t be angry with me, lad. Believe me, I am one of your truest friends.”“I know it,” cried Richard warmly; “but don’t talk of my love affair. We shall never agree till the scales of prejudice have dropped from your eyes.”“Till the scales of a boyish folly have dropped from yours, Dick. Well, we shall be in accord some day. If I’m wrong I’ll humbly ask your pardon.”“And if I’m wrong I will yours,” cried Richard. “Now, then, what of Payne’s visit?”“You will have to meet the Major,” said the Colonel gravely.“Yes, I suppose so. He could not forgive such an insult as that.”“You treat it very lightly, Dick. The consequences may be very grave.”“I hope not,” said Richard. “I am not a soldier, but I am not going to show the white feather, even if I wear it in my heart.”“Not you,” said the Colonel, as he tapped his companion on the shoulder. “But I should have liked you to be fighting on account of some other lady.”“And I should not,” cried Richard. “Is this likely to be serious?”“I should be no true friend to you, my lad, if I concealed the truth from you. It may be very serious.”“For me?”“I don’t say that.”“But I never fired a pistol in my life, and I fence horribly.”“It will be pistols, Dick. I arranged that it should be. But you will be cool?”“I hope I shall be just as I am now,” said Richard calmly.The Colonel looked at him intently, but no nerve showed a tremor.“A good walk will do you good,” he said, and after telling him the preliminaries, and the place where they were to meet, the conversation was changed and they walked slowly on till the edge of the Downs was reached, and they soon after entered an extensive wood, walking down a leafy glade where all seemed wonderfully peaceful, and its solemnity was so soothing to Richard Linnell that he was about to throw himself upon the turf when Colonel Mellersh stopped short, and pointing to a gnarled beech of stunted growth, exclaimed:“That will do exactly.”“Do?” said Linnell. “Do for what?”“Why, my dear boy, do you suppose I have brought you out here for nothing? No; since the abominable code for furbishing up injured honour exists, and a man may be called out, it is our duty to prepare for emergencies. You cannot use a pistol?”“No,” said Richard, shaking his head.“I can. I have been out six times, and I’m going to show you how to hit your man and save yourself.”“I don’t want to hit Major Rockley.”“But I want you to hit him and save yourself. My dear boy, you are worth five thousand Major Rockleys to your father, and we must not have you hurt.”As he spoke, to Richard’s great surprise, he took out a brace of duelling pistols with flask and bullets, and after loading skilfully he took a few cards from his breast, and going to the stunted tree, tacked one on each of two boughs about on a level with a man’s outstretched arms, another on the trunk, and another higher still, where the head would be.“I used to practise with the pistol a great deal at one time, Dick, and I could hit either of those address cards as many times as I liked.”“Then I will not quarrel with you and call you out.”“Don’t,” said the Colonel, handing him a pistol, and proceeding to step out fifteen paces. “There,” he said, “stand there and aim at that card on the trunk. That is where a man’s heart would be. I will count slowly, and when I come to three, raise your pistol quickly and fire.”“One—two—three!”Richard Linnell raised his pistol, and drew the trigger, but there was no report.“It will not go off,” he said.“No,” replied the Colonel; “pistols never will, unless you cock them.”“Pish!” ejaculated Richard, repairing the omission. “Again.”The Colonel counted once more; there was a flash, a sharp report, and a leaf or two fell from high up a tree to the right of the target.“Take the other,” said the Colonel quietly; “hold it a little more firmly, and raise it slowly. The moment your eye glances straight along the barrel, press the trigger softly, so as not to jerk the pistol. Ready? Now—one—two—three!”There was another sharp report, and the Colonel smiled.“That’s better,” he said. “Your first bullet went over the enemy’s head twenty feet or so. That one would have him in the shoulder. Try again.”The Colonel busied himself loading the pistols with all the quickness of an adept as his pupil fired, keeping him at it for quite a couple of hours, with intervals of rest. Now he made him fire at one card, then at another, practising as at his adversary’s arms, head, and body, till Richard looked at him wearily.“Yes; that will do now,” said Colonel Mellersh. “You may congratulate yourself, Dick, upon being a horribly bad shot; but you will be able to handle your pistol properly, and raise it like a man who is used to the weapon.”“What is the use of that,” said Richard, smiling, “if I cannot aim straight?”“A great deal. If you had taken hold of your pistol in a bungling way to-morrow, Rockley would have felt that he had you at his mercy, and he would have been as cool as a fish. Now he will see that you know what a pistol is, and be perfectly ignorant of the fact that you are unskilful of aim. He will think he has a dangerous adversary before him, and be more likely nervous than cool.”“I see,” said Richard, with his eyes lighting up. “I’ve had my turn at the scoundrel, and I’m satisfied. Of course I don’t want to hit him, but at the same time I don’t want him to hit me.”“Oh!” said the Colonel drily, “I thought you did.”“What! want him to hit me! Why?”“You seemed so cool over it.”“Oh, but I’m not,” said Richard gravely. “I suppose a good shot would hit one of those cards?”“Time was, Dick, when I could have put half a dozen shots in either of them. I don’t know that I could hit one now.”He raised the pistol he had been loading as he spoke, took a quick aim, and hit the centre card just on the edge, driving it into the bark of the tree.“Bad!” he said. “Let’s try another.”He aimed at the card representing the enemy’s right arm fired, and struck it also about a quarter of an inch from the edge.“Out of practice, Dick,” he said, thrusting the pistols into their dark cloth bags, and replacing them in his pocket. “There, my lad, let’s get home. Dine lightly this evening, go to bed in good time, and have a long night’s rest.”“When is the meeting?” said Richard calmly.“At six to-morrow morning.”“Where did you say?”“On the sands, two miles out below the east cliff.”“Why there?”“We shall want an excuse for going out so early, my lad. We can be going to bathe, and so be unnoticed, and there will be no fear of an interruption,” said the Colonel grimly. “This is to be no play affair, Dick. An officer in His Majesty’s service cannot submit to a horse-whipping from a civilian without trying to get ample satisfaction.”He looked at Richard with a grave air of pity in his countenance.“Did you ever shoot a man?” said Richard, as they were walking briskly back.“Do you mean wounded or killed?”“The latter.”“Once, Dick.”The young man’s countenance contracted, and he looked at his companion almost in horror.“Yes,” said the Colonel; “it is horrible, Dick, and the remembrance that the man was an utter scoundrel does not make the fact much less horrible after all these years.”They walked on for some distance in silence, before Richard Linnell broke in upon his companion’s reverie.“Was the duel about—a lady?”The Colonel uttered a harsh laugh.“It’s an arrangement of nature, my dear Ulysses,” he said. “If you see a couple of stags smashing their antlers, a couple of bulls goring each other, or two rams battering one another’s heads, a brace of pheasants or barn-door cocks pecking and spurring each other to death, what’s it about? A lady. The same with mankind, Dick; a duel is almost invariably more or less directly about a lady.”Richard Linnell went on thoughtfully for a time, and then turned with a sad smile to the Colonel.“So even you had to do battle once in such a cause?”“Not exactly, Dick; it was upon another’s behalf. An utter scoundrel, just such a fellow as Rockley, did my best friend a mortal wrong. One day, Dick, it was a happy, peaceful home that I used to visit, where as sweet-natured, true, and gentle a man as ever breathed lived in happy trust and faith in his sweet young wife; the next there was a stain—an indelible stain—upon that hearth-stone, and my poor friend lay stricken down by the shock, and nearly died of the brain fever that ensued.”Richard Linnell looked at him with a curious feeling of horror—he knew not why—troubling his breast.“Do you want to know any more?” said the Colonel roughly.“Yes; go on.”“I did not see either of them for two years: the young wife or the scoundrel I had introduced to the house as my friend. Then I had a letter from the lady—a piteous, appealing letter to me to help her. She told me she was starving in London, Dick, and that the villain who had won her into leaving her home had forsaken her at the end of six months, and that, since then, she had been striving to get a living by teaching, but that now she was prostrate on a sick bed, helpless and alone.”There was a few moments’ pause, and then the Colonel went on:“I went to see her, Dick—poor, little, weak woman. Her good looks were gone, and she lay sick unto death for want of medical help and ordinary nutriment.”The Colonel stopped again, for his mouth seemed dry, and he passed his tongue over his fevered lips before he went on.“I did what was necessary, and went straight to the man who had done all this wrong. I told him everything, and that it was his duty to make some reparation at least by providing for the lady’s needs, and ensuring that she should not want in the future.”“Well?” said Richard hoarsely.“He laughed at me. He refused so utterly that I lost my temper and called him villain and scoundrel. He retorted by insulting me with a vile charge as to the cause of my taking an interest in that poor woman, and he struck me, and then—”“Well,” said Richard, “and then?”“I horsewhipped him, Dick, as you horsewhipped that man.”“And he challenged you, and you fought, and—”“Yes, heaven forgive me,” said Mellersh in a low voice, “I shot him dead!”“You did this for the woman you did not love,” said Richard Linnell, as if speaking to himself. “Yes, for the woman I did not love.”“What I did was for the woman I love with all my heart.”
The reason for Sir Harry Payne’s sneering remark was patent to Colonel Mellersh as soon as he opened the door, for from the Linnells’ rooms came the sweet harmonies of a couple of exquisitely-played violins, and for a few minutes the Colonel seemed to forget the trouble on hand, as he stood with his face softened, and one delicate hand waving to the rhythm of the old Italian music.
“Poor lad!” he said, as his face changed, and a look of pain crossed his brow. “And for her, too. Weak, foolish lad! He’s infatuated—as we all are at some time or other in our lives.”
He stood in his doorway, thoughtful, and with brow knit.
“That chattering pie will spread it all over the town. Clode will get to know, and then—well, we must take care.”
He crossed the hall, tapped lightly on the opposite door, and then entered.
“Bravo—bravo!” he cried, clapping his delicate white hands. “Admirable!”
“Ah, Mellersh, come and join us,” said the elder Linnell, raising his glasses on to his forehead. “Just in time for a trio.”
“No, no, not to-day. Impossible. My head is terrible this morning. Late hours—cards—strong coffee. I came to ask Dick here if he would be my companion for a six-mile walk to Shankley Wood.”
The elder Linnell looked from one to the other with a smile.
“Oh, I’m sure he will,” he said. “Eh, Dick?”
“Of course, father, of course.”
“And out all the morning, too! Well, well, fresh air for health.”
“Why don’t you get more then, Linnell?”
“I—I?” said the grave, elderly man slowly. “I don’t know. I don’t want fresh air. I’m very well as I am. I shall do for my time here.”
“Why, father,” said Richard merrily, as he clapped him on the shoulder, “what a tone to take.”
He exchanged a quick, agonised glance with Mellersh, and then proceeded to replace his violin and bow in the case.
“Come to me, Dick,” said the Colonel; “I want to go to my room:” and he went out, busied himself for a few minutes in his bedroom, and then came out again into the hall, to find Mrs Dean disappearing up the staircase, and Cora giving some orders to her little groom.
He waited till she turned and came towards him with a scornful look in her eyes.
“Well,” he said, in a low voice, and with a longing undertook in his eyes that he evidently tried to conceal, “how many poor fellows slain this morning?”
“How many are there here worth slaying?” she said, in the same low tone.
“A matter of taste,” he said, gravely. “A matter of taste, Miss Cora Dean.”
“Not one,” she said, giving him her hand in response to his own held out.
“I don’t know,” he said, looking very keenly in her eyes, “anger—love—jealousy.”
She snatched her hand away.
“Don’t fool!” she cried angrily. “I? Jealous?”
“Yes, you—jealous,” he said; and then as she hurried up the stairs, “and there would be another emotion to trouble you, Cora Dean, if you knew all that I know now. Ah, Dick! Ready?”
“Yes. Who was that, here?”
“Your fair enslaver—Cora Dean!”
Richard looked up at him keenly and laughed as they left the house, ignorant of the fact that Cora was watching them intently, and Mrs Dean was keeping up a running fire of comment on what she called her “gal’s foolery.”
Mellersh led the way at a good brisk pace along the parade, and they had not gone far before they became aware of the tall figure of the Master of the Ceremonies showing himself, as was his wont, king of the place apparently, and bowing and acknowledging bows.
Richard Linnell drew his breath with a slight hiss, but there was no avoiding the encounter, and as they drew near and raised their hats, there was a smile and most courteous bow for Colonel Mellersh, and the most distant of salutes for his companion.
“Old impostor,” said the Colonel, as they took the first turning and made for the country beyond the Downs.
“No,” said Richard Linnell gravely, “I don’t think him that. He is a gentleman at heart, fond of his children, and his ways are forced upon him by his position.”
“Fond of his children! Bah! As objects of merchandise. I tell you, Dick, I hate the man.”
“And when you hate a man you are unjust.”
“Not here. My dear Dick, you look at old Denville through rose-coloured glasses. Pah! I detest him, and, by Jove, sir, I don’t acquit him of some knowledge of that terrible affair at his house.”
“Colonel Mellersh!”
“My dear boy!”
They walked on in silence for a few minutes, and then, clear now of the town, Colonel Mellersh exclaimed:
“My dear Dick, you have always known my feelings regarding this unfortunate attachment.”
“Yes,” said the young man sadly.
“She is very beautiful, but see how she has been brought up. Look at her sister—a weak, vain, foolish child more than a married woman, about whom there is bound to be some scandal soon.”
“Can the sister help that?”
“Look at the brother; that careless young ne’er-do-weel, who is to be trained up in his father’s steps.”
“Poverty seems to be their greatest sin,” replied Richard quietly.
“Then, there is another son, who quarrelled with the father and went off and enlisted. My dear Dick, is such a family one that you ought to enter?”
“My dear Colonel,” said Richard with a sad smile, “I do not seem likely to enter it. You saw the look old Denville gave me. But, for heaven’s sake, don’t throw out hints again about that murder.”
“Very well, but you must promise me that there shall be an end to all this infatuation. I speak as your father’s oldest and dearest friend, and as one who feels as if he had a share in you—you reckless wild young scapegrace.”
“I can promise nothing,” said Richard coldly.
“Not now that you have been dragged into this serious affair?”
“Miss Denville has dragged me into no serious affair. Her conduct to me has always been that of a refined and modest lady.”
“My dear boy! Have you forgotten that this has been going on between her and Rockley for months?”
“There is nothing between Major Rockley and Miss Denville,” said Richard hoarsely; and his cheeks began to burn and his eyes to flash.
“Dick! Have you forgotten the serenade that night?”
“Have I forgotten it!” cried Richard fiercely.
“Well, what does that show?”
“That this scoundrel—thisroué—this libertine—dared to cast his vile eyes on as sweet and pure a girl as ever breathed. Look here, Colonel Mellersh—no, no—my dear old friend—I found that dog insulting Miss Denville.”
“Where?”
“Away there, beyond the Downs, out past the fishermen’s cottages.”
“How came Claire Denville out there alone with one of the wildest officers at the barracks?”
“Heaven knows,” cried Richard. “I tell you I found him grossly insulting her, and I took the dog’s whip from him, and thrashed him till my arm ached.”
“And the lady flung herself into your arms, called you her gallant, her brave preserver, and you embraced and swore fidelity, while the wicked villain, the dog that you had thrashed, sneaked off snarling, with his tail between his legs.”
Richard turned upon him fiercely, but he checked his anger as he met the Colonel’s mocking eyes.
“You do not know Claire Denville,” he said coldly.
“But, Dick, lad, come—there was the embracing and thanks?”
“Miss Denville is a sweet, true lady,” said Richard, “whom I fear I may never win.”
“Never win!” said the Colonel mockingly. “Dick, Dick, what a child you are! I used, a year or two back, to be glad you were so different to the other men here; but now I almost regret that you have not led a faster life. You are such an innocent boy.”
“Shall we turn back?” said Richard abruptly.
“Turn back, man, no. We have not said a word yet about your meeting. Don’t be angry with me, lad. Believe me, I am one of your truest friends.”
“I know it,” cried Richard warmly; “but don’t talk of my love affair. We shall never agree till the scales of prejudice have dropped from your eyes.”
“Till the scales of a boyish folly have dropped from yours, Dick. Well, we shall be in accord some day. If I’m wrong I’ll humbly ask your pardon.”
“And if I’m wrong I will yours,” cried Richard. “Now, then, what of Payne’s visit?”
“You will have to meet the Major,” said the Colonel gravely.
“Yes, I suppose so. He could not forgive such an insult as that.”
“You treat it very lightly, Dick. The consequences may be very grave.”
“I hope not,” said Richard. “I am not a soldier, but I am not going to show the white feather, even if I wear it in my heart.”
“Not you,” said the Colonel, as he tapped his companion on the shoulder. “But I should have liked you to be fighting on account of some other lady.”
“And I should not,” cried Richard. “Is this likely to be serious?”
“I should be no true friend to you, my lad, if I concealed the truth from you. It may be very serious.”
“For me?”
“I don’t say that.”
“But I never fired a pistol in my life, and I fence horribly.”
“It will be pistols, Dick. I arranged that it should be. But you will be cool?”
“I hope I shall be just as I am now,” said Richard calmly.
The Colonel looked at him intently, but no nerve showed a tremor.
“A good walk will do you good,” he said, and after telling him the preliminaries, and the place where they were to meet, the conversation was changed and they walked slowly on till the edge of the Downs was reached, and they soon after entered an extensive wood, walking down a leafy glade where all seemed wonderfully peaceful, and its solemnity was so soothing to Richard Linnell that he was about to throw himself upon the turf when Colonel Mellersh stopped short, and pointing to a gnarled beech of stunted growth, exclaimed:
“That will do exactly.”
“Do?” said Linnell. “Do for what?”
“Why, my dear boy, do you suppose I have brought you out here for nothing? No; since the abominable code for furbishing up injured honour exists, and a man may be called out, it is our duty to prepare for emergencies. You cannot use a pistol?”
“No,” said Richard, shaking his head.
“I can. I have been out six times, and I’m going to show you how to hit your man and save yourself.”
“I don’t want to hit Major Rockley.”
“But I want you to hit him and save yourself. My dear boy, you are worth five thousand Major Rockleys to your father, and we must not have you hurt.”
As he spoke, to Richard’s great surprise, he took out a brace of duelling pistols with flask and bullets, and after loading skilfully he took a few cards from his breast, and going to the stunted tree, tacked one on each of two boughs about on a level with a man’s outstretched arms, another on the trunk, and another higher still, where the head would be.
“I used to practise with the pistol a great deal at one time, Dick, and I could hit either of those address cards as many times as I liked.”
“Then I will not quarrel with you and call you out.”
“Don’t,” said the Colonel, handing him a pistol, and proceeding to step out fifteen paces. “There,” he said, “stand there and aim at that card on the trunk. That is where a man’s heart would be. I will count slowly, and when I come to three, raise your pistol quickly and fire.”
“One—two—three!”
Richard Linnell raised his pistol, and drew the trigger, but there was no report.
“It will not go off,” he said.
“No,” replied the Colonel; “pistols never will, unless you cock them.”
“Pish!” ejaculated Richard, repairing the omission. “Again.”
The Colonel counted once more; there was a flash, a sharp report, and a leaf or two fell from high up a tree to the right of the target.
“Take the other,” said the Colonel quietly; “hold it a little more firmly, and raise it slowly. The moment your eye glances straight along the barrel, press the trigger softly, so as not to jerk the pistol. Ready? Now—one—two—three!”
There was another sharp report, and the Colonel smiled.
“That’s better,” he said. “Your first bullet went over the enemy’s head twenty feet or so. That one would have him in the shoulder. Try again.”
The Colonel busied himself loading the pistols with all the quickness of an adept as his pupil fired, keeping him at it for quite a couple of hours, with intervals of rest. Now he made him fire at one card, then at another, practising as at his adversary’s arms, head, and body, till Richard looked at him wearily.
“Yes; that will do now,” said Colonel Mellersh. “You may congratulate yourself, Dick, upon being a horribly bad shot; but you will be able to handle your pistol properly, and raise it like a man who is used to the weapon.”
“What is the use of that,” said Richard, smiling, “if I cannot aim straight?”
“A great deal. If you had taken hold of your pistol in a bungling way to-morrow, Rockley would have felt that he had you at his mercy, and he would have been as cool as a fish. Now he will see that you know what a pistol is, and be perfectly ignorant of the fact that you are unskilful of aim. He will think he has a dangerous adversary before him, and be more likely nervous than cool.”
“I see,” said Richard, with his eyes lighting up. “I’ve had my turn at the scoundrel, and I’m satisfied. Of course I don’t want to hit him, but at the same time I don’t want him to hit me.”
“Oh!” said the Colonel drily, “I thought you did.”
“What! want him to hit me! Why?”
“You seemed so cool over it.”
“Oh, but I’m not,” said Richard gravely. “I suppose a good shot would hit one of those cards?”
“Time was, Dick, when I could have put half a dozen shots in either of them. I don’t know that I could hit one now.”
He raised the pistol he had been loading as he spoke, took a quick aim, and hit the centre card just on the edge, driving it into the bark of the tree.
“Bad!” he said. “Let’s try another.”
He aimed at the card representing the enemy’s right arm fired, and struck it also about a quarter of an inch from the edge.
“Out of practice, Dick,” he said, thrusting the pistols into their dark cloth bags, and replacing them in his pocket. “There, my lad, let’s get home. Dine lightly this evening, go to bed in good time, and have a long night’s rest.”
“When is the meeting?” said Richard calmly.
“At six to-morrow morning.”
“Where did you say?”
“On the sands, two miles out below the east cliff.”
“Why there?”
“We shall want an excuse for going out so early, my lad. We can be going to bathe, and so be unnoticed, and there will be no fear of an interruption,” said the Colonel grimly. “This is to be no play affair, Dick. An officer in His Majesty’s service cannot submit to a horse-whipping from a civilian without trying to get ample satisfaction.”
He looked at Richard with a grave air of pity in his countenance.
“Did you ever shoot a man?” said Richard, as they were walking briskly back.
“Do you mean wounded or killed?”
“The latter.”
“Once, Dick.”
The young man’s countenance contracted, and he looked at his companion almost in horror.
“Yes,” said the Colonel; “it is horrible, Dick, and the remembrance that the man was an utter scoundrel does not make the fact much less horrible after all these years.”
They walked on for some distance in silence, before Richard Linnell broke in upon his companion’s reverie.
“Was the duel about—a lady?”
The Colonel uttered a harsh laugh.
“It’s an arrangement of nature, my dear Ulysses,” he said. “If you see a couple of stags smashing their antlers, a couple of bulls goring each other, or two rams battering one another’s heads, a brace of pheasants or barn-door cocks pecking and spurring each other to death, what’s it about? A lady. The same with mankind, Dick; a duel is almost invariably more or less directly about a lady.”
Richard Linnell went on thoughtfully for a time, and then turned with a sad smile to the Colonel.
“So even you had to do battle once in such a cause?”
“Not exactly, Dick; it was upon another’s behalf. An utter scoundrel, just such a fellow as Rockley, did my best friend a mortal wrong. One day, Dick, it was a happy, peaceful home that I used to visit, where as sweet-natured, true, and gentle a man as ever breathed lived in happy trust and faith in his sweet young wife; the next there was a stain—an indelible stain—upon that hearth-stone, and my poor friend lay stricken down by the shock, and nearly died of the brain fever that ensued.”
Richard Linnell looked at him with a curious feeling of horror—he knew not why—troubling his breast.
“Do you want to know any more?” said the Colonel roughly.
“Yes; go on.”
“I did not see either of them for two years: the young wife or the scoundrel I had introduced to the house as my friend. Then I had a letter from the lady—a piteous, appealing letter to me to help her. She told me she was starving in London, Dick, and that the villain who had won her into leaving her home had forsaken her at the end of six months, and that, since then, she had been striving to get a living by teaching, but that now she was prostrate on a sick bed, helpless and alone.”
There was a few moments’ pause, and then the Colonel went on:
“I went to see her, Dick—poor, little, weak woman. Her good looks were gone, and she lay sick unto death for want of medical help and ordinary nutriment.”
The Colonel stopped again, for his mouth seemed dry, and he passed his tongue over his fevered lips before he went on.
“I did what was necessary, and went straight to the man who had done all this wrong. I told him everything, and that it was his duty to make some reparation at least by providing for the lady’s needs, and ensuring that she should not want in the future.”
“Well?” said Richard hoarsely.
“He laughed at me. He refused so utterly that I lost my temper and called him villain and scoundrel. He retorted by insulting me with a vile charge as to the cause of my taking an interest in that poor woman, and he struck me, and then—”
“Well,” said Richard, “and then?”
“I horsewhipped him, Dick, as you horsewhipped that man.”
“And he challenged you, and you fought, and—”
“Yes, heaven forgive me,” said Mellersh in a low voice, “I shot him dead!”
“You did this for the woman you did not love,” said Richard Linnell, as if speaking to himself. “Yes, for the woman I did not love.”
“What I did was for the woman I love with all my heart.”
Volume Two—Chapter Five.A Retired Spot for a Bathe.It was a cold grey morning as Colonel Mellersh and Richard Linnell went out on to the parade, quite unaware that a pair of dark eyes were watching from behind an upper blind; but the fact that each man carried a towel in his hand disarmed suspicion, and the owner of the eyes went back to the couch in her room as the gentlemen passed out of sight.“I was afraid,” she said to herself softly. “Perhaps there was no truth in it after all.”Meanwhile, the Colonel and Richard Linnell went briskly on past the pier, with no one yet astir upon the parade; but farther on there were boats putting out to sea, and fishermen carrying oars and baskets down to those lying on the shingle.As they went on along the cliff, Fisherman Dick was down by his upturned boat, trying the pitch, to find out whether it was hardened, and hearing the voices, he looked up and saw the two men pass.“Master Richard Linnell—the Colonel,” he said to himself. “Bathing, eh? Well, it’s lonesome enough out there.”The mist hung over the sea, and the waves came in with a mournful sound upon the shore, the pebbles rattling together as they were driven up and rolled back with the retiring waters, sounding in the distance as if they were whispering together about the meeting that was about to take place a mile or so onward, beyond the chalk bluff, where the land trended inward, and formed a little bay.Fisherman Dick found the bottom of his boat rather sticky, but he did not seem to be thinking about it, but to be putting that and that together.“Master Richard Linnell give that Major Rockley an out and out good welting yonder in the cornfield, and if he’d been with him instead of that tother one, I should say there was going to be a fight with pistols; but I suppose it means a bit of a swim, and—”Dick Miggles bent down over his boat, and seemed to be paying not the least heed, for just then he saw four people coming down the cliff path on to the beach, and as they passed he saw that they were Rockley, Sir Harry Payne, a gentleman he did not know, and the Major’s dragoon servant, James Bell, carrying something under his military cloak.“It’s a fight,” said Dick Miggles, as they passed him, picking their way down over the shingle to the firmer ground, close to the water’s edge, where there were long stretches of sand, and it was better walking.“Now, what shall I do?” said Fisherman Dick; “go and tell the constables? They’d be abed, and it would take me an hour to get back with them, and the mischief would be done before then. Anyhow, I’ll go and see what’s going on.”By this time Mellersh and Linnell had passed out of sight along the shore, and the second party were a hundred yards away.Fisherman Dick did not hesitate, but, going back up the cliff path, he reached the top, and walked swiftly along eastward for some distance. Then, throwing himself down, he crawled flat on the ground, taking off his hat and leaving it behind him.In a few seconds he was at the edge of the cliff, where the soft shore turf ended, and the chalk was broken away, going sheer down perpendicularly to the shingle beach and rough rock débris that had fallen from time to time after undermining by the sea. As he expected, the two little parties were below.“They’re going to fight, sure enough,” muttered the fisherman. “I may as well go and see fair. Where’ll they do it?”He lay still for a few moments thinking.“Why, they’ll make for the sand patch in Jollick’s Cove,” he said aloud. “Don’t know much about it, or they’d have took the path and the short cut and gone down the chalk steps.”He smiled as some thought occurred to him, and, drawing back from the edge of the cliff, he crawled back to where the beaten path showed faintly, and where at intervals the turf had been cut away down to the chalk, and a white patch made, as a guide for travellers in the dark, lest they should stray from the slight sheep-track and go over the cliff to certain death.Along this path Fisherman Dick ran at a brisk trot for quite a mile, while the cliff rose slightly into a bold bluff, but the fisherman did not climb this, but plunged down suddenly behind a clump of furze into a ravine where a slight path showed that there was a way to the shore.He went down this a few yards, and then turned, took two great strides, climbed up the face of the ravine a little way, stepped behind a huge mass of chalk, went in and out among some débris from the cliff, and then stepped into what looked like a rain gully which led to an opening in the rock, forming a rough half hole, half cavern, with the light coming from the side through a large irregular opening, partly natural, partly reduced by the arrangement of blocks of chalk, so that there was plenty of room for a dozen men to be in shelter, and where, unseen, they had full view of the open sea for miles on either side, and of the smooth patch of sand in the little cove, fifty feet or so below.“There, as long as they don’t shute up this way,” said the fisherman, “I shall be all right and can see them all. I hope young Linnell won’t be hurt. Don’t suppose he will, for pistols is mortal stupid tools to work with.”Linnell and Mellersh came into sight soon after, and paused on reaching the sandy cove, a place admirably suited for the purpose in hand, for though from the rough look-out above, the shore could be commanded for some distance either way, those who occupied the sandy patch were hidden from either east or west.“I’d have given something to have prevented this, Dick,” said Mellersh huskily; “but you were bound to meet him.”“Yes,” said Richard gravely. “It was unavoidable. Hush! don’t talk to me. I’m firm now, and,”—he smiled as he spoke—“I want to do you justice.”“Well,” said Sir Harry Payne, in a low voice, as the second party came upon the ground, “how do you feel now, Rockley? What do you mean to do?”“To the man who struck me, and came between me and Claire Denville?”“Yes.”“I shall shoot him like a dog.”
It was a cold grey morning as Colonel Mellersh and Richard Linnell went out on to the parade, quite unaware that a pair of dark eyes were watching from behind an upper blind; but the fact that each man carried a towel in his hand disarmed suspicion, and the owner of the eyes went back to the couch in her room as the gentlemen passed out of sight.
“I was afraid,” she said to herself softly. “Perhaps there was no truth in it after all.”
Meanwhile, the Colonel and Richard Linnell went briskly on past the pier, with no one yet astir upon the parade; but farther on there were boats putting out to sea, and fishermen carrying oars and baskets down to those lying on the shingle.
As they went on along the cliff, Fisherman Dick was down by his upturned boat, trying the pitch, to find out whether it was hardened, and hearing the voices, he looked up and saw the two men pass.
“Master Richard Linnell—the Colonel,” he said to himself. “Bathing, eh? Well, it’s lonesome enough out there.”
The mist hung over the sea, and the waves came in with a mournful sound upon the shore, the pebbles rattling together as they were driven up and rolled back with the retiring waters, sounding in the distance as if they were whispering together about the meeting that was about to take place a mile or so onward, beyond the chalk bluff, where the land trended inward, and formed a little bay.
Fisherman Dick found the bottom of his boat rather sticky, but he did not seem to be thinking about it, but to be putting that and that together.
“Master Richard Linnell give that Major Rockley an out and out good welting yonder in the cornfield, and if he’d been with him instead of that tother one, I should say there was going to be a fight with pistols; but I suppose it means a bit of a swim, and—”
Dick Miggles bent down over his boat, and seemed to be paying not the least heed, for just then he saw four people coming down the cliff path on to the beach, and as they passed he saw that they were Rockley, Sir Harry Payne, a gentleman he did not know, and the Major’s dragoon servant, James Bell, carrying something under his military cloak.
“It’s a fight,” said Dick Miggles, as they passed him, picking their way down over the shingle to the firmer ground, close to the water’s edge, where there were long stretches of sand, and it was better walking.
“Now, what shall I do?” said Fisherman Dick; “go and tell the constables? They’d be abed, and it would take me an hour to get back with them, and the mischief would be done before then. Anyhow, I’ll go and see what’s going on.”
By this time Mellersh and Linnell had passed out of sight along the shore, and the second party were a hundred yards away.
Fisherman Dick did not hesitate, but, going back up the cliff path, he reached the top, and walked swiftly along eastward for some distance. Then, throwing himself down, he crawled flat on the ground, taking off his hat and leaving it behind him.
In a few seconds he was at the edge of the cliff, where the soft shore turf ended, and the chalk was broken away, going sheer down perpendicularly to the shingle beach and rough rock débris that had fallen from time to time after undermining by the sea. As he expected, the two little parties were below.
“They’re going to fight, sure enough,” muttered the fisherman. “I may as well go and see fair. Where’ll they do it?”
He lay still for a few moments thinking.
“Why, they’ll make for the sand patch in Jollick’s Cove,” he said aloud. “Don’t know much about it, or they’d have took the path and the short cut and gone down the chalk steps.”
He smiled as some thought occurred to him, and, drawing back from the edge of the cliff, he crawled back to where the beaten path showed faintly, and where at intervals the turf had been cut away down to the chalk, and a white patch made, as a guide for travellers in the dark, lest they should stray from the slight sheep-track and go over the cliff to certain death.
Along this path Fisherman Dick ran at a brisk trot for quite a mile, while the cliff rose slightly into a bold bluff, but the fisherman did not climb this, but plunged down suddenly behind a clump of furze into a ravine where a slight path showed that there was a way to the shore.
He went down this a few yards, and then turned, took two great strides, climbed up the face of the ravine a little way, stepped behind a huge mass of chalk, went in and out among some débris from the cliff, and then stepped into what looked like a rain gully which led to an opening in the rock, forming a rough half hole, half cavern, with the light coming from the side through a large irregular opening, partly natural, partly reduced by the arrangement of blocks of chalk, so that there was plenty of room for a dozen men to be in shelter, and where, unseen, they had full view of the open sea for miles on either side, and of the smooth patch of sand in the little cove, fifty feet or so below.
“There, as long as they don’t shute up this way,” said the fisherman, “I shall be all right and can see them all. I hope young Linnell won’t be hurt. Don’t suppose he will, for pistols is mortal stupid tools to work with.”
Linnell and Mellersh came into sight soon after, and paused on reaching the sandy cove, a place admirably suited for the purpose in hand, for though from the rough look-out above, the shore could be commanded for some distance either way, those who occupied the sandy patch were hidden from either east or west.
“I’d have given something to have prevented this, Dick,” said Mellersh huskily; “but you were bound to meet him.”
“Yes,” said Richard gravely. “It was unavoidable. Hush! don’t talk to me. I’m firm now, and,”—he smiled as he spoke—“I want to do you justice.”
“Well,” said Sir Harry Payne, in a low voice, as the second party came upon the ground, “how do you feel now, Rockley? What do you mean to do?”
“To the man who struck me, and came between me and Claire Denville?”
“Yes.”
“I shall shoot him like a dog.”
Volume Two—Chapter Six.James Bell is Confidential.Sir Harry Payne looked at the stony face before him, and read fierce, implacable determination written plainly there. He felt that his companion was a soldier who would face death without a moment’s hesitation, and that there was not a tremor in any pulse.He had but little time for thought, for there were salutations to make, everything being carried out in the most cold-blooded style; after which Sir Harry took an oblong box from the Major’s servant.“You can go now,” he said.“Not stay with my master, sir?”“I said go, fellow,” cried Sir Harry sharply; and, in spite of his jaunty manner, he looked cold and pale.“Back, Sir Harry?”“No—anywhere. There, up the cliff. Be within call.”The man saluted, turned on his heel, and, walking to where a roughly-cut path of steps led up the cliff into the little ravine, began to mount as quickly as he could.About half-way up he turned, saw that he was out of sight, and then, following Fisherman Dick’s steps as if he were familiar with the way, climbed right into the rough cavern, and came suddenly upon the man, who started round in surprise.“Hullo!” he growled. “What are you doing here?”“Same to you,” said the young dragoon, in a low voice. “What are you going to do?”“See the fight, if you must know,” said Fisherman Dick. “Like my place, p’raps.”“Yes,” said the young soldier quickly, “I should;” and, stepping forward, he looked down cautiously on the group below.“Why, it’s Fred Denville, surely,” cried Fisherman Dick.“Hush, man!” said the young soldier, catching him by the arm; “James Bell now. Not a word to a soul about me.”“What, not to your young brother, Master Fred?”“Hist! I’m only a common soldier now, Dick. You won’t betray me, I know.”“Not I, lad. Troost me.”“I will, Dick, with my name, and—”He placed his lips close to the fisherman’s ear, and whispered.Fisherman Dick brought a broad hand down softly on his knee, and laughed a silent laugh. But the next moment he turned preternaturally solemn, and whispered:“It wouldn’t be fair.”“Fair!” whispered back Fred: “is it fair for that poor fellow to stand and be shot down by a man who can snuff a candle at a dozen paces? I’ve seen him do it.”“I’ve done, my lad, and you’re safe with me. I’m closer as you used to know.”Meanwhile the preparations had been going on below, and were so far advanced that the preliminaries had been all settled, the pistols charged, the ground stepped out, and the men were standing back to back, twelve paces apart.Rockley was deadly pale, but not with the pallor of fear, as he stood exactly below the hollow where the two men were looking down. There was a savage look of rage in his eyes, and his lip was white where he pressed his teeth upon it firmly, longing the while to receive the weapon that was to be the minister of his vengeance upon the man he hated with an intense and ardent hate.The doctor had drawn aside, walking down towards the sea, and the two seconds were together, every step in the progress of the drama being taken with a cold formality that was awful.At last the seconds parted, each bearing one of the loaded weapons, and walking firmly towards his principal.“Here you are, Rockley,” said Sir Harry, in a voice that was husky, and not quite firm. “You’ll wing him, won’t you, or give him a ball through one of his legs?”“If I can shoot straight,” said Rockley coldly—“and my arm is pretty firm this morning—there shall be a funeral in Saltinville next Sunday.”“No, no. Gad, man, don’t do that. Think of yourself if you killed him.”“I could get over it,” was the reply. “The Prince would help me; and if he wouldn’t—curse that Linnell, I’d sacrifice anything to pay him back his debt.”“Yes, you’re firm enough, Dick. Mind: as Payne gives the word, raise your pistol and fire at once. You will not hit him, but the quick flash will spoil his aim. I will not consent to another shot. If he wants another it shall be at me. Now then; you understand?”“Yes,” said Linnell firmly, “I understand, Mellersh. I shall not fire at him. If I fall—badly hit—tell Claire Denville I sent her my dear love.”“Be firm, man. You will not fall,” said the Colonel, pressing his hand. Then, glancing at Sir Harry Payne, who was waiting, he walked away towards a certain prearranged point, where he and Sir Harry stood together in the grey morning light; while, back to back, there were the principals, each grasping his heavy duelling pistol, with the chalk cliff towering above, and, fifty yards away, the waves uttering their low, whispering sound.Just then a couple of gulls floated by, grey and ghostly in the dull mist, uttering their faint and peevish cry, and a few drops of rain began to fall.“Are you ready, gentlemen?” said Sir Harry Payne hoarsely.No one spoke, but the principals bowed their heads.“When I say ‘three,’” said Sir Harry, “you will turn round and fire.One—two—three!”As the last word left Sir Harry Payne’s lips, the principals turned quickly round, and almost simultaneously came two sharp echoing reports following the faint puffs of smoke that shrouded the duellists for the moment.Then, as the seconds were starting forward, Mellersh saw that Rockley was looking up at the face of the cliff. Then he looked down at Richard Linnell, who, as the shots were fired, twisted himself sharply round, dropping his pistol, and now stood with one hand pressed to his temple.Mellersh saw a curious smile on Rockley’s face, and a hoarse gasp came from his throat.“It is my fate to shoot another man—dead!” he muttered; and he was just in time to catch Richard Linnell as he reeled and was about to fall.The doctor was coming up quickly, and Sir Harry had run to his principal.“You’ve killed him,” he whispered.“I hope so,” was the cool reply. “I’m not sure, though. That cursed piece of chalk fell from the cliff as I fired, and spoiled my aim. Go and see where he is hurt.”As Sir Harry ran off, Rockley stooped and picked up a piece of chalk rock as big as his fist, and then threw it down, dusting his hand afterwards, and then removing the mark of the chalk where it had struck him upon his right shoulder.“Pah!” he exclaimed, pressing his handkerchief to his lip, which was cut; “the thing bounced up. I hope it has not saved Mr Richard Linnell’s life.”Judging from appearances it had not, for Richard Linnell lay upon the sand with his eyes half closed, and the blood trickling from a wound over the right temple, just where the hair began to grow.“Is he much hurt?” whispered Sir Harry.“Don’t know yet,” said the doctor sharply, as he examined the fallen man. “Not Rockley’s fault if he is not.”“He’s a perfect devil,” muttered Sir Harry, as, looking very white, he gazed from one to the other, while the Major slowly walked down towards the sea and back.“Well?” said Colonel Mellersh, as the doctor ceased his examination.“Had my man better be off at once?” said Sir Harry. “Give him a chance to get away.”“If you do get him away, Sir Harry Payne, let me know where he is gone. I may have a few words to say to Major Rockley.”“I can’t tell what may supervene. There may be concussion of the brain,” said the surgeon. “Yes, he is coming to now. The bullet has only scored his head. It was a marvellous escape.”“Blast!” muttered Major Rockley, as the news was conveyed to him. “Here, let’s be off back, I want my breakfast. Curse him, I’ve not done with him yet, Payne. There are other ways to touch the heart of a greenhorn like that, than with bullets. I’d got him dead as a hammer. My arm felt like steel, and my shot would have had him right in the chest if that piece of chalk had not struck me and jerked my arm. Come along.”“Hadn’t I better go and see if I can be of any help?”“Hadn’t you better go and nurse the scoundrel, and read to him a bit? Bah! Come along, man. He has his second, and they can fetch help from the fishermen’s cottages if they want it.”Sir Harry followed him up the cliff steps and along the Down path without a word.“So, I shall not want a post-chaise,” said Rockley, with a laugh. “No rushing up to town and hiding for a while in chambers in St. James’s, or running over to Boulogne. Good job, too. Save the money. I’m fearfully short. Why, man, you look white.”“Do I? It’s cold. I’m glad that the affair has terminated so well.”“Terminated?” cried the Major, grasping him by the arm, “It has only begun. I tell you there are other ways than bullets to touch a man’s heart, and I’ll pierce his, curse him! so that he shall rue the day he ever crossed my path.”Sir Harry looked at him uneasily.“Payne,” he continued, “I’m a firm friend to those who help me—and lend me money,” he added, with a laugh—“but I never forgive an insult, or a woman’s slight.”Down on the beach, Colonel Mellersh was kneeling with the great drops of perspiration standing on his face, holding Richard Linnell’s hand, while the surgeon was looking on anxiously at the returning signs of knowledge of his position on his patient’s part.The other principal and second had been gone some minutes when footsteps were heard, and James Bell and Fisherman Dick came quickly down the cliff.“Is he much hurt, sir?” said the former, with real signs of trouble in his face.“No, my man: you may tell the Major that it was a narrow escape.”“Poor lad!” muttered the soldier, going down on one knee, and making Colonel Mellersh look at him with surprise, as he took one cold hand, to hold it between his own for a few moments.“Can we carry him to my house, gen’lemen,” said Fisherman Dick roughly. “’Taint very far.”“No, my man, no,” said the doctor; “he has only been stunned. Narrow escape, though. He’ll walk home.”“Do you mean it, sir?” cried James Bell. “Beg pardon, sir. Only glad the Major won’t have to go. I’ll get back to barracks now. He’ll be wanting me.”“All right, my man. Take those confounded pistols with you. There: be off.”The soldier placed the pistols in the case, and, saluting both gentlemen, hurried away by the shore, while Fisherman Dick touched his hat again, and said in a whisper:“I’ve got a drop of right Nantes sperrit at my cottage, gentlemen, if you can bring him in there.”“No, no,” said the doctor. “There, he’s coming round fast now,” and he pointed to Linnell’s staring eyes.The doctor was right. Half an hour later, with no worse trouble to combat than a fierce headache, and the wound smarting under its strapping, Richard Linnell was able to take the Colonel’s arm and walk home, a warning to other young men not to attempt to climb up the cliff to the Downs, and risk falling and cutting their heads!For that was the version of Richard Linnell’s mishap that ran through the town.
Sir Harry Payne looked at the stony face before him, and read fierce, implacable determination written plainly there. He felt that his companion was a soldier who would face death without a moment’s hesitation, and that there was not a tremor in any pulse.
He had but little time for thought, for there were salutations to make, everything being carried out in the most cold-blooded style; after which Sir Harry took an oblong box from the Major’s servant.
“You can go now,” he said.
“Not stay with my master, sir?”
“I said go, fellow,” cried Sir Harry sharply; and, in spite of his jaunty manner, he looked cold and pale.
“Back, Sir Harry?”
“No—anywhere. There, up the cliff. Be within call.”
The man saluted, turned on his heel, and, walking to where a roughly-cut path of steps led up the cliff into the little ravine, began to mount as quickly as he could.
About half-way up he turned, saw that he was out of sight, and then, following Fisherman Dick’s steps as if he were familiar with the way, climbed right into the rough cavern, and came suddenly upon the man, who started round in surprise.
“Hullo!” he growled. “What are you doing here?”
“Same to you,” said the young dragoon, in a low voice. “What are you going to do?”
“See the fight, if you must know,” said Fisherman Dick. “Like my place, p’raps.”
“Yes,” said the young soldier quickly, “I should;” and, stepping forward, he looked down cautiously on the group below.
“Why, it’s Fred Denville, surely,” cried Fisherman Dick.
“Hush, man!” said the young soldier, catching him by the arm; “James Bell now. Not a word to a soul about me.”
“What, not to your young brother, Master Fred?”
“Hist! I’m only a common soldier now, Dick. You won’t betray me, I know.”
“Not I, lad. Troost me.”
“I will, Dick, with my name, and—”
He placed his lips close to the fisherman’s ear, and whispered.
Fisherman Dick brought a broad hand down softly on his knee, and laughed a silent laugh. But the next moment he turned preternaturally solemn, and whispered:
“It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Fair!” whispered back Fred: “is it fair for that poor fellow to stand and be shot down by a man who can snuff a candle at a dozen paces? I’ve seen him do it.”
“I’ve done, my lad, and you’re safe with me. I’m closer as you used to know.”
Meanwhile the preparations had been going on below, and were so far advanced that the preliminaries had been all settled, the pistols charged, the ground stepped out, and the men were standing back to back, twelve paces apart.
Rockley was deadly pale, but not with the pallor of fear, as he stood exactly below the hollow where the two men were looking down. There was a savage look of rage in his eyes, and his lip was white where he pressed his teeth upon it firmly, longing the while to receive the weapon that was to be the minister of his vengeance upon the man he hated with an intense and ardent hate.
The doctor had drawn aside, walking down towards the sea, and the two seconds were together, every step in the progress of the drama being taken with a cold formality that was awful.
At last the seconds parted, each bearing one of the loaded weapons, and walking firmly towards his principal.
“Here you are, Rockley,” said Sir Harry, in a voice that was husky, and not quite firm. “You’ll wing him, won’t you, or give him a ball through one of his legs?”
“If I can shoot straight,” said Rockley coldly—“and my arm is pretty firm this morning—there shall be a funeral in Saltinville next Sunday.”
“No, no. Gad, man, don’t do that. Think of yourself if you killed him.”
“I could get over it,” was the reply. “The Prince would help me; and if he wouldn’t—curse that Linnell, I’d sacrifice anything to pay him back his debt.”
“Yes, you’re firm enough, Dick. Mind: as Payne gives the word, raise your pistol and fire at once. You will not hit him, but the quick flash will spoil his aim. I will not consent to another shot. If he wants another it shall be at me. Now then; you understand?”
“Yes,” said Linnell firmly, “I understand, Mellersh. I shall not fire at him. If I fall—badly hit—tell Claire Denville I sent her my dear love.”
“Be firm, man. You will not fall,” said the Colonel, pressing his hand. Then, glancing at Sir Harry Payne, who was waiting, he walked away towards a certain prearranged point, where he and Sir Harry stood together in the grey morning light; while, back to back, there were the principals, each grasping his heavy duelling pistol, with the chalk cliff towering above, and, fifty yards away, the waves uttering their low, whispering sound.
Just then a couple of gulls floated by, grey and ghostly in the dull mist, uttering their faint and peevish cry, and a few drops of rain began to fall.
“Are you ready, gentlemen?” said Sir Harry Payne hoarsely.
No one spoke, but the principals bowed their heads.
“When I say ‘three,’” said Sir Harry, “you will turn round and fire.One—two—three!”
As the last word left Sir Harry Payne’s lips, the principals turned quickly round, and almost simultaneously came two sharp echoing reports following the faint puffs of smoke that shrouded the duellists for the moment.
Then, as the seconds were starting forward, Mellersh saw that Rockley was looking up at the face of the cliff. Then he looked down at Richard Linnell, who, as the shots were fired, twisted himself sharply round, dropping his pistol, and now stood with one hand pressed to his temple.
Mellersh saw a curious smile on Rockley’s face, and a hoarse gasp came from his throat.
“It is my fate to shoot another man—dead!” he muttered; and he was just in time to catch Richard Linnell as he reeled and was about to fall.
The doctor was coming up quickly, and Sir Harry had run to his principal.
“You’ve killed him,” he whispered.
“I hope so,” was the cool reply. “I’m not sure, though. That cursed piece of chalk fell from the cliff as I fired, and spoiled my aim. Go and see where he is hurt.”
As Sir Harry ran off, Rockley stooped and picked up a piece of chalk rock as big as his fist, and then threw it down, dusting his hand afterwards, and then removing the mark of the chalk where it had struck him upon his right shoulder.
“Pah!” he exclaimed, pressing his handkerchief to his lip, which was cut; “the thing bounced up. I hope it has not saved Mr Richard Linnell’s life.”
Judging from appearances it had not, for Richard Linnell lay upon the sand with his eyes half closed, and the blood trickling from a wound over the right temple, just where the hair began to grow.
“Is he much hurt?” whispered Sir Harry.
“Don’t know yet,” said the doctor sharply, as he examined the fallen man. “Not Rockley’s fault if he is not.”
“He’s a perfect devil,” muttered Sir Harry, as, looking very white, he gazed from one to the other, while the Major slowly walked down towards the sea and back.
“Well?” said Colonel Mellersh, as the doctor ceased his examination.
“Had my man better be off at once?” said Sir Harry. “Give him a chance to get away.”
“If you do get him away, Sir Harry Payne, let me know where he is gone. I may have a few words to say to Major Rockley.”
“I can’t tell what may supervene. There may be concussion of the brain,” said the surgeon. “Yes, he is coming to now. The bullet has only scored his head. It was a marvellous escape.”
“Blast!” muttered Major Rockley, as the news was conveyed to him. “Here, let’s be off back, I want my breakfast. Curse him, I’ve not done with him yet, Payne. There are other ways to touch the heart of a greenhorn like that, than with bullets. I’d got him dead as a hammer. My arm felt like steel, and my shot would have had him right in the chest if that piece of chalk had not struck me and jerked my arm. Come along.”
“Hadn’t I better go and see if I can be of any help?”
“Hadn’t you better go and nurse the scoundrel, and read to him a bit? Bah! Come along, man. He has his second, and they can fetch help from the fishermen’s cottages if they want it.”
Sir Harry followed him up the cliff steps and along the Down path without a word.
“So, I shall not want a post-chaise,” said Rockley, with a laugh. “No rushing up to town and hiding for a while in chambers in St. James’s, or running over to Boulogne. Good job, too. Save the money. I’m fearfully short. Why, man, you look white.”
“Do I? It’s cold. I’m glad that the affair has terminated so well.”
“Terminated?” cried the Major, grasping him by the arm, “It has only begun. I tell you there are other ways than bullets to touch a man’s heart, and I’ll pierce his, curse him! so that he shall rue the day he ever crossed my path.”
Sir Harry looked at him uneasily.
“Payne,” he continued, “I’m a firm friend to those who help me—and lend me money,” he added, with a laugh—“but I never forgive an insult, or a woman’s slight.”
Down on the beach, Colonel Mellersh was kneeling with the great drops of perspiration standing on his face, holding Richard Linnell’s hand, while the surgeon was looking on anxiously at the returning signs of knowledge of his position on his patient’s part.
The other principal and second had been gone some minutes when footsteps were heard, and James Bell and Fisherman Dick came quickly down the cliff.
“Is he much hurt, sir?” said the former, with real signs of trouble in his face.
“No, my man: you may tell the Major that it was a narrow escape.”
“Poor lad!” muttered the soldier, going down on one knee, and making Colonel Mellersh look at him with surprise, as he took one cold hand, to hold it between his own for a few moments.
“Can we carry him to my house, gen’lemen,” said Fisherman Dick roughly. “’Taint very far.”
“No, my man, no,” said the doctor; “he has only been stunned. Narrow escape, though. He’ll walk home.”
“Do you mean it, sir?” cried James Bell. “Beg pardon, sir. Only glad the Major won’t have to go. I’ll get back to barracks now. He’ll be wanting me.”
“All right, my man. Take those confounded pistols with you. There: be off.”
The soldier placed the pistols in the case, and, saluting both gentlemen, hurried away by the shore, while Fisherman Dick touched his hat again, and said in a whisper:
“I’ve got a drop of right Nantes sperrit at my cottage, gentlemen, if you can bring him in there.”
“No, no,” said the doctor. “There, he’s coming round fast now,” and he pointed to Linnell’s staring eyes.
The doctor was right. Half an hour later, with no worse trouble to combat than a fierce headache, and the wound smarting under its strapping, Richard Linnell was able to take the Colonel’s arm and walk home, a warning to other young men not to attempt to climb up the cliff to the Downs, and risk falling and cutting their heads!
For that was the version of Richard Linnell’s mishap that ran through the town.
Volume Two—Chapter Seven.Miss Clode is Overcome.It was a vain effort, for such an event was sure to be known to others besides the parties concerned.Sent on a special mission by her aunt that morning, to see whether Mr Miggles had any fish, and with a basket to obtain a small bottle of a peculiar water that Fisherman Dick secretly supplied to a few friends whom he could trust, simple-faced Annie picked up some news.“You don’t want any more brandy, aunty,” the girl had said; “there are two bottles not opened, and you said you wouldn’t have any more fish for ever so long.”“Oh, Annie!” cried Miss Clode, “I thought you were beginning to be of a little use to me.”The girl’s mouth opened wide, and her nose turned red; but directly after a cunning smile came in her face, and her eyes nearly closed.“Oh, I say, aunty,” she said softly, “I know what you mean now. You mean go and make that an excuse for getting to know about pretty Miss Denville going to see about the little girl.”“Worse and worse, Annie,” cried Miss Clode. “Don’t you understand that a still tongue makes a wise head?”“Oh, yes, aunty, I know now;” and nodding her head very knowingly, Annie went off on her mission.She returned very quickly, with a face quite scarlet with heat and excitement, full of the news she had picked up from Mrs Miggles, who had determined not to say a word of what she knew, and ended by telling all.Miss Clode was in a state of excitement, for she had heard from a customer that young Mr Linnell, of the Parade, had fallen from the cliff that morning and cut his head, and the news turned the little woman pale, and she staggered and felt sick. When Annie came back she had recovered, but only ready on hearing her niece’s news to faint dead away and lie insensible, just as stout Mrs Barclay came in about a new account-book, and to purchase a couple of pounds’ worth of bill-stamps.“Poor little woman!” cried Mrs Barclay sympathetically. “Here, don’t make a fuss, my dear; I’ll help you. Let’s get her on the sofa. It’s only fainting, and the smelling-salts will bring her round. That’s the way,” she panted and puffed as she helped to carry the slight little woman into the inner room. “Worse disasters at sea. Not so bad as Mr Linnell tumbling off the cliff this morning and cutting his head.”“He didn’t tumble off the cliff,” said Annie, round-eyed and trembling with eagerness, as she whispered in Mrs Barclay’s ear.“Oh, yes, he did, my dear.”“No, he didn’t,” whispered Annie, as Miss Clode lay quite senseless. “Hearing about it all upset aunty.”“Did it? What, his fall?”“No, no, it wasn’t a fall; but I mustn’t say anything.”“You don’t know anything,” said Mrs Barclay contemptuously.“Oh yes, I do,” whispered Annie. “It’s very horrid. Major Rockley shot him in a duel this morning for horse-whipping him after Major Rockley had insulted Miss Denville. There!”“Hush!” whispered Mrs Barclay, whose face was now as red as Annie’s. “Your aunt is coming to.”“Don’t say I told you. She would be so cross.”Mrs Barclay nodded; and, after saying a few comforting words to the sufferer as she came to, contented herself with buying the bill-stamps, and left the shop, while, as soon as she had recovered sufficiently, Miss Clode wrote a few hasty lines to Colonel Mellersh, and strictly enjoining her to hold her tongue, sent her niece off to deliver the note on the Parade.Colonel Mellersh was not within, but Cora Dean and her mother were alighting from the pony-carriage, and Annie greeted them with a smile and a curtsey, which made Mrs Dean tap the girl on the shoulder with a formidable fan.“Here, you come in, and walk upstairs. I want a word with you.”“No, no, not now, mother,” said Cora hastily.“Now, just you let me have my own way for once in my life, please, Betsy,” said Mrs Dean; and to avoid having words in the hall, where they could easily be overheard, Cora gave way, and in due time, to her intense delight, Annie was seated in one of Josiah Barclay’s gilded easy-chairs, with a piece of cake in her hand, and a glass of ginger wine before her.“Which is quite good enough for her,” Mrs Dean had said to herself.Cora had not taken off her things, but had gone to the window, to stand looking out, and biting her lips with shame and rage, as she heard her mother’s words to the girl.“Trust me, ma’am?” Annie said, with her mouth half full of sweet Madeira cake, “that you may, ma’am, as much as you would aunty. Oh, yes, I’m sure aunty gave his lordship the notes, and he only laughed.”Cora’s beautiful white teeth gritted together as, ill-bred as she was, she knew well enough that had she wished Lord Carboro’s openly-manifested admiration to ripen to her profit, her mother’s open invitations to him to call would have destroyed her chance.Then she tried to shut her ears to what was going on, and stood there wondering whether Richard Linnell would go out while she stood there—why it was the house had been so quiet that morning, for she generally listened for an hour to him playing duets with his father.Then she wondered rather bitterly whether he would ever care for her, and his coldly polite way be changed. He was always civil and pleasant, and chatted with her when they met, but that was all, and at times it mortified her, as she thought how beautiful she was, making her vow that she would be revenged upon him, while at other times all this made her sit down and sob by the hour together.“Why should I trouble about him?” she was asking herself just then, as she gazed from the window, and ignored the low buzzing of Annie’s voice, which came huskily through Madeira cake, “I, who might accept almost any man I like. I’ve good looks, and money, and there are hundreds of men who would be only too glad of a smile. As for—”“Mr Linnell, ma’am? Oh, yes, it’s quite true,” Annie was whispering, and the name sent a thrill through Cora.“But he lives downstairs, girl, and we should have known.”“Oh, yes, ma’am, I learn by heart—aunty makes me—where all the fashionable people live. I know Mr Linnell—two Mr Linnells—live downstairs. It’s in our visitor’s list, along with you, and Colonel Mellersh, and it’s quite true.”What was quite true about Richard Linnell? If it was about Claire Denville, she would tear him from her; she would crush her. How dare she presume to think of her idol—the true, brave fellow who had dashed into the sea and saved her when she was drowning?Poor Fisherman Dick, like many more, not being young and handsome, was forgotten after that ten-pound note.Cora’s eyes flashed, her cheeks burned, and she looked as beautiful as an artist’s idea of Juno, listening now with all the concentration of her passionate nature.“I oughtn’t to talk about it, ma’am, and I wouldn’t tell anyone but you,” Annie went on. “They said he fell over the cliff this morning and cut his head.”Cora Dean saw blood upon a white forehead, and she clutched the back of a chair, for the room seemed to be turning, and she felt sick.“But he didn’t, ma’am.”“Isn’t he hurt, then?”“Yes, ma’am, badly. I wonder you didn’t know. You see, he met Major Rockley—you know him, ma’am?—handsome dark gentleman with mustachios.”“Yes, yes, I know,” said Mrs Dean, revelling in the bit of gossip. “Have some more cake.”“Thank you, ma’am. Major Rockley was out walking with Miss Claire Denville out on the Downs—”Cora’s faintness passed away, and the room ceased to glide round as her eyes brightened, and she felt as if she could have embraced that handsomeroué, who always, bowed to her with such a look of insolent contempt.“And then Mr Linnell came up and took Major Rockley’s whip away and beat him.”Cora’s cheeks burned with jealous rage now. How dare Richard Linnell do that? And yet she liked him for it. He was so brave. But for Claire Denville! Her eyes flashed again.“Then they met this morning, ma’am, down on the sands, and fought a real duel, and Major Rockley shot Mr Linnell.”“It is not true!” cried Cora excitedly, and once more the room began to turn.“Yes, ma’am, it’s quite true,” said Annie, with her mouth now full of cake.Shot!—injured by Major Rockley! and she—she could not go down to him to wait upon him, and show him by her every act how she loved him.A minute before she had been ready to bless Major Rockley. Now, curses were in her heart, as she thought of him raising his hand against Richard Linnell to strike him down.“No, ma’am, he isn’t very bad,” Annie went on, in answer to a question of Mrs Dean.“It can’t be true,” Cora said to herself, as her brain seemed to become a chaos of love, jealousy, hatred, and pride in the brave young fellow who had saved her life, and, civilian though he was, showed himself ready to meet such a notorious fire-eater as the Major.Just then she gave a gasp, for she saw a stiff, military-looking man, whom she knew to be the regimental surgeon, come up to the door.It was true, then; and it was all she could do to keep from bursting into an hysterical fit of sobbing.But a thought came directly that gave her strength, and she felt joy and elation together as she said to herself:“He found them together, and horsewhipped the Major. Well, so much the better. He can never think of Claire Denville again. If he did—”She uttered a low unpleasant laugh, as Annie found that she must go back, for she could eat no more cake; and as soon as they were alone Mrs Dean exclaimed:“Don’t, for goodness’ sake, laugh like that, my dear; it gives me the cold shivers all down my back. It’s just like Metalina in ‘The Haunted Vampire,’ where she takes an oath as she’ll kill her rival or perish in the attempt.”
It was a vain effort, for such an event was sure to be known to others besides the parties concerned.
Sent on a special mission by her aunt that morning, to see whether Mr Miggles had any fish, and with a basket to obtain a small bottle of a peculiar water that Fisherman Dick secretly supplied to a few friends whom he could trust, simple-faced Annie picked up some news.
“You don’t want any more brandy, aunty,” the girl had said; “there are two bottles not opened, and you said you wouldn’t have any more fish for ever so long.”
“Oh, Annie!” cried Miss Clode, “I thought you were beginning to be of a little use to me.”
The girl’s mouth opened wide, and her nose turned red; but directly after a cunning smile came in her face, and her eyes nearly closed.
“Oh, I say, aunty,” she said softly, “I know what you mean now. You mean go and make that an excuse for getting to know about pretty Miss Denville going to see about the little girl.”
“Worse and worse, Annie,” cried Miss Clode. “Don’t you understand that a still tongue makes a wise head?”
“Oh, yes, aunty, I know now;” and nodding her head very knowingly, Annie went off on her mission.
She returned very quickly, with a face quite scarlet with heat and excitement, full of the news she had picked up from Mrs Miggles, who had determined not to say a word of what she knew, and ended by telling all.
Miss Clode was in a state of excitement, for she had heard from a customer that young Mr Linnell, of the Parade, had fallen from the cliff that morning and cut his head, and the news turned the little woman pale, and she staggered and felt sick. When Annie came back she had recovered, but only ready on hearing her niece’s news to faint dead away and lie insensible, just as stout Mrs Barclay came in about a new account-book, and to purchase a couple of pounds’ worth of bill-stamps.
“Poor little woman!” cried Mrs Barclay sympathetically. “Here, don’t make a fuss, my dear; I’ll help you. Let’s get her on the sofa. It’s only fainting, and the smelling-salts will bring her round. That’s the way,” she panted and puffed as she helped to carry the slight little woman into the inner room. “Worse disasters at sea. Not so bad as Mr Linnell tumbling off the cliff this morning and cutting his head.”
“He didn’t tumble off the cliff,” said Annie, round-eyed and trembling with eagerness, as she whispered in Mrs Barclay’s ear.
“Oh, yes, he did, my dear.”
“No, he didn’t,” whispered Annie, as Miss Clode lay quite senseless. “Hearing about it all upset aunty.”
“Did it? What, his fall?”
“No, no, it wasn’t a fall; but I mustn’t say anything.”
“You don’t know anything,” said Mrs Barclay contemptuously.
“Oh yes, I do,” whispered Annie. “It’s very horrid. Major Rockley shot him in a duel this morning for horse-whipping him after Major Rockley had insulted Miss Denville. There!”
“Hush!” whispered Mrs Barclay, whose face was now as red as Annie’s. “Your aunt is coming to.”
“Don’t say I told you. She would be so cross.”
Mrs Barclay nodded; and, after saying a few comforting words to the sufferer as she came to, contented herself with buying the bill-stamps, and left the shop, while, as soon as she had recovered sufficiently, Miss Clode wrote a few hasty lines to Colonel Mellersh, and strictly enjoining her to hold her tongue, sent her niece off to deliver the note on the Parade.
Colonel Mellersh was not within, but Cora Dean and her mother were alighting from the pony-carriage, and Annie greeted them with a smile and a curtsey, which made Mrs Dean tap the girl on the shoulder with a formidable fan.
“Here, you come in, and walk upstairs. I want a word with you.”
“No, no, not now, mother,” said Cora hastily.
“Now, just you let me have my own way for once in my life, please, Betsy,” said Mrs Dean; and to avoid having words in the hall, where they could easily be overheard, Cora gave way, and in due time, to her intense delight, Annie was seated in one of Josiah Barclay’s gilded easy-chairs, with a piece of cake in her hand, and a glass of ginger wine before her.
“Which is quite good enough for her,” Mrs Dean had said to herself.
Cora had not taken off her things, but had gone to the window, to stand looking out, and biting her lips with shame and rage, as she heard her mother’s words to the girl.
“Trust me, ma’am?” Annie said, with her mouth half full of sweet Madeira cake, “that you may, ma’am, as much as you would aunty. Oh, yes, I’m sure aunty gave his lordship the notes, and he only laughed.”
Cora’s beautiful white teeth gritted together as, ill-bred as she was, she knew well enough that had she wished Lord Carboro’s openly-manifested admiration to ripen to her profit, her mother’s open invitations to him to call would have destroyed her chance.
Then she tried to shut her ears to what was going on, and stood there wondering whether Richard Linnell would go out while she stood there—why it was the house had been so quiet that morning, for she generally listened for an hour to him playing duets with his father.
Then she wondered rather bitterly whether he would ever care for her, and his coldly polite way be changed. He was always civil and pleasant, and chatted with her when they met, but that was all, and at times it mortified her, as she thought how beautiful she was, making her vow that she would be revenged upon him, while at other times all this made her sit down and sob by the hour together.
“Why should I trouble about him?” she was asking herself just then, as she gazed from the window, and ignored the low buzzing of Annie’s voice, which came huskily through Madeira cake, “I, who might accept almost any man I like. I’ve good looks, and money, and there are hundreds of men who would be only too glad of a smile. As for—”
“Mr Linnell, ma’am? Oh, yes, it’s quite true,” Annie was whispering, and the name sent a thrill through Cora.
“But he lives downstairs, girl, and we should have known.”
“Oh, yes, ma’am, I learn by heart—aunty makes me—where all the fashionable people live. I know Mr Linnell—two Mr Linnells—live downstairs. It’s in our visitor’s list, along with you, and Colonel Mellersh, and it’s quite true.”
What was quite true about Richard Linnell? If it was about Claire Denville, she would tear him from her; she would crush her. How dare she presume to think of her idol—the true, brave fellow who had dashed into the sea and saved her when she was drowning?
Poor Fisherman Dick, like many more, not being young and handsome, was forgotten after that ten-pound note.
Cora’s eyes flashed, her cheeks burned, and she looked as beautiful as an artist’s idea of Juno, listening now with all the concentration of her passionate nature.
“I oughtn’t to talk about it, ma’am, and I wouldn’t tell anyone but you,” Annie went on. “They said he fell over the cliff this morning and cut his head.”
Cora Dean saw blood upon a white forehead, and she clutched the back of a chair, for the room seemed to be turning, and she felt sick.
“But he didn’t, ma’am.”
“Isn’t he hurt, then?”
“Yes, ma’am, badly. I wonder you didn’t know. You see, he met Major Rockley—you know him, ma’am?—handsome dark gentleman with mustachios.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” said Mrs Dean, revelling in the bit of gossip. “Have some more cake.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Major Rockley was out walking with Miss Claire Denville out on the Downs—”
Cora’s faintness passed away, and the room ceased to glide round as her eyes brightened, and she felt as if she could have embraced that handsomeroué, who always, bowed to her with such a look of insolent contempt.
“And then Mr Linnell came up and took Major Rockley’s whip away and beat him.”
Cora’s cheeks burned with jealous rage now. How dare Richard Linnell do that? And yet she liked him for it. He was so brave. But for Claire Denville! Her eyes flashed again.
“Then they met this morning, ma’am, down on the sands, and fought a real duel, and Major Rockley shot Mr Linnell.”
“It is not true!” cried Cora excitedly, and once more the room began to turn.
“Yes, ma’am, it’s quite true,” said Annie, with her mouth now full of cake.
Shot!—injured by Major Rockley! and she—she could not go down to him to wait upon him, and show him by her every act how she loved him.
A minute before she had been ready to bless Major Rockley. Now, curses were in her heart, as she thought of him raising his hand against Richard Linnell to strike him down.
“No, ma’am, he isn’t very bad,” Annie went on, in answer to a question of Mrs Dean.
“It can’t be true,” Cora said to herself, as her brain seemed to become a chaos of love, jealousy, hatred, and pride in the brave young fellow who had saved her life, and, civilian though he was, showed himself ready to meet such a notorious fire-eater as the Major.
Just then she gave a gasp, for she saw a stiff, military-looking man, whom she knew to be the regimental surgeon, come up to the door.
It was true, then; and it was all she could do to keep from bursting into an hysterical fit of sobbing.
But a thought came directly that gave her strength, and she felt joy and elation together as she said to herself:
“He found them together, and horsewhipped the Major. Well, so much the better. He can never think of Claire Denville again. If he did—”
She uttered a low unpleasant laugh, as Annie found that she must go back, for she could eat no more cake; and as soon as they were alone Mrs Dean exclaimed:
“Don’t, for goodness’ sake, laugh like that, my dear; it gives me the cold shivers all down my back. It’s just like Metalina in ‘The Haunted Vampire,’ where she takes an oath as she’ll kill her rival or perish in the attempt.”
Volume Two—Chapter Eight.Mrs Barclay is Puzzled.“Oh, my dear, and do you know how they’re all a-talking about you?” cried Mrs Barclay, as she sat panting beneath the florid portrait of May Burnett in the MC’s shabby drawing-room.Claire looked up appealingly in the pleasant, plump face, and her brow knit.“You see, it all comes to me, my dear, and it worries me because I like you so.”“You were always very kind to me, Mrs Barclay.”“Not half so kind as I should like to be, my dear. I wanted to have you home when the mur—”“Oh, hush!”“Of course, my dear. That’s my way. So vulgar and thoughtless. Think of me now bringing that up to you who live here; and us sitting in the very next room.”“Mrs Barclay!”“Yes, I won’t say another word, my dear. Not that I believe in sperrits or anything of that kind. But you were saying about me being kind. Why, you won’t let me be, my dear. I’m sure the dresses I’d buy you, and the things I’d give you, if you’d let me, would make some of them stare.”“But I could not let you, Mrs Barclay,” said Claire, smiling.“No; you’re so proud, my dear, that’s it. You see, Josiah lets me have so much for housekeeping, that I’ve always plenty to spare; and as to jewellery, why, I might wash in diamonds if I liked, but I don’t.”“Let us be as usual, Mrs Barclay,” said Claire, with more animation, “and never mind about what people say, or fashion, or dress, or any of the nonsense.”“I’m sure I should like to be, my dear; but you being a motherless girl, I don’t like to hear people talking about you.”Claire’s face grew flushed.“Don’t look like that, Claire, my dear. I’m not cross with you, but when people talk about you being out walking with that horrid black Major Rockley, it hurts me.”“I could not help it, Mrs Barclay,” said Claire.“Then it’s all true, then, about young Mr Linnell horse-whipping him?”“Yes, yes; but this is so cruel to me. He did beat him for insulting me.”“Bless him then. I always liked him, my dear. How he must love you!”“Oh, hush, hush!” cried Claire, in agony.“I don’t see why. I’m sure he’s everything that’s good and brave; and you need not sob like that, my dear, for, from what I can hear, he isn’t very badly hurt.”Claire started. A dread that had been hanging over her was beginning to assume form.“But they say it’s a mercy that the Major’s bullet did not go an inch lower.”“Bullet? The Major! They have had a meeting?”“Yes, my dear. I thought you must know, and I came to talk to you about even speaking to—there—there, what a woman I am. I came to do good, and I’m doing nothing but harm. Now, she’s going to faint.”“No, no!” cried Claire agitatedly; “it is nothing. I am not going to faint, Mrs Barclay, indeed. There, you see, I am quite calm now.”“Yes, and I am sorry, my dear; but I am such a thoughtless woman. Barclay’s quite right; I haven’t no head at all.”“No head?” said Claire, smiling, as she sat down close to her visitor and laid her hands upon her arm. “Perhaps it is because you have so much heart.”“Heart, my dear! why—no; I declare I’m most afraid to speak, for fear of saying something that may hurt your feelings.”“If you will not speak about—about—”“Mr Linnell, my dear?”“Yes, but only to tell me that he is not much hurt—you said so, did you not?” cried Claire.“Yes, my dear; he’s not much hurt. But, Claire, my dear, wouldn’t it be better if you—so pretty and young as you are—did care very much for some one as nice and good as he is?”“No, no,” cried Claire excitedly. “Pray, pray say no more. It is impossible.”“Well, you know best, my dear,” said Mrs Barclay sadly; “and you want me to talk about something else. Well, I’ll talk about you, only you must not mind if I say something stupid. It’s my way.”“I am sure you would not say anything to wound me,” said Claire, kissing her.“Indeed I wouldn’t, my dear: and, do you know, ever since I found out how you people here were situated, through Mr Denville coming to see my Josiah, who is the real best of men, I seemed to take to you like. I went home and had a good cry after I’d been here the first time, and seen you managing your poor father, and your sister and brother so well.”Claire’s brow grew troubled, but her visitor prattled on.“You had another brother, hadn’t you, my dear, who couldn’t agree with your father like, and then went away?”“Yes,” said Claire, bowing her head to hide her face.“Ah, my Josiah told me so. Well, well, there’s troubles in every family, my dear; and so long as pa has got you he has not much cause for complaint.”Claire looked up, trying to smile, but it was a sorry attempt; and soon after her guest rose, assuring her that she need not be uneasy about Mr Linnell.“One word before I go, my dear, though, just as a secret. It isn’t that I’m curious, because I don’t care who it is marries, or whom they marry; but I’ve no girls of my own, and I do take an interest in you. Now, just in a whisper like. I am an old friend.”“Yes, yes—indeed, you are. The only dear friend I have.”“Then tell me now; put your lips close to my ear—it is to be Mr Linnell, is it not?”“Never!” said Claire firmly.“Oh, my! And I told you to whisper. I won’t believe it’s that horrible Major.”“Mrs Barclay,” said Claire, putting her arms round her homely friend’s neck, “they say that every woman has her duty in life: mine is to watch over and help my father, and to be such protection as I can to my sister and brothers.”“What, and not get married at all?” cried Mrs Barclay, in a tone of disappointment.“And never be any man’s wife,” said Claire sadly. “Oh!”“Stop one moment, Mrs Barclay,” whispered Claire, in a strangely hesitating manner, “you do like me, I know.”“Indeed, I do, my dear, though I must say you disappoint me horribly.”“Then I want you—whatever comes to pass—whatever people may say of me—to try and think the best of me.”“Why, my darling!”“Yes: I know you will; but your confidence may be sorely tried, and I want you to think well of me always. I cannot do all I wish, and—and—I cannot explain myself; only think the best you can of me. Good-bye, good-bye!”“She is the strangest girl I ever did meet,” said Mrs Barclay, as she panted away in her thick silk and enormous open bonnet. “Think well of her, whatever comes to pass! Why, of course I will, poor girl!”
“Oh, my dear, and do you know how they’re all a-talking about you?” cried Mrs Barclay, as she sat panting beneath the florid portrait of May Burnett in the MC’s shabby drawing-room.
Claire looked up appealingly in the pleasant, plump face, and her brow knit.
“You see, it all comes to me, my dear, and it worries me because I like you so.”
“You were always very kind to me, Mrs Barclay.”
“Not half so kind as I should like to be, my dear. I wanted to have you home when the mur—”
“Oh, hush!”
“Of course, my dear. That’s my way. So vulgar and thoughtless. Think of me now bringing that up to you who live here; and us sitting in the very next room.”
“Mrs Barclay!”
“Yes, I won’t say another word, my dear. Not that I believe in sperrits or anything of that kind. But you were saying about me being kind. Why, you won’t let me be, my dear. I’m sure the dresses I’d buy you, and the things I’d give you, if you’d let me, would make some of them stare.”
“But I could not let you, Mrs Barclay,” said Claire, smiling.
“No; you’re so proud, my dear, that’s it. You see, Josiah lets me have so much for housekeeping, that I’ve always plenty to spare; and as to jewellery, why, I might wash in diamonds if I liked, but I don’t.”
“Let us be as usual, Mrs Barclay,” said Claire, with more animation, “and never mind about what people say, or fashion, or dress, or any of the nonsense.”
“I’m sure I should like to be, my dear; but you being a motherless girl, I don’t like to hear people talking about you.”
Claire’s face grew flushed.
“Don’t look like that, Claire, my dear. I’m not cross with you, but when people talk about you being out walking with that horrid black Major Rockley, it hurts me.”
“I could not help it, Mrs Barclay,” said Claire.
“Then it’s all true, then, about young Mr Linnell horse-whipping him?”
“Yes, yes; but this is so cruel to me. He did beat him for insulting me.”
“Bless him then. I always liked him, my dear. How he must love you!”
“Oh, hush, hush!” cried Claire, in agony.
“I don’t see why. I’m sure he’s everything that’s good and brave; and you need not sob like that, my dear, for, from what I can hear, he isn’t very badly hurt.”
Claire started. A dread that had been hanging over her was beginning to assume form.
“But they say it’s a mercy that the Major’s bullet did not go an inch lower.”
“Bullet? The Major! They have had a meeting?”
“Yes, my dear. I thought you must know, and I came to talk to you about even speaking to—there—there, what a woman I am. I came to do good, and I’m doing nothing but harm. Now, she’s going to faint.”
“No, no!” cried Claire agitatedly; “it is nothing. I am not going to faint, Mrs Barclay, indeed. There, you see, I am quite calm now.”
“Yes, and I am sorry, my dear; but I am such a thoughtless woman. Barclay’s quite right; I haven’t no head at all.”
“No head?” said Claire, smiling, as she sat down close to her visitor and laid her hands upon her arm. “Perhaps it is because you have so much heart.”
“Heart, my dear! why—no; I declare I’m most afraid to speak, for fear of saying something that may hurt your feelings.”
“If you will not speak about—about—”
“Mr Linnell, my dear?”
“Yes, but only to tell me that he is not much hurt—you said so, did you not?” cried Claire.
“Yes, my dear; he’s not much hurt. But, Claire, my dear, wouldn’t it be better if you—so pretty and young as you are—did care very much for some one as nice and good as he is?”
“No, no,” cried Claire excitedly. “Pray, pray say no more. It is impossible.”
“Well, you know best, my dear,” said Mrs Barclay sadly; “and you want me to talk about something else. Well, I’ll talk about you, only you must not mind if I say something stupid. It’s my way.”
“I am sure you would not say anything to wound me,” said Claire, kissing her.
“Indeed I wouldn’t, my dear: and, do you know, ever since I found out how you people here were situated, through Mr Denville coming to see my Josiah, who is the real best of men, I seemed to take to you like. I went home and had a good cry after I’d been here the first time, and seen you managing your poor father, and your sister and brother so well.”
Claire’s brow grew troubled, but her visitor prattled on.
“You had another brother, hadn’t you, my dear, who couldn’t agree with your father like, and then went away?”
“Yes,” said Claire, bowing her head to hide her face.
“Ah, my Josiah told me so. Well, well, there’s troubles in every family, my dear; and so long as pa has got you he has not much cause for complaint.”
Claire looked up, trying to smile, but it was a sorry attempt; and soon after her guest rose, assuring her that she need not be uneasy about Mr Linnell.
“One word before I go, my dear, though, just as a secret. It isn’t that I’m curious, because I don’t care who it is marries, or whom they marry; but I’ve no girls of my own, and I do take an interest in you. Now, just in a whisper like. I am an old friend.”
“Yes, yes—indeed, you are. The only dear friend I have.”
“Then tell me now; put your lips close to my ear—it is to be Mr Linnell, is it not?”
“Never!” said Claire firmly.
“Oh, my! And I told you to whisper. I won’t believe it’s that horrible Major.”
“Mrs Barclay,” said Claire, putting her arms round her homely friend’s neck, “they say that every woman has her duty in life: mine is to watch over and help my father, and to be such protection as I can to my sister and brothers.”
“What, and not get married at all?” cried Mrs Barclay, in a tone of disappointment.
“And never be any man’s wife,” said Claire sadly. “Oh!”
“Stop one moment, Mrs Barclay,” whispered Claire, in a strangely hesitating manner, “you do like me, I know.”
“Indeed, I do, my dear, though I must say you disappoint me horribly.”
“Then I want you—whatever comes to pass—whatever people may say of me—to try and think the best of me.”
“Why, my darling!”
“Yes: I know you will; but your confidence may be sorely tried, and I want you to think well of me always. I cannot do all I wish, and—and—I cannot explain myself; only think the best you can of me. Good-bye, good-bye!”
“She is the strangest girl I ever did meet,” said Mrs Barclay, as she panted away in her thick silk and enormous open bonnet. “Think well of her, whatever comes to pass! Why, of course I will, poor girl!”