On the whole it was a most marvellous recovery. The nurse had been a little severe on Mary; she had had no business to fly to the bedroom of the patient in that way. But Ralph was most emphatically of the opinion that Mary's action had hastened his convalescence. At the end of the week he was in the drawing-room with the windows open, so that he could catch the sweet fragrance of the summer air, and the doctor was jokingly congratulating him on the thickness of his skull. The London police had been very busy during the past week, but as yet no success had rewarded their efforts. Ralph had said nothing; it was deemed far wiser not to allude to the attack at present, and old Slight had remained silent in the presence of the detectives. Their superior air irritated him and, therefore, he kept his knowledge to himself.
As to the rest, George Dashwood was in Paris. He had been sent there on an errand by Lady Dashwood, who wanted him out of the way. The chatelaine of the dower house was afraid lest George Dashwood should speak out and spoil everything. And Mary had more or less made her peace with her father, who had forgiven her.
"I've no doubt you thought that you were acting for the best," he said. "You are not quite old enough fully to appreciate what is due to the family pride. Still, as nobody knows that you have so far forgotten yourself as to try to earn your own living, it does not much matter. I suppose you have done nothing to be ashamed of."
Mary replied with becoming meekness that she hoped so. Only a little time before she would have flung back the suggestion with passionate scorn. But lately she had become more cheerful and gayer in her disposition. Still, the situation was not without its humorous side. It was not for Mary to point out to her father what a humiliating position he had occupied when he had accepted the impostor's offer of a home at the Hall. But as yet Mary knew nothing of the impostor's downfall, or the real story of the outrage on Ralph. All that was to come. So George Dashwood departed on his errand to Paris, and the mistress of the dower house breathed more freely.
The nurse had gone now; her services were no longer required. And tomorrow the doctor had told Ralph that he could walk across the park if he liked. The next day was a wet one, however, so there was no opportunity. The third day broke gloriously fine, and Ralph came down to breakfast, a little pale and shaky, but almost himself again. Lady Dashwood was reading the paper with a grave face. It was not until the meal was over that she drew Ralph aside.
"I am going to speak freely to you," she said. "It is a strange thing that you have never asked if we had found anything out about your accident."
"I was waiting for you to speak," Ralph said. "As for myself, I remember nothing. The night I was dining at the Hall, Mayfield gave me a cigar. Almost as soon as I reached the open air, I became so drowsy that I could have fallen down and gone to sleep. A sudden pain darted through my head, and I recollected no more till I came to myself here, and found that Mary was on her knees by the side of my bed. Did I dream that, or did Mary come then and say that she loved me? It was only for a few minutes that I was conscious."
"I have no doubt thatthatwas real enough," Lady Dashwood smiled tenderly. "Mary did rush up to your room, and a fine scolding she got from the nurse for it. But you can settle all that with our dear girl later. Let us get one thing over at a time. You have not the slightest idea who made that attack on you?"
Ralph confessed that such was the case, and Lady Dashwood proceeded to enlighten him. She told Ralph everything that she had gleaned for herself, and that Slight had acquainted her with. Ralph's face was very grave and stern as he listened to the story.
"A very pretty plot," he said. "I can see it all quite clearly now. It was invented by Mayfield. It never occurred to me till now that Mayfield guessed who I was. You see he had seen my father. Very lately Mayfield had been in dire need of money.Ihad seen to that. He could guess why I stood aside and let it appear as if Speed was the heir of the property; he could see that I did this to save Mary, knowing that I could stop it later and claim my own. But this gave Mayfield a chance to blackmail Speed whilst he had a grip on the family exchequer. After that was done, Speed could go hang, as far as Mayfield was concerned. The whole thing was spoiled by my chance meeting with Speed in his mother's house. She could tell him who I really was. Hence the plot that nearly killed me. Perhaps I have been a little bit too clever. If ever I come across my friend Vincent Speed again----"
"You will never do that," Lady Dashwood said. "The man is dead. He perished in yesterday's storm, crossing from Jersey to Granville in a rickety boat. There is a paragraph here in the papers. The man seems to have assumed his own name again, for his linen was marked Vincent Speed. And old Slight told me that he meant to escape in that way. On the whole, my dear Ralph, it will be just as well to save scandal as much as possible. Of course, the neighbours will naturally want to know a great deal, but we need not talk too much."
"I quite agree with that, though I fancy that the family pride will get short shrift from me," Ralph laughed. "You had better put it down to the fact that I had a democratic mother. But have you heard anything of Mayfield?"
"He has gone, Ralph, nobody knows where. There was a good deal about him in yesterday's papers--the disappearance of a City man, and strange stories of his swindled clients. I understand that a warrant on some charge or another has been obtained for his arrest. But he will never be found, Ralph; he is too cunning for that. On the whole, it will be better for you to tell the simple truth, that you had not the slightest idea who caused your accident."
"Well, as a matter of fact, I haven't," Ralph said. "But, of course, Mary must know all these things. I can only rejoice in the misfortune that has brought us together, and opened her eyes to the truth that love is best of all things. I suppose she has no idea----"
"None whatever," Lady Dashwood said eagerly. "Slight will say nothing, and George Dashwood has been got out of the way on purpose. But is it not time, my dear boy, that Mary should be told the whole story? You need not fear any longer that her heart is given to Ralph Darnley, and that Sir Ralph Dashwood is quite a secondary consideration."
Ralph laughed with a tender inflection in his voice.
"I was going to do it after lunch," he said. "And positively I feel quite nervous about it. You are very anxious to see us married, grandmother?"
"It will be the crowning happiness of a miserable life," Lady Dashwood said. "I have already told you the story of my past, of the sin that cost one life and wrecked the happiness of two others. For that sin I have fully atoned; I fancy that my punishment is ended, and that is the one thing that you are never to tell our dear Mary."
Ralph promised solemnly. After a pause Lady Dashwood proceeded:
"Now you know everything," she said. "I want to see my boy soon back in his proper place; I want to see the best ruler that Dashwood ever had. We have been too proud and cold in the past, and have thought more of our dignity than of the comfort and happiness of those dependent upon us. But I see that that is not going to be your way, and I rejoice in the knowledge. And in future I know that it is not going to be Mary's way, either. And if the evening of my life is going to be finished in the sunshine, I shall not regret the past. All I want to do now is to see a child of yours and Mary's on my lap, and . . . that's all, Ralph."
Ralph rose and kissed the speaker tenderly. He quite understood her feelings.
"God grant that it may be as you say," he murmured. "But I feel so anxious. And till now I have been quite strong in the knowledge that I should win Mary in the long run. She could never have married Mayfield; I had only to declare myself, and that was finished. But I saw the way to open the eyes of my dear one, and I did it. Still, I wish it was all over, the confession made, and my forgiveness freely offered. By tea time I shall know."
It was a quiet but very happy little party that gathered presently at the luncheon table. Mary was soft and subdued; she had not forgotten the night of her return, and the way in which she had knelt by Ralph's bedside, and told him of her love. From that day the subject had not been alluded to between them, for Mary had rather avoided Ralph save in the presence of others. But when she met his glance from time to time, she knew that all was well, and that the sacrifice she had made was the crowning blessing of her life.
"How sweet those roses are!" she said, as she plunged her heated face into a bowl of blossoms. "I used to smell those roses all the time I was in London. Really, I pretended to be very independent and all that kind of thing, but I'm afraid I should never have been able to stand the life. I should have run down here, and pretended that I was not well enough to return."
"Not you," Grace laughed. "Now, with me the case is different. It is essential to good art that we should have congenial surroundings. Do you know that I have done three solid hours' work today without feeling the least fatigue! If I had attempted such a thing in London, I should have been knocked up for a week."
"A few days have worked wonders in you," Ralph said. "In honour of the occasion, we will go and have tea at the Hall. Mary and myself will go and make all the arrangements, and you can follow with Lady Dashwood. What do you say, Mary?"
"We are trespassers," the girl said, with a laugh and a blush. "Still, the owner is away, and I am quite sure that Slight will give us a warm welcome."
page397"He had Mary's hand in his." (Page 397)
They had been very quiet for a long time as they sat in the rose garden looking over the park. They could see the dappled deer under the great oaks; the shadow of the fine old house lay behind. There was something very soothing and peaceful about the picture. It was Ralph who spoke presently; he had Mary's hand in his, and she did not draw it away.
"It is a pity to lose this," he said, "to know that it has gone for ever. Mary, you were better and braver far than you knew, when you turned your back on Dashwood Hall."
"Was I?" Mary asked absently. "It will always be a sadness and a sorrow to me, more from the knowledge of what I might have some day made the place than anything else. But I need not dwell on that. I have my living to get now."
"And I suppose I have mine," Ralph said. "Mary, you know what is on the tip of my tongue. Could you share that lot with me? But I know that you would; I know what your feelings are. You told me the night you came back here; you said that my prophecy had come true; that you had returned to ask my pardon on your knees. Do you regret that?"
"No," Mary said resolutely. "I do not regret it for a moment. Because it was true then, and it is truer now. It was Connie who taught me that lesson, I think. She pointed out to me what a good thing a man's love was. And when I thought that I had lost you, why, then I knew what my mind was. If I am worth the taking, Ralph----"
"My darling, you were always worth the taking," Ralph cried. "Even in the days of your pride I had dreams of the sweet Mary that would like you to love her, and behold, here she is! And you are prepared to share the lot of a poor man without even a pedigree?"
Mary swayed towards her lover, and he caught her in his eager arms. The next minute her face was hidden on his breast, happy tears rolling down her cheeks.
"Don't," she whispered. "Oh, please don't remind me of that, Ralph. From the bottom of my heart I love you; I must have loved you from the very first. What does it matter what you are, so long as you are what you are--a good man, with a kind heart for a foolish girl like me? I am prepared to share your lot, and go where you like, Ralph; anywhere you choose to take me. We shall be very poor, I suppose, but that does not matter. I am glad,gladthat the day came when I had to leave the Hall."
"And if you never return you will not regret it, Mary?"
"No, Ralph, not with you by my side. And as to poverty, why, it could not be worse than what I have gone through lately. We shall be very poor, Ralph."
"Not so very poor," Ralph smiled. There was nobody near to see them, so the girl's head rested happily on Ralph's shoulder, his arm round her waist. "Dearest, I have a confession to make to you. We are not poor at all."
"But I thought that you had lost everything, Ralph. That Mr. Mayfield had your money. But don't let us talk about him. It makes me hot and cold all over. To think that at one time there was more than a possibility that I should----"
"No, there was never the slightest possibility," said Ralph. "I have had all the cards in the game from the very first. Mary, I am going to tell you a little story; it is the history of a man who passed most of his early life in America, where he did not see many people. He was quite a well-born man, but his father had quarrelled with his relatives, and so he had not all the advantages which were due to his station. But he was well brought up, and prided himself that he had a high sense of honour.
"Well, in time, he came to Europe, and then he met the one woman that he needed. She was very lovely, very proud, and very distant. But that young man could see what lay under her pride, and he determined to win her for his wife. She liked him, but she refused him. And for two years he did not meet her again. Then he came to England, and accident brought those two together again. In the meantime, the girl's father had come into possession of the family estates, and the girl was more proud and distant than ever. And still that young man was not dismayed.
"And now comes the strange part of my story. The young man, whose father had died in the meantime, had come here to claim a title and a property. He had not known anything of this till his father died, but he came, and his grandmother recognized him at once. But that very same property and title had passed to the girl's father. Now, the young man might have told the girl this, and doubtless she would have married him. But he was a romantic young man, and desired to be married for his own sake. Then another claimant to the property turned up, and the young man pretended to back this impostor's claim. He did this, so that the girl should go out in the world, as he felt that she would, and get her own living. And his estimate of the girl was correct, for she did so."
"Go on," Mary whispered. "You can't tell how interested I am."
"Well, it was even as the young man had expected. The carefully-planned plot succeeded beyond the most sanguine expectations. The girl went out into the world, and almost at once her better nature began to prevail. She saw the world through other eyes; she learned what a wonderful and complex thing humanity is. And when that young man saw the girl again he was astonished and delighted. He did not regret his plot in the least. He knew now that here was the real girl that he loved, deprived of her pride and hauteur, palpitating with love and tender sympathy. . . . In your case would you have forgiven that man, Mary?"
"Oh, yes, yes," Mary cried. "Oh, I can read between the lines of your parable. I am the girl and you are the man who has brought me to my senses. Ralph, it sounds like a fairy story. And so you took this means of opening my eyes, and showing me how small and narrow my world was. Forgive you? Could you ever forgive me? And to think that you are the son of Ralph Dashwood come back after all these years. And to think that Lady Dashwood should know and not tell me. Marvellous!"
"I bound her to secrecy," Ralph explained. "And, really, things fell out wonderfully for me. There was the incident of the fire and that matchbox, for instance; the incident that forced the impostor Speed to declare himself. For, of course, you have guessed who the man who called himself Sir Vincent Dashwood really was. I suppose we shall never hear who it was who tried to set the Hall on fire."
Mary laughed happily through her tears.
"And you never found that out?" she said. "Why, I knew at once. And I was horribly afraid lest the person should be found out and severely punished. Do you recollect the night that those men took possession of the Hall, the night when you tried to save me from Mayfield? Old Patience was there. It was one of her lucid nights when she possessed her full intelligence. And she kept on crying for somebody to smoke the rats out, for somebody who had courage to put the match to the faggot. I found her quite late, and took her to sleep for the night in my dressing-room. And when you came to save me, Patience had vanished. I never had the slightest doubt who set the Hall on fire, and I hope that you will not mention this to anybody, Ralph. Patience has quite forgotten it. I alluded to the subject only yesterday, and she expressed her indignation."
"Well, that is the last of the mysteries cleared," Ralph said. "I suppose the poor creature found that matchbox somewhere. The next thing is to proclaim myself, and then, Mary, you can come back to the Hall as mistress again."
"What happiness!" Mary whispered. "But a different kind of happiness to the old. I shall hope a little later to see the old Hall a different place to what it has ever been before. I should like to build a charming house close by for the benefit of girls like my friends Connie and Grace. I owe them more than I can ever repay; indeed, I owe humanity in general a deep debt of gratitude. You will let me have my own way over this, Ralph, for I have set my heart on it."
"It shall be as you say, darling," Ralph whispered, as he kissed the red lips tenderly. "For the honour of the house, for now and evermore."