Dashwood nodded sulkily. He had a vague idea that Ralph was making fun of him in some way. Still, he was understood to say that such was his precise meaning. Lady Dashwood rose and walked off in the direction of the house; she had to see to the comfort of her expected visitors.
"I hope you will dine with us tonight, Mr. Darnley," she said. "Just Sir George and Mary, with Vincent here--nothing more than a quiet family party."
"Too quiet and too family for me," Dashwood muttered. "You can count me out. Besides, I have the most important business in London tonight."
Lady Dashwood looked relieved. There was no mistaking the expression of her face as she turned away. Dashwood noticed it, and his face flushed dully. He made a motion to follow, but Ralph laid a strong hand upon his arm.
"One moment, if you please," he said, "I should like to have a few words with you on the subject of that matchbox. The police are pretty certain to ask you a great many questions concerning it, as you can see for yourself?"
"Let 'em ask," growled Dashwood, "it's nothing to do with me. I dropped that box, and the chap who set fire to the house picked it up."
"But suppose that chap, as you call him, happened to see you hanging about the house at a very early hour in the morning, a groom or somebody of that kind, who was prepared to swear to your identity? What then, my dear sir?"
Ralph was only drawing a bow at a venture; he was really working out a little theory of his own, but the arrow went home to the feather. Dashwood's face turned to a dull grey; he seemed to be utterly unnerved for the moment.
"Look here," he blustered presently, "what do you think you are likely to gain by asking me all these prying questions? Suppose Iwashanging about the place last night. What then? Isn't it natural? Can't you understand the interest I take in my own property? You don't suppose that I should be likely to burn down a house of my own that contained some fifty thousand pounds worth of artistic treasures?"
"Your logic is too strong for me," Ralph smilingly admitted. "As the claimant to the property and the title you are hardly likely to destroy the house. But there is one thing that puzzles me--if things are as you say, why do you not press your claim?"
"Because I am short of a certain document. It is rather an important document for it happens to be my mother's marriage certificate. But I am informed that the proper will comes into my possession soon, and then I can move. Till that time I have decided to let sleeping dogs lie."
"Meaning that Sir George is to remain in blissful ignorance, I presume?"
"That's about it. Let him make the best of his reign. And that stuck-up daughter of his! She'll get her face to the grindstone before she is much older. Besides, there is another matter. Lady Dashwood has to be considered."
With difficulty Ralph disguised his contempt. A fine consideration the speaker had for Lady Dashwood! He was trading cunningly on her weakness and her desire to avoid scandal. It was his cue to pretend that he did not care to take any steps during the lifetime of the unhappy old lady. He had stripped her pretty well of all she had, without any risk to himself. So long as the golden stream flowed he need never fear.
Directly he came to make his claim he would be asked searching questions and would have to satisfy keen legal minds of the honesty of his proofs. Meanwhile, he preferred to blackmail an innocent old lady who was too ill and broken down to protest. Ralph read the fellow like an open book, but he was going to make use of him later, if needs be. Therefore it was that he disguised his feelings now.
"That sounds very creditable," he said. "It is very good of you to consider Lady Dashwood's feelings in this way. I hope she is correspondingly grateful."
"She isn't anything of the kind," Dashwood protested. "She fairly hates me. Every bit of affection that she has is centred on Sir George Dashwood's girl. Everything must be made smooth for Mary. Maybe her pride will have a bit of a dash before long. I don't know why I am telling you all these things, except that you seem a good sort. For all I know to the contrary, you may be a police spy inquiring into my past. All the same, I don't think the old lady would stoop to that kind of thing."
"You are quite right," Ralph said drily. "I'm sure she couldn't. I must be going now. I shall not have the pleasure of seeing you at dinner tonight?"
Dashwood winked significantly. There were better attractions elsewhere. The air seemed to be all the sweeter and purer after he had gone. Very slowly and thoughtfully Ralph made his way across the fields in the direction of his temporary abode. Fate seemed determined to place all the threads in his hands; everything was arranging itself just as he could have wished. His plan of action became quite clear and plain. There were certain circumstances to be taken into consideration, more particularly the way that Mary would act in the future. And Vincent Dashwood would be an important pawn in the game. By the time that it became necessary to dress for dinner Ralph had worked it all out.
He walked across the fields in the direction of the dower house. It was a lovely night, clear and bright, with no breath of air stirring. Ralph could see the red gables of the Hall beyond the noble elms and beeches, and a pleasant picture rose before his eyes. He could see himself as master of the place with Mary by his side--not the Mary of the proud, cold face and haughty eye, but another Mary, soft and beautiful, as she emerged chastened and purified from the furnace of the family pride. There would be trouble and humiliation first, but it should all come about, or Ralph would know the reason why.
He was still debating the matter as he reached the dower house and a well-trained footman took him as far as the drawing-room. The blinds were not down yet, so that the room was filled with the saffron glory of the sunset. It was all so refined and homelike, so different to anything that Ralph had ever seen before. It was the thing that Ralph had dreamt of, the home life that had occupied much of his waking dreams. It lay before him now, but there was much to be done first.
Lady Dashwood came stately and smiling into the room. The look in her eyes was warm and affectionate as Ralph took her hand. Mary was not down yet, she explained, but the girl was dressing for dinner, and she was much better for a long sleep. Then Mary came into the room, serene and calm, with a flush on her beautiful face as she caught sight of Ralph.
"You have heard all the good news?" she asked. "The Hall has not been in the least damaged by the fire. My father ran in to tell me a little time ago, and he has gone back, preferring to dress at home. I understand that we shall be back home on Saturday."
"So I am told," Ralph replied. "It has been a great inconvenience, of course, but it most opportunely rid you of very undesirable visitors. By the time that Saturday comes you will be in a position to defy them."
"Indeed, I hope so," Mary said, with the deep flush still on her face. "My father intends to bring those documents so marvellously recovered here with him tonight, and tomorrow he will take them to London. Mr. Mayfield is a clever man, but circumstances have been too strong for him this time. Mr. Darnley, you are our good fairy; without you I have not the least idea what we should have done."
"Don't be so sure of that," Ralph. smiled. "The fairy of my time always seemed to want something in return for past favours, and you may find that I am keeping very closely to precedent. But is not Sir George very late?"
A big clock over the carved oak mantel chimed the hour of eight. Lady Dashwood shook her head, and explained that one must make allowances just now. There would be no great harm done if the dinner waited for five minutes. It was all the same to Ralph, who asked nothing better than to sit in that perfect atmosphere and contemplate the beauty of the girl before him. He had to wait some time for the prize, but he knew that it would fall into his fingers at last. There was one shortcut to victory, but he wasn't going to take that way. He watched the sunshine playing on Mary's face, he seemed to see clean through the mask of pride to the pure white soul below.
"I am going to ask you a question," the girl said. "You have never told me what was your business here, except that you had lost your money and that you had come into these parts to pick up something from the wreck. Is everything gone, Mr. Darnley?"
"Everything," Ralph smiled, "save honour. My father trusted Horace Mayfield, and the result is that when I leave here I shall have to get my living. I don't quite know what I am going to do, but I am strong and capable and steady. I may say----"
"Here is Sir George at last," Lady Dashwood exclaimed. "What a hurry he seems to be in. Mary, my dear, will you please to ring the bell and tell Seddon we are ready for dinner. . . . Why----"
Sir George had come hurriedly into the room. The white tie had come unfastened and hung in two streamers down his shirt front, but he did not seem to notice it. His face was as white as his tie; his forehead was damp with moisture.
"I've lost them," he cried; "stolen out of my desk! All those precious papers! And now I am more in the power of that scoundrel Mayfield than ever! I--I----"
He dropped into a chair and burst into a flood of maudlin, senile tears.
Ralph's first feeling was one of contempt. It was almost incredible that a man of Sir George's position could behave in so childish and weak a fashion. Here was the diplomatist who had been so popular in Paris, so bland and dignified, assuming therôleof a silly girl who had lost some foolish ornament. For the time being he had cast his manhood entirely behind him. He sat on the couch with the tears streaming down his cheeks, great sobs burst from his chest.
"Gone!" he wailed. "Absolutely vanished. I locked them up in a desk last night, or the night before, and now they have disappeared. Don't tell me they have not been stolen, because I know better. Besides, nothing else is disturbed. And those papers were there to prove my absolute claim to Dashwood Hall. With those documents in my possession I could have raised as much money as I needed. I could have returned here in a day or two and rid myself of that scoundrel, Mayfield, for ever. He meant to cover me with ignominy and disgrace, but the fire prevented that. And now he has managed to get those papers stolen."
"That is impossible," Ralph cried. "He did not know of their existence."
"Why not! How can you prove that he didn't know? He is one of the cleverest scoundrels in the world. He gets to know everything, and he was actually under my roof on the very night that the papers were so marvellously recovered. It is just possible that he was spying about all the time."
"It does not seem at all probable," Lady Dashwood said in a faint whisper.
"Oh, yes, it does," Sir George replied. "I'm quite ready to argue it out either way. We will admit that Mayfield didn't know till later, till the next morning, in fact, when I told him what had happened, and practically ordered him out of the house. He saw at once then that he no longer held me in his grip; he wanted nobody to tell him that those precious papers were close at hand. He made up his mind to obtain possession of them without delay. Therefore, he invented the idea of the fire--a fire that would cause a deal of smoke and confusion and yet not do much harm. Under cover of the fire he stole the papers."
Ralph was listening with a kind of painful toleration of the snuffling speaker. A startling idea came into his mind now. He glanced at Lady Dashwood, who seemed to read his thoughts. In the light of their especial knowledge, facts pointed to quite another individual as the culprit. If the fire had been the work of an incendiary, then that criminal was undoubtedly Vincent Dashwood, whose matchbox had been found in the ashes. Vincent Dashwood had palpably been uneasy when the missing matchbox had been mentioned, he was still more uneasy at Ralph's suggestion that he had been hanging about Dashwood Hall within an hour or so of the outbreak. Was there some deep and powerful reason why Vincent Dashwood desired to see the old house burnt to the ground? Was it to bury some secret in the ashes?
The more Ralph pondered over this, the deeper the mystery became. He could see quite clearly how Mayfield's scheme would benefit by possession of those papers. What he could not fathom was what Vincent Dashwood had to gain by a disastrous fire. He would go into this without taking anybody into his confidence, Ralph thought. There was yet another danger that struck much closer at the root of his happiness--the position in which Mary stood in the face of this catastrophe.
He glanced across at the girl, who stood on the far side of the drawing-room with the light of the shaded lamps on her face. He could see that her features were pale and drawn, that there was a hunted, haunted look in her eyes. It was quite evident that she fully appreciated the danger of the situation. And yet the feeling uppermost in her mind was the feeling of bitterness and sorrow for the sorry part her father was playing.
"I should like to understand the position fully," she said. "What difference does the loss of those papers imply? Cannot you do without them, father?"
"I am helpless, my dear," Sir George groaned. "I am the head of the family, and the man who enjoys the revenue of the estates, and I shall probably continue to do so until I die. But for the next six months or so I could not raise a penny on the property, not till the time mentioned in the late owner's will expires, when I become legally possessed of everything, even though a direct heir of Ralph Dashwood appears. Then I can borrow as much money as I please. Now, I am absolutely at the mercy of Horace Mayfield."
The pallor on Mary's face deepened; hope faded from her heart. She was in the toils again and made no attempt to disguise the fact. It was quite immaterial to her who had those papers, so long as they were gone.
"Let me make the position quite clear," she went on, in a hard, level voice. "Let us revert to the condition of affairs existing before those papers were found; let us assume that they never existed at all. You owe a very large sum of money, father, a sum that it is impossible for you to pay. If you fail to raise the amount, which we may take for granted, something like disgrace and dishonour falls on you. That is not your fault, I know, but other people will not think so, and the head of the house of Dashwood will stand before his fellow men stamped as little better than a felon. Is that so?"
"That is the way in which the world will regard it," Sir George groaned.
"Quite so, father. You can't find the money, and nobody will find it for you. As I know already, it is useless to appeal to Lady Dashwood."
"Quite, my dear," Lady Dashwood murmured. "I would give anything to avert the disgrace, but I have nothing. I am a wicked old woman, and my sins are finding me out. I have parted with everything, even to my jewels, to keep a certain secret, and I see now that the sacrifice is going to be all in vain."
Mary turned and laid a soothing hand on the speaker's arm. There was something sweet, almost affectionate in the action.
"A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind," she said bitterly. "After all there is a way out of the trouble, there has been a way out all along. Our blessing in disguise in the matter seems to be Mr. Mayfield. We will ignore for the moment that he has himself brought the situation about for his own ends. The fact remains that he can keep the disgrace away. He has offered to avert the catastrophe at a price. I am the price. By saying one simple word everything is changed. And in six months, you, my father, are master of Dashwood absolutely. I have only to say, 'Yes,' and the thing is done. It is a simple little word, which has been the cause of untold misery to thousands of poor girls. But, after all, there have been greater sacrifices for less satisfactory results. And now let us go into dinner."
The girl spoke quietly enough, but nothing could disguise the bitterness and scorn that rang in every word. It was all very wrong, it was dictated by motives clearly open to question, but in spite of everything, it seemed to Ralph that he had never admired Mary more than he did at that moment. He knew of the anguish of disappointment and despair that filled her cup to overflowing; he could realise the difference that the last half-hour had made to her outlook on life; he knew how much she hated and despised the man to whom she was once more tied by the hands of Fate.
He knew also that filial love and affection had nothing whatever to do with the fatal resolve. It was family pride that was the mainspring of the action. Mary stood there, proud and defiant now, with the lamplight streaming on her face, and Ralph knew now that the time was coming for him to act. The lesson would have to be learned, the bread of affliction must be eaten to the last sour crust.
"Will Mr. Darnley please to ring the bell?" Mary went on evenly. "We shall have the servants wondering what is the matter. It is already half-past eight, and punctuality is one of the cardinal virtues at the dower house. If you will look into the mirror opposite, father, you will see that your tie is all disarranged. . . . Give me your arm, Mr. Darnley?"
There was not a trace of any emotion now about Mary. She watched her father rearranging his tie with a critical air; she began to discuss the flowers on the dinner table as if nothing had happened out of the common. She bore the brunt of the conversation all dinner time, for the others were strangely silent. From time to time Mary flashed a challenge from her eyes to Ralph, as if defiantly ignoring his views. And yet she dreaded her next meeting with Darnley. She knew him to be poor and friendless, she believed him to be of no particular family, but still she valued his good opinion deeply. She would have denied that if it had been put to her directly, but in her heart of hearts she could not disguise the true state of her feelings.
"Why are you looking at me so?" she said.
"Was I?" Ralph asked. "I had no idea that my looks betrayed me so badly. But I will discuss the matter with you when we are alone."
It was an audacious speech, but it sounded quite naturally from Ralph's lips. Mary could feel the colour rising to her cheeks; she felt annoyed that she could not better control her feelings. For the rest of the meal she was silent like the rest, and said no more till Lady Dashwood gave the signal for departure.
Once the ladies had departed, Sir George brightened visibly. He reached out eagerly for the claret and drank two glasses rapidly. Ralph declined the decanters, and also the cigar that his host handed him. He contented himself with a cigarette; he replied more or less vaguely to Sir George's idle chatter. It seemed almost incomprehensible to him that a father could sacrifice a daughter to a scoundrel like Mayfield, and accept the situation as if it had been the most natural thing in the world.
"I feel bound to have a few words with you, Sir George," he said presently. "More by accident than anything else I seem to have been dragged into your family secrets. We will not go into the reason why I was in a position to render you a service a night or two ago. It is unfortunate that that service should have proved useless, but it is more than probable than those papers will turn up again."
"Never," Sir George said emphatically. "Mayfield will take care of that. He knows that so long as he holds the papers I am quite in his power. He will lend me the money to put me right in the comfortable assurance that at the expiration of six months it will come back to him again. Take him all in all, Mayfield is perhaps the most clever scoundrel that I have ever come across, which is saying a great deal."
"You are convinced that Mayfield is a finished scoundrel, then?"
"My dear fellow, what other conclusion could I come to? His every action proves it. He has worked this thing out in the most cold-blooded way. The fellow ought to be hounded out of society and kicked out of every respectable house. No club should tolerate him. He's a rascal clean through."
There was honest indignation ringing in every word that Sir George said. Ralph listened with cynical amusement.
"And yet you are going to give your only child as a hostage to the man who has planned your social ruin," he said. "You are going to sell your daughter, and the price is to be the silence of a scoundrel! Good heavens, man, can't you realise the enormity of your crime? To save yourself from unpleasantness, you permit your daughter to give herself up to a lifetime of horror and degradation. Is this a specimen of your family pride? You are so fond of the race, so passionately attached to it, that you are paving the way for that rascal Mayfield eventually to succeed you as the head of the house! If you do this thing you will be judged for it, as sure as we are face to face at this moment. If you permit it, then you are a greater rascal by far than even Mayfield is."
Ralph's words rang out clear and true, his voice vibrated with anger. A dull flush mounted to the face of the elder man, a feeble anger filled his eyes.
"I can't permit you to speak to me like this," he protested. "I--I must be the best judge of what is right and proper for my child. And Mary is pretty certain to have her own way in the end. My good fellow, you speak as if Mary's future was in your special keeping. Anybody would think that you had fallen in love with the girl."
"I have," Ralph said calmly. "I love Mary with my whole heart and soul. I can see the beauties of her mind as clearly as I can see the beauty of her face under that crust of pride and arrogance. It will be my task to remove the husk so that the flower can be seen in all its loveliness. It may not trouble you much, it may be no particular satisfaction to you, but Mary is not going to marry Horace Mayfield. When the time comes, Mary will marryme. But I fear that there is a time of humiliation and suffering and poverty before her first, poverty in which you will have your share, Sir George. It rests practically in the girl's own hands; she can take up the sunshine of the future when she chooses."
"The fellow's mad," Sir George muttered. "Clean mad. My dear Darnley, you are talking the most abject nonsense. On your own confession you are a poor man; you have lost everything as I did by trusting to that scoundrel. I mean to Mayfield, who----"
"Precisely. We both know that man to be what he is. And in spite of what you know, you are going to let your daughter marry him and give her your blessing. Truly the family pride of which you boast is a poor thing! You are prepared to commit a crime to support it. Now tell me your honest opinion--do you suppose for a moment that Mayfield would marry Mary if she came to him empty-handed?"
Sir George shook his head; he was man of the world enough to see Ralph's point.
"I don't think he would," he said. "Mayfield is sufficient of a business man to know the value of money. Of course he's fond of the girl, which is quite natural. But I fail to see what your question has to do with the matter."
Ralph was not blind to the hopelessness of his task. Truly it is difficult to know the real standard of even one's closest friend. Up to a certain point, Ralph had regarded Sir George as an honourable man, who would have shrunk from any act calculated to pain or harm any fellow creature. Dashwood would probably have protested himself that such was the case. And yet here he was, prepared to sacrifice his only child on the altar of his sinful selfishness.
A bitter contempt filled Ralph; he would have liked to turn on this man and tear him to tatters with sharp-edged words. Were all people alike when it came to the test? Ralph wondered. He half rose from his seat, and then sat down again. It was impossible to quarrel with Mary's father; there was nothing to gain by such a course. And Sir George seemed to divine little of what was passing in the mind of his young companion.
The elder man had regained his equanimity now. He was sure that Mary would do what he called the right thing. It was rather a nuisance, and so forth, but then it was absurd to imagine that any girl could imperil the good name of such a family as the Dashwoods. As Sir George sipped his wine, he caught sight of his own head and shoulders in a Florentine mirror on the far side of the room, and, unconsciously almost, set his tie straight. It seemed incredible to Ralph that the man could think of such things at such a moment. But there it was. Sir George poured out for himself another glass of wine.
"I can see that you are vexed," he said in his polished easy way. "As a friend of ours you naturally would be. In addition, you are naturally prejudiced against our friend, Horace Mayfield. So am I, but we must make the best of it. After all, there are many standards of honour. Mayfield is a business man; he has been trained to methods which are not in accordance with our views. All is fair in love and war, he would argue. We must not be too hard on our fellow creatures, Darnley."
"The fellow is a scoundrel," Ralph said hoarsely. "He is bad to the very core of his being. He would never see the inside of Dashwood Hall again if you could be free of him. And when I think of your daughter as that man's wife----"
Ralph paused. He was unable to proceed. His quick imagination travelled on ahead of him; he could picture Mary's future in the darkest colours. He knew only too well the fire and force and passion that lay under the cold exterior. He could guess at the unspeakable humiliation to come from Mayfield's very touch. And this would go on not for days, but for years. And Mary would never murmur, she would confide in nobody, she would hug the galling chains to her breast until the canker entered the heart of the flower and killed it ...
But Dashwood was talking again. Ralph was so lost in his own gloomy thoughts that he had some difficulty in picking up the thread.
"And there is another thing, my dear fellow," Sir George murmured. "You will excuse my saying so, but you are taking on yourself a little too much. Mary owes her life to you on two different occasions. I am sure that we are both of us exceedingly grateful to you. And you have proved yourself to be a real friend in other ways. Still, that does not give you the right to harp upon this topic quite so freely. When Mary marries Mayfield----"
"She never will do so," Ralph cried, forgetting himself for the moment. "Rest assured that this hateful marriage will never take place. You may look surprised, but wait and see. I have not finished with Mayfield yet. After this evening is over, and I have heard Miss Dashwood's decision for the last time----"
"I decline to discuss the matter any further, really I do," Sir George protested. "My dear fellow, your remarks are in bad taste. As a gentleman, you must see that such is the case. I must ask you to change the subject."
Ralph placed a firm bridle upon his tongue. He had almost forgotten himself; he had come very near to betraying the great secret.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "As you say, I am going too far. I shall not err in that way again, but will leave you in peace to your cigar and your claret. Perhaps I shall be able to get some music in the drawing-room. The quietude of this house fascinates me, all the more because I have not been accustomed to this kind of thing."
Sir George smiled in a benign manner.
"I can understand your feelings," he said. "By all means leave me to my cigar. It has been a very disturbing evening."
Ralph crossed the great hall in the direction of the drawing-room. He had made up his mind what to do. So far as he could judge, the blow would have to fall before long. When once Mayfield had an inkling of the truth, Ralph felt pretty sure that Mary would be no longer under the necessity of submitting to his persecutions. Mayfield posed as a rich man, and indeed he seemed to have the command of money when he needed it, but Ralph had reason to know that there was a deal of tinsel mixed up with the gold. If it could be proved to Mayfield that Mary was no longer an heiress he would refuse to carry out his part of the contract. He would recognise at once that the whole scheme was a failure, and his cautious philosophy would do the rest.
There were two ways of getting rid of Mayfield, the first being for Ralph to declare his own identity. But by doing so he would go far to defeat his darling ambition of winning Mary's love on his own merits. Still, he had been prepared to run this risk if Mayfield's persecutions continued. But now Fate had placed in his hands another weapon by which it was possible to be rid of Mayfield and carry on the love campaign at the same time. Whether this alternative would have to be used without delay depended on Mary. Ralph meant to see her now and force her to say what she was going to do. There was no time like the present. In the silence and the moonlight this thing should be done.
Just for a moment it seemed to Ralph that the drawing-room was empty. There were the shaded lamps throwing a subdued light on the old furniture and the panelled walls. Ill at ease as he was, Ralph was conscious of the refined, soothing air of the place. Then a gentle voice called him, and he crossed to a distant corner of the room where Lady Dashwood was seated. Her face was white and troubled.
"My dear lad," she whispered, "I felt certain that you would come to me. Sir George cares nothing so long as he has his comforts. Mary is out of the room; she has gone up to see old Patience, so that you can speak freely. This is a terrible catastrophe; it places that poor child absolutely in the grip of the scoundrel. She recognises that; she is prepared to bow to the inevitable. You have only to look into her face to see what she is going to do. And I am to blame for the whole miserable crime."
"My dear Lady Dashwood, how could you possibly avoid it?"
"Oh, you will know some day when the truth is told. Ah, if you had a bare idea of what a miserable, wicked old woman I am. . . . But there is no occasion to go into that here. The question is, can you help me, can you do anything to prevent this thing? I used to pride myself on the fact that I had a great deal of influence over Mary. But when it comes to a question of family pride, I am helpless. Still, this marriage must be prevented at any cost. If you will not speak out, I shall be compelled to do so."
"There is no occasion," Ralph said. "I pray you to leave me to do this in my own way. Mary will never become the wife of Horace Mayfield."
A murmur of relief came from the aged listener. Her face cleared somewhat, but the tears were still dim in her eyes. At the same time, Ralph's words were a great comfort to her. She laid her fingers on his hand lovingly.
"I like to hear you speak like that," she whispered. "It reminds me of your--of my dear son. Ralph, are you sure that you can carry out your boast?"
"Quite, Lady Dashwood. As surely as I am standing here before you, I can prevent this hateful marriage. I can prevent it even if Mary tries to thwart me. But I must have her decision from her own lips first. I am going to be very cruel to be very kind in the long run. And whatever happens, I am going to ask you to trust me implicitly. Even if things look very dark for us all, you are not to lose your faith. Remember, if events seem to point to the triumph of one who is hateful to you, it is all being done with one end in view. Now promise."
"My dear boy, I promise freely. When you look at me with those brown eyes and speak to me with that voice from the other side of the grave, I could promise you anything. I feel that you have come to save me; that my life is destined to end in peace. But I am afraid that Mary is going to suffer yet."
"Oh, she is," Ralph said almost sternly. "It is good for her that she should suffer. But I shall have no fear for the result after she is tried in the furnace. Maybe I am no better than a Quixotic fool, but I have my aim clear before me. And now I must see Mary for some moments alone."
"I will send her to you," Lady Dashwood murmured as she rose from the chair. "Ralph, you fill me with new hope and courage. I feel that I am going to do some good with the remainder of my life yet. But do not be too hard on the child, remember that she is more or less what I have made her. And may she listen to the voice of reason!"
It was a little time later that Mary came in. She looked white and weary; her eyes had a metallic gleam in them. All the same, she flushed under Ralph's steady gaze. She murmured something to the effect that she had no idea Lady Dashwood was not there.
"Never mind about Lady Dashwood for the present," Ralph said. "In fact, I asked her to leave us together for a time. I have something important to say to you, Mary. Come out on the terrace with me."
It was not so much a request as a command and Mary felt the hot blood rising to her face. And yet she could not decline coldly with Ralph's eyes on hers. He seemed to possess some magnetic influence over her. Without a word they passed side by side out on to the terrace.
It was a perfect night, with a full moon swinging high overhead. In the distance the silver light played on the roofs and chimneys of the Hall. Ralph stood in rapt contemplation of the scene for a moment.
"It is absolutely perfect," he said. "A good old house in a grand old English landscape. And for three hundred years a Dashwood has reigned here. Truly a thing to swell the heart with honest pride. No wonder you are fond of it, Mary; no wonder you would make any sacrifice to retain possession of it. But the price is too heavy. Tomorrow you must send Horace Mayfield about his business."
"It is too late," Mary said coldly. "I have made up my mind. Other women have made far heavier sacrifices than this. And I shall get used to it."
"Never! You are not going to do it. I will not permit you to commit this sin."
The girl's face blazed with anger, then her cheeks grew white again. She would have liked to turn upon Ralph with passionate scorn, but her sense of truth and justice held her back. For what he said she knew to be dreadfully, hopelessly true.
"Yes, a sin," Ralph said quietly. "The deliberate violation of a sacrament. You will go to the altar with a lie on your lips, your whole life will be a lie. To my mind, one of the most horrible things is the sight of a young girl who has married an old man for the sake of his money. To me it is hideous. And your sin will be worse than that, far worse. Picture it, think of it, Mary, before it is too late."
The girl's head drooped, in spite of her pride and her courage, the tears streamed down her face, her frame was shaken by passionate sobs.
"Too late," she said. "Oh, I cannot draw back."
"Because you sacrifice everything to your foolish pride," Ralph replied. "I see that it is quite useless for me to plead any longer. Therefore, I must take my own way to prevent your wasting your life in this fashion. Would Horace Mayfield care for you if he heard that you had lost your fortune?"
"The question is needless," Mary whispered. "Of course he wouldn't."
"Let us argue the matter out from that point of view, then. Say that a merciful Providence interferes to prevent this sin of yours. You lose your fortune. Mind, there are many less likely things than this. Your fortune takes wings and flies away. You are free from Mayfield, and also you lose the Hall. What would you do then?"
"But you are picturing an almost impossible case. Such a thing is not the least likely."
"Indeed, it is. The late heir to the estate vanished and never returned. There was a violent quarrel, the facts of which are only known to Lady Dashwood. Her son died far away without even communicating with his relatives again. So far as we know, he may have left a son behind him. He may have told that son everything or nothing. But suppose that son finds out the truth. What is to prevent his coming back and claiming everything? He would get the title as a matter of course; he would get the estates also if he puts in an appearance before another six months have gone by. If this happens, you are no better than a pauper, Mary. What do you say to that?"
"I do not believe in the existence of the man."
"No, but I do. Mary, that young man lives. He will declare himself and bring in his proofs before many days are over. He is the instrument chosen by Providence to prevent this deliberate sin of yours. Your reign at Dashwood is over; within a few days you will be as poor as--as myself. Thank God, we shall save you yet."
A little cry came from the girl's lips and she stood like a white statue in the moonlight.
It was some time before Mary spoke again. Ralph wondered if she had any inkling of the real truth. He had perhaps said a little too much, and perhaps, on the other hand, he had not said quite enough. Suppose that Mary jumped to the immediate conclusion that he was the heir. What then? She would ask him the question point blank, and he would be compelled to speak the truth.
But Mary's perception was at fault for once. As her eyes sought Ralph's face it was evident that she had not the remotest idea who he was. And this was just as it should be, from Ralph's point of view.
For he was doing what the world would call a foolish and Quixotic thing. He loved this girl with his whole heart and soul; he knew that she was the one woman for him. But not yet; until that sinful pride was humbled in the dust there would be no happiness for Mary. Her character would have to be cleansed and purified in the fire of adversity first. Ralph knew quite well what noble qualities lay under that mask of pride and ice.
He could have called the girl his; he knew it. He had only to proclaim his identity, and Mary Dashwood would have asked no better fate than to become the wife of the head of the family; she might have given her heart into the bargain.
But Ralph would have none of it that way. Mary should come to him and sue for pardon; she should proclaim in all sincerity that love was best of all. She should feel that there was something far better than being mistress of Dashwood Hall. Then the truth might be told and the old order of things re-established.
All this Ralph had worked out in his mind as a novelist works out a plot. And Fate had played into his hands. A stern, hard time was coming for Mary, but it would be the making of her in the end. Ralph could see it all in his mind's eye as he stood by Mary's side and looked into her troubled eyes.
"I don't understand," she said slowly. "I am afraid that I am not so hard and resolute as I believed myself to be. And things have moved so rapidly lately, that I am dazed. First comes the knowledge that my father is--is----"
The girl hesitated and broke down. Ralph completed her sentence for her. It sounded harsh and unkind, but the lesson had to be learned.
"Is not the man you took him for," Ralph said. "His family pride is not a durable article. To play his part properly he should have coldly and politely told Mayfield to do his worst, and ordered him out of the house. That is the course one has a right to expect from the head of the house of Dashwood. But, alas, for the weakness of poor human nature! Your father knows Mayfield to be an abandoned scoundrel, and yet he makes a compact with him. A bargain is arranged between them, and you are the price to be paid, Mary. And, upon my word, your pride seems to me to be as hollow a thing as that of your father."
"That is false," Mary cried passionately. "I am sacrificing everything for the honour of the house."
"Not from my point of view. As I said before, you are committing a great and deadly sin with your eyes open. At the altar you are prepared to soil your lips with a horrible perjury. You are going to promise to love, honour, and obey the man whose very presence makes you shudder. But, fortunately, there is no need for that. To all practical purposes you have ceased to be mistress of Dashwood, and when Mayfield knows this, he will dismiss you as a mere incident in his career. The new heir will take possession of the title and the property."
"I am glad we have got back to him again," Mary said coldly. "Your personal remarks are exceedingly distasteful to me. Who is the man you speak of?"
"Vincent Dashwood. Did you not guess it before? Has it never occurred to you that he had some powerful motive that kept him here all this time? You must be aware how Lady Dashwood dislikes him----"
"Oh, yes, yes. Several times lately I have asked who the man was, but I could not succeed in getting a satisfactory reply. I knew that Lady Dashwood was afraid of the man. He is not a bit like a gentleman, but seeing that he was a Dashwood, I have always been more or less civil to him."
"He does not think so," Ralph said with a smile. "In fact, he thinks that you have treated him very distantly and haughtily. He hinted to me that he was going to make you pay for it later. Still, a most objectionable creature."
"I seem to be surrounded with them lately," Mary said bitterly. "But why all this mystery and secrecy? If the man is the person he claims to be, why did he not make his identity known long ago? Oh, he is an impostor, defrauding Lady Dashwood. So long as he can get money out of her he will do nothing."
"Perhaps Lady Dashwood will enlighten us on that point," Ralph said. "I may say that in California I knew the late Ralph Dashwood very well. Had I not done so, I should not have been here on private business today----"
"Then you know if the late heir to the property had a son?" Mary interrupted.
"Certainly he did. And Vincent Dashwood claims to be Ralph's son. If he can prove this, then he takes the estates and the title. I have talked the matter over with him, and I gather that he is waiting for one particular document before claiming the property. The document is his mother's marriage certificate. You may say that that is easy to obtain. Not so in California, where records of that class are not kept so rigidly as they are here. Lady Dashwood will tell you that the young man came with the strongest proofs of his identity, letters that she had written to her son, and other papers of that kind. He knows all the secrets of the House. Lady Dashwood never catches him tripping."
"Very strange!" Mary said. "And yet he makes no claim!"
"For the reason that I told you. He led me to understand that he is loth to disturb existing arrangements during the lifetime of her ladyship. On the whole, I regard this as an exceedingly fortunate business for you!"
"Fortunate?" Mary exclaimed. "An incident that renders my father and myself penniless!"
"Yes. It prevents you becoming the wife of Horace Mayfield. Directly he hears of this thing he will turn his back on you for ever. He is too much a man of the world to waste time in idle regrets; he will look out for another to take your place. On the whole, it seems to me that Fate has been very kind to you."
"Indeed." Mary's voice was very cold, her face colder still. "You seem to be glad."
"Iamglad. I am rejoiced to find that Providence is not going to allow you to wreck your happiness and imperil your future in this way. Nothing could please me better than to see you dependent upon your own exertions for a living. You will be all the better for it; it will cleanse and purify you. And then you will discover that the best thing in the world for a good woman is a good man's love. It is my love for you, Mary, that makes me take this view of things, that impels me to rejoice in the fact that you are nearer to me tonight than you have ever been before. And some day you will own it."
"Never!" Mary cried passionately. "Oh, you make me hate you, you make me forget how much I owe you. I could never become your wife."
Ralph smiled. There was something very soothing in the sweetness of the night. Many a time afterward that scene rose up before his mind.
"Youshallbe my wife," he said in tones of quiet power. "The scales will fall from your eyes and you will ask me to forgive you. Oh, my dear, I know the beauty of your true nature better than you know it yourself. I can see it all before me as clearly as if I were endowed with the gift of prophecy. We all have our lesson to learn, and it is no fault of yours that the lesson has come so late. And when my confession has followed yours, we shall know the meaning of true happiness, but not before."
As if he had said the final word, Ralph turned in the direction of the house. A world of passionate scorn, defiance, anger trembled on Mary's parted lips. How dare this man, how dare any man, talk to her like this? And yet at the same time the girl was fully aware of the power and masterful purpose behind Ralph's words. She was glad in her inmost heart to know that he cared for her so much. After all, Mary had her dreams of love and romance like other girls. She was dimly conscious of the sweet and tender womanhood that underlay her pride and ice. And she knew that no scorn or invective could turn Ralph from his purpose.
"Very well," she said resignedly. "You are a strong man, and I am a weak woman. I daresay you imagine yourself to be paying me a compliment. But I should put that dream aside if I were you, for it is never likely to come true."
"It is no dream," Ralph smiled. "Nor is the happiness so very far off. Now let me take you back to the house again, for it is getting late."
As Mary slipped her hand under the proffered arm, a gentle sigh escaped her. She wondered why she could not be angry with this man, why every word of his thrilled her and filled her with such happiness as could not be expressed in words.