"Don't let's have one at all," he suggested, coming near to her again. "Let's have no engagement. Just a wedding."
"What?" she cried.
"It must be a beastly time," he went on, "and all the talk there's been about us will make it more beastly still. Fancy Miss S. and all the rest of them! And—do you particularly want to wait? What I want is to be settled down, here with you."
Her eyes sparkled as she listened; she was in the mood, she was of the stuff, for any adventure.
"I should like to run off with you now," said he. "I don't want to leave you at all, you see."
"Run off now?" She gave a joyful little laugh. "That's just what I should like!"
"Then we'll do it," he declared. "Well, to-morrow morning anyhow."
"Do you mean it?" she asked.
"Do you say no to it?"
She drew herself up with pride. "I say no to nothing that you ask of me."
Their hands met again as she declared her love and trust. "You've really come to me?" he heard her murmur. "Back to Blent and back to me?"
"Yes," he answered, smiling. She had brought into his mind again the truth she did not know. He had no time to think of it, for she offered him her lips again. The moment when he might have told her thus went by. It was but an impulse; for he still loved what he was doing, and took delight in the risks of it. And he could not bear so to impair her joy. Soon she must know, but she should not yet be robbed of her joy that it was she who could bring him back to Blent. For him in his knowledge, for her in her ignorance, there was an added richness of pleasure that he would not throw away, even although now he believed that were the truth known she would come to him still. Must not that be, since now he, even he, would come to her, though the truth had been otherwise?
"There's a train from Fillingford at eight in the morning. I'm going back there to-night. I've got a fly waiting by the Pool—if the man hasn't gone to sleep and the horse run away. Will you meet me there? We'll go up to town and be married as soon as we can—the day after to-morrow, I suppose."
"And then——?"
"Oh, then just come back here. We can go nowhere but here, Cecily."
"Just come back and——?"
"And let them find it out, and talk, and talk, and talk!" he laughed.
"It would be delightful!" she cried.
"Nobody to know till it's done!"
"Yes, yes, I like it like that. Not father even, though?"
"You'll be gone before he's up. Leave a line for him."
"But I—I can't go alone with you."
"Why not?" asked Harry, seeming a trifle vexed.
"I'll tell you!" she cried. "Let's take Mina with us, Harry!"
He laughed; the Imp was the one person whose presence he was ready to endure. Indeed there would perhaps be a piquancy in that.
"All right. An elopement made respectable by Mina!" He had a touch of scorn even for mitigated respectability.
"Shall we call her and tell her now?"
"Well, are you tired of this interview?"
"I don't know whether I want it to go on, or whether I must go and tell somebody about it."
"I shouldn't hesitate," smiled Harry.
"You? No. But I—Oh, Harry dear, I want to whisper my triumph."
"But we must be calm and business-like about it now."
"Yes!" She entered eagerly into the fun. "That'll puzzle Mina even more."
"We're not doing anything unusual," he insisted with affected gravity.
"No—not for our family at least."
"It's just the obvious thing to do."
"Oh, it's just the delicious thing too!" She almost danced in gayety. "Let me call Mina. Do!"
"Not for a moment, as you love me! Give me a moment more."
"Oh, Harry, there'll be no end to that!"
"I don't know why there should be."
"We should miss the train at Fillingford!"
"Ah, if it means that!"
"Or I shall come sleepy and ugly to it; and you'd leave me on the platform and go away!"
"Shout for Mina—now—without another word!"
"Oh, just one more," she pleaded, laughing.
"I can't promise to be moderate."
"Come, we'll go and find her. Give me your hand." She caught his hand in hers, and snatched the candle from the table. She held it high above her head, looking round the room and back to his eyes again. "My home now, because my love is here," she said. "Mine and yours, and yours and mine—and both the same thing, Harry, now."
He listened smiling. Yes, it would be the same thing now.
There they stood together for a moment, and together they sighed as they turned away. To them the room was sacred now, as it had always been beautiful; in it their love seemed to lie enshrined.
They went downstairs together full of merriment, the surface expression of their joy. "Look grave," he whispered, setting his face in a comical exaggeration of seriousness. Cecily tried to obey and tumbled into a gurgle of delight.
"I will directly," she gasped as they came to the hall. Mason stood there waiting.
"I've put the sandwiches here, and the old brown, my Lord."
Harry alone noticed the slip in his address—and Harry took no notice of it.
"I shall be glad to meet the old brown again," hesaid, smiling. Mason gave the pair a benevolent glance and withdrew to his quarters.
Mina strolled out of the library with an accidental air. Harry had sat down to his sandwiches and old brown. Cecily ran across to Mina and kissed her.
"We're going to be married!" she whispered. She had told it all in a sentence; yet she added; "Oh, I've such a heap of things to tell you, Mina!" Was not all that scene in the Long Gallery to be reproduced—doubtless only in a faint adumbration of its real glory, yet with a sense of recovering it and living it again?
"No?" cried Mina. "Oh, how splendid! Soon?"
Harry threw a quick glance at Cecily. She responded by assuming a demure calmness of demeanor.
"Not as soon as we could wish," said Harry, munching and sipping. "In fact, not before the day after to-morrow, I'm afraid, Madame Zabriska."
"The day after——?"
"What I have always hated is Government interference. Why can't I be married when I like? Why have I to get a license and all that nonsense? Why must I wait till the day after to-morrow?" He grew indignant.
"It's past twelve now; it is to-morrow," said Cecily.
"Quite so. As you suggest, Cecily, we could be married to-day but for these absurd restrictions. There's a train at eight from Fillingford——"
"You're going—both of you—by that?" Mina cried.
"I hope it suits you, because we want you to come with us, if you'll be so kind," said Harry.
"You see it would look just a little unusual if we went alone," added Cecily.
"And it's not going to look unusual anyhow? Are you mad? Or—or do you mean it?"
"Don't you think both may be true?" asked Harry.Cecily's gravity broke down. She kissed Mina again, laughing in an abandonment of exultation.
"Oh, you're both mad!"
"Not at all. You're judging us by the standard of your other engaged couple to-night."
"Did Mr Neeld know anything about your coming?" Mina demanded, with a sudden recollection.
"Nothing at all. Did he say anything to you?" For a moment the glass of old brown halted on its way to his lips, and he glanced at Mina sharply.
"No. But when I asked him if he had seen you he looked—well, just rather funny."
The old brown resumed its progress. Harry was content.
"There's no better meal than fresh sandwiches and old brown," he observed. "You'll come with us, won't you, and keep Cecily company at the little house till we fix it up?"
Mina looked from one to the other in new amazement, with all her old excited pleasure in the Tristram ways. They did a thing—and they did not spoil it by explanations.
"And Mr Gainsborough?" she asked.
"We're going to leave a note for father," smiled Cecily.
"You're always doing that," objected Mina.
"It seems rather an early train for Mr Gainsborough," Harry suggested, laying down his napkin.
"Oh, why don't you tell me something about it?" cried Mina despairingly. "But it's true? The great thing's true anyhow, isn't it?"
"Well, what do you think I came down from town for?" inquired Harry.
"And why have we been so long in the Gallery, Mina?"
"You've given in then?" exclaimed the Imp, pointing a finger in triumph at Harry.
"Mina, how can you say a thing like that?"
"It looks as if it were true enough," admitted Harry. "Really I must go," he added. "I can't keep that fly all night. I shall see you in the morning, Madame Zabriska. Eight o'clock at Fillingford!"
"I'm really to go with you?" she gasped.
"Yes, yes, I thought all that was settled," said he, rather impatiently. "Bring a pretty frock. I want my wedding to be done handsomely—in a style that suits the wedding of——"He looked at Cecily—"of Lady Tristram of Blent."
"Cecily, it's not all a joke?"
"Yes!" cried Cecily. "All a delicious delicious joke! But we're going to be married."
After a moment's hesitation Mina came across to Harry, holding out her hands. "I'm glad, I'm so glad," she murmured, with a little catch in her voice.
He took her hands and pressed them; he looked at her very kindly, though he smiled still.
"Yes, it undoes all the mistakes, doesn't it?" he said. "At least I hope it will," he added the next moment with a laugh.
"It's really the only way to be married," declared Cecily.
"Well, for you people—for you extraordinary Tristrams—I dare say it is," said Mina.
"You'll come?" Cecily implored.
"She couldn't keep away," mocked Harry. "She's got to see the end of us."
"Yes, and our new beginning. Oh, what Blent's going to be, Mina! If you don't come with us now, we won't let you stay at Merrion."
"I'm coming," said Mina. Indeed she would nothave stayed away. If she had needed further inducement the next moment supplied it.
"You're to be our only confidant," said Harry.
"Yes! Till it's all over, nobody's to know but you, Mina."
The Imp was hit on her weak spot. She was tremulously eager to go.
"Eight o'clock! Oh, can we be ready, Cecily?"
"Of course we shall be ready," said Cecily scornfully.
Harry had taken his hat from the table and came up to shake hands. He was imperturbably calm and business-like.
"Don't run it too fine," he said. "Good-night, Madame Zabriska."
She gave him her hand and he held it for a moment. He grew a little grave, but there was still a twinkle in his eye.
"You're a good friend," he said. "I shall come on you again, if I want you, you know." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.
"I don't know that I care much about anything except you two," stammered Mina.
He gripped her hand again. She seemed well paid. He held out his hand to Cecily. Mina understood.
"I shall be up a little while, Cecily. Come to me before you go to bed," she said; and she stood in the hall, watching them as they walked out together. There was joy in her heart—ay, and envy. The two brought tears to her eyes and struggled which should make the better claim to them. "But they do like me!" she said in a plaintive yet glad little cry, as she was left alone in the silent old hall.
So still was the night that a man might hear the voice of his heart and a girl the throb of hers. And they were alone; or only the friendly murmur of oldBlent was with them, seeming to whisper congratulations on their joy. Her arm was through his, very white on his sleeve, and she leant on him heavily.
"After tempests, dear," said he.
"There shall be no more, no more, Harry."
"Oh, I don't know that. I shall like you in them perhaps. And there may be one more, anyhow."
"You're laughing, Harry?"
"Why, yes, at anything just now."
"Yes, at anything," she murmured. "I could laugh—or cry—at anything just now."
They came to the little bridge and passed on to it.
"We talked here the first evening," said she. "And how you puzzled me! It began for me then, dear Harry."
"Yes, and for me a little sooner—by the Pool for me. I was keeping you out of your own then."
"Never mine unless it could be yours too."
Fallen into silence again, they reached the road and, moved by the same instinct, turned to look back at Blent. The grip of her hand tightened on his arm.
"There's nothing that would make you leave me?" she whispered.
"Not you yourself, I think," said he.
"It's very wonderful," she breathed. "Listen! There's no sound. Yes, after tempests, Harry!"
"I am glad of it all," he said suddenly and in a louder tone. "I've been made a man, and I've found you, the woman for me. It was hard at the time, but I am glad of it. It has come and it has gone, and I'm glad of it."
He had spoken unwarily in saying it was gone. But she thought he spoke of his struggle only and his hesitation, not of their cause.
"You gave when you might have kept; it is alwaysyours, Harry. Oh, and what is it all now? No, no, it's something still. It's in us—in us both, I think."
He stopped on the road.
"Come no farther. The fly's only a little way on, and while I see you, I will see nobody else to-night. Till the morning, dearest—and you won't fail?"
"No, I won't fail. Should I fail to greet my first morning?"
He pushed the hair a little back from her forehead and kissed her brow.
"God do so unto me and more also if my love ever fails you," said he. "Kiss me as I kissed you. And so good-night."
She obeyed and let him go. Once and twice he looked back at her as he took his way and she stood still on the road. She heard his voice speaking to the flyman, the flyman's exhortation to his horse, the sounds of the wheels receding along the road. Then slowly she went back.
"This is what they mean," she murmured to herself. "This is what they mean." It was the joy past expression, the contentment past understanding. And all in one evening they had sprung up for her out of a barren thirsty land. Blent had never been beautiful before nor the river sparkled as it ran; youth was not known before, and beauty had been thrown away. The world was changed; and it was very wonderful.
When Cecily went into her the Imp was packing; with critical care she stowed her smartest frock in the trunk.
"I must be up early and see about the carriage," she remarked. "I dare say Mason——.But you're not listening, Cecily!"
"No, I wasn't listening," said Cecily, scorning apology or excuse.
"You people in love are very silly. That's the plain English of it," observed Mina loftily.
Cecily looked at her a minute, then stretched her arms and sighed in luxurious weariness. "I dare say that's the plain English of it," she admitted. "But, oh, how different it sounds before translation, dear!"
Mr Gainsborough lost his head. He might have endured the note that had been left for him—it said only that his daughter had gone to town for a couple of days with Mina Zabriska; besides he had had notes left for him before. But there was Mason's account of the evening and of the morning—of Harry's arrival, of the conference in the Long Gallery, of the sandwiches and the old brown, of the departure of the ladies at seven o'clock. Mason was convinced that something was up; knowing Mr Harry as he did, and her late Ladyship as he had, he really would not like to hazard an opinion what; Mr Gainsborough, however, could see for himself that candles had been left to burn themselves out and that china had been broken in the Long Gallery. Availing himself dexterously of his subordinate position, Mason was open to state facts but respectfully declined to draw inferences. Gainsborough rushed off to the Long Gallery. There lay his bit of Chelsea on the floor—upset, smashed, not picked up! There must have been a convulsion indeed, he declared, as ruefully and tenderly he gathered the fragments.
Quite off his balance and forgetful of perils, he ordered the pony-chaise and had himself driven into Blentmouth. He felt that he must tell somebody, and borrow some conclusions—he was not equal to making any of his own. He must carry the news.
He deceived himself and did gross injustice to the neighborhood. Fillingford is but twelve miles inlandfrom Blentmouth, and there are three hours between eight and eleven. He was making for Fairholme. While yet half a mile off he overtook Miss Swinkerton, heading in the same direction, ostentatiously laden with savings-bank books. With much decision she requested a lift, got in, and told him all about how Harry had escorted Cecily and Madame Zabriska from Fillingford that morning. The milkman had told the butcher, the butcher had told the postman, the postman had told her, and—well, she had mentioned it to Mrs Trumbler. Mrs Trumbler was at Fairholme now.
"Mr Tristram had been staying with you, of course? How nice to think there's no feeling of soreness!" observed Miss S.
In Gainsborough at least there was no feeling save of bewilderment.
"Staying with us? No, I haven't so much as seen him," he stammered out.
Immediately Miss S. was upon him, and by the time they reached Fairholme had left him with no more than a few rags of untold details. Then with unrivalled effrontery she declared that she had forgotten to call at the grocer's, and marched off. In an hour the new and complete version of the affair was all over the town. Mrs Trumbler had got first to Fairholme, but she did not wrest the laurels from Miss S.'s brow. The mere departure from Fillingford shrank to nothing in comparison with the attendant circumstances supplied by Mr Gainsborough.
"They don't know what to think at Fairholme," Mrs Trumbler reported.
"I dare say not, my dear," said Miss S. grimly.
"They were dining there that very night, and not a word was said about it; and none of them saw Mr Tristram. He came quite suddenly, and went off again with Lady Tristram."
"And Mina Zabriska, my dear."
Mina complicated the case. Those who were inclined to believe, against all common-sense, that Cecily had eloped with her cousin—Why, in heaven's name, elope, when you have all the power and a negligible parent?—stumbled over Mina. Well then, was it with Mina Harry had eloped? Miss S. threw out hints in this direction. Why then Cecily? Miss S. was not at a loss. She said nothing, no; but if it should turn out that Cecily's presence was secured as a protection against the wrath of Major Duplay (who, everybody knew, hated Harry), she, Miss S., would be less surprised than many of those who conceived themselves to know everything. A Cecily party and a Mina party grew up—and a third party, who would have none of either, and declared that they had their own ideas, and that time would show.
Gossip raged, and old Mr Neeld sat in the middle of the conflagration. How his record of evasion, nay, of downright falsehood, mounted up! False facts and fictitious reasons flowed from his lips. There was pathos in the valor with which he maintained his position; he was hard pressed, but he did not fall. There was a joy too in the fight. For he alone of all Blentmouth knew the great secret, and guessed that what was happening had to do with the secret. Harry had asked silence for a week; before two days of it were gone came this news.
"If they do mean to be married," said Janie, "why couldn't they do it decently?" She meant with the respectable deliberation of her own alliance.
"Tristram's a queer fellow," pondered Bob Broadley.
"I only hope he isn't rushing her into it—on purpose. What do you think, Mr Neeld?"
"My dear Janie——"
"He may not want to give her time to think. It's not a good match for her now, is it?"
"I—I can't think that Harry Tristram would——"
"Well, Neeld," said Iver judicially, "I'm not so sure. Master Harry can play a deep game when he likes. I know that very well—and to my cost too."
What Janie hinted and Iver did not discard was a view which found some supporters; and where it was entertained, poor Mina Zabriska's character was gone. Miss S. herself was all but caught by the idea, and went so far as to say that she had never thought highly of Madame Zabriska, while the Major was known to be impecunious. There was a nefariousness about the new suggestion that proved very attractive in Blentmouth.
Late in the day came fresh tidings, new fuel for the flames. Mr Gainsborough had driven again into Blentmouth and taken the train for London. Two portmanteaus and a wicker-crate, plausibly conjectured to contain between them all his worldly possessions, had accompanied him on the journey. He was leaving Blent then, if not for ever, at least for a long while. He had evaded notice in his usual fashion, and nearly driven over Miss S. when she tried to get in the way. Miss S. was partly consoled by a bit of luck that followed. She met Mina's cook, come down from Merrion to buy household stores; her mistress was to return to her own house on the morrow! There seemed no need to search for inferences. They leapt to light. Either Blent was to be shut up, or it was to receive a wedded pair. On this alternative the factions split, and the battle was furious. Mrs Trumbler definitely fought Miss S. for the first time in her life. On one point only the whole town agreed; it was being cheated—either out of the wedding which was its right, or else out of the ball in the winter to which Miss S. had irrevocablycommitted Lady Tristram. The popularity of Blent fell to nothing in the neighborhood.
The next morning Mr Neeld gained the reward of virtue, and became a hero in spite of his discretion. At breakfast he received a telegram. Times were critical, and all eyes were on him as he read, and re-read, and frowned perplexedly. Then he turned to Iver.
"Can you let me have a trap this afternoon, Iver?"
"Of course, of course. But you're not going to leave us, I hope?"
"Only just for the evening; I—in fact I have to go to Blent."
There was a moment's silence. Glances were exchanged, while Neeld made half-hearted efforts to grapple with an egg. Then Bob Broadley broke out with a laugh,
"Oh, hang it all, out with it, Mr Neeld!"
"Well, I'm not told to be silent; and it must become known immediately. Madame Zabriska telegraphs to me that they are to be married early this morning, and will come to Blent by the 1.30 train. She herself leaves by the 11 o'clock, will be there at five, and wishes me to join her."
"By Jove, he's done it then!" exclaimed Iver.
Everybody looked very solemn except Neeld, who was sadly confused.
"Dear, dear!" murmured Mrs Iver.
"She must be very much in love with him," remarked Janie.
"It's his conduct more than hers which needs explanation," Iver observed dryly. "And what do they want you for, Neeld?" If his tone and his question were not very flattering, they were excused by the obvious fact that there was no sort of reason for wanting Mr Neeld—or at any rate seemed to all that party to be none.
"Oh—er—why—why no doubt it's—it's only a fancy of Mina Zabriska's."
"A very queer fancy," said Janie Iver coldly. It was really a little annoying that old Mr Neeld should be the person wanted at Blent.
"I'll drive you over," Bob kindly volunteered.
"Er—thank you, Broadley, but she asks me to come alone."
"Well, I'm hanged!" muttered Bob, who had seen a chance of being in at the death.
They were coming straight down to Blent. That fact assumed an important place in Neeld's review of the situation. And his presence was requested. He put these two things together. They must mean that the secret was to be told that evening at Blent, and that he was to be vouched as evidence, if by chance Cecily asked for it. On the very day of the wedding the truth was to be revealed. In ignorance, perhaps in her own despite, she had been made in reality what she had conceived herself to be; to-day she was Lady Tristram in law. Now she was to be told. Neeld saw the choice that would be laid before her, and, at the same time, the use that had been made of his silence. He fell into a sore puzzle. Yes, Harry could play a deep game when he chose.
"It's quite impossible to justify either the use he's made of me or the way he's treated her," he concluded sadly. "I shall speak very seriously to him about it." But he knew that the serious speaking, however comforting it might be to himself as a protest, would fall very lightly on Harry Tristram's ears; their listening would be for the verdict of another voice.
"Do you think Disney will repeat his offer—will give him a chance of reconsidering now?" asked Iver, who had heard of that affair from Lord Southend.
"I'm sure he wouldn't accept anything," Neeld answered with remarkable promptitude and conviction. It was a luxury to find an opportunity of speaking the truth.
"The least he could do would be to leave that to her."
"She'd say just the same," Neeld assured him. "I'm convinced there'll be no question of anything of the kind."
"Then it's very awkward," Iver grumbled crossly.
In all his varied experience of the Imp—which included, it may be remembered, a good deal of plain-speaking and one embrace—Neeld had never found her in such a state as governed her this evening. Mason gave him tea while she walked restlessly about; he gathered that Mason was dying to talk but had been sore wounded in an encounter with Mina already, and was now perforce holding his tongue.
"They'll be here by seven, and you and I are to dine with them," she told him. "Quite informally."
"Dear me, I—I don't think I want——"he began.
"Hush!" she interrupted. "Are you going to be all day with those things, Mason?"
"I hope I haven't been slower than usual, ma'am," said Mason very stiffly.
At last he went. In an instant Mina darted across to Neeld, and caught him by the arm. "What have you to tell me?" she cried.
"To tell you? I? Oh, dear, no, Madame Zabriska! I assure you——"
"Oh, there's no need for that! Harry said you were to tell me before they arrived; that's why I sent for you now."
"He said I was to tell you——?"
"Yes, yes. Something you knew and I didn't; something that would explain it all."
She stood before him with clasped hands. "It'squite true; he did say so," she pleaded. "It's all been so delightful, and yet so strange; and he told me to be ready either to stay here or to go home to-night! Tell me, tell me, Mr Neeld!"
"Why didn't he tell you himself?"
"I only saw him alone for an instant after the wedding; and before it he didn't say a word about there being anything to tell. There's a secret. What is it?"
He was glad to tell it. He had carried his burden long enough.
"We've all made a great blunder. Harry is Lord Tristram after all."
Mina stood silent for a moment. "Oh!" she gasped. "And he's married Cecily without telling her?"
"That's what he has done, I regret to say. And I take it that he means to tell her to-night."
Mina sank into a chair. "What will she do?" she murmured. "What will she do?"
"There was a mistake—or rather a fraud—about the date of Sir Randolph Edge's death; his brother knew it. I'll tell you the details if you like. But that's the end and the sum of it. As to why he didn't tell—er—his wife sooner, perhaps you know better than I."
"Yes, I know that," she said. And then—it was most inconsiderate, most painful to Mr Neeld—she began to cry. Unable to bear this climax of excitement coming on the top of her two days' emotion, she sobbed hysterically. "They'll be here at seven!" she moaned. "What will happen? Oh, Mr Neeld! And I know he'll expect me to be calm and—and to carry it off—and be composed. How can I be?"
"Perhaps a glass of sherry——?"was Mr Neeld's not unreasonable suggestion.
No, the old brown would not serve here. But without its aid a sudden change came over Mina. Shesprang to her feet and left the tears to roll down her cheeks untended as she cried,
"What a splendid thing to do! Oh, how like Harry! And it's to be settled to-night! What can we do to make it go right?"
"I intend to take no responsibility at all," protested Neeld. "I'm here to speak to the facts if I'm wanted, but——"
"Oh, bother the facts! What are we to do to make her take it properly?" She gave another sob. "Oh, I'm an idiot!" she cried. "Haven't you anything to suggest, Mr Neeld?"
He shrugged his shoulders peevishly. Her spirits fell again.
"I see! Yes, if she—if she doesn't take it properly, he'll go away again, and I'm to be ready to stay here." Another change in the barometer came in a flash. "But she can't help being Lady Tristram now!"
"It's all a most unjustifiable proceeding. He tricks the girl——"
"Yes, he had to. That was the only chance. If he'd told her before——"
"But isn't she in love with him?"
"Oh, you don't know the Tristrams! Oh, what are we to do?" Save running through every kind and degree of emotion Mina seemed to find nothing to do.
"And I'm bound to say that I consider our position most embarrassing." Mr Neeld spoke with some warmth, with some excuse too perhaps. To welcome a newly married couple home may be thought always to require some tact; when it is a toss-up whether they will not part again for ever under your very eyes the situation is not improved. Such trials should not be inflicted on quiet old bachelors; Josiah Cholderton had not done with his editor yet.
"We must treat it as a mere trifle," the Imp announced, fixing on the thing which above all others she could not achieve. Yet her manner was so confident that Neeld gasped. "And if that doesn't do, we must tell her that the happiness of her whole life depends on what she does to-night." Variety of treatment was evidently not to be lacking.
"I intend to take no responsibility of any kind. He's got himself into a scrape. Let him get out of it," persisted Neeld.
"I thought you were his friend?"
"I may be excused if I consider the lady a little too."
"I suppose I don't care for Cecily? Do you mean that, Mr Neeld?"
"My dear friend, need we quarrel too?"
"Don't be stupid. Who's quarrelling? I never knew anybody so useless as you are. Can't you do anything but sit there and talk about responsibilities?" She was ranging about, a diminutive tiger of unusually active habits. She had wandered round the room again before she burst out:
"Oh, but it's something to see the end of it!"
That was his feeling too, however much he might rebuke himself for it. Human life at first-hand had not been too plentiful with him. The Imp's excitement infected him. "And he's back here after all!" she cried. "At least—Heavens, they'll be here directly, Mr Neeld!"
"Yes, it's past seven," said he.
"Come into the garden. We'll wait for them on the bridge." She turned to him as they passed through the hall. "Wouldn't you like something of this sort to happen to you?" she asked.
No. He was perturbed enough as a spectator; he would not have been himself engaged in the play.
"Why isn't everybody here?" she demanded, with alaugh that was again nervous and almost hysterical. "Why isn't Addie Tristram here? Ah, and your old Cholderton?"
"Hark, I hear wheels on the road," said Mr Neeld.
Mina looked hard at him. "She shall do right," she said, "and Harry shall not go."
"Surely they'll make the best of a——?"
"Oh, we're not talking of your Ivers and your Broadleys!" she interrupted indignantly. "If they were like that, we should never have been where we are at all."
How true it was, how lamentably true! One had to presuppose Addie Tristram, and turns of fortune or of chance wayward as Addie herself—and to reckon with the same blood, now in young and living veins.
"I can't bear it," whispered Mina.
"He'll expect you to be calm and composed," Neeld reminded her.
"Then give me a cigarette," she implored despairingly.
"I am not a smoker," said Mr Neeld.
"Oh, you really are the very last man——!Well, come on the bridge," groaned Mina.
They waited on the bridge, and the wheels drew near. They spoke no more. They had found nothing to do. They could only wait. A fly came down the road.
There they sat, side by side. Cecily was leaning forward, her eyes were eager, and there was a bright touch of color on her cheeks; Harry leant back, looking at her, not at Blent. He wore a quiet smile; his air was very calm. He saw Mina and Neeld, and waved his hand to them. The fly stopped opposite the bridge. He jumped out and assisted Cecily to alight. In a moment she was in Mina's arms. The next, she recognized Neeld's presence with a little cry of surprise. Ata loss to account for himself, the old man stood there in embarrassed wretchedness.
"I want you to wait," said Harry to the driver. "Put up in the stables, and they'll give you something to eat. You must wait till I send you word."
"Wait? Why is he to wait, Harry?" asked Cecily. Her tone was gay; she was overflowing with joy and merriment. "Who's going away? Oh, is it you, Mr Neeld?"
"I—I have a trap from Mr Iver's," he stammered.
"I may want to send a message," Harry explained. "Kind of you to come, Mr Neeld."
"I—I must wish you joy," said Neeld, taking refuge in conventionality.
"We've had a capital journey down, haven't we, Cecily? And I'm awfully hungry. What time is it?"
Mason was rubbing his hands in the doorway.
"Dinner's ordered at eight, sir," said he.
"And it's half-past seven now. Just time to wash our hands. No dress to-night, you know."
"I'll go to my room," said Cecily. "Will you come with me, Mina?"
A glance from Harry made the Imp excuse herself. "I'll keep Mr Neeld company," she said.
Cecily turned to her husband. She smiled and blushed a little.
"I'll take you as far as your room," said he.
Mina and Neeld watched them go upstairs; then each dropped into a chair in the hall. Mason passed by, chuckling to himself; Neeld looked harmless, and he dared to speak to him.
"Well, this is the next best thing to Mr Harry coming back to his own, sir," said he.
That was it. That was the feeling. Mason had got it!
"I'm glad of it after all," Neeld confessed to Mina.
"Wait, wait!" she urged, sitting straight in her chair, apparently listening for any sound. Her obvious anxiety extended its contagion to him; he understood better how nice the issue was.
"Will you come in the garden with me after dinner?" asked Harry, as Cecily and he went upstairs.
"Of course—when they've gone."
"No, directly. I want to say a word to you."
"We must escape then!" she laughed. "Oh, well, they'll expect that, I suppose." Her delight in her love bubbled over in her laugh.
They came to the door of her room, and she stopped.
"Here?" asked Harry. "Yes, it was my mother's room. You reign now in my mother's stead."
His voice had a ring of triumph in it. He kissed her hand. "Dinner as soon as you're ready," said he.
She laughed again and blushed as she opened the door and stood holding the handle.
"Won't you come in—just for a minute, Harry? I—I haven't changed this room at all."
"All is yours to change or to keep unchanged," said he.
"Oh, I've no reason for changing anything now. Everything's to be put back in the Long Gallery!" She paused, and then said again, "Won't you come in for just a minute, Harry?"
"I must go back to our friends downstairs," he answered.
The pretext was threadbare. What did the guests matter? They would do well enough. It had cost her something to ask—a little effort—since the request still seemed so strange, since its pleasure had a fear in it. And now she was refused.
"I ask you," she said, with a sudden haughtiness.
He stood looking at her a moment. There was a brisk step along the corridor.
"Oh, I beg your Ladyship's pardon. I didn't know your Ladyship had come upstairs." It was Cecily's maid.
"In about twenty minutes," said Harry with a nod. Slowly Cecily followed the maid inside.
After he had washed his hands Harry rejoined his friends. They were still sitting in the hall with an air of expectancy.
"You've told her?" cried Mina. "Oh, yes, Mr Neeld has told me everything."
"Well, I've mentioned the bare fact——"Neeld began.
"Yes, yes, that's the only thing that matters. You've told her, Harry?" The last two days made him "Harry" and her "Mina."
"No, I had a chance and I—funked it," said Harry, slow in speech and slow in smile. "She asked me into her room. Well, I wouldn't go."
He laughed as he spoke, laughed rather scornfully.
"It's rather absurd. I shall be all right after dinner," he added, laughing still. "Or would you like to do the job for me, Mina?"
The Imp shook her head with immense determination. "I'll throw myself into the Blent if you like," she said.
"What about you, Mr Neeld?"
"My dear friend, oh, my dear friend!" Undisguised panic took possession of Mr Neeld. He tried to cover it by saying sternly, "This—er—preposterous position is entirely your own fault, you know. You have acted——"
"Yes, I know," nodded Harry, not impatiently but with a sombre assent. He roused himself the next moment, saying, "Well, somebody's got to bell the cat, you know."
"Really it's not my business," protested Neeld and Mina in one breath, both laughing nervously.
"You like the fun, but you don't want any of the work," remarked Harry.
That was true, true to their disgrace. They both felt the reproach. How were they better than the rest of the neighborhood, who were content to gossip and gape and take the fortunes of the Tristrams as mere matter for their own entertainment?
"I've made you look ashamed of yourselves now," he laughed. "Well, I must do the thing myself, I suppose. What a pity Miss Swinkerton isn't here!"
Cecily came down. She passed Harry with a rather distant air and took Neeld's arm.
"They say dinner's ready," said she. "Mina, will you come with Harry?"
Harry sank into the chair opposite Cecily—and opposite the picture of Addie Tristram on the wall. "Well, somehow I've managed to get back here," said he.
The shadow had passed from Cecily's face. She looked at him, blushing and laughing.
"At a terrible price, poor Harry?" she said.
"At a big price," he answered.
She looked round at the three. Harry was composed, but there was no mistaking the perturbation of the Imp and Mr Neeld.
"A big price?" she asked wonderingly. "Isn't that a queer compliment, Harry?" Then a light seemed to break in on her, and she cried: "You mean the cost of your pride? I should never let that stand between you and me!"
"Will you make a note of that admission, Mina?" said Harry with a smile. "Because you didn't say so always, Cecily. Do you recollect what you once said?'If ever the time comes, I shall remember!' That was what you said."
She looked at him with a glance that was suddenly troubled. There seemed a meaning in his words. She pushed back her chair and rose from the table.
"I don't want dinner. I'm going into the garden," she said.
They sat still as she went out. Harry refolded his napkin and slowly rose to his feet. "I should have liked it better after dinner," he observed.
Mina and Mr Neeld sat on.
"Are we to dine?" whispered Neeld. There is the body, after all.
"Oh, yes, sir," came in Mason's soothing tones over his shoulder. "We never waited for her late Ladyship." And he handed soup.
"Really Mason is rather a comfort," thought Mr Neeld. The Imp drank a glass of champagne.
In his most business-like tones, with no more gesture than a pointing of his finger now and then, or an occasional wave of his hand, Harry detailed the circumstances. He was methodical and accurate; he might have been opening a case in the law-courts, and would have earned a compliment on his lucidity. There was something ludicrous in this treatment of the matter, but he remained very grave, although quite unemotional.
"What was my position then?" he asked. "I remembered what you'd said. I saw the pull I'd given you. If I'd told you before, you'd have had nothing to do with me. You'd have taken a tragic delight in going back to your little house. I should have given you your revenge."
"So you cheated me? It shows the sort of person you are!"
He went on as though he had not heard her indignant ejaculation.
"I had fallen in love with you—with you and with the idea of your being here. I couldn't have anybody else at Blent, and I had to have you. It was impossible for me to turn you out. I don't think it would have been gentlemanly."
"It was more gentlemanly to marry me on false pretences?"
"Well, perhaps not, but a form of ungentlemanliness less repulsive to me—Oh, just to me personally. I don't know whether you quite understand yet why Igave up Blent to you. Just the same feeling has made me do this—with the addition, of course, that I'm more in love with you now."
"I don't believe it, or you'd have trusted me—trusted my love for you."
"I've trusted it enormously—trusted it to forgive me this deceit."
"If you had come and told me——"
"At the very best you'd have taken months."
"And you couldn't wait for me?"
"Well, waiting's a thing I detest."
"Oh, I've made up my mind," she declared. "I shall go back to town to-night."
"No, no, that's not it." Harry did not want the arrangement misunderstood. "If we can't agree, I go back to town—not you. I kept my fly."
"You needn't make fun of it anyhow."
"I'm not. I'm quite serious. You stay here, I go away. I accept this post abroad—the Arbitration business. I've got to send an answer about it to-morrow."
"No, I shall go. I'm resolved upon it. I won't stay here."
"Then we must shut the place up, or pull it down," said Harry. "It will look absurd, but—Well, we never consider the neighbors." For the first time he seemed vexed. "I did count on your staying here," he explained.
"I can never forgive you for deceiving me."
"You said you wouldn't let your pride stand between us."
"It's not my pride. It's—it's the revelation of what you are, and what you'll stoop to do, to gain——!"
"What have I gained yet?" he asked. "Only what you choose to give me now!"
She looked at him for a moment. The little scene inthe corridor upstairs came back to her. So that was the meaning of it!
"I've taken your freedom from you. That's true. In return I've given you Blent. I did the best I could."
"Oh, do you really delude yourself like that? What you did was utter selfishness."
Harry sighed. They were not getting on prosperously.
"Very well," he said. "We'll agree on that. There's been a revelation of what I am. I don't—I distinctly don't justify myself. It was a lie, a fraud."
"Yes," said Cecily, in a low but emphatic assent.
"I gained your consent by a trick, when you ought to have been free to give or refuse it. I admit it all."
"And it has brought us to this!" She rose as she spoke, a picture of indignation. "There's no use talking any more about it," said she.
He looked at her long and deliberately. He seemed to weigh something in his mind, to ask whether he should or should not say something.
"And you conclude that the sort of person I am isn't fit to live with?" he asked at last.
"I've told you what I've made up my mind to do. I can't help whether you stay or go too. But I'm going away from here, and going alone."
"Because I'm that sort of person?"
"Yes. If you like to put it that way, yes."
"Very well. But before you go, a word about you! Sit down, please." She obeyed his rather imperative gesture. "I've been meek," he smiled. "I've admitted all you said about me. And now, please, a word about you!"
"About me? What is there to say about me? Oh, you're going back to that old story about my pride again!"
Once more he looked long at her face. It was flushedand rebellious, it gave no hint of yielding to any weapon that he had yet employed.
"I'm not going to speak of your pride, but of your incredible meanness," said he.
"What?" cried Cecily, rudely startled and sitting bolt upright.
"There's no harm in plain speaking, since we're going to part. Of your extraordinary meanness, Cecily—and really it's not generally a fault of the Tristrams."
"Perhaps you'll explain yourself," she said, relapsing into cold disdain, and leaning back again.
"I will. I mean to. Just look at the history of the whole affair." He rose and stood opposite her, constraining her to look at him, although her attitude professed a lofty indifference. "Here was I—in possession! I was safe. I knew I was safe. I was as convinced of my safety as I am even now—when it's beyond question. Was I frightened? Ask Mina, ask Duplay. Then you came. You know what I did. For your sake, because you were what you are, because I had begun to love you—yes, that's the truth of it—I gave it all to you. Not this place only, but all I had. Even my name—even my right to bear any name. Nobody and nameless, I went out of this house for you."
He paused a little, took a pace on the grass, and returned to her.
"What ought you to have felt, what ought you to have prayed then?" he asked. "Surely that it should come back to me, that it should be mine again?"
"I did," she protested, stirred to self-defence. "I was miserable. You know I was. I couldn't stay here for the thought of you. I came to London. I came to you, Harry. I offered it to you."
"It's you who are deceiving yourself now. Yes, youcame and offered it to me. Did you want, did you pray, that it might be mine again by no gift of yours but by right? Did you pray that the thing should happen which has happened now? That you should be turned out and I should be put in? Back in my own place, my proper place? That I should be Tristram of Blent again? Did you pray for that?"
He paused, but she said nothing. Her face was troubled now and her eyes could not leave his.
"You were ready to play Lady Bountiful to me, to give of your charity, to make yourself feel very noble. That was it. And now——"His voice became more vehement. "And now, look into your heart, look close! Look, look! What's in your heart now? You say I've cheated you. It's true. Is that why you're angry, is that why you won't live with me? No, by heaven, not that, or anything of the kind! Will you have the truth?"
Again she made no answer. She waited for his words.
"Are you rejoiced that mine's my own again, that I'm back in my place, that I'm Tristram of Blent, that it belongs to me? That I take it by my own incontestable right and not of your hand, by your bounty and your charity? Are you so rejoiced at that that you can forgive me anything, forgive the man you love anything? Yes, you do love me—You're welcome to that, if you think it makes it any better. It seems to me to make it worse. No, you can't forgive me anything, you can't forgive the man you love! Why not? I'll tell you why! Shall I? Shall I go on?"
She bowed her head and clasped her hands together.
"You hate my having come to my own again. You hate its being mine by right and not by your bounty. You hate being Lady Tristram only because I've chosen to make you so. And because you hate that,you won't forgive me, and you say you won't live with me. Yes, you're angry because I've come to my own again. You hate it. Look in your heart, I say, and tell me that what I say isn't true, if you can."
She made no answer still. He came a step closer and smote his fist on the palm of his other hand, as he ended:
"You called me a liar. I was a liar. But, by God, you're a curmudgeon, Cecily!"
For a moment longer she looked at him, as he stood there in his scornful anger. Then with a low moan she hid her face in her hands. The next minute he turned on his heel, left her where she sat, and strode off into the house.
Mina and Neeld—now at their sweets—heard his step and exchanged excited glances. He walked up to the head of the table, to Cecily's chair, plumped down into it, and called out to Mason, "Something to eat and some champagne."
"Yes, sir," said Mason in a flurry.
"Oh, by-the-bye, you can say 'my Lord' again. The lawyers blundered, and there's been a mistake."
The astonished Mason began to express felicitations. Harry was petulantly short with him.
"Oh, shut up that, my dear man, and give me some champagne." He drank a glass off and then observed, "I hope you two have had a decent dinner?" He had the manner of a host now.
"I—I hadn't much appetite," stammered Neeld.
"Well, I'm hungry anyhow," and he fell to on his beef, having waved soup and fish aside impatiently. "Tell them all downstairs what I've told you, Mason, but for heaven's sake don't let there be any fuss. Oh, and I suppose you'd better keep something hot for Lady Tristram."
Mason's exit was hastened by the consciousness ofhis commission. The moment he was gone Mina broke out:
"Where's Cecily?"
"I left her on the lawn," said Harry, frowning hard but eating heartily.
"You've told her?"
"Yes, I've told her."
"And what did she say?" The Imp's utterance was jerky from her perturbation.
"Look here, Mina, mightn't you go and ask her? It's a long story, and I'm deuced hungry, you know."
Mina needed no further permission. She rose and flew. Neeld, though uncertain what was expected of him, sat on, nervously eating gooseberries—a fruit which rarely agreed with him. Harry drank a second glass of champagne and his brow relaxed, although he was still thoughtful.
"I—I hope all has gone well?" Neeld ventured to inquire.
"I scarcely know. The interview took rather an unexpected turn." He spoke as though the development had surprised him and he could hardly trace how it had come about. "The whole thing will be settled very soon," he added. "Have a glass of port, Mr Neeld? It'll do you more good than those gooseberries."
Neeld laid a ready hand on the decanter, as he asked,
"Is—er—Lady Tristram not coming in to dinner?"
"Really I don't know. She didn't mention it." His thoughts seemed elsewhere. "Was I wrong to tell Mason to give me the title?" he asked. "Ought I to wait till I've formally established my claim?"
"Since it's quite clear, and there's no opposition from—from the dispossessed claimant——"Neeld smiled feebly and sipped his port.
"That's what I thought; and it's as well to put things on a permanent basis as soon as possible. When once that's done, we shall think less about all this troublesome affair." He sat silent for a few minutes, while Neeld finished his wine. "I'm going to have some cheese. Don't you wait, Mr Neeld."
Old Neeld was glad to escape; he could not understand his host's mood and was uneasy in talk with him. Moreover it seemed that the great question was being decided in the garden and not in the dining-room. To the garden then he betook himself.
Harry smoked a cigarette when his meal was done, twisting his chair round so that he could see Addie Tristram's picture. He reviewed his talk with Cecily, trying to trace how that unexpected turn in it had come about and at what point the weapon had sprung into his hand. He had used it with effect—whether with the effect he desired he did not yet know. But his use of it had not been altogether a ruse or an artifice. His sincerity, his vehemence, his very cruelty proved that. He had spoken out a genuine resentment and a righteous reproach. Thence came the power to meet Cecily's taunts in equal battle and to silence her charges of deceit with his retort of meanness.
"And we were married to-day! And we're damnably in love with one another!" he reflected. "I suppose we should seem queer to some people." This was a great advance toward an outside view of the family. Certainly such an idea had never occurred to Addie; she had always done the only possible thing! "Now what will she do?"
At least it did not seem as though she meant to have any dinner. The fact would have meant much had a man been concerned. With a woman it possessed no more than a moderate significance. With a Tristram woman perhaps it had none at all. A cigar succeededthe cigarette in Harry's mouth, as he sat there looking at his mother's picture and thinking of his wife. He did not in the least regret that she was his wife or that he had lied. Any scruples that he ever had on that score he had removed for himself by realizing that she was a curmudgeon. Neither did he regret what he had called the troublesome affair. It had brought new things into his life; new thoughts and new powers had become his. And it had given him Cecily—unless one of them had still to go to town! He glanced at the clock; it was half-past nine. A sudden excitement came on him; but he conquered it or at least held it down, and sat there, smoking still.
Mason returned and began to clear away. "Madame Zabriska has ordered some soup and claret to be placed in the hall for her Ladyship, my Lord," said he, in explanation of his action.
Soup and claret might mean anything—peace or war—going or staying—anything except sitting down to table with him. On the whole their omen was not encouraging. A sudden thought shot across his brain: "By Jove, if she's taken my cab!" He jumped up; but in a moment sat down again. Thecoupwould be a good one, but it would not beat him. He would walk to Mingham and get a bed there. He was quite clear that he would not sleep alone at Blent. He glanced at the clock again; to catch the train at Fillingford she must start at ten—and so with him. Stay though, she might go to Merrion. Mina would give her shelter.
She had looked very beautiful. Oh, yes, yes! Harry smiled as he conceded the natural man that point. It was seen plainly in retrospect; he had not noticed it much at the time. He had been too much occupied in proving her a curmudgeon. One thing at a time was the Tristram way—provided the time were reasonably short. But he felt it now, and began to wonder if hehad said too much. He decided that he had not said a word too much.
At last he got up very deliberately and went into the hall. It was a quarter to ten; the soup and the claret were there. Harry stood looking at them a moment, but they could not answer his question. With an impatient shrug of his shoulders he walked out into the garden. And there his first thought was not of Cecily.
It was of Blent, Blent his own again, come back to him enriched by the experience of its loss, now no more all his life, but the background of that new life he had begun to make for himself. He was no longer puffed up by the possession of it—the new experiences had taught him a lesson there—but he was infinitely satisfied. Blent for his own, in his own way, on his own terms—that was what he wanted. See how fair it was in the still night! He was glad and exultant that it was his again. Was he too a curmudgeon then? Harry did not perceive how any reasonable person could say such a thing. A man may value what is his own without being a miser or a churl.
Nobody was to be seen in the garden—not Neeld, not Mina, nor Cecily. In surprise he walked the length and breadth of it without finding any of them. He went on to the bridge and peered about, and then on to the road; he looked even in the river in a curiosity that forgot the impossible. He was alone. With a quick step he came back and strode round the house to the stables. His fly was gone. He searched for a man to question; there was none; they had all gone to supper or to bed. And the fly was gone. He returned to the bridge with an uncomfortable feeling of loneliness.
Something came upon him, an impulse or an instinct. There was still a chance. She was not in the house, she was not in the garden. There was one other placewhere she still might be—if indeed she had not fled and left him desolate. Where? The answer seemed so easy to him, her choice of a spot so obvious. If he found her anywhere that night he would find her by the Pool, walking on the margin of its waters—where he had seen her first and started at the thought that she was his mother's phantom. He walked quickly up the valley, not thinking, his whole being strung to wait for and to meet the answer to his one great question.
On what things a man's life may seem to hang! A flutter of white through the darkness! That was all. Harry saw it with a great leap of the heart. His quick pace dropped to a leisurely saunter; he strolled on. She was walking toward him. Presently she stopped, and, turning toward the water, stood looking down into it. The Pool was very black that night, the clouds thick overhead. But for her white frock he might never had seen her at all. He came up to her and spoke in a careless voice.
"Where's Neeld?" he asked. "I can't find him anywhere."
"He's gone back to Fairholme, Harry. It was late. I was to say good-night to you for him."
"And what have you done with Mina?" His voice was level, even, and restrained.
"Mina's gone to Merrion." She paused before she added: "She was tired, so I put her in your fly to go up the hill."
There was silence for a moment. Then he asked: "Did you tell the fly to come back again?"
Silence again, and then a voice of deceptive meekness, of hidden mirth, answered him: "No, Harry."
"I knew you'd be here, if anywhere."
"Well, I was sure you'd come here to look for me, before you gave me up." She put out her hands andhe took them in his. "It was all true that you said about me, all abominably true."
He did not contradict her.
"That's why I'm here," she went on. "When you've feelings like that, it's your duty not to run away from the place that excites them, but to stay there and fight them down manfully."
"I agree," said Harry gravely. "When you've basely deceived and tricked somebody it's cowardly to run away. The straightest thing is to stay with that person and try to redeem your character."
"How did you know it?" she asked. "I hardly knew it was in my heart myself."
"It sharpens a man's wits to be called a liar—and not to be able to deny the name."
"And you called me a—curmudgeon! Oh, how did you happen on that funny old word?" Her laugh rang fresh and gay through the quiet of the night. "After you'd gone, Mina came to me."