The day after the one in which so many confidences had been bestowed upon Mrs. Dollman and her friends by Miss Stratton was one of considerable anxiety to the latter. Poor little Phœbe, although one of the brightest and nicest women in the world, was a very bad actress, and she could not for the life of her treat Mr. Staines with the same cordiality as before, although warned of the immense importance of self-restraint. Personally, she did not feel as aggrieved as might have been expected, for her heart had never been touched, although she had been led to admire a man who knew very well how to be fascinating when he pleased. Now she felt extremely disgusted with herself for having been pleased with the flattery her lodger had bestowed upon her, and the young fellow of whom her brother-in-law had spoken as an honest admirer now stood a good chance of getting his innings.
But, try as she might, she could not help showing something of the detestation which a knowledge of Gregory Staines’ real character had awakened in her. As he satat her breakfast-table, she pictured poor Harley Riddell languishing for his crime in prison. And when, after being out for a few hours, he faced her at the dinner-table, she conjured Hilton’s spectre behind him, and was seized with such a trembling that she let the soup-ladle fall back into the soup-tureen with a crash that cracked the latter, and a splash that covered the tablecloth and her dress with the hot liquid. Suspecting the real cause of her emotion, Miss Stratton, who was sitting near her, pressed her foot warningly upon hers, and exclaimed solicitously—
“You seem quite shaky to-day, Mrs. Dollman. Are you not well?”
“Oh, yes, I am quite well, thank you,” replied the little widow. “But I’m all in a tremble with something or other. It’s the heat, I think.”
The heat! And it had been found necessary to have a good fire in the dining-room, as everybody was complaining of the cold. Miss Stratton felt the moment to be a critical one. But she did not lose her self-possession, although she saw the sudden suspicion which leaped into the eyes of Gregory Staines, who, with knife and fork slightly raised from his plate, was sitting immovable, mutely questioning the faces of the blundering Phœbe and herself.
“Really,” she laughed, “if you go on like this, I shall swear that you are in love, and that your inamorato has had the bad taste to transfer his affections elsewhere. Fancy complaining of the cold one minute, and being all of a tremble with the heat the next! Those are genuine love symptoms—I’ve felt them myself.”
As Miss Stratton spoke, with such apparent disregardof Phœbe’s feelings, she darted an admiring and meaning look at Gregory Staines, which at once put that gentleman at his ease again for a little while.
“The little fool has seen that the artist is more in my line, and is jealous,” he mused. “But what of that? She can’t harm me, though she may make things deucedly uncomfortable for me here. Query, will it really pay me to break with her? That remains to be seen. I’m by no means sure that Miss Stratton has money that I can secure, or that it would be as good a prospect to take up with her as to settle down here, with Phœbe to keep me. I think I must retain both irons in the fire for a few days longer. Stratton is so awfully infatuated that she will be only too glad to condone a flirtation with Phœbe.”
In pursuance of this train of thought, Mr. Staines became very solicitous about Mrs. Dollman’s state of health, smiled quite tenderly at her, suggested that she should lie down to compose her nerves, and offered to take all the labours of carving off her hands. But it was not in Phœbe’s nature to restrain her feelings, and when he accidentally touched her hand in taking the carving-knife from her, she sprang away from him with such an agony of horror and repulsion in her face, that he could no longer doubt her real sentiments towards him, and everyone at the table could see that there was more beneath the surface than met the eye. As for Gregory Staines, he was thunderstruck, although he was able to keep both his actions and his facial expression under admirable control.
“She has been told something about me,” was his savage inward comment. “Somebody has betrayed me, and the little idiot has been made the sharer of a secret that shecannot keep. Betrayal means enmity, and the presence of a betrayal argues the near proximity of an enemy. I have but one enemy whom I need fear, and she has been cleverly put off the scent. And, yet, who knows? The devil himself must be in her, for she has followed and traced me to all sorts of places, and why not here? Good God! I never thought of it! Surely it can’t be this woman who has flung herself at my head as if I were the God of Love in the flesh? But, after all, even if it were, what can she do to me? She dare not move openly, for no plans for my arrest can be made effectual on Spanish territory. If she has really traced me, I am safe for to-day, at all events. I must meet her with her own weapons, and if I find that Miss Stratton and my arch-enemy are one and the same, may the Lord have mercy on her soul!”
The object of his meditations was not slow to observe that Mr. Staines had suddenly received food for thought, and was not deceived, even though he kept his countenance so cleverly.
“I must be careful not to place myself for any length of time in his power,” she thought. “He is quite capable of murdering me, if his suspicions of my true identity are assured, and with me all hope of Harley’s salvation would die.”
And yet all this bye-play was unnoticed by the other boarders sitting at the table. Mrs. Dollman was a little nervous, and Mr. Staines was good-naturedly solicitous on her behalf. That was all. An hour later the room was empty of all but Miss Stratton and Mr. Staines, and the two were outwardly as enamoured of each other as yesterday. She wished to amuse him, lull his suspicions, andengage his attention until it was time to meet her in the evening, in her assumed character of Mr. Bootle. He was bent upon watching every gesture and movement of hers, and upon comparing her personality with that of the girl he suspected her to be.
Thus the afternoon wore away, and tea-time arrived. Miss Stratton had declined an invitation to have a walk with Mr. Staines, saying that she preferred a tête-à-tête by the fireside, and she had found an opportunity to warn Mrs. Dollman against saying or doing anything that could ruin the plans which were being matured with a view to capturing Mr. Staines. He was apparently as complaisant and love-stricken as ever, and both played at exchanging confidences which bore very little relation to their actual experiences. When, shortly before tea-time, Miss Stratton adjourned to her own room, she imagined that her influence over the man whom she was befooling was almost as strong as it was yesterday.
But he was deeper than she gave him credit for being, and had made an important discovery. While toying with her hair, and enthusiastically admiring its golden brilliance, he had satisfied himself that it was an artificial covering which hid the darker glory which was her natural heritage. For one brief period our heroine’s life was in immediate danger, and the reason it was spared then was because her enemy had promptly resolved to seek an opportunity likely to be fraught with less danger to himself.
They saw each other at the tea-table awhile later, and Miss Stratton was looking lovelier than ever—so lovely that, though he hated her, Gregory Staines felt himself moved by the wildest admiration of her outward charms,for her eyes sparkled and her cheeks glowed with the excitement of her conviction that at last the hour of her triumph was near at hand. Mrs. Twiley was here again. She had brought a message from her husband, and fully understood the importance of the step he contemplated taking that night. The adventure he proposed was a somewhat risky one. But she had every confidence in his courage and discretion, and was, moreover, much more capable of keeping a secret than her sister. Gregory Staines watched her narrowly, but could not detect any embarrassment in her intercourse with him, or any covert collusion between her and Miss Stratton.
“She knows nothing about me,” he thought, “and she does not seem to get on very well with the girl who is masquerading here as an artist. But that sort of thing is only natural with women. They are always jealous of anyone prettier than themselves. By heaven, I wish I had really the chance I fancied I had of winning this superb creature. Fancy having a gambling-house, with a wife like that at the head of affairs! Why, there would be no end of a fortune to be made. But it is useless to think of it, if she is really Annie Cory. If! Why, there is a doubt yet, in spite of appearances. I can’t see what her motive in making love to me can be, after all. What could she gain by it, so long as I stayed in Spain? It strikes me that I had better not be too rash. I will watch and wait. If my suspicions are unfounded, so much the better. If not, so much the worse—for her!”
Meanwhile, Miss Stratton excused herself to Mrs. Dollman, and announced her intention of spending the evening in her room, as she had a great many letters to write. Arrivedthere, she found plenty to occupy her for half an hour. At the end of that time Mrs. Twiley came to her by prearrangement, and was utterly astonished to watch the metamorphosis effected in her appearance while she was there.
“Why, you make me feel inclined to run away again,” she laughed. “It’s dreadfully compromising to be here alone with you. Suppose a servant, or one of the other boarders saw me, the consequences would be awful! My reputation would be gone, and poor, dear Twiley’s only consolation would be a divorce. But, seriously, it is wonderful to think of all you have done and are doing for the sake of your lover. I hope you will be successful in all your plans, and some day I expect the pleasure of seeing Mr. Riddell enjoying liberty and happiness once more.”
“Thank you so much,” said the lady addressed, who was, to all appearances, a man again, to wit, Mr. Bootle, “Whenever that happy day arrives, believe me, I shall esteem it a sacred duty to bring him to see all who have helped us in our dark days.”
“In fact, you will come here for your honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon! I dare not think of such happiness while he is languishing in prison. See, would you like to judge how he looked only a year ago?”
As she spoke, the girl handed a photograph of a handsome, smiling young fellow to her visitor, at which the latter gazed with a mist gathering in her eyes.
“And this,” she was next told, “is the brother who has been foully murdered.”
It struck Mrs. Twiley that the brother was even anobler type of manhood than the unfortunate lover, but she had too much tact to betray that opinion, though she looked long and earnestly at the lineaments of one who was supposed to have come to so sad an end.
Then the whole of the evening’s intended work was gone over again in detail, not an item being overlooked that could conduce to either success or failure. Everything being at length arranged, Mrs. Twiley rejoined her sister, and “Mr. Bootle” prepared to sally forth on her evening’s adventures, of which she by no means underestimated the possible peril. But the courage engendered by devotion to others transcends all other courage in its nobility and strength, and not the faintest twinge of fear assailed our heroine, as, feeling added security in her capital disguise, she told Briny to remain on guard, and stepped out of the window into the garden, whence she presently emerged into the lane, and thence into the open street.
But what was that dark object creeping in her footsteps, and dodging nearer and nearer to her? It was no friend, that is certain, as he would not have slunk out of sight so promptly every time that there was any likelihood of his being observed. Had “Mr. Bootle” looked round, he, or she, if the reader prefers, might possibly have seen a mortal enemy, armed with a knife, and carefully watching his opportunity for removing the one whom he feared.
And had Mr. Staines looked round, he would have noticed a pursuer in his turn, one who disliked him already, and who would not hesitate to protect “Mr. Bootle” at the cost of his life. This was the faithful Briny, who, for once, had disobeyed his owner by following her whenforbidden to do so. His consciousness of wrong-doing made him linger in the background. But he was none the less a valuable protector, even though his presence was unsuspected.
Yet neither of the beings whom he was following looked round, and neither one nor the other dreamed of danger behind, so anxious were they to reach the goal that lay before them.