"It's no laughing matter, my dear!" said the old lady, gravely. "Lord Blair Leyton has come."
"Has he?" said Margaret, with less interest than the matter deserved.
"Yes, and who knows what will happen? Perhaps the earl won't see him; perhaps they won't meet after all."
"I suppose they won't kill each other if they do, will they?" said Margaret.
The old lady looked at her aghast; such levity was terrible.
"My dear," she said, "you don't know what you are talking about. Kill each other—the earl and his nephew! Why, how ever could you say such a thing? Great people never fight, let alone kill each other."
Meanwhile, Mr. Larkhall, the valet, had gone to the earl's sitting-room and made the announcement:
"Lord Leyton, my lord!"
The earl raised his steel-gray eyes, and, frowning slightly, said, "Lord Leyton?" without any expression of surprise.
"Yes, my lord," said the valet, with the proper impassiveness of a high-class servant.
The earl kept his eyes on the floor for a moment, then nodded as an indication that Lord Blair was to be shown in, and Mr. Larkhall went out to the drawing-room, where Lord Blair was waiting.
He was looking remarkably well this morning, and there were no traces of his encounter with Mr. Pyke on his handsome face, which with its prevailing suggestion of brightness and good humor, seemed to light up the grand and rather too stately room. He was dressed in that very comfortable and somewhat picturesque fashion, which is the mode nowadays, and his shapely limbs displayed themselves, not without grace, in knickerbockers and a shooting jacket of a wide check, which made his broad shoulders look even more vast than they were. Take him altogether he presented a very fine specimen of the genus man, at its best period, when youth sits at the prow, and pleasure sings joyously at the helm.
"This way, my lord," said Mr. Larkhall, and the young man followed the valet into the earl's room.
As he entered, the earl rose and looked at him, and notwithstanding the sternness of his face, a gleam of reluctant admiration shone in his eyes. He held out the thin, white hand.
"How do you do, Blair?" he said.
Lord Blair shook his hand.
"I hope you're well, sir?" he said, and the light, musical voice seemed to ring through the room, in its contrast to the elder man's subdued tones.
The earl waved his hand to a chair, and sank back into his own.
Then a silence ensued. It was evident that the earl expected the young viscount to account for his presence, and that Lord Blair found it rather hard to begin.
"Not had the gout lately, I hope, sir?" he said.
"Thanks, no; not very lately," replied the earl.
"I'm glad of that," said Lord Blair. "I shouldn't have liked to worry you while you were ill—and—and I ought to apologize for coming uninvited——"
It was palpable that he was not used to apologizing, and he did it awkwardly and bluntly.
The earl waved his hand.
"You are always free to come to the Court, Blair; you know that, I trust?"
He did not say that he was welcome, or that he, the earl was glad to see him.
"Thanks," said Lord Blair. "I shouldn't have come if I hadn't been obliged—I mean," with a smile at hisclumsiness, "I mean I wanted to see you particularly on business——"
"Business?" said the earl, raising his eyebrows slightly. "Would not Messrs. Tyler & Driver——"
Tyler & Driver were the family solicitors.
"No," said Lord Blair; "I didn't think so. The fact is, sir, that I'm in a scrape." He said it with an air of surprise that made the earl smile dryly. "Yes; I suppose you'll say I always am. Well, I dare say I am. By George, I don't know how it is, either, for I'm always trying hard to keep out of 'em."
"Is it money—this time?" inquired the earl, with an impassiveness that was worse than any exhibition of ill-humor.
"Yes; it's money this time," assented Lord Blair laughing slightly, but coloring. "The fact is——" he paused. "I don't know whether you saw that my horse, Daylight, lost the Chinhester stakes?"
"I don't read the racing news," said his lordship gravely.
"Ah, I forgot. Well, it did. The fool of a jockey pulled at him too long, and—but I'm afraid you would not understand, sir."
"Most probably not," was the dry response.
"Anyway, he lost, and as I'd backed him very heavily—too heavily as it turned out—I lost a hatful of money. I've had a run of ill-luck all the season, too," he continued, as cheerfully as if he were recounting luck of quite another kind. "So I find myself completely up a tree. I don't like asking you for any more money, I seem to have had such a tremendous lot, don't you know, and it occurred to me that there was that Ketton property, and I could raise the money on that."
The earl's face darkened.
"Of course I know I needn't have troubled you about it," went on Lord Blair, "but I promised you I wouldn't raise any money without letting you know, and so—well, here I am," he wound up cheerfully.
The earl sat perfectly still and looked at the carpet.
"Blair," he said, at last, "you are on the road to ruin!"
"It's not so bad as that, sir, I hope," said the young man, after a rather startled stare and pause.
"You are a spendthrift and a gambler," continued the earl, his face hardening at each word.
Lord Blair's face flushed.
"That's rather strong, isn't it, sir?" he said, quietly.
"It is the truth—the plain truth," retorted the earl, quickly. "You are twenty-five, and you have run through—flung to the winds, destroyed—nearly all your own property.Only Ketton remains, and that is, you tell me, to go. What do you expect me to say? Have you no conscience, no sense of decency? But, indeed, the question is unnecessary, you have none."
The young man rose, and on his handsome face came a look that bore a faint resemblance to that on the old man's.
"What do you mean?" he asked, shortly.
The earl raised his eyes.
"With this ruin impending over you, you come to me to ask my sanction of the last step, and on the way here you amuse yourself by indulging in a vulgar ale-house brawl with one of my people, outside my gates—within sight of the house!"
Lord Blair sank into the chair, and smiled.
"Oh, that," he said, easily—"oh, that was nothing, sir. The fellow deserved all he got and more. 'Pon my word I couldn't help it. It was—but you've heard all about it, I daresay?"
"I have heard that you had a vulgar quarrel with one of the worst characters in the place, and indulged in a fight with him, sir," said the earl, his eyes flashing for a moment, then growing hard and cold. "But I forget. You say it was nothing. That which I deem a degradation, the future Earl of Ferrers may regard differently. But this I may be permitted to ask: that you will choose some other locality than Leyton for the exhibition of your brutality."
A hot response sprung to the lips of Lord Blair, but with an effort he choked it back.
"We won't say any more about the affair, sir," he said, "except that if it were to be done again, I'd do it!"
"I don't doubt you, sir," said the earl, coldly.
There was a pause, then the young man rose.
"I take it I can raise the money on Ketton, then?" he said.
The earl stared at the floor moodily.
"Hartwell gone, Parkfield mortgaged to the hilt, and now Ketton. What next, sir? Thank Heaven, you cannot play ducks and drakes with this place, or you would do it, I suppose! But I could forgive you all you have done if you had spared Violet."
The color mounted to the young man's face, and he bit his lip.
"In her, and her alone, lay your chance of salvation. You flung it away as ruthlessly as you have flung away your property. You have ruined yourself and broken her heart, and you sit there smiling——"
As if he could endure it no longer, Lord Blair rose.
"Broken her heart! Broken Violet's heart!" he repeated, with mingled amazement and incredulity. "Good Heavens, who told you that? I don't believe she has a heart to break! We—we broke off the match by mutual agreement. She was quite jolly about it! She—oh, come, sir, you don't know Violet as well as I do. I'll answer for it she thinks herself well out of it; as she is, by George! Any woman would get a bad bargain in me, I'm afraid."
"I wish that I could contradict you," said the earl grimly. "I pity any woman who trusts herself to your tender mercies. As for Violet Graham, I am glad that she has escaped; but your conduct was dishonorable——"
The young man's face paled, and his hands clinched with a passion of which he had shown no trace during the fight of yesterday.
"That will do, sir," he said, in a low voice. "No man, not even you, has the right to use such a word to me! I tell you it would have been dishonorable to have married Violet for her money; it was more honorable to keep from it. I'm going. As to Ketton, it's my own——"
"For the present," put in the earl, with fearful sarcasm.
—"And I can do what I like with it. I'd rather sell it twenty times over than marry Violet Graham, and get her money to save it! Good-bye, sir!" He was going out of the room with this brief farewell, but at the door he paused, and striding back held out his hand. "Look here, sir," he said, his voice softening, a gentler light coming into his eyes. "Don't let us part like this! Heaven knows when we shall meet again, if ever we do! I may have to clear out of England! I've some thoughts of going in for sheep farming out West, or I may break my neck at the next steeplechase. Anyhow, let us part friends."
The earl waved him to the chair.
If he had grasped the extended hand the warm heart of the young man would have forgiven all the hard words that had been spoken—forgiven and forgotten them.
"Sit down, please. You are right. Words are of no avail between us. In regard to your proposition, I am averse to it. I will give you the money. What is the amount?"
Lord Blair looked surprised, then grave.
"Thanks, sir," he said. "But I would rather you didn't. I have had too much from you already. I'm ashamed to think how much. I'm a spendthrift and a fool, as you say, but for the future I will spend only myown. I'm not ungrateful for all you have given me! No, but—I can't take any more from you."
The earl's lips came together tightly. He bowed.
"I have no right to combat your resolution," he said, "or to prevent you ruining yourself in your own fashion. After all, it matters very little whether the Jews have Ketton now or later; they will get it one time or the other, doubtless."
"I'm afraid they will," said Lord Blair, with a short sigh; then he rose. "Well, I'm off, sir."
"Stay!" said the earl; "our quarrel—if it can be called one—is over. You will oblige me by remaining for one night at least. I do not wish it to be said all over the country that we could not exist for twenty-four hours under one roof, as it will be said if you go at once. Stay, if you please."
"If you wish it, sir, certainly," said Lord Blair, not very joyously. "But I'm afraid I shall bore you dreadfully, you know."
"The boring will be mutual, I have no doubt," said the earl grimly. "I may remind you that we need meet only at dinner."
"That's true," said Lord Blair frankly. "Well, until then, I'll walk round the place."
Then earl inclined his head, and rang the bell which stood at his elbow.
"Lord Leyton will remain here to-night," he said to Larkhall, and that exemplary servant, holding the door open for Lord Blair to pass out, hurried off to tell Mr. Stibbings and Mrs. Hale the extraordinary news that the future earl was to sleep at the house which would some day be his own.
Lord Blair had spent a remarkably bad quarter of an hour; but before he had got half way down the broad staircase, with its carved balustrades and magnificent cross panelling, he began to shake off the effects with that wonderful good-humored carelessness which had lost him nearly all his lands, and won him so many hearts.
He went down the stairs into the hall and looked round him with a smile, as if his interview had been of the pleasantest description; then he lit a cigar and, with his hat on the back of his head, went out into the warm sunshine.
He walked along the terrace and across the lawns, and then as if by instinct found his way to the stables. And be it remarked, and it is worth noting, that he had not—as many a man in his position would have done—given one glance at the magnificent place with the thought that it would some day all be his.
Strange to say, for an heir, he didn't wish the earldead. Blair Leyton hankered after no man's property, not even his uncle's; whatever sins may have been laid to his charge, he was innocent of that love of money which is the root of all evil.
So without a spark of envy or covetousness or ill-will, he went to the stables and, nodding pleasantly to the head groom, went into the stalls.
Of course the man knew who he was—the news had spread all over the Court in five minutes!—and was respectful, and in a second or two more than that; for Blair's manner was as pleasant with high, low, Jack, and the game all round.
"Some good horses," he said.
The man shook his head doubtfully.
"Some, my lord," he assented. "But not what they ought to be for so big a place—begging your lordship's pardon. You see his lordship the earl only has the carriage horses—and them only once now and again—and there's nobody to ride. I try to keep 'em up, but a man loses heart like, my lord."
"I understand," said Lord Blair, sympathetically. "It's a pity. Such a fine hunting country."
"Ah, isn't it, my lord!" said the man with a sigh. "If the earl 'ud only take the hounds—but there"—and he sighed again.
Lord Blair went up to a big black horse and smacked him, a little attention which the animal responded to by launching out viciously.
"Nice nag!" said Lord Blair, approvingly.
"All but his temper, my lord," said the man. "He's as crooked-minded a hoss as ever I see."
Lord Blair laughed.
"He's straight enough in other ways," he said. "Put a saddle on him and I'll take a turn."
The man hesitated a second.
"He's an awkward one to ride, my lord," he ventured.
"So I should think," said the young man, cheerfully; "but I like them awkward."
The horse was saddled and brought out, and immediately commenced to verify the character bestowed upon him.
"Ill-tempered dev—beast, I'll take him back, my lord," said the groom; but, with a laugh, Lord Blair got into the saddle, and as the horse reared brought him down in so neat a style that the groom's misgivings fled.
"All right, my lord," he said, with an approving nod.
"Yes, it's all right," said the young man, with another laugh. "He's rather hot just at present, but he'll comeback like a lamb, and I shall be hot, I expect," and off he rode.
"There," said the groom to a circle of his helpers, "that's my idea of a young nobleman! There'd be some pleasure and credit in keeping a stable for him."
"What a pity he's such a bad young man," murmured a maid-servant, who had crept out to look on.
"He may be a bad young man," retorted the groom sententiously, "but he's a darned good rider."
"He's dreadfully handsome," said the girl, with a little sigh, as she ran in again, and they unconsciously expressed the general opinion of the two sexes of Blair, Viscount Leyton.
The announcement that the young lord was to remain the night at the Court threw Mrs. Hale into a state of excitement.
"I must see Mr. Stibbings about the lunch and dinner at once, and there's the room to prepare. I shall have to leave you to yourself to-day, my dear," she said to Margaret. "Bless me, if I'd only had an hour or two's notice I could have got something nice for dinner. The earl doesn't care what it is, and often sends the things away untouched; but a young man from London, and used to the dinners they get there at the London clubs, is very different."
"Don't mind me, grandma," said Margaret. "I suppose I can't help you at all?"
"You?—Good gracious me, no!" said the old lady quite pityingly.
"Then I'll get my hat and go into the garden," said Margaret.
"Do, my dear; but keep this side of the house, mind, and do not go in front of the earl's windows."
"Very well; I'll take care," laughed Margaret. "I suppose if the earl should happen to catch sight of me twice in one day it would be fatal!—or would he only have a fit?" But Mrs. Hale, fortunately for her, did not hear this.
Margaret went out into the garden, and carefully kept out of sight of the great windows. She was very happy, and now and again she would break into song. The garden attached to this wing was a large one, and filled with flowers, and when she came in to lunch she had a large bunch of roses and heliotrope and pinks in her hand.
"There was no notice—'Do not pick the flowers!' grandma. I hope I haven't been very wicked?"
"No, no, my dear," said Mrs. Hale, who was in a fine state of flurry. "What a beautiful bouquet you have got!"
"Isn't it?" said Margaret, pinning a red rose in thebosom of her dress. "Where shall I put these?" and she looked round for a vase.
"Anywhere you like, my dear. Oh, Margaret, how nice they would be in Lord Leyton's room! It would make it seem more homely like; do what you will, a room that hasn't been used for months does look cold and formal."
"Doesn't it?" agreed Margaret. "And there is nothing like flowers to take off that effect. His lordship is welcome to them; so there they are, grandma."
"Yes, thank you," said Mrs. Hale, hurriedly. "I'll ring for Mary, unless you wouldn't mind running up with them; you'll arrange them decently, while she'll just throw them into a vase."
"Very well. Show me the way, Mary, to Lord Leyton's room," said Margaret as Mary entered.
Mrs. Hale had given him one of the best rooms in the house, and Margaret, who had never seen such an apartment, was lost in admiration of the silken hangings which stood in place of paper on the walls, and the old and priceless furniture.
She arranged the flowers in a deep, glass dish, and placed it on the spacious dressing table.
"His lordship ought to be pleased, miss," said Mary, shyly, as they were leaving the room.
Margaret laughed.
"I daresay he will think them very much in the way and throw them out of the window. I hope he won't throw dish and all," she said.
As she entered Mrs. Hale's sitting-room, she saw Mr. Stibbings approaching.
"I have been looking for you, miss," he said. "I have had a table put in the gallery, as his lordship directed, and his compliments, would you like any blinds put to the windows to shade the light?"
"Grandma, he did mean it after all," said Margaret, delightedly. "How kind? Oh, thank him, Mr. Stibbings! No, nothing more. I've got a portable easel and everything, and the light will do very well. Grandma, I may go now?"
"Yes, I suppose so," said the old lady, absently; "but mind, dear, if you hear the earl coming, you must get up and go away at once."
"Very well," said Margaret, with a smile, and she ran up and got her folding easel and painting materials. Mr. Stibbings wanted to place a footman at her disposal, but she laughingly declined, and with her impedimenta under her arm, and her paintbox in her hand, she made her way after lunch to the gallery.
"In the future, when I hear any one remark—'as proudas a lord,' I shall correct them and say—'kind as a lord,'" she said to herself. With all the eagerness of an artiste she set up her easel before the picture and commenced at once; and in a few minutes she had become absorbed in her work, and was lost to everything save the burning desire to catch something of the spirit of the great original she was copying.
"It is almost wicked to be so great!" she murmured. "How can I do more than libel you, you beautiful face?"
The afternoon glided on unnoticed by her. She heard a great bell booming overhead in a solemn fashion, but she gave it no attention beyond the thought, "the dinner or dressing bell," and went on with her copy.
She was so absorbed that she did not hear some one who had entered the gallery, and it was not until the some one stood close beside her that she knew of his presence.
With a start she looked up, and for a moment saw nothing but a handsome young man in evening dress.
His beauty—of the manliest type—gave her a pleasant sensation—she was an artist, remember—but the next moment she recognized him.
It was the young man whom she had called a savage; the gentleman who had fought Jem Pyke. Her eyes grew wide and her lips opened, and she sat and stared at him.
As for him, his astonishment equalled and surpassed hers. He had seen her back as he was passing the door of the gallery, and being unable to resist the temptation to ascertain what the face belonging to so graceful a figure was like, he had entered and softly approached her.
Margaret was a beautiful girl, but she was never lovelier than when under the spell which falls upon an artist absorbed in her work.
The clear, oval face grew dreamy, the large eyes softer and mystical, the red lips sweeter with a suggestful tenderness.
It was the loveliness of the face as well as the recognition of it which struck him—Blair Leyton, of all men—dumb and motionless.
They looked into each other's eyes while one could count fifty, then, with an embarrassment quite novel, he spoke.
"I've disturbed you?"
"No," said Margaret, and the word sounded blunt and cold in his ears. Who could he be, and how did he come here? Yesterday, fighting on the village green, this evening at Leyton Court. Then it flashed upon her: it was Lord Leyton! "No, I didn't hear you," she added.
"I came in quietly so as not to disturb you," he said, regaining some of his usual composure, but not all of it, for her loveliness dazzled, and her identity with the girl who had so sternly rebuked him yesterday, bewildered him.
"You—you are an artist?" he said.
"I have that honor," she said.
He looked at the copy.
"And a very good one! Your picture is better than the old one."
"You arenotan artist, evidently," she said with a smile.
"No," he admitted; then a light shone in his eyes. "Oh, no, I am a savage!"
A burning blush covered her face, and she took up her brush.
Mr. Stibbings appeared between the velvet curtains.
"Dinner served, my lord."
Lord Blair Leyton nodded impatiently without turning.
"Are you staying here?" he said.
"Yes," said Margaret, going on with her painting.
He stood looking at her, at the beautiful, intelligent "artist" face, at the dove-colored dress, at the pink-white hand with its supple, capable fingers.
"Are you not going to dinner, my lord?" she said, unable to bear his silent presence any longer.
"I beg your pardon!" he said with a little start. "I was waiting for you."
"For me?" she said, turning her face to him with wide-eyed surprise.
"Yes," he said; "we will go together. You are coming, are you not?"
"I?" she said, then she laughed; "I am Mrs. Hale's—the housekeeper's granddaughter, Lord Leyton."
He reddened and bit his mustache.
"And you are not coming?" he said. "I am very sorry. I——"
"Dinner is served, my lord," said a footman in a low voice from the doorway.
Lord Blair uttered an impatient exclamation, which, as it was something remarkably like an oath, was fortunately unintelligible.
"Have you forgiven me yet?" he said, humbly.
"Forgiven?" said Margaret, as if she were trying to discover to what he referred. "Forgiven?"
"Yes! That affair of yesterday—the set-to, you know," he explained.
"Oh!"—the monosyllable dropped like a stone from her lips—"I had forgotten."
"That's right," he said, quickly; "if you've forgotten you have forgiven. I assure you——"
"Dinner is served, my lord," said a solemn voice.
He turned sharply.
"Confound it all——"
"Whether I have forgiven you is not of the least consequence, my lord," said Margaret, "but the earl will certainly not forgive you if you keep dinner waiting any longer," and she bent over her canvas with an air of absorption which shut him out of her cognizance completely.
He stood for a minute, then with an audible "Confound the dinner!" strode off.
Margaret did not raise her head from her work as Lord Blair Leyton moved reluctantly and impatiently down the gallery, but when the echo of his footsteps had died away she looked up with a slightly startled and altogether strange expression.
To her astonishment and disgust, the hand which held her brush was trembling. It was impossible to work any longer. Guido's head danced before her sight, and the other head—the handsome one of Blair Leyton—came between her and the painted one.
How very far from guessing she had been that this, the young man she had called a savage, was the earl's nephew, Lord Blair Leyton!
What must he think of her? And yet he had taken her for a guest of the house, had asked her if she were not going in to dinner with him!
She sat, paint brush in hand, and stared musingly at the curtained doorway through which he had gone, and thought of him.
It is a dangerous thing for a young, impressionable girl to think of a young man. But how could she help it? Her grandmother's words were ringing in her ears; according to Mrs. Hale, nothing was too bad to be said of poor Blair Leyton. He was the wickedest of the wicked, bad beyond all description. And yet—and yet! How bravely he had fought a stronger and bigger man than himself on behalf of a helpless dog!
She pondered over this question for half an hour, looking dreamily in the direction he had gone, then, without having arrived at any answer to it, she jumped up and, putting her painting materials together, left the gallery.
"Grandma," she said, as she entered the room in which the old lady was seated, placidly knitting, for the dinnerwas in full swing, and Mrs. Hale's anxiety was over, "grandma, I have seen Lord Leyton."
The old lady almost jumped.
"Seen Lord Leyton, Madge?"
Margaret nodded.
"Yes; he came into the gallery——"
The old lady broke in with a groan.
"Margaret, no good will come of your going to the picture gallery! Mark my words! It isn't—isn't proper and right like! And you've seen him. Did he speak to you?"
"Very much," said Margaret, smiling, but pensively. "He asked me if I weren't going in to dinner with him!"
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Mrs. Hale, lifting her hands. "Took you for a lady! Dear, now!"
"Yes; isn't it strange?" said Margaret, with great irony.
"Well—I don't know that," said the old lady, eying the graceful figure and lovely, refined face. "But, Margaret——"
"Well, grandma?" said Margaret, as the old lady hesitated.
"Well, I was going to say that—that—you must be careful!"
"Careful? What of?" said Margaret smiling. "Does Lord Blair bite, as well as the earl? What am I to be careful of, grandma?"
The old lady frowned.
"My dear, it isn't right and proper that you and Lord Blair should be on speaking terms," she said at last. "He's the earl's nephew, and—and you are only my granddaughter, you know."
"Which I am quite content to be," said Margaret, busily engaged with her paint box. "But I don't see that I have done anything very wicked, grandma. I couldn't very well refuse to answer him when he spoke."
"No, no, certainly not," said the old lady; "but if he speaks again—but there, it isn't likely you'll see him again. He is only going to stop the night, and you're not likely to meet him again, that's one comfort."
"It is indeed," said Margaret, with a laugh. "Especially as he is the gentleman whom I saw fighting in the village, and whom I called a savage."
"You—you called him a savage!" gasped Mrs. Hale. "My dear Margaret, is it possible?"
"It is only too possible and certain," said Margaret lightly, "and his lordship remembered it, too. However, as he asked me to forgive him, I suppose he has forgivenme; and if he has not I don't care. He was like a savage,and I spoke the truth." Then after a pause, during which the old lady stared in a rapt kind of fashion—"Grandma, what a pity it is that so wicked a man should be so good-looking."
"Yes, he is handsome enough," sighed the old lady, shaking her head.
"Oh, handsome, yes! I didn't mean that exactly. I meant reallygoodlooking. He looks so frank and—yes!—gentle, and his eyes seem to shine with kindness and—and—boyishness. Nobody would believe that he was a bad young man."
"They'd soon learn the truth when they knew him," said the old lady, rather shrewdly.
"I dare say. What a good thing it would be if all the good men were handsome, and all the bad ugly. You would tell at a glance, then, how the case lay. As it is, the man who looks like a villain may be as good as a saint, while the other who looks like a hero and an angel, is probably as bad as—as——"
"Lord Blair," broke in the old lady.
"Exactly—as Lord Blair," laughed Margaret. "And now I am going out to hear the nightingales, grandma. We haven't any nightingales in London—not of your sort, I mean. Ours haven't nice voices at all, and they mostly sing 'We won't go home till morning,' or 'He's a jolly good fellow,' and their voices sound rather unsteady as they go along the pavement. Those are the London kind of nightingale! Oh, what a lovely night——"
"Put a shawl on, Madge!" called the old lady. "Come back now; I can't have you catching cold the very first night!"
"Shawl? I haven't such a thing!" laughed Margaret. "This will do, won't it?" and catching up an antimacassar she threw it round her shoulders and ran out.
Dinner at Leyton Court was a stately function. Very often the earl, as Mrs. Hale had said, would make his meal of a morsel of fish or a tiny slice of mutton, but all the same an elaboratemenuwas prepared, and the courses were served with due state and ceremony by the butler and two footmen.
This night, in honor of Lord Blair, the dinner was more elaborate than usual; Mr. Stibbings had selected his choicest claret, and a bottle of '73 Pommery, and had himself superintended its icing. Already, although he had only been in the house a few hours, the young man had won the hearts of the servants!
But notwithstanding the choice character of the wines and the elaboratemenu, Lord Blair seemed rather absent-minded and preoccupied. The earl was silent, almost grimlyso, but the young man seemed not grim by any means, but dreamy. The fact was that the face of the young girl who had called him a savage yesterday, and whom he had seen again in the gallery this evening, was haunting him.
And—he wondered when and how he could see her again.
Of course he knew, as well as did Mrs. Hale, that there should be no acquaintanceship between Viscount Leyton and the granddaughter of his uncle's housekeeper, but he did not think of that, and, if he had, the reflection would not have stifled the desire to find her out and get a few more words from those sweet lips, one more smile or glance from the lovely eyes.
So that, what with Lord Blair being Margaret-haunted, and the earl being possessed by the fact of his nephew's wickedness, the grand dinner was anything but hilarious.
They talked now and again, but long before the dessert appeared they had dropped into a mutual silence. Then Mr. Stibbings carried in, daintily and carefully, a bottle of the famous Leyton port, and, with the air of one bestowing a farewell benediction, glided out and left the two gentlemen alone.
"Do you drink port, Blair?" said the earl, with his hand on the decanter.
"Yes, sir; I drink anything," replied the young man, awaking with a little start.
"You have a good digestion—good constitution?" said the earl.
"Oh, yes," assented Lord Blair, cheerfully; "I suppose so. Never had a day's illness in my life that I can remember, and can eat anything."
The earl looked at him musingly.
"And yet——" he paused, "your habits are not regular; you keep late hours?"
Lord Blair laughed.
"I'm seldom in bed before ten," he said. "Yes," he added, "I'm afraid I don't keep very good hours; it's generally daylight before I am in my little cot. What capital port, sir!"
"Yes? I do not drink it," said the earl.
There was silence for a moment, during which the elder man looked at the handsome face and graceful, stalwart figure of the younger one. Lord Blair was one of those men who look at their best in evening dress, and the earl could not help admiring him. Then he sighed.
"Have you thought over the words that passed between us this afternoon, Blair?" he asked.
"Well—I'm afraid I haven't," he admitted, frankly.
The earl frowned.
"And yet they were important ones—especially those which referred to your future, Blair. We have not seen much of each other—perhaps wisely——"
"I dare say," said Lord Blair, cheerfully. "People who can't agree are better apart, sir."
"But," continued the earl grimly, and not relishing the interruption, "but I would wish you to believe that I have your best interests at heart."
"Thank you, sir. I will take another glass of port."
"And in no surer way can these interests be promoted than by your marriage with Violet Graham."
Lord Blair frowned slightly, then he smiled.
"'Pon my word, sir, I'm sorry to refuse you anything, especially after all your liberality; but it isn't to be done."
"Why not?" demanded the earl coldly.
Lord Blair hesitated, then he laughed grimly.
"Well, I suppose we can't hit it off; we don't care for each other."
The earl frowned.
"I have every reason to believe that Violet would be willing——"
"Oh, it's all a mistake, sir!" broke in Lord Blair quickly. "Nothing of the kind! Violet doesn't care a straw for me! And as to breaking her heart, as you said this afternoon, why"—he laughed—"she's the last girl in the world for that sort of thing! No, we thought we could manage it, but we found pretty soon that it wouldn't work, and so—and so—well, we just broke it off!"
"I can understand!" said the earl, grimly. "You wearied her with your dissipation, and stung her by your neglect."
Lord Blair flushed.
"Put it so, if you like, sir," he said, thinking what a good thing it was that they didnotsee much of each other.
"And so lost the chance of restoring your ruined fortunes," said the earl. "Violet's fortune is a large one. I am one of the trustees, and can speak with authority. It is large enough to repair all the mischief your wild, spendthrift course has produced. And you have lost, not only the means of your salvation, but one of the best girls in England. Great Heaven"—he spoke quite quietly—"how can a man be so great a fool, and so blind!"
At another time the young man might have retorted, but he had had a good dinner and two glasses of the wonderful port, and so he only laughed.
"I suppose I am a fool, sir," he said good-temperedly."Perhaps it's part of my constitution. But don't let us quarrel. It isn't worth while."
"You are right. It isn't worth while," said the earl, sinking back in his chair. "After all, I ought to be thankful that Violet has escaped; but blood is thicker than—water and I have thought of you more than of her. But let it pass. You are bent on following the road you have set out upon, and not even she nor I can stay you. As to Ketton, you refuse to accept my offer——"
"Yes, sir," said Lord Blair, gently but firmly. "I shall mortgage Ketton. I can't take any more money from you. If we were—well, better friends, it would be different, but——It's a pity you can't touch this port! The best wine I ever tasted!"
The earl sat in silence for a few minutes, then he rose.
"Coffee will be served in the drawing-room," he said. "You will excuse me?"
"Oh, certainly," said Lord Blair, jumping up. "I don't care about the coffee, I will go and get a cigar on the terrace. Perhaps I sha'n't see you again, sir, I start early in the morning. If I should not, I'll say good-bye," and he held out his hand.
The earl touched it with his thin white fingers.
"Good-bye," he said, and with a sigh he passed down the corridor to his own apartments.
Lord Blair took out his cigar-case and stepped through the open window on to the terrace.
"Yes, I'm on the road to ruin, as mine uncle says," he mused, "and going along at a rattling good pace, too! Sha'n't be long before I reach the terminus, I expect. Hartwell gone, Parkfield gone, and now Ketton. I'm sorry about Ketton! But I'd rather pawn everything that's left than take any more money from him! Heigho! I wonder whether any of the fellows who are so thick now will cut me when I can't come up on settling day and my name's on the black list! And I could put it all right by marrying Violet Graham. Just by marrying Violet. But I can't do that. I suppose Iama fool, as the old gentleman politely remarked. It's wonderful that I'm the only man he is ever rude to. They say he is the pink of courtesy and politeness to the rest of the world. 'Courtly Ferrers,' they used to call him. Ah, well, what does it matter? All the same in a hundred years. I've had my fling, or nearly had it, and after me——"
Before he could conclude with "the deluge," a girl's voice rose softly and sweetly in the distance, and seemed to float in and harmonize with the rather melancholystrain of his musings; and yet the voice was blithe and joyous enough, too.
Lord Blair leaned over the stone rail of the balustrade and listened.
A spell fell upon the wild young man, and for a few minutes a strange feeling—was it of remorse for his wasted life?—possessed him. Then there rose the desire to see the singer, and as such desires were far stronger in Lord Blair's breast than remorse, he moved quickly along the terrace in the direction of the voice.
It did not occur to him that it might be Margaret Hale, and he experienced a sudden thrill of gratification as he saw the dove-colored dress shining, a soft patch of light against the shrubbery of the small garden.
At the same moment Margaret saw his shadow cast upon the smooth lawn, and the song died on her lips.
He stopped short, and stood on top of the steps leading to the little garden, looking down at her.
"May I come?" he said quietly.
Margaret inclined her head gravely and rose. It was quite unnecessary to tell the Viscount Leyton that he was at liberty to step into a part of the garden that would belong to him some day.
"I'm awfully unlucky, Miss Hale," he said, flinging his cigar away and coming up to the seat where she had been sitting. "This is the second time to-day I have disturbed you; and yesterday—oh, yesterday won't bear thinking of! You were singing, weren't you?"
"Yes, my lord," said Margaret gravely, for her grandmother's words had suddenly occurred to her, and she moved away.
"Are you going?" he said. "Now, I have driven you away! Please, don't go. I'll take myself off at once."
"I was going, my lord," said Margaret.
"Oh, come," he retorted pleadingly; "it's almost as wicked to tell stories as it is to fight; and you know you were sitting here comfortably enough until I intruded upon you."
His voice, his manner were irresistible, and produced a smile on Margaret's face.
"It is getting late," she said, "and Mrs. Hale may want me."
"I don't think she will. It isn't late—" he looked at his watch—"I can't see. Your eyes are better than mine, I'll be bound. I've spoilt them sitting up studying at night. Will you look? But upon this condition," he added, covering the face of the watch with his hand, "that if it isn't ten o'clock, you will stay a little while longer; of course I'll go—if you want me to!"
His eagerness was so palpable, almost so boyish, that Margaret could not repress a soft laugh. Rather gingerly she came back a step, and he held out his watch.
"It is half-past nine," she said.
"There you are, you see; it isn't late at all! Now you stop out till ten, and I'll take myself off"—and with a nod he walked toward the steps, with Margaret's antimacassar shawl in his hand.
"My lord!" she said, in a tone of annoyance, for it seemed as if he had done it on purpose.
"Yes," he responded, turning back very promptly.
"Will you give me my anti—my shawl, please?"
"Eh? Oh, of course, I beg your pardon," he said, "I took it up intending to ask you to put it on—nights are chilly sometimes. Here you are. Let me put it on for you."
"No, no, thank you," said Margaret, taking it from him.
"Well, it is warm," he said, looking up at the sky, and then quickly returning his gaze to her face. "It's a pity you can't paint this; but you artists get rather handicapped on these night scenes, don't you? Want a big moon and a waterfall, and all that kind of thing?"
Margaret smiled. Certainly, in matters pertaining to art he was a perfect savage.
"To-night could be painted, my lord," she said, just stopping to say it, then moving away again.
"You think so?" he said, displaying, with boyish ingenuousness, his desire to engage her in conversation. "Well, I don't know much about it; rather out of my line, you know. But I like seeing pictures, and I think you must be awfully clever——"
"Thanks, my lord!" said Margaret, with admirable gravity. "But your avowed ignorance rather detracts on the value of your expressed approval, does it not?"
He looked at her.
"That's rather hot and peppery, isn't it?" he said, ruefully. "Look here, you know, if I'm not up in painting, I know a little of other things. There are three things you might put me through a regular exam. in, and I shouldn't come out badly."
"For instance, my lord?" said Margaret, dangerously interested, and slowly stopping.
"For instance. Well, I know a horse when I see it."
"Very few people take it for a cow," retorted Margaret.
He laughed.
"Oh,youknow what I mean. Many flats take a screw for a horse, though. Well, I know what a horse is worthpretty well, and I know a good dog when I see him, and I can tell you the proper kind of fly for most of the rivers in England and Scotland; and I know the quickest and surest way of stalking a stag; and—I can play a decent hand at ecarte—that is, if it's nottoolate in the evening; and—and——" he paused and looked rather at a loss.
"Is that all, my lord?"
"That's—that's all. It seemed rather a long lot, too, while I was running it over," he responded.
"And what use is your knowledge to you, my lord, unless you intend turning horse-dealer or gamekeeper?—but perhaps you do."
He laughed.
"By George, you're hard upon me! Won't you sit down?" Insensibly, Margaret sank into the seat, and he dropped carelessly on to the arm. "Well, I might do worse!"
"Much worse!" assented Margaret, severely.
He looked at her rather curiously.
"How strangely you said that," he remarked. "Meant for me from the shoulder, I expect; now wasn't it?"
Margaret was silent. Shehadmeant it as a rebuke, but she would not have admitted it for the world.
He regarded her silently for a second, then he said:
"Miss Hale, they have been telling you something about me. They have, haven't they?"
A faint flush rose to her face.
"Would that matter in the slightest, my lord?"
"By George, yes!" he said. "Look here! there is an old proverb that says: 'Don't believe more than half you see, and less than half you hear.' I should like to know what they have been telling you about me!"
"What should 'they' say, my lord?" said Margaret. "Except that you are a very high-principled and serious-minded gentleman, doing all the good you could find to do, and setting a high example to your friends and companions?"
He leaned forward so that he might see her face, then broke into the musical and contagious laugh.
"It's too bad!" he said. "Miss Hale, I give you my word that the dev—, that nobody is quite as bad as he is painted——"
"It is to be hoped not, or, judging from the portraits one sees at the Academy, there must be a great many ugly people in the world," she said, quietly.
Lord Blair stared at her with unconcealed delight.
Pretty women he had met by the hundred, but a girl who was lovely as a flower, and witty as well, was a rarity that set his heart throbbing.
"All right!" he said. "I see you have made up your mind about me, and that you won't let me say a word in my own defense. But every poor beggar of a convict is allowed to say something before they pass sentence, don't you know, and you'll let me say my word before you send me away, painted black right through. Miss Hale, I'm in one of my unlucky months! Everything I've touched this June has gone wrong! My horse—but I don't want to trouble you about that—and to put the finishing touch to the catalogue, I had the bad luck to have you looking on while I'm having a set-to with a country yokel. Of course, you think the worst of me, and yet——" He stopped. "Well, I'm bad enough, I dare say," he said, with a sort of groan; "but I haven't had much chance; I haven't, indeed. They don't make many saints out of the kind of life that has fallen to me. What can you expect of a fellow who is thrown upon the world at nineteen without a friend to keep him straight or say a word of warning? And that was just the way of it with me; my father died when I was nineteen and I was let loose with plenty of money, and not a soul to show me the right road."
"Your mother?" said Margaret, and the next instant regretted it, for across his handsome face came a spasm, as if she had touched a wound across his heart.
"My mother died two years before my father; her death killed him. I wish that it had killed me. Don't let's speak of her."
"I am very sorry, my lord," murmured Margaret.
"All right," he said cheerfully. "If she had been living—but then! Well, I had no one. My uncle—the earl, here—would have nothing to say to me; I reminded him too much that he had lost his own boy and that I must come into the property. As if I wouldn't rather have died instead of the lad! He was as nice a boy as ever you saw—poor little chap! Well, where was I? Oh, on the road to ruin as my uncle said this afternoon, and, by George, he was right!" and he laughed. "But there—once you make the first false step, the rest is easy; it's all down hill, you see, and nobody to put the skid on—nobody! But never mind any more about me; I can see you've passed sentence. Are you living here altogether, Miss Hale?"
"No," said Margaret with a little start, and very quietly. She was thinking of the wasted life, the friendless, guardless youth which his wild, incoherent statement revealed, and something like pity for him was creeping into her heart.
Pity! It is a dangerous sentiment for one like Margaret to harbor for one like Blair Leyton!
"No; I am here on a visit, my lord."
"How jolly!" he said. "I hope you are enjoying yourself. But, perhaps you always live in the country?"
"I am enjoying myself very much. No, I live in London, my lord."
"In London!" he said, quickly. "But I say——" he broke off appealingly, "I wish you wouldn't 'my lord' me, you know."
Margaret laughed.
"My circle of acquaintances does not include any noblemen, Lord Leyton, and I am not quite sure of the way to address one of your rank," she said, faltering a little.
"How well she said that!" he thought. "Most girls would have giggled and blushed, but she took it as quietly as a duchess would have done!"
Then aloud he said:
"Well, it's usual to address us by our surname; I wish you would call me Leyton."
Margaret was silent a moment, while he scanned her face with suppressed eagerness.
"If it is quite usual," she said in her blissful ignorance. "It sounds rather abrupt."
"Why, of course!" he said. "Abrupt, not a bit. And you live in London! Now, shall I guess what part? Let me see. You are an artist. Yes. Well, Chelsea——"
"Wrong; but Kensington is not so far away," she said, with a smile.
"Kensington," he said. "The Art School, of course. How jolly! I've got rooms not very far from there. Perhaps we shall—" he hesitated and watched her rather fearfully—"we might meet, you know."
"I should say that there was nothing more improbable, my—Lord Leyton. We don't know the same people, and never shall, and——" she stopped, her own words had recalled Mrs. Hale's warning. "I must go now," she said, rising suddenly.
"Oh, it's not ten," he pleaded. "You feel chilly? Let me put your shawl on. It has slipped down. Why, what a funny shawl it is!"
"It's an antimacassar," she said laughing.
"So it is!" he said. "And look here, it has got entangled in my watch-chain; but they are built to get entangled in things, aren't they?" he added, fumbling with all a man's awkwardness at the tangled threads.
"Oh, you'll never get it off like that," said Margaret impatiently, and innocently enough her small supple fingers flew at it.
His own hand and hers touched, and with a feeling of surprise he felt the blood tingling at her touch. He looked at the lovely face so close to his own, so gravely, unconsciously beautiful, and a wild desire to lift the hand to his lips seized him, but with a mighty effort he forced it down.
"There it is!" he said. "And now to reward me for—not getting it undone, will you let me give you this flower?" and he stooped and picked a red rose.
Margaret started slightly and looked at him; but the handsome face wore its frankest, "goodest" look, and with a laugh she held out her hand. He drew it back with an answering laugh.
"Before I give it to you, will you tell me one thing, Miss Hale?"
"That depends," she said, "upon what the thing is."
"It's not much," he said. "Only this: will you tell me that you don't think I am quite the savage you accused me of being yesterday?"
She looked up at him with a faint color in her face.
"Yes, I will do that," she said. "But I think you should keep the rose, Lord Leyton."
"No," he said, laughingly, but with an intent look in his eyes, fixed upon her. "No, I've got a fancy for leaving something behind me that you may remember me by. I'm going to-morrow, you know."
"I did not know," said Margaret.
"Yes," with a sigh. "My welcome to the Court is soon outworn, and I'm back to London and the old road," with a laugh.
Margaret stood with averted face.
"Is—is it so inevitable, that same road? Is there no other, my lord?" she said.
"No, I'm afraid not, my lady," he said, smiling, but rather gravely.
"I think there must be, that there might be if you cared to take it," she said, gravely.
"If you cared that I should take it—I mean"—he broke off quickly, for she had looked alarmed at his words and their tone—"I mean that it's very good of you to care what becomes of a useless fellow like me, and——"
"Margaret!" called Mrs. Hale's voice from the open window.
Margaret started.
"Good-night, my lord," she said, hurriedly, and yet with simple dignity.
"Stop," he said, in a low voice; "you have forgotten your rose," and, following her a step or two, he touched her arm. "It is not a very grand one; there was a bowlof beauties in my room: some good soul had pick—" he stopped, for the color rose to Margaret's face. "Youput them there!" he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. "You!"
"I—I did not know——" she said, faltering, and trying to speak proudly.
"Oh, don't destroy my pleasure by explaining that you did not mean them for me!" he pleaded. "You put them there at any rate. Will you let me, in return, fix this rose in your shawl? We shall be more than quits then on my side!"
Oh, Margaret, put back the proffered flower! Red stands in the language of magic for all that is evil, for a passion that will burn into ashes of pain; put back the hand that offers it to you!
But he was too quick. Gently, reverently he fixed the rose in the meshes of the antimacassar, and, as he put it straight with a caressing touch, he murmured:
"Good-night! Try and remember me, Miss—Margaret, at any rate as long as the rose lives!"
Red as the flower itself, trembling with a feeling that was painfully like the stab of conscience, Margaret glanced up at him, and without a word, sped from his side.
Lord Leyton stood looking after her, as strange an expression in his face as her own had worn.
Then with a long sigh he went back to the seat and threw himself down into it, in the place where she had sat.
Half an hour passed; the nightingale for which Margaret had been waiting came out and sang for him; but the song gave him no delight, for in his whirling brain its notes seemed to take the shape of words: words of such sad, strange import! "Spare her!—spare her!" the bird seemed to sing; and as if he could not endure the appeal any longer, he rose impatiently and walked toward the terrace.
As he did so, a tall, skulking figure moved snake-like after him.
Lord Blair stopped at the bottom of the steps, and the shadow pursuing him stopped also, and raised a heavy stick.
For a moment it hovered evilly over Lord Blair's head, then, as if smitten by a sudden remorse or a desire for a still deeper revenge, Pyke let the stick fall, and, slinking back, disappeared amongst the shrubs.