Chapter Five.A brave Defence.“The hotel! The idiot! To want to take us back there to face the half-hidden mockery and jokes of all those strangers. Oh, it’s maddening!”Sir Mark leaned forward, lowered the front window, and shouted to the coachman to drive faster.“I saw them,” he continued as he flung himself back in his seat, “the whole mob in the church sniggling with delight. Curse them! And that fellow, Stratton! If ever we stand face to face again I’ll—Oh, I hope he will never have the audacity to come near me, for his own sake.”Myra had been sitting perfectly upright, looking as if suffering from some cataleptic seizure; but at the mention of Stratton she turned and laid her hand upon her father’s arm.“Oh, yes, of course!” he raged, with a mocking laugh. “Womanlike; a hundred excuses ready for him: cut himself in shaving—wedding clothes not home in time—sprained his ankle—a bad headache. Oh, you women, you women! If ever there were a pack of fools—”“Father!”That one word only, but full of so much agony that he turned and caught her to his breast.“Brute! Senseless brute!” he literally growled. “Thinking of myself, of my own feelings, and not of you, my own.”Then raging again, with his countenance purple, and the veins of his temples starting:“But you! To insult you, my child, and after that other horrible affair. How a man—who professed to worship you—could subject you to such an outrage—to such infamy! I tell you it is maddening.”“Father!” once more in a piteous tone.“No; you shall not plead for him, my darling. You have behaved nobly. Like a true, self-respecting English lady. No acting, no silly girlish fainting, but like my daughter. You must go on, though. This scoundrel must be shown that he cannot insult you with impunity.”“Listen, father,” she whispered after a desperate effort to restrain the hysterical burst of agony striving for exit.“I will not. There is no excuse, Myra. A telegram—a messenger—his friend and best man. Nothing done. The man is—no; he is no man. I’ll—my lawyer shall—no; I’ll go myself. He shall see that—Silence! Be firm. Don’t move a muscle. Take my arm when I hand you out, and not a word till we are in the drawing room.”For the carriage had stopped, after a rapid course, at Sir Mark’s house in Bourne Square, where they had to wait some minutes before, in response to several draggings at the bell, the door was opened by an elderly housemaid.“Why was not this door answered? Where is Andrews?” thundered the admiral as the footman came in, looking startled, and closed the door behind which the housemaid stood, looking speechless at her master’s unexpected return.“Shall the carriage wait, Sir Mark?” interposed the footman.“No! Stop; don’t open that door. I said, why was this door not answered?”“I’m very sorry, Sir Mark,” faltered the woman, who was trembling visibly. “I was upstairs cleaning myself.”“Bah! Where is Andrews? Where are the other servants?”“They all went to the wedding, Sir Mark.”“Bah!”“Father—upstairs—I can bear no more,” whispered Myra.Brought back to his child’s suffering, the admiral hurried her up to the drawing room and let her sink back on a couch. Then, turning to the bell, he was about to ring for help, but Myra rose.“No; don’t ring,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I’m better now.”At that moment Miss Jerrold’s carriage stopped at the door, and directly after Sir Mark’s sister appeared with Edie, who, looking white and scared, ran at once to her cousin and clung to her, uttering violent sobs.“Silence, Edie!” thundered the admiral. “Look at your cousin. You must be a woman now. Ah, here you are, then!” he continued fiercely as Percy Guest entered.“Yes; I came up for a moment before I go on there.”“I’m glad you’ve come,” cried the old man furiously, and leaping at someone upon whom he could vent his rage. “Now, then, explain, you dog. What does that villain—that scoundrel—mean by insulting me—my child, like this? Damn him! I’ll—”“Stop, Sir Mark!” cried Guest firmly. “You don’t know what you are saying.”“What?”“And I will not stand here and have my dear old friend and schoolfellow insulted by such words.”“Insulted!” cried Sir Mark, with a harsh laugh; “insulted?”“Yes, sir. Malcolm Stratton is the soul of honour—a gentleman who would have laid down his life sooner than cause pain to the lady he loves with all his heart.”“God bless you for that, Mr Guest!” cried Myra—catching the young man’s hand as she spoke—in a broken voice, which she fought hard to render calm.“Bah! Heroics! Come away, Myra. Of course he’ll talk big for his friend. But where is he? Why has he insulted us all like this?”“Heaven only knows, sir,” said Guest solemnly. “Forgive me for speaking as I do before you, Mrs Barron, but at the cost of alarming you I must take Malcolm’s part. I saw him this morning at his chambers, ready almost to come on. He placed Miss Perrin’s telegram in my hands—about the bouquet—and begged me to see to it at once—to take the flowers to the hotel, and meet him at the church.”“Yes—yes!” cried Myra eagerly, and her large, dark eyes were dilated strangely.“I did not pay any heed to it then, for I attributed it to anxiety and nervous excitement.”“What, Mr Guest?” cried Myra piteously.“His appearance, Mrs Barron. There was a peculiar wild look in his eyes, and his manner was strange and excited. Some seizure must have been coming on.”“Yes, yes; it is that,” said Myra hoarsely, and she hurriedly tore off gloves, veil, and ornaments.“He was quite well last night,” said the admiral scornfully. “It was a trick to get rid of you. I’ll never believe but what it is all some deeply laid plan.”“You do not know what you are saying, Sir Mark, or I would resent your words. Mrs Barron, I will come back directly I obtain tidings of my poor friend. You know him better than to think ill of him.”“Yes, yes,” cried Myra, speaking firmly now, but in a low, hurried murmur. “But stop, Mr Guest; stop!”He turned sharply, for he was already at the door.“Wait for me—only a few minutes. Edie—quick; help.”Her cousin flew to her side.“Myra!” cried the admiral fiercely; “what are you going to do?”“Change my dress,” she said with unnatural calmness. “Go to him.”“What?”“Where should I be but at his side?”“Impossible, girl! You shall not degrade yourself like this!” cried the admiral; and Miss Jerrold caught her niece’s hands.“There would be no degradation, Sir Mark,” said Guest firmly; “but, Mrs Barron, you cannot go. For years Malcolm has been like my brother. He had no secrets from me, and I can tell you from my heart that there is but one reason for his absence—a sudden seizure. Don’t keep me, though, pray. Stay here and wait my return. Unless,”—he added quickly, with a deprecating glance at Sir Mark.“What! I—go with you to hunt up the man and beg him to come? Pshaw!”“Mark, it is your duty to go,” said his sister sternly. “I don’t believe Mr Stratton would insult us like this.”“Then for once in my life, madam, I will not do my duty!” cried the admiral furiously. “It is not the only occasion upon which a man has gained the confidence of his friends. It is not the first time I have been so cruelly deceived. I can see it plainly. Either, like a pusillanimous coward, he turned tail, or there is some disgraceful entanglement which holds him back!”“Father, it is not true!” cried Myra angrily. “How dare you insult me like that?”“I—insult you?”“Yes, in the person of the man I love—my husband, but for this terrible mischance. You do not mean it; you are mad with anger, but you will go with Mr Guest at once.”“Never!” roared the admiral.“For my sake,” she cried as she flung her arms about his neck and clung to him. “I give up—I will not attempt to go there myself—you are quite right; but,” she murmured now, so that her words were almost inaudible to all but him for whom they were intended, “I love him, dear, and he is in pain and suffering. Go to him; I cannot bear it. Bring him to me, or I shall die.”The admiral kissed her hastily, and she clung to him for a moment or two longer as he drew a long, deep breath.“My own dearest father,” she whispered, and she would have sunk at his feet, but he gently placed her in a lounge chair and turned to Guest.“Now, sir,” he said, as if he were delivering an order from the quarter-deck, “I am at your service.”Myra sprang from her chair and caught her aunt’s arm, looking wildly in her eyes; and the meaning of the look was grasped.“Stop a moment, Mark,” she said. “My carriage is waiting. You may want a woman there; I’ll come with you.”“You?” cried her brother. “Absurd!”“Not at all,” said the lady firmly. “Mr Guest, take me down to my carriage; I shall come.”Sir Mark frowned, but said no more; he merely glanced back as Myra now gave up and sank in her cousin’s arms, while, as Miss Jerrold went down, her lips tightened, and she looked wonderfully like her brother, as she said to herself:“Thank goodness! No man ever wanted to marry me.”“Benchers’ Inn,” said Guest sharply as the footman closed the carriage door, and the trio sat in silence, each forming a mental picture of that which they were going to see.
“The hotel! The idiot! To want to take us back there to face the half-hidden mockery and jokes of all those strangers. Oh, it’s maddening!”
Sir Mark leaned forward, lowered the front window, and shouted to the coachman to drive faster.
“I saw them,” he continued as he flung himself back in his seat, “the whole mob in the church sniggling with delight. Curse them! And that fellow, Stratton! If ever we stand face to face again I’ll—Oh, I hope he will never have the audacity to come near me, for his own sake.”
Myra had been sitting perfectly upright, looking as if suffering from some cataleptic seizure; but at the mention of Stratton she turned and laid her hand upon her father’s arm.
“Oh, yes, of course!” he raged, with a mocking laugh. “Womanlike; a hundred excuses ready for him: cut himself in shaving—wedding clothes not home in time—sprained his ankle—a bad headache. Oh, you women, you women! If ever there were a pack of fools—”
“Father!”
That one word only, but full of so much agony that he turned and caught her to his breast.
“Brute! Senseless brute!” he literally growled. “Thinking of myself, of my own feelings, and not of you, my own.”
Then raging again, with his countenance purple, and the veins of his temples starting:
“But you! To insult you, my child, and after that other horrible affair. How a man—who professed to worship you—could subject you to such an outrage—to such infamy! I tell you it is maddening.”
“Father!” once more in a piteous tone.
“No; you shall not plead for him, my darling. You have behaved nobly. Like a true, self-respecting English lady. No acting, no silly girlish fainting, but like my daughter. You must go on, though. This scoundrel must be shown that he cannot insult you with impunity.”
“Listen, father,” she whispered after a desperate effort to restrain the hysterical burst of agony striving for exit.
“I will not. There is no excuse, Myra. A telegram—a messenger—his friend and best man. Nothing done. The man is—no; he is no man. I’ll—my lawyer shall—no; I’ll go myself. He shall see that—Silence! Be firm. Don’t move a muscle. Take my arm when I hand you out, and not a word till we are in the drawing room.”
For the carriage had stopped, after a rapid course, at Sir Mark’s house in Bourne Square, where they had to wait some minutes before, in response to several draggings at the bell, the door was opened by an elderly housemaid.
“Why was not this door answered? Where is Andrews?” thundered the admiral as the footman came in, looking startled, and closed the door behind which the housemaid stood, looking speechless at her master’s unexpected return.
“Shall the carriage wait, Sir Mark?” interposed the footman.
“No! Stop; don’t open that door. I said, why was this door not answered?”
“I’m very sorry, Sir Mark,” faltered the woman, who was trembling visibly. “I was upstairs cleaning myself.”
“Bah! Where is Andrews? Where are the other servants?”
“They all went to the wedding, Sir Mark.”
“Bah!”
“Father—upstairs—I can bear no more,” whispered Myra.
Brought back to his child’s suffering, the admiral hurried her up to the drawing room and let her sink back on a couch. Then, turning to the bell, he was about to ring for help, but Myra rose.
“No; don’t ring,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I’m better now.”
At that moment Miss Jerrold’s carriage stopped at the door, and directly after Sir Mark’s sister appeared with Edie, who, looking white and scared, ran at once to her cousin and clung to her, uttering violent sobs.
“Silence, Edie!” thundered the admiral. “Look at your cousin. You must be a woman now. Ah, here you are, then!” he continued fiercely as Percy Guest entered.
“Yes; I came up for a moment before I go on there.”
“I’m glad you’ve come,” cried the old man furiously, and leaping at someone upon whom he could vent his rage. “Now, then, explain, you dog. What does that villain—that scoundrel—mean by insulting me—my child, like this? Damn him! I’ll—”
“Stop, Sir Mark!” cried Guest firmly. “You don’t know what you are saying.”
“What?”
“And I will not stand here and have my dear old friend and schoolfellow insulted by such words.”
“Insulted!” cried Sir Mark, with a harsh laugh; “insulted?”
“Yes, sir. Malcolm Stratton is the soul of honour—a gentleman who would have laid down his life sooner than cause pain to the lady he loves with all his heart.”
“God bless you for that, Mr Guest!” cried Myra—catching the young man’s hand as she spoke—in a broken voice, which she fought hard to render calm.
“Bah! Heroics! Come away, Myra. Of course he’ll talk big for his friend. But where is he? Why has he insulted us all like this?”
“Heaven only knows, sir,” said Guest solemnly. “Forgive me for speaking as I do before you, Mrs Barron, but at the cost of alarming you I must take Malcolm’s part. I saw him this morning at his chambers, ready almost to come on. He placed Miss Perrin’s telegram in my hands—about the bouquet—and begged me to see to it at once—to take the flowers to the hotel, and meet him at the church.”
“Yes—yes!” cried Myra eagerly, and her large, dark eyes were dilated strangely.
“I did not pay any heed to it then, for I attributed it to anxiety and nervous excitement.”
“What, Mr Guest?” cried Myra piteously.
“His appearance, Mrs Barron. There was a peculiar wild look in his eyes, and his manner was strange and excited. Some seizure must have been coming on.”
“Yes, yes; it is that,” said Myra hoarsely, and she hurriedly tore off gloves, veil, and ornaments.
“He was quite well last night,” said the admiral scornfully. “It was a trick to get rid of you. I’ll never believe but what it is all some deeply laid plan.”
“You do not know what you are saying, Sir Mark, or I would resent your words. Mrs Barron, I will come back directly I obtain tidings of my poor friend. You know him better than to think ill of him.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Myra, speaking firmly now, but in a low, hurried murmur. “But stop, Mr Guest; stop!”
He turned sharply, for he was already at the door.
“Wait for me—only a few minutes. Edie—quick; help.”
Her cousin flew to her side.
“Myra!” cried the admiral fiercely; “what are you going to do?”
“Change my dress,” she said with unnatural calmness. “Go to him.”
“What?”
“Where should I be but at his side?”
“Impossible, girl! You shall not degrade yourself like this!” cried the admiral; and Miss Jerrold caught her niece’s hands.
“There would be no degradation, Sir Mark,” said Guest firmly; “but, Mrs Barron, you cannot go. For years Malcolm has been like my brother. He had no secrets from me, and I can tell you from my heart that there is but one reason for his absence—a sudden seizure. Don’t keep me, though, pray. Stay here and wait my return. Unless,”—he added quickly, with a deprecating glance at Sir Mark.
“What! I—go with you to hunt up the man and beg him to come? Pshaw!”
“Mark, it is your duty to go,” said his sister sternly. “I don’t believe Mr Stratton would insult us like this.”
“Then for once in my life, madam, I will not do my duty!” cried the admiral furiously. “It is not the only occasion upon which a man has gained the confidence of his friends. It is not the first time I have been so cruelly deceived. I can see it plainly. Either, like a pusillanimous coward, he turned tail, or there is some disgraceful entanglement which holds him back!”
“Father, it is not true!” cried Myra angrily. “How dare you insult me like that?”
“I—insult you?”
“Yes, in the person of the man I love—my husband, but for this terrible mischance. You do not mean it; you are mad with anger, but you will go with Mr Guest at once.”
“Never!” roared the admiral.
“For my sake,” she cried as she flung her arms about his neck and clung to him. “I give up—I will not attempt to go there myself—you are quite right; but,” she murmured now, so that her words were almost inaudible to all but him for whom they were intended, “I love him, dear, and he is in pain and suffering. Go to him; I cannot bear it. Bring him to me, or I shall die.”
The admiral kissed her hastily, and she clung to him for a moment or two longer as he drew a long, deep breath.
“My own dearest father,” she whispered, and she would have sunk at his feet, but he gently placed her in a lounge chair and turned to Guest.
“Now, sir,” he said, as if he were delivering an order from the quarter-deck, “I am at your service.”
Myra sprang from her chair and caught her aunt’s arm, looking wildly in her eyes; and the meaning of the look was grasped.
“Stop a moment, Mark,” she said. “My carriage is waiting. You may want a woman there; I’ll come with you.”
“You?” cried her brother. “Absurd!”
“Not at all,” said the lady firmly. “Mr Guest, take me down to my carriage; I shall come.”
Sir Mark frowned, but said no more; he merely glanced back as Myra now gave up and sank in her cousin’s arms, while, as Miss Jerrold went down, her lips tightened, and she looked wonderfully like her brother, as she said to herself:
“Thank goodness! No man ever wanted to marry me.”
“Benchers’ Inn,” said Guest sharply as the footman closed the carriage door, and the trio sat in silence, each forming a mental picture of that which they were going to see.
Chapter Six.Guest thinks the Worst.“Myra! My own darling!” sobbed Edie.“Hush! No, I must talk. If I think in silence I shall go mad.”“O Myra, Myra, are you never to be really married after all?”The bride made a hurried motion with her hands, then pressed them to her temples and thrust back her hair.“It makes me think of two years ago, dear,” whispered Edie, “and all the horrors of that day.”“Yes; is it fate?” said Myra hoarsely as she sat gazing at vacancy.“But I’ll never believe that Malcolm Stratton could do wrong,” whispered Edie, caressing and trying to soothe the sufferer as she clung to her side. “It couldn’t have been that this time, or else Percy would not be such friends.”Myra bent forward with her eyes dilated as if she were gazing at something across the room.“Your poor hands are so cold and damp, and your forehead burning hot. O Myra, Myra! I did not think that two such terrible days could come in one poor girl’s life.”“Edie,” said Myra in a husky whisper, “you saw Malcolm last night?”“Yes, dear, of course.”“You did not see anything strange in his manner?”“No; only that he was half-mad with joy, and when he kissed me and said good-night—you remember?”“Yes, yes.”“He said he was the happiest man alive.”“Yes; I remember the exact words.”“And he hoped that soon—”Edie stopped with a faint flush in her cheeks.Myra nodded quickly, but without ceasing to gaze straight away into vacancy.“But there was nothing strange—he was quite well—he said nothing else to you?”“No, dear; nothing that I can recall.”“Are you sure he dropped no hint? Nothing that could make you think he did not wish to marry me?”“No, no, no, dear. He was longing to call you his very own. He said so—to me. But don’t look like that, darling; you frighten me. What are you thinking?”Myra was silent, and her aspect was so strange that Edie shook her excitedly.“Myra, darling—don’t!” she cried.“I was thinking was it possible that, after all, he could repent,” said Myra in low, measured tones. “Whether, knowing all, he shrank from me at the moment when a few words would have made it irrevocable.”“But why—why, darling?” cried Edie in alarm.“You cannot grasp it as he would. I—married, and under such circumstances. Love is blind, Edie, and he, poor fellow, may have been blinded in his love—his old love for me. But what if the veil dropped away from his eyes at last, and he could not, he dared not face it—the sacrifice for him! Edie, it was that, and I forgive him, for I loved him with all my heart.”Startled by her cousin’s looks and words, Edie now caught her hands and stood over her, speaking impetuously, almost angrily.“For shame!” she cried. “Malcolm Stratton would never have acted like that. O Myra; how could you think it of him? So manly and open and frank in everything. Oh, no, no, no; it could not be that.”Myra turned to her quickly and clung to the hands which grasped hers, as if sinking in her despair, and clutching at one more chance for life.“Say—say that again,” she whispered huskily.“I’ll say it a hundred times, but there is no need. Malcolm could not treat you like this of his own freewill. He must be—he is ill, and that is all.”“If I could only think so,” said Myra as if to herself. “If I could only believe it was that; but no, no,” she wailed now, breaking down utterly, and snatching away her hands to cover her convulsed face; “the truth has been too strong at last, and he has gone.”“Myra!” cried Edie. “Hush! You shall not give way like this. How can you be so weak? It is madness. If he had treated you so shamefully, and turned away, you could not—you should not, take it to heart. Where is your woman’s pride? To give way, believing such an infamy, is dreadful. But I tell you it isn’t—it can’t be true. There, there, be calm, my darling. Be patient till they come back. He has studied too hard lately—that’s it. I’ve noticed how pale and worried he looked at times, and with this excitement—you heard what Percy said—he has broken down. There, that’s the truth. He’s ill, and will soon be better, and all will come right, Myra! my darling coz. Don’t turn like that. Oh—help! help! help!”She thrust her cousin back so that her head rested on the lounge, for a deathly look had come over the beautiful face, the eyes were half-closed, sending a chill of horror through the startled girl, who now tore frantically at the bell.“A doctor—they must fetch a doctor. No; Percy must come back to tell her the simple truth, for I am right: Malcolm Stratton could not treat her as she thinks.”And Percy Guest was on the way to put it to the test.For some little distance not a word was spoken in the carriage, each of its occupants being full of his or her own thoughts.Miss Jerrold was the first to break the silence. For, as she sat there stern and uncompromising, thinking of the duty she had voluntarily undertaken in answer to the appeal in her niece’s eyes, which plainly asked that she would stand between father and lover in any encounter which might take place, she noted that she was still holding the bouquet of exotics she had borne to the church.A look of annoyance and disgust crossed her face.“Here, Mr Guest,” she said sharply; “let down the window and throw these stupid flowers away.”Guest started, and hesitated about taking the bouquet, but it was pressed into his hand, and he was about to lower the window when the lady interposed.“No; it would be waste,” she cried. “Wait till we see some poor flower girl, and give it to her.”The window on her right was let down sharply; then the flowers were snatched from her hand, and thrown out into the road by Sir Mark, who dragged the window up again with an angry frown.“As you please, Mark,” said the lady quietly; “but the flowers might have been worth shillings to some poor soul.”Silence reigned once more as the wheels spun round. Oxford Street was reached and crossed, the coachman turning down into and across Grosvenor Square, and then in and out, avoiding the main streets, till the last, when the busy thoroughfare was reached near its eastern end, and the carriage was drawn up at the narrow, court-like entrance to the quiet, secluded inn.Heads were turned directly, among those whose attention was taken being a barrister in wig and gown, just on his way to the court, where Mr Justice Blank was giving his attention to a divorce case.Miss Jerrold saw the legal gentleman’s smile, and guessed its meaning.“How stupid!” she muttered. Then, as the footman came to the door: “Edward,” she whispered hurriedly, “take that stupid satin bow from your breast. Tell Johnson, too.”The favour disappeared as the door was thrown open, and Sir Mark sprang out to go straight on toward the inn; then, recollecting himself, he turned to help his sister alight.But he was too late. Percy Guest had performed that duty, and the lady took his arm and followed the admiral on into the calm silence of the old inn, past the porter’s lodge, unnoticed by its occupant; then on across the square, under its shady plane trees, toward the fine old red brick mansion in the corner, with its iron lamp support and curious old link extinguishers on either side.The place was utterly deserted, and so still that the creaking of the admiral’s new boots sounded loud and strange, while as they mounted the worn steps and entered the gloomy hall of the old place it struck chilly and damp, while the great stone staircase had a look that seemed forbidding and strange.“You have brought us here,” said Sir Mark, stopping short at the foot of the stairs. “Go first.”He gave place to Guest, who led Miss Jerrold on and up the two flights to the broad landing, upon which the doors of Brettison’s and Stratton’s chambers opened.“One moment while I get my breath,” panted Miss Jerrold; “I’m not so young as I used to be, Mr Guest.”The admiral frowned, and stood scowling at the legend on the door, but it seemed cold and blank now, for there was no ray of sunshine to make the letters stand out clear. All looked murky and grim, and the utter silence of the place was impressive as that of a tomb.As they stood there on the landing Guest hesitated for a moment or two, an undefinable feeling of dread having attacked him; there was a curious ringing in the ears, and his heart beat with a heavy throb.He was brought back to his duty by the cold, stern voice of the admiral.“Well, Mr Guest,” he said again with a cold formality of tone, “you have brought us here,”—and he waved his hand toward the door.Guest sprang forward, knocked sharply, and stood back to wait, while Miss Jerrold drew a long, hissing breath, perfectly audible in the silence.There was no response, and the chirping of the inn sparrows came painfully loud through an open window somewhere above.“What a dismal place for a man to choose,” muttered Miss Jerrold. “Had you not better knock again?”Guest repeated the summons, and the admiral leaned forward, listening attentively.Still there was no reply; and, growing agitated now, Guest once more knocked loudly, with the repetition of the knocker, telling plainly of the trembling hand of him who raised it and let it fall.He drew back, to stand listening intently till Miss Jerrold spoke.“He must be out,” said the lady quietly. “Knock again, Mr Guest.”The knocker once more raised the echoes of the weird-looking old staircase, and then died out above with a peculiar whisper, while Guest’s heart sank within his breast as a dozen fancies now took possession of him, and horror prevailed.“We cannot stay here,” said Miss Jerrold. “Mr Guest, will you see me to my carriage again? Mr Stratton must be out. Gone to Bourne Square, and we have passed him on the way.”“No!” thundered the admiral; “he is within there, hiding, like the cur he is, and afraid to face me!”Guest turned upon him angrily.“Come away, sister,” growled the old man; “I am right.”“No, sir; I swear you are wrong,” cried Guest.“What? Why, I saw the change in your face, man, when I heard a rustling noise in there. You heard it too. Deny it if you can.”Guest was silent for a moment, and he stood with his eyes fixed upon the letter-box, as if expecting to see the cover of the slit move.“I am not going to deny it, sir; I did hear a sound,” he said. “If he is here he shall come out and face you, and tell the truth and reason of his absence. It is illness, I am sure.”As he spoke he once more seized the knocker and beat out a heavyroulade.But still there was no reply, and, taking his sister’s hand, the admiral drew it through his arm.“Illness?” he said in a low growl. “Yes, the shivering fit of a coward or a cur.”“It is not true!” cried Guest excitedly as a thought flashed across his brain. “I remember now: he had a heavy sum of money on the table when I was here, and—Great Heavens! is it that?”His manner was contagious, and his face conveyed his terrible thoughts to his companions.Miss Jerrold clung to her brother, and turned ghastly pale, while a look of horror contracted the old man’s face.“You—you don’t think—” he stammered.“I think the worst, or my poor friend would have been with us.”“Man—for God’s sake don’t say that,” gasped the admiral, as Guest stepped back to the full extent of the landing.“There is some mystery here.”“Stop! What are you going to do?” cried Sir Mark, catching at his arm.“Stand aside, sir; I am going to burst open that door.”
“Myra! My own darling!” sobbed Edie.
“Hush! No, I must talk. If I think in silence I shall go mad.”
“O Myra, Myra, are you never to be really married after all?”
The bride made a hurried motion with her hands, then pressed them to her temples and thrust back her hair.
“It makes me think of two years ago, dear,” whispered Edie, “and all the horrors of that day.”
“Yes; is it fate?” said Myra hoarsely as she sat gazing at vacancy.
“But I’ll never believe that Malcolm Stratton could do wrong,” whispered Edie, caressing and trying to soothe the sufferer as she clung to her side. “It couldn’t have been that this time, or else Percy would not be such friends.”
Myra bent forward with her eyes dilated as if she were gazing at something across the room.
“Your poor hands are so cold and damp, and your forehead burning hot. O Myra, Myra! I did not think that two such terrible days could come in one poor girl’s life.”
“Edie,” said Myra in a husky whisper, “you saw Malcolm last night?”
“Yes, dear, of course.”
“You did not see anything strange in his manner?”
“No; only that he was half-mad with joy, and when he kissed me and said good-night—you remember?”
“Yes, yes.”
“He said he was the happiest man alive.”
“Yes; I remember the exact words.”
“And he hoped that soon—”
Edie stopped with a faint flush in her cheeks.
Myra nodded quickly, but without ceasing to gaze straight away into vacancy.
“But there was nothing strange—he was quite well—he said nothing else to you?”
“No, dear; nothing that I can recall.”
“Are you sure he dropped no hint? Nothing that could make you think he did not wish to marry me?”
“No, no, no, dear. He was longing to call you his very own. He said so—to me. But don’t look like that, darling; you frighten me. What are you thinking?”
Myra was silent, and her aspect was so strange that Edie shook her excitedly.
“Myra, darling—don’t!” she cried.
“I was thinking was it possible that, after all, he could repent,” said Myra in low, measured tones. “Whether, knowing all, he shrank from me at the moment when a few words would have made it irrevocable.”
“But why—why, darling?” cried Edie in alarm.
“You cannot grasp it as he would. I—married, and under such circumstances. Love is blind, Edie, and he, poor fellow, may have been blinded in his love—his old love for me. But what if the veil dropped away from his eyes at last, and he could not, he dared not face it—the sacrifice for him! Edie, it was that, and I forgive him, for I loved him with all my heart.”
Startled by her cousin’s looks and words, Edie now caught her hands and stood over her, speaking impetuously, almost angrily.
“For shame!” she cried. “Malcolm Stratton would never have acted like that. O Myra; how could you think it of him? So manly and open and frank in everything. Oh, no, no, no; it could not be that.”
Myra turned to her quickly and clung to the hands which grasped hers, as if sinking in her despair, and clutching at one more chance for life.
“Say—say that again,” she whispered huskily.
“I’ll say it a hundred times, but there is no need. Malcolm could not treat you like this of his own freewill. He must be—he is ill, and that is all.”
“If I could only think so,” said Myra as if to herself. “If I could only believe it was that; but no, no,” she wailed now, breaking down utterly, and snatching away her hands to cover her convulsed face; “the truth has been too strong at last, and he has gone.”
“Myra!” cried Edie. “Hush! You shall not give way like this. How can you be so weak? It is madness. If he had treated you so shamefully, and turned away, you could not—you should not, take it to heart. Where is your woman’s pride? To give way, believing such an infamy, is dreadful. But I tell you it isn’t—it can’t be true. There, there, be calm, my darling. Be patient till they come back. He has studied too hard lately—that’s it. I’ve noticed how pale and worried he looked at times, and with this excitement—you heard what Percy said—he has broken down. There, that’s the truth. He’s ill, and will soon be better, and all will come right, Myra! my darling coz. Don’t turn like that. Oh—help! help! help!”
She thrust her cousin back so that her head rested on the lounge, for a deathly look had come over the beautiful face, the eyes were half-closed, sending a chill of horror through the startled girl, who now tore frantically at the bell.
“A doctor—they must fetch a doctor. No; Percy must come back to tell her the simple truth, for I am right: Malcolm Stratton could not treat her as she thinks.”
And Percy Guest was on the way to put it to the test.
For some little distance not a word was spoken in the carriage, each of its occupants being full of his or her own thoughts.
Miss Jerrold was the first to break the silence. For, as she sat there stern and uncompromising, thinking of the duty she had voluntarily undertaken in answer to the appeal in her niece’s eyes, which plainly asked that she would stand between father and lover in any encounter which might take place, she noted that she was still holding the bouquet of exotics she had borne to the church.
A look of annoyance and disgust crossed her face.
“Here, Mr Guest,” she said sharply; “let down the window and throw these stupid flowers away.”
Guest started, and hesitated about taking the bouquet, but it was pressed into his hand, and he was about to lower the window when the lady interposed.
“No; it would be waste,” she cried. “Wait till we see some poor flower girl, and give it to her.”
The window on her right was let down sharply; then the flowers were snatched from her hand, and thrown out into the road by Sir Mark, who dragged the window up again with an angry frown.
“As you please, Mark,” said the lady quietly; “but the flowers might have been worth shillings to some poor soul.”
Silence reigned once more as the wheels spun round. Oxford Street was reached and crossed, the coachman turning down into and across Grosvenor Square, and then in and out, avoiding the main streets, till the last, when the busy thoroughfare was reached near its eastern end, and the carriage was drawn up at the narrow, court-like entrance to the quiet, secluded inn.
Heads were turned directly, among those whose attention was taken being a barrister in wig and gown, just on his way to the court, where Mr Justice Blank was giving his attention to a divorce case.
Miss Jerrold saw the legal gentleman’s smile, and guessed its meaning.
“How stupid!” she muttered. Then, as the footman came to the door: “Edward,” she whispered hurriedly, “take that stupid satin bow from your breast. Tell Johnson, too.”
The favour disappeared as the door was thrown open, and Sir Mark sprang out to go straight on toward the inn; then, recollecting himself, he turned to help his sister alight.
But he was too late. Percy Guest had performed that duty, and the lady took his arm and followed the admiral on into the calm silence of the old inn, past the porter’s lodge, unnoticed by its occupant; then on across the square, under its shady plane trees, toward the fine old red brick mansion in the corner, with its iron lamp support and curious old link extinguishers on either side.
The place was utterly deserted, and so still that the creaking of the admiral’s new boots sounded loud and strange, while as they mounted the worn steps and entered the gloomy hall of the old place it struck chilly and damp, while the great stone staircase had a look that seemed forbidding and strange.
“You have brought us here,” said Sir Mark, stopping short at the foot of the stairs. “Go first.”
He gave place to Guest, who led Miss Jerrold on and up the two flights to the broad landing, upon which the doors of Brettison’s and Stratton’s chambers opened.
“One moment while I get my breath,” panted Miss Jerrold; “I’m not so young as I used to be, Mr Guest.”
The admiral frowned, and stood scowling at the legend on the door, but it seemed cold and blank now, for there was no ray of sunshine to make the letters stand out clear. All looked murky and grim, and the utter silence of the place was impressive as that of a tomb.
As they stood there on the landing Guest hesitated for a moment or two, an undefinable feeling of dread having attacked him; there was a curious ringing in the ears, and his heart beat with a heavy throb.
He was brought back to his duty by the cold, stern voice of the admiral.
“Well, Mr Guest,” he said again with a cold formality of tone, “you have brought us here,”—and he waved his hand toward the door.
Guest sprang forward, knocked sharply, and stood back to wait, while Miss Jerrold drew a long, hissing breath, perfectly audible in the silence.
There was no response, and the chirping of the inn sparrows came painfully loud through an open window somewhere above.
“What a dismal place for a man to choose,” muttered Miss Jerrold. “Had you not better knock again?”
Guest repeated the summons, and the admiral leaned forward, listening attentively.
Still there was no reply; and, growing agitated now, Guest once more knocked loudly, with the repetition of the knocker, telling plainly of the trembling hand of him who raised it and let it fall.
He drew back, to stand listening intently till Miss Jerrold spoke.
“He must be out,” said the lady quietly. “Knock again, Mr Guest.”
The knocker once more raised the echoes of the weird-looking old staircase, and then died out above with a peculiar whisper, while Guest’s heart sank within his breast as a dozen fancies now took possession of him, and horror prevailed.
“We cannot stay here,” said Miss Jerrold. “Mr Guest, will you see me to my carriage again? Mr Stratton must be out. Gone to Bourne Square, and we have passed him on the way.”
“No!” thundered the admiral; “he is within there, hiding, like the cur he is, and afraid to face me!”
Guest turned upon him angrily.
“Come away, sister,” growled the old man; “I am right.”
“No, sir; I swear you are wrong,” cried Guest.
“What? Why, I saw the change in your face, man, when I heard a rustling noise in there. You heard it too. Deny it if you can.”
Guest was silent for a moment, and he stood with his eyes fixed upon the letter-box, as if expecting to see the cover of the slit move.
“I am not going to deny it, sir; I did hear a sound,” he said. “If he is here he shall come out and face you, and tell the truth and reason of his absence. It is illness, I am sure.”
As he spoke he once more seized the knocker and beat out a heavyroulade.
But still there was no reply, and, taking his sister’s hand, the admiral drew it through his arm.
“Illness?” he said in a low growl. “Yes, the shivering fit of a coward or a cur.”
“It is not true!” cried Guest excitedly as a thought flashed across his brain. “I remember now: he had a heavy sum of money on the table when I was here, and—Great Heavens! is it that?”
His manner was contagious, and his face conveyed his terrible thoughts to his companions.
Miss Jerrold clung to her brother, and turned ghastly pale, while a look of horror contracted the old man’s face.
“You—you don’t think—” he stammered.
“I think the worst, or my poor friend would have been with us.”
“Man—for God’s sake don’t say that,” gasped the admiral, as Guest stepped back to the full extent of the landing.
“There is some mystery here.”
“Stop! What are you going to do?” cried Sir Mark, catching at his arm.
“Stand aside, sir; I am going to burst open that door.”
Chapter Seven.Two Years before.Blue sky, the bluest of blue water, margined with green and gold; gloriously rugged, steeply sloping pasture alps, dotted with picturesquely carved chalets, weatherworn by sun and rain to a rich, warm brown; higher up, the sehn hütte—the summer farmsteads of the peasants, round and about which graze gentle, soft-faced cows, each bearing its sweet-toned, musical bell. Again, higher still, grey crag and lightning-blasted granite, bare, repellant, and strange; upward still, and in nook and cranny patches of a dingy white, like the sweepings up of a great hailstorm; another thousand feet up, and the aching eyes dazzled by peak, fold, cushion, and plain of white—the eternal ice; and, above all, the glorious sun beaming down, melting from the snows a million tiny rivers, which whisper and sing as they carve channels for their courses and meet and coalesce to flow amicably down, or quarrel and rage and rush together, till, with a mighty, echoing roar, they plunge headlong down the rift in some mighty glacier, flow on for miles, and reappear at the foot turbid, milky, and laden with stone, to hurry headlong to their purification in the lovely lake below.Two hundred feet above that lake, on a broad shelf, stood the Hotel des Cerfs, a magnified chalet, and in the wooden balcony, leaning upon the carved rail, and gazing at the wondrous view across lake and meadow, up and away to the snow-covered mountains till they blended with the fleecy clouds, stood Myra Jerrold and Edie Perrin—cousins by birth, sisters by habit—revelling in their first visit to the land of ice peak, valley, and lake.“I could stand here, I think, forever, and never tire of drinking in the beauties of such a scene, Edie. It makes me so happy; and yet there are moments when the tears come into my eyes, and I feel sad.”“Yes, I know, dear,” replied Edie. “That’s when you want your lunch or dinner. One feels faint.”“How can you be so absurd?” cried Myra half reproachfully.“Then it’s indigestion, from eating old goat.”“Edie!”“It is, dear,” said the merry, fair-haired girl, swinging her straw hat by one string over the balcony. “I’m sure they save up the goats when they’re too old to give any milk, to cook up for the visitors, and then they call it chamois. I wish Aunt Jerrold had been here to have some of that dish last night. I say, she wants to know when we are coming back to Bourne Square.”“I don’t know,” said Myra thoughtfully. “I am in no hurry. It is very beautiful here.”“Hum, yes. You like it—as well as Saint Malo, the boating, and that quaint Breton woman where we lodged?”“Of course. The flowers and the pine woods—it is one glorious garden. Papa liked the yachting, though.”“Yes; but after three months out here I shall be glad to see smoky old London again.”“Yes,” said Myra meaningly, “I suppose so.”Edie glanced at her sidewise in a quick, sharp way, but was silent for a few minutes. When her cousin spoke:“Let’s go and coax papa out for a good ramble till dinner—I mean supper—time.”“No good; he would not come. Piquet, coffee, and cigars. Do you like this Mr Barron, Myra?”“Oh, yes, well enough. He is very clever and well informed. He can talk pleasantly about anything, especially about yachting and the sea, and of course papa likes that.”“Talks too much, I think. I’d rather sit and listen to quiet, thoughtful Mr Stratton.”“I suppose so,” said Myra rather dryly; and then hastened to add, “and Mr Guest.”“Yes, and to Mr Guest,” said her cousin, again looking at her sharply, and as if the words had stung.Myra met her glance, and hurriedly changed the conversation.“Look, what a change there is on the lake, dear,” she said. “How glowing the water is.”“Yes, and yet some people prefer playing cards to studying nature.”“Papa is no longer young. He has enjoyed scenery all over the world and likes rest now, and a game of cards.”“I was not talking about uncle, dear.”“About Mr Barron, then? Dear me, what a sagacious nod. Edie dear, don’t think out romances. Let’s enjoy the matter of fact and real. Ready for a walk?”Edie held up her hat by one string, and put it on ready to descend with her cousin to a lower balcony, on another frontage of the house, where, seated at a table, with coffee, cigars, and a pack of cards, was the admiral, and, facing him, a rather heavily built man, with some pretensions to being handsome. He was plainly and well dressed, of the easy manners of one accustomed to all kinds of society, and apparently rather proud of his white, carefully tended hands.As he turned a little more to the light in bending to remove the ash from his cigar, streaks of grey showed in his closely cut beard and crisp, dark hair. In addition there was a suggestion of wrinkling about the corners and beneath his eyes, the work more of an arduous life than age.As he rose to replace the cigar between his lips he smiled carelessly.“Luck’s with you to-day, admiral,” he said; and he was in the act of shuffling his cards when he caught sight of his companion’s daughter and niece.In an instant the cards were thrown down, and the cigar jerked out of the window.“What’s the matter?” said the admiral. “Ah, girls!”“We’re come to ask you to go for a walk with us, papa, but if—”Myra’s eyes rested for a moment on the admiral’s companion, and then dropped to the cards.“Our game?” said the younger man quickly. “Oh, that’s nothing; we can play any time, Miss Jerrold, and the weather is lovely now. Why not accompany the ladies, sir?”“No, thanks; I get more walking than I care for. Don’t go far, girls; the mountains are full of goblins and dragons, which devour pretty maidens. Be back soon, and I’ll go and sit down with you by the lake. Now, Barron, your deal.”The gentleman addressed looked at the ladies, and shrugged his shoulders slightly as much as to say. “You see I have no alternative.”“Then you will not come, papa?” said Myra as she rested her hands on his shoulders.“No, my dear; too tired. Don’t spoil my luck by stopping; run along.”“Uncle talks to us as if we were two little tots of things, Myry,” said Edie as they crossed the hotel garden.“Well, why should we not always be to him like the girls he loves and pets?”James Barron thought the same as Edie as he dealt the cards, and he added to himself: “She resents it; I could see her brow wrinkle. That settles it; I’ll chance the throw.”“Ha! Now we can be at peace again,” cried the admiral as he settled himself to his hand, which he played out, and ended by winning the game.James Barron took up the pack again nervously, threw it down, thrust his hand into his pocket, and then passed a couple of louis across the table.“Cut,” said the admiral.Hisvis-à-visshook his head, took out a case, and carefully selected a cigar, which he proceeded to cut and light.“Oh, nonsense, man! The luck will change; my turn to-day, your’s to-morrow.”“Pooh! It isn’t that, Sir Mark,” said Barron, throwing himself back in his chair. “I can afford to lose a few louis. I’m a bit hipped—out of sorts.”“Hotel living.”“No, sir; brain. There, I’ll speak plainly, even at the risk of your laughing at me, for we have been friends now at several places during the last three months—since I met you at Saint Malo.”“Pleasant acquaintances, sir,” said the admiral, metaphorically drawing himself beneath the shell of his English reserve. “Mutual tastes—yachting. Acquaintances, sir.”“I beg your pardon; acquaintances, then.”There was a pause, during which the admiral also lit a fresh cigar, and his brows twitched a little.“Sir Mark, I’m a plain man, and I think by this time you pretty well know my history. I ought to be over in Trinidad superintending the cocoa estate my poor father left me, but I detest the West Indies, and I love European life. It is my misfortune to be too well off. Not rich, but I have a comfortable, modest income. Naturally idle, I suppose.”“Nonsense, sir!” said the admiral gruffly. “One of the most active men I ever met.”“Thank you. Well, idle, according to the accepted ideas of some of the Americans we meet abroad. Dollars—making dollars—their whole conversation chinks of the confounded coin, and their ladies’ dresses rustle with greenbacks. I hate money-making, but I like money for my slave, which bears me into good society and among the beauties of nature. Yes, I am an idler—full, perhaps, of dilettantism.”“Rather a long preface, Mr Barron,” said Sir Mark gruffly. “Make headway, please. What is it you wish to say?”“I think you know, sir,” said the other warmly. “I lived to thirty-seven, hardly giving a thought to the other sex, save as agreeable companions. I met you and your niece and daughter over yonder at Macugnaga, and the whole world was changed.”“Humph!”“I am not a boy, sir. I speak to you as a man of the world, and I tell you plainly that I love her as a strong man only can love.”“Edith?”“Don’t trifle with me, sir!” cried Barron, bringing his hand down heavily upon the table, and gazing almost fiercely in the old sailor’s eyes.“Humph! my daughter, then. And you have told her all this?”“Sir Mark Jerrold! Have I ever given you cause to think I was other than a gentleman?”“No, no,” said the admiral hastily. “I beg your pardon. But this is all very sudden; we are such new acquaintances.”“You might call it friends,” said Barron reproachfully.“No; acquaintances—yet,” said the old sailor sturdily.“Then you do give me some hope?” cried Barron excitedly.“No, I did not, sir. I’m out of soundings here. No; hang it, I meant to say, sir, in shoal water. Hang it, man, I don’t want the child to think about such things for years.”“Sir Mark, your daughter must be twenty.”“Eh? Twenty? Humph! Well, I suppose she is.”“There is no hurry, sir. Let matters go on as they are, only let it be an understood thing that you do, say in a latent may, encourage my suit.”“No, sir; I’ll bind myself to nothing; I—Oh, hang it all, man, why did you spoil a pleasant trip like this?”“Spoil it, Sir Mark? Have some compassion for the natural feelings of a man thrown into the society of so sweet a girl as—”“That will do, sir; that will do,” cried the admiral, frowning. “There; I’m not going to quarrel with you, Mr Barron. I was young once myself. I was a good sailor, I’m told, but this sort of thing is out of my latitude. If my poor wife had lived—Phew! it’s growing hot, isn’t it? Thunderstorm, I suppose.”“I’m very sorry, Sir Mark.”“So am I, sir,” said the admiral. “There’s an end to our trip.”“Sir Mark! Don’t talk like that. I’ll leave the hotel to-morrow. I would not on any consideration—”“That will do, Mr Barron; that will do. I’m a man of few words, and what I say I mean. This can go no further here.”“You don’t mean that you will go away?”“Back to England, sir, and home as fast as I can.”“But my proposal, sir?”“I have a sister there, sir, my counsellor in all matters concerning my two girls.”“But you will give me leave to call—in England?”“Tchah, man! You’ll forget it all in a month.”Barron smiled.“You will give me leave to call at your house?”“As a gentleman, sir, I can hardly refuse that.”Barron smiled and bowed.“I see, sir. I have been too hasty, Admiral Jerrold. I ask you as a favour, if you do carry out your hasty decision, to make some inquiries respecting Mr Barron of Trinidad.”“I shall, sir, of course,” said the admiral. “You’ll excuse me now; I’m going to join my niece and daughter.”He left the veranda gallery, puffing heavily at his cigar, while Barron stood watching him.“Hit or miss?” he muttered. “Hit, I think, and game worth bringing down. She’s cold. Well, naturally, I don’t think I managed it so badly, after all.”“Oh, here’s uncle,” said Edie half an hour later as she saw the big, burly figure of the old sailor approaching. “Oh, you dear, good old uncle. Come and sit down here, and you can see the colour changing on the ice peaks.”“No, no, no. Come back, girls, and pack up. We’re off by the first train to-morrow.”“Where to now, papa?”“Bourne Square, W., my dear, as soon as we can get there. Come along!”“Myry—Mr Barron passed as we came into the hotel, and only raised his hat.”“Have papa and he had some misunderstanding over the cards?”“Perhaps: over the hearts.”“Edie!” cried Myra, colouring. “What do you mean?”“He has been proposing for you, and uncle said no; and now he is going to carry us off home to be safe.”“Proposed for me,” said Myra thoughtfully, and in the most unruffled way, as her eyes assumed a dreamy, wondering look.“Of course, and you love him dearly, don’t you?”“I? Oh, no,” said Myra calmly.“What a strange girl she is!” thought Edith that night as she went to bed.And Myra said to herself again calmly and thoughtfully: “Proposed for me. Perhaps Edie is right. But how strange!”
Blue sky, the bluest of blue water, margined with green and gold; gloriously rugged, steeply sloping pasture alps, dotted with picturesquely carved chalets, weatherworn by sun and rain to a rich, warm brown; higher up, the sehn hütte—the summer farmsteads of the peasants, round and about which graze gentle, soft-faced cows, each bearing its sweet-toned, musical bell. Again, higher still, grey crag and lightning-blasted granite, bare, repellant, and strange; upward still, and in nook and cranny patches of a dingy white, like the sweepings up of a great hailstorm; another thousand feet up, and the aching eyes dazzled by peak, fold, cushion, and plain of white—the eternal ice; and, above all, the glorious sun beaming down, melting from the snows a million tiny rivers, which whisper and sing as they carve channels for their courses and meet and coalesce to flow amicably down, or quarrel and rage and rush together, till, with a mighty, echoing roar, they plunge headlong down the rift in some mighty glacier, flow on for miles, and reappear at the foot turbid, milky, and laden with stone, to hurry headlong to their purification in the lovely lake below.
Two hundred feet above that lake, on a broad shelf, stood the Hotel des Cerfs, a magnified chalet, and in the wooden balcony, leaning upon the carved rail, and gazing at the wondrous view across lake and meadow, up and away to the snow-covered mountains till they blended with the fleecy clouds, stood Myra Jerrold and Edie Perrin—cousins by birth, sisters by habit—revelling in their first visit to the land of ice peak, valley, and lake.
“I could stand here, I think, forever, and never tire of drinking in the beauties of such a scene, Edie. It makes me so happy; and yet there are moments when the tears come into my eyes, and I feel sad.”
“Yes, I know, dear,” replied Edie. “That’s when you want your lunch or dinner. One feels faint.”
“How can you be so absurd?” cried Myra half reproachfully.
“Then it’s indigestion, from eating old goat.”
“Edie!”
“It is, dear,” said the merry, fair-haired girl, swinging her straw hat by one string over the balcony. “I’m sure they save up the goats when they’re too old to give any milk, to cook up for the visitors, and then they call it chamois. I wish Aunt Jerrold had been here to have some of that dish last night. I say, she wants to know when we are coming back to Bourne Square.”
“I don’t know,” said Myra thoughtfully. “I am in no hurry. It is very beautiful here.”
“Hum, yes. You like it—as well as Saint Malo, the boating, and that quaint Breton woman where we lodged?”
“Of course. The flowers and the pine woods—it is one glorious garden. Papa liked the yachting, though.”
“Yes; but after three months out here I shall be glad to see smoky old London again.”
“Yes,” said Myra meaningly, “I suppose so.”
Edie glanced at her sidewise in a quick, sharp way, but was silent for a few minutes. When her cousin spoke:
“Let’s go and coax papa out for a good ramble till dinner—I mean supper—time.”
“No good; he would not come. Piquet, coffee, and cigars. Do you like this Mr Barron, Myra?”
“Oh, yes, well enough. He is very clever and well informed. He can talk pleasantly about anything, especially about yachting and the sea, and of course papa likes that.”
“Talks too much, I think. I’d rather sit and listen to quiet, thoughtful Mr Stratton.”
“I suppose so,” said Myra rather dryly; and then hastened to add, “and Mr Guest.”
“Yes, and to Mr Guest,” said her cousin, again looking at her sharply, and as if the words had stung.
Myra met her glance, and hurriedly changed the conversation.
“Look, what a change there is on the lake, dear,” she said. “How glowing the water is.”
“Yes, and yet some people prefer playing cards to studying nature.”
“Papa is no longer young. He has enjoyed scenery all over the world and likes rest now, and a game of cards.”
“I was not talking about uncle, dear.”
“About Mr Barron, then? Dear me, what a sagacious nod. Edie dear, don’t think out romances. Let’s enjoy the matter of fact and real. Ready for a walk?”
Edie held up her hat by one string, and put it on ready to descend with her cousin to a lower balcony, on another frontage of the house, where, seated at a table, with coffee, cigars, and a pack of cards, was the admiral, and, facing him, a rather heavily built man, with some pretensions to being handsome. He was plainly and well dressed, of the easy manners of one accustomed to all kinds of society, and apparently rather proud of his white, carefully tended hands.
As he turned a little more to the light in bending to remove the ash from his cigar, streaks of grey showed in his closely cut beard and crisp, dark hair. In addition there was a suggestion of wrinkling about the corners and beneath his eyes, the work more of an arduous life than age.
As he rose to replace the cigar between his lips he smiled carelessly.
“Luck’s with you to-day, admiral,” he said; and he was in the act of shuffling his cards when he caught sight of his companion’s daughter and niece.
In an instant the cards were thrown down, and the cigar jerked out of the window.
“What’s the matter?” said the admiral. “Ah, girls!”
“We’re come to ask you to go for a walk with us, papa, but if—”
Myra’s eyes rested for a moment on the admiral’s companion, and then dropped to the cards.
“Our game?” said the younger man quickly. “Oh, that’s nothing; we can play any time, Miss Jerrold, and the weather is lovely now. Why not accompany the ladies, sir?”
“No, thanks; I get more walking than I care for. Don’t go far, girls; the mountains are full of goblins and dragons, which devour pretty maidens. Be back soon, and I’ll go and sit down with you by the lake. Now, Barron, your deal.”
The gentleman addressed looked at the ladies, and shrugged his shoulders slightly as much as to say. “You see I have no alternative.”
“Then you will not come, papa?” said Myra as she rested her hands on his shoulders.
“No, my dear; too tired. Don’t spoil my luck by stopping; run along.”
“Uncle talks to us as if we were two little tots of things, Myry,” said Edie as they crossed the hotel garden.
“Well, why should we not always be to him like the girls he loves and pets?”
James Barron thought the same as Edie as he dealt the cards, and he added to himself: “She resents it; I could see her brow wrinkle. That settles it; I’ll chance the throw.”
“Ha! Now we can be at peace again,” cried the admiral as he settled himself to his hand, which he played out, and ended by winning the game.
James Barron took up the pack again nervously, threw it down, thrust his hand into his pocket, and then passed a couple of louis across the table.
“Cut,” said the admiral.
Hisvis-à-visshook his head, took out a case, and carefully selected a cigar, which he proceeded to cut and light.
“Oh, nonsense, man! The luck will change; my turn to-day, your’s to-morrow.”
“Pooh! It isn’t that, Sir Mark,” said Barron, throwing himself back in his chair. “I can afford to lose a few louis. I’m a bit hipped—out of sorts.”
“Hotel living.”
“No, sir; brain. There, I’ll speak plainly, even at the risk of your laughing at me, for we have been friends now at several places during the last three months—since I met you at Saint Malo.”
“Pleasant acquaintances, sir,” said the admiral, metaphorically drawing himself beneath the shell of his English reserve. “Mutual tastes—yachting. Acquaintances, sir.”
“I beg your pardon; acquaintances, then.”
There was a pause, during which the admiral also lit a fresh cigar, and his brows twitched a little.
“Sir Mark, I’m a plain man, and I think by this time you pretty well know my history. I ought to be over in Trinidad superintending the cocoa estate my poor father left me, but I detest the West Indies, and I love European life. It is my misfortune to be too well off. Not rich, but I have a comfortable, modest income. Naturally idle, I suppose.”
“Nonsense, sir!” said the admiral gruffly. “One of the most active men I ever met.”
“Thank you. Well, idle, according to the accepted ideas of some of the Americans we meet abroad. Dollars—making dollars—their whole conversation chinks of the confounded coin, and their ladies’ dresses rustle with greenbacks. I hate money-making, but I like money for my slave, which bears me into good society and among the beauties of nature. Yes, I am an idler—full, perhaps, of dilettantism.”
“Rather a long preface, Mr Barron,” said Sir Mark gruffly. “Make headway, please. What is it you wish to say?”
“I think you know, sir,” said the other warmly. “I lived to thirty-seven, hardly giving a thought to the other sex, save as agreeable companions. I met you and your niece and daughter over yonder at Macugnaga, and the whole world was changed.”
“Humph!”
“I am not a boy, sir. I speak to you as a man of the world, and I tell you plainly that I love her as a strong man only can love.”
“Edith?”
“Don’t trifle with me, sir!” cried Barron, bringing his hand down heavily upon the table, and gazing almost fiercely in the old sailor’s eyes.
“Humph! my daughter, then. And you have told her all this?”
“Sir Mark Jerrold! Have I ever given you cause to think I was other than a gentleman?”
“No, no,” said the admiral hastily. “I beg your pardon. But this is all very sudden; we are such new acquaintances.”
“You might call it friends,” said Barron reproachfully.
“No; acquaintances—yet,” said the old sailor sturdily.
“Then you do give me some hope?” cried Barron excitedly.
“No, I did not, sir. I’m out of soundings here. No; hang it, I meant to say, sir, in shoal water. Hang it, man, I don’t want the child to think about such things for years.”
“Sir Mark, your daughter must be twenty.”
“Eh? Twenty? Humph! Well, I suppose she is.”
“There is no hurry, sir. Let matters go on as they are, only let it be an understood thing that you do, say in a latent may, encourage my suit.”
“No, sir; I’ll bind myself to nothing; I—Oh, hang it all, man, why did you spoil a pleasant trip like this?”
“Spoil it, Sir Mark? Have some compassion for the natural feelings of a man thrown into the society of so sweet a girl as—”
“That will do, sir; that will do,” cried the admiral, frowning. “There; I’m not going to quarrel with you, Mr Barron. I was young once myself. I was a good sailor, I’m told, but this sort of thing is out of my latitude. If my poor wife had lived—Phew! it’s growing hot, isn’t it? Thunderstorm, I suppose.”
“I’m very sorry, Sir Mark.”
“So am I, sir,” said the admiral. “There’s an end to our trip.”
“Sir Mark! Don’t talk like that. I’ll leave the hotel to-morrow. I would not on any consideration—”
“That will do, Mr Barron; that will do. I’m a man of few words, and what I say I mean. This can go no further here.”
“You don’t mean that you will go away?”
“Back to England, sir, and home as fast as I can.”
“But my proposal, sir?”
“I have a sister there, sir, my counsellor in all matters concerning my two girls.”
“But you will give me leave to call—in England?”
“Tchah, man! You’ll forget it all in a month.”
Barron smiled.
“You will give me leave to call at your house?”
“As a gentleman, sir, I can hardly refuse that.”
Barron smiled and bowed.
“I see, sir. I have been too hasty, Admiral Jerrold. I ask you as a favour, if you do carry out your hasty decision, to make some inquiries respecting Mr Barron of Trinidad.”
“I shall, sir, of course,” said the admiral. “You’ll excuse me now; I’m going to join my niece and daughter.”
He left the veranda gallery, puffing heavily at his cigar, while Barron stood watching him.
“Hit or miss?” he muttered. “Hit, I think, and game worth bringing down. She’s cold. Well, naturally, I don’t think I managed it so badly, after all.”
“Oh, here’s uncle,” said Edie half an hour later as she saw the big, burly figure of the old sailor approaching. “Oh, you dear, good old uncle. Come and sit down here, and you can see the colour changing on the ice peaks.”
“No, no, no. Come back, girls, and pack up. We’re off by the first train to-morrow.”
“Where to now, papa?”
“Bourne Square, W., my dear, as soon as we can get there. Come along!”
“Myry—Mr Barron passed as we came into the hotel, and only raised his hat.”
“Have papa and he had some misunderstanding over the cards?”
“Perhaps: over the hearts.”
“Edie!” cried Myra, colouring. “What do you mean?”
“He has been proposing for you, and uncle said no; and now he is going to carry us off home to be safe.”
“Proposed for me,” said Myra thoughtfully, and in the most unruffled way, as her eyes assumed a dreamy, wondering look.
“Of course, and you love him dearly, don’t you?”
“I? Oh, no,” said Myra calmly.
“What a strange girl she is!” thought Edith that night as she went to bed.
And Myra said to herself again calmly and thoughtfully: “Proposed for me. Perhaps Edie is right. But how strange!”
Chapter Eight.Stratton’s Decision.“Yes, sir, it’s done,” said Mrs Brade, looking sadly in at the doorway on the left side of the fire; “and I hope it will turn out all right, but my experience of pipes is that they always busties in the winter, and drowns all your neighbours out on the next floor.”“Well, I hope this will be an exception,” said Stratton, laughing.“I hope so, too, sir, but it’s no laughing matter, and for my part—though, of course, gentlemen have a right to do as they like—I think there is nothing like a big, flat, zinc bath painted oak out, and white in, set on a piece of oilcloth in a gentleman’s bedroom. Then you’ve your big sponge, and a can of water. No trouble about them getting out of order.”“But the trouble, Mrs Brade,” said Stratton. “No filling; no anything.”“No, sir, of course not; but you’re always at the mercy of the plumbers; and if these men don’t always leave their work so that it’ll make another job before long, I’m not a Christian woman.”“Oh, you object to it because it’s new-fashioned,” said Stratton merrily.“Which, begging your pardon, I don’t, sir. What I do object to is your taking up a beautiful closet to make into a bath room; and out of your sitting room, and none too much cupboard room before. If it had been a cupboard in your bedroom I shouldn’t have said a word.”“But there was no cupboard there, Mrs Brade, and that closet fitted exactly, so say no more about it.”“Certainly not, sir, if you don’t wish it; and only too glad am I to have got rid of the workmen; though as I lay in bed last night I said to my husband, ‘Mark my word, John, if Mr Brettison don’t go having a bath made in his room, for there’s the fellow-closet as matches Mr Stratton’s exactly.’”“To be sure, I never thought of that,” said Stratton merrily. “I’ll give him a hint.”“Mr Stratton, sir, if you’ve any respect for me and my rheumatism, don’t. The place smells horrid as it is of paint, and French polish, and plumbers, without counting the mess they made, and if you’ll be guided by me you’ll buy a sixpenny box of pastilles and let me burn one every day till the smell of workmen’s gone.”“Oh, I don’t mind the smell, Mrs Brade. By George, yes, Mr Brettison ought to have a bath put in his.”“Mr Stratton, sir, don’t, please. He’s sure to if you say a word; and if the workmen come again we shall be having the whole place tumbling about our ears.”“I hope not. Oh, the old place is strong enough.”“I don’t know, sir,” said the porter’s wife, shaking her head; “it’s a very old and tumble-down sort of place, and I’ve heard noises, and crackings, and rappings, sometimes, as have made my flesh creep. They do say the place is haunted.”“With rats?”“Worse, sir. Oh, I’m told there were strange goings on here in the old times, when a Lord Morran lived here. I’ve heard that your cupboard—”“Bath room.”“Well, sir, bath room, was once a passage into Mr Brettison’s chambers, and his closet was a passage into yours, and they used to have dinners, and feasts, and dancing, and masked balls, at which they used to play dominoes. The gambling and goings on was shameful. But please, sir, don’t say a word to Mr Brettison. I’ve trouble enough with him now. There never was such a gentleman for objecting to being dusted, and the way those big books of his that he presses his bits of chickweed and groundsel in do hold the dust is awful. If you wished to do him some kindness you’d get him away for a bit, so that I could turn his rooms inside out. Postman, sir.”Mrs Brade hurried to the outer door and fetched a letter just dropped into the box, and upon this being eagerly taken, and opened, she saw that there was no further chance of being allowed to gossip, and saying “Good-morning, sir,” she went out, and down to the porter’s lodge.Malcolm Stratton’s hands trembled as he turned the letter over and hesitated to open it.“What a manly hand the old lady writes, and how fond she is of sporting their arms,” he continued, as he held up the great blot of red wax carefully sealed over the adhesive flap of the envelope.Then tearing it open he read:Westbourne Terrace, Thursday.My Dear Mr Stratton:Thank you for your note and its news. Accept my congratulations. You certainly deserved to gain the post; the work will be most congenial, and it will give you an opportunity for carrying on your studies, besides placing you in the independent position for which you have worked so long and hard. I wish my dear old friend and schoolfellow, your mother, had lived to see her boy’s success. You must go on now with renewed confidence, and double that success.Very sincerely yours, Rebecca Jerrold.Malcolm Stratton, Esquire.P.S.—I shall be at home to-morrow evening. Come and see me, and bring your friend. Nobody will be here but the girls, who are going to give me a little music, as my brother dines out.Stratton’s face flushed warmly, and he stood staring before him at the window.“I could not go there now,” he muttered, “without seeing the old man first. It would not be honourable. I meant to wait, but—I must speak at once.”He re-read the letter, and his eyes sparkled with pleasure.“And I asked her point blank, and she does not even refer to it. Then it was her doing. God bless her! She has been using her interest and working for me. It’s her work, and she must approve of it.”He hurriedly thrust the letter into his breast as a double rap came at his door, and, upon opening it, Percy Guest came in.“Got your wire, old chap, and came on at once. Something the matter?”“Yes; something serious.”“My dear old man, I’m so sorry. Want help—money? Don’t keep me in suspense.”“No, old fellow,” cried Stratton proudly; “the news came this morning, and I telegraphed to you directly.”“Not—”“Yes, I am the successor of poor old Professor Raymond—the new curator of the Headley Museum.”“Hurray!” cried Guest, snatching up a great bird-skin by the beak and waving it round his head till he wrung its neck right off. “Oh, bother! Three cheers for Professor Stratton! Bravo! Why, you’ll be an awful scientific swell. Malcolm, old chap, I am glad,” he continued, flinging the choice and valuable specimen up on to a bookcase, and grasping his friend’s hand. “You shall dine with me to-night, and we’ll pour out champagne libations to the gods.”“Sit down and be quiet,” said Stratton gravely. “No, old fellow, I can’t dine with you to-night; I’ve something particular to do.”“Come and have a big lunch, then; we must go mad somehow. Why, its glorious, old man! They’ve had big, scientific, bald-headed old buffers there before—regular old dry-as-dusts. Come on; you can’t and I can’t work to-day.”“Sit down, I tell you, and be serious. I want to talk to you.”“All right—I may smoke?”“Smoke? Yes.”“But are you sure you can’t come?” said Guest, taking out a pipe.“Quite. I have made up my mind to go to Bourne Square to-night.”“To the admiral’s?” cried Guest, starting, and changing colour a little.“Yes; there is an invitation just come for me to go to Miss Jerrold’s to-morrow night and take you.”“Indeed!” said Guest eagerly.“She says in a postscript that the ladies will be there.”“Well?” said Guest uneasily, and beginning to smoke very hard.“Don’t you understand?”“Eh? No.”“Then I must speak plainly, old fellow. For a year before they went out to Switzerland we were there a great deal, and met them after.”Guest nodded and his pipe did not seem to draw.“We have met them often during these three months that they have been back.”Guest laughed and struck a match. His pipe was out.“Well, have you not seen anything?”“Yes,” said Guest huskily.“I felt that you must have seen it, old fellow. I have no secrets from you. I have loved her from the first time I saw her at Miss Jerrold’s, and it has gone on growing till at times I have been almost in despair. For how could I speak, poor and hard up as I was—just a student, earning two or three hundred a year?”“Always seemed attentive enough,” said Guest, looking away as his friend paced the room with growing excitement.“Perhaps; but I have schooled myself to hide it all, and to act as a gentleman should toward Sir Mark. It would have been dishonourable to act otherwise than as an ordinary friend of the family.”“I suppose so,” said Guest dismally. “And now?”“My position is changed. Poverty does not bar the way, and, feeling this, I cannot trust myself. I cannot go and meet her to-morrow evening at her aunt’s without seeing the admiral first, and speaking out to him like a man.”“And—and—you really—care for her so much, old fellow?” said Guest hoarsely, and still in trouble with his pipe, which refused to draw.“Care for her—so much!” exclaimed Stratton, flushing.“And she?”“How can I tell? I can only hope. I think she—no, it sounds presumptuous, but I must tempt my fate.”“And if the lady—”“Refuses me—the admiral does not approve?”“Yes. What then?”“I must try and bear it like a man.”There was a few minutes’ silence, though it only seemed a moment, when Guest spoke again in a curiously changed tone of voice.“But about that Mr Barron, Stratton?”“Yes; what about him?”“He is a good deal at Sir Mark’s, isn’t he?”“Yes; a friend the old gentleman picked up abroad—yachting, I think.”“You don’t think that he has any intentions?”“That Mr Barron? No; such an idea never crossed my mind. Absurd! He is quite a middle-aged man, I hear; I’ve not seen him. He is no favourite either of old Miss Jerrold. But what’s the matter? Going?”“Eh? Yes, I’m going now. You won’t come out, old fellow, and I thought we’d put off the congratulatory dinner till another day.”“Yes, we will. I’m awfully sorry, Percy; don’t take it ill of me.”“No, no; of course not.”“And—and I’ll communicate with you about to-morrow night. Though, if I don’t go, that is no reason why you should not.”“No, of course—that is—,” faltered Guest, looking at his friend strangely. “Good-bye, old fellow. You are going to the admiral’s to-night?”“No, I’ll go this afternoon. He may be off out to dinner. Wish me luck, old fellow.”“Yes,” said Guest slowly, “I wish you luck. I was afraid so,” he said slowly, as he descended the stairs, looking careworn and wretched. “I ought to have known better. They were always together, and she likes him. Oh! I could break his neck. No, I couldn’t. I’m only a fool, I suppose, for liking him. I’ve always been as if I was her dog. One’s own and only friend to come between. Oh, what a crooked world it is! Round? Bosh! It’s no shape at all, or it would have been evenly balanced and fair. Good-bye, little Edie; you’ll jump at him, of course. He’s worth half a dozen of such poor, weak-minded beggars as I am; but I loved you very dearly indeed, indeed. I shan’t go and make a hole in the water, little one, all the same. I wonder, though, whether an enterprising young barrister would have any chance in Fiji or the Caroline Isles? I’ll ask someone who knows.”Percy Guest went back to his chambers in Grey’s Inn, and about half-past three a cab set down Malcolm Stratton at the admiral’s door.
“Yes, sir, it’s done,” said Mrs Brade, looking sadly in at the doorway on the left side of the fire; “and I hope it will turn out all right, but my experience of pipes is that they always busties in the winter, and drowns all your neighbours out on the next floor.”
“Well, I hope this will be an exception,” said Stratton, laughing.
“I hope so, too, sir, but it’s no laughing matter, and for my part—though, of course, gentlemen have a right to do as they like—I think there is nothing like a big, flat, zinc bath painted oak out, and white in, set on a piece of oilcloth in a gentleman’s bedroom. Then you’ve your big sponge, and a can of water. No trouble about them getting out of order.”
“But the trouble, Mrs Brade,” said Stratton. “No filling; no anything.”
“No, sir, of course not; but you’re always at the mercy of the plumbers; and if these men don’t always leave their work so that it’ll make another job before long, I’m not a Christian woman.”
“Oh, you object to it because it’s new-fashioned,” said Stratton merrily.
“Which, begging your pardon, I don’t, sir. What I do object to is your taking up a beautiful closet to make into a bath room; and out of your sitting room, and none too much cupboard room before. If it had been a cupboard in your bedroom I shouldn’t have said a word.”
“But there was no cupboard there, Mrs Brade, and that closet fitted exactly, so say no more about it.”
“Certainly not, sir, if you don’t wish it; and only too glad am I to have got rid of the workmen; though as I lay in bed last night I said to my husband, ‘Mark my word, John, if Mr Brettison don’t go having a bath made in his room, for there’s the fellow-closet as matches Mr Stratton’s exactly.’”
“To be sure, I never thought of that,” said Stratton merrily. “I’ll give him a hint.”
“Mr Stratton, sir, if you’ve any respect for me and my rheumatism, don’t. The place smells horrid as it is of paint, and French polish, and plumbers, without counting the mess they made, and if you’ll be guided by me you’ll buy a sixpenny box of pastilles and let me burn one every day till the smell of workmen’s gone.”
“Oh, I don’t mind the smell, Mrs Brade. By George, yes, Mr Brettison ought to have a bath put in his.”
“Mr Stratton, sir, don’t, please. He’s sure to if you say a word; and if the workmen come again we shall be having the whole place tumbling about our ears.”
“I hope not. Oh, the old place is strong enough.”
“I don’t know, sir,” said the porter’s wife, shaking her head; “it’s a very old and tumble-down sort of place, and I’ve heard noises, and crackings, and rappings, sometimes, as have made my flesh creep. They do say the place is haunted.”
“With rats?”
“Worse, sir. Oh, I’m told there were strange goings on here in the old times, when a Lord Morran lived here. I’ve heard that your cupboard—”
“Bath room.”
“Well, sir, bath room, was once a passage into Mr Brettison’s chambers, and his closet was a passage into yours, and they used to have dinners, and feasts, and dancing, and masked balls, at which they used to play dominoes. The gambling and goings on was shameful. But please, sir, don’t say a word to Mr Brettison. I’ve trouble enough with him now. There never was such a gentleman for objecting to being dusted, and the way those big books of his that he presses his bits of chickweed and groundsel in do hold the dust is awful. If you wished to do him some kindness you’d get him away for a bit, so that I could turn his rooms inside out. Postman, sir.”
Mrs Brade hurried to the outer door and fetched a letter just dropped into the box, and upon this being eagerly taken, and opened, she saw that there was no further chance of being allowed to gossip, and saying “Good-morning, sir,” she went out, and down to the porter’s lodge.
Malcolm Stratton’s hands trembled as he turned the letter over and hesitated to open it.
“What a manly hand the old lady writes, and how fond she is of sporting their arms,” he continued, as he held up the great blot of red wax carefully sealed over the adhesive flap of the envelope.
Then tearing it open he read:
Westbourne Terrace, Thursday.My Dear Mr Stratton:Thank you for your note and its news. Accept my congratulations. You certainly deserved to gain the post; the work will be most congenial, and it will give you an opportunity for carrying on your studies, besides placing you in the independent position for which you have worked so long and hard. I wish my dear old friend and schoolfellow, your mother, had lived to see her boy’s success. You must go on now with renewed confidence, and double that success.Very sincerely yours, Rebecca Jerrold.Malcolm Stratton, Esquire.P.S.—I shall be at home to-morrow evening. Come and see me, and bring your friend. Nobody will be here but the girls, who are going to give me a little music, as my brother dines out.
Westbourne Terrace, Thursday.
My Dear Mr Stratton:
Thank you for your note and its news. Accept my congratulations. You certainly deserved to gain the post; the work will be most congenial, and it will give you an opportunity for carrying on your studies, besides placing you in the independent position for which you have worked so long and hard. I wish my dear old friend and schoolfellow, your mother, had lived to see her boy’s success. You must go on now with renewed confidence, and double that success.
Very sincerely yours, Rebecca Jerrold.
Malcolm Stratton, Esquire.
P.S.—I shall be at home to-morrow evening. Come and see me, and bring your friend. Nobody will be here but the girls, who are going to give me a little music, as my brother dines out.
Stratton’s face flushed warmly, and he stood staring before him at the window.
“I could not go there now,” he muttered, “without seeing the old man first. It would not be honourable. I meant to wait, but—I must speak at once.”
He re-read the letter, and his eyes sparkled with pleasure.
“And I asked her point blank, and she does not even refer to it. Then it was her doing. God bless her! She has been using her interest and working for me. It’s her work, and she must approve of it.”
He hurriedly thrust the letter into his breast as a double rap came at his door, and, upon opening it, Percy Guest came in.
“Got your wire, old chap, and came on at once. Something the matter?”
“Yes; something serious.”
“My dear old man, I’m so sorry. Want help—money? Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“No, old fellow,” cried Stratton proudly; “the news came this morning, and I telegraphed to you directly.”
“Not—”
“Yes, I am the successor of poor old Professor Raymond—the new curator of the Headley Museum.”
“Hurray!” cried Guest, snatching up a great bird-skin by the beak and waving it round his head till he wrung its neck right off. “Oh, bother! Three cheers for Professor Stratton! Bravo! Why, you’ll be an awful scientific swell. Malcolm, old chap, I am glad,” he continued, flinging the choice and valuable specimen up on to a bookcase, and grasping his friend’s hand. “You shall dine with me to-night, and we’ll pour out champagne libations to the gods.”
“Sit down and be quiet,” said Stratton gravely. “No, old fellow, I can’t dine with you to-night; I’ve something particular to do.”
“Come and have a big lunch, then; we must go mad somehow. Why, its glorious, old man! They’ve had big, scientific, bald-headed old buffers there before—regular old dry-as-dusts. Come on; you can’t and I can’t work to-day.”
“Sit down, I tell you, and be serious. I want to talk to you.”
“All right—I may smoke?”
“Smoke? Yes.”
“But are you sure you can’t come?” said Guest, taking out a pipe.
“Quite. I have made up my mind to go to Bourne Square to-night.”
“To the admiral’s?” cried Guest, starting, and changing colour a little.
“Yes; there is an invitation just come for me to go to Miss Jerrold’s to-morrow night and take you.”
“Indeed!” said Guest eagerly.
“She says in a postscript that the ladies will be there.”
“Well?” said Guest uneasily, and beginning to smoke very hard.
“Don’t you understand?”
“Eh? No.”
“Then I must speak plainly, old fellow. For a year before they went out to Switzerland we were there a great deal, and met them after.”
Guest nodded and his pipe did not seem to draw.
“We have met them often during these three months that they have been back.”
Guest laughed and struck a match. His pipe was out.
“Well, have you not seen anything?”
“Yes,” said Guest huskily.
“I felt that you must have seen it, old fellow. I have no secrets from you. I have loved her from the first time I saw her at Miss Jerrold’s, and it has gone on growing till at times I have been almost in despair. For how could I speak, poor and hard up as I was—just a student, earning two or three hundred a year?”
“Always seemed attentive enough,” said Guest, looking away as his friend paced the room with growing excitement.
“Perhaps; but I have schooled myself to hide it all, and to act as a gentleman should toward Sir Mark. It would have been dishonourable to act otherwise than as an ordinary friend of the family.”
“I suppose so,” said Guest dismally. “And now?”
“My position is changed. Poverty does not bar the way, and, feeling this, I cannot trust myself. I cannot go and meet her to-morrow evening at her aunt’s without seeing the admiral first, and speaking out to him like a man.”
“And—and—you really—care for her so much, old fellow?” said Guest hoarsely, and still in trouble with his pipe, which refused to draw.
“Care for her—so much!” exclaimed Stratton, flushing.
“And she?”
“How can I tell? I can only hope. I think she—no, it sounds presumptuous, but I must tempt my fate.”
“And if the lady—”
“Refuses me—the admiral does not approve?”
“Yes. What then?”
“I must try and bear it like a man.”
There was a few minutes’ silence, though it only seemed a moment, when Guest spoke again in a curiously changed tone of voice.
“But about that Mr Barron, Stratton?”
“Yes; what about him?”
“He is a good deal at Sir Mark’s, isn’t he?”
“Yes; a friend the old gentleman picked up abroad—yachting, I think.”
“You don’t think that he has any intentions?”
“That Mr Barron? No; such an idea never crossed my mind. Absurd! He is quite a middle-aged man, I hear; I’ve not seen him. He is no favourite either of old Miss Jerrold. But what’s the matter? Going?”
“Eh? Yes, I’m going now. You won’t come out, old fellow, and I thought we’d put off the congratulatory dinner till another day.”
“Yes, we will. I’m awfully sorry, Percy; don’t take it ill of me.”
“No, no; of course not.”
“And—and I’ll communicate with you about to-morrow night. Though, if I don’t go, that is no reason why you should not.”
“No, of course—that is—,” faltered Guest, looking at his friend strangely. “Good-bye, old fellow. You are going to the admiral’s to-night?”
“No, I’ll go this afternoon. He may be off out to dinner. Wish me luck, old fellow.”
“Yes,” said Guest slowly, “I wish you luck. I was afraid so,” he said slowly, as he descended the stairs, looking careworn and wretched. “I ought to have known better. They were always together, and she likes him. Oh! I could break his neck. No, I couldn’t. I’m only a fool, I suppose, for liking him. I’ve always been as if I was her dog. One’s own and only friend to come between. Oh, what a crooked world it is! Round? Bosh! It’s no shape at all, or it would have been evenly balanced and fair. Good-bye, little Edie; you’ll jump at him, of course. He’s worth half a dozen of such poor, weak-minded beggars as I am; but I loved you very dearly indeed, indeed. I shan’t go and make a hole in the water, little one, all the same. I wonder, though, whether an enterprising young barrister would have any chance in Fiji or the Caroline Isles? I’ll ask someone who knows.”
Percy Guest went back to his chambers in Grey’s Inn, and about half-past three a cab set down Malcolm Stratton at the admiral’s door.
Chapter Nine.“Too late!”“Sir Mark at home, Andrews?” said Stratton as the door was opened by the butler.“Yes, sir. Mr Barron’s with him, but of course he’ll see you. Will you step up in the drawing room? Only the young ladies there.”“No, thanks,” said Stratton hurriedly. “Ask Sir Mark if he will see me or make some appointment. Where is he?”“In the library, sir.”“Mr Barron with him,” thought Stratton as the butler showed him into the dining room and closed the door. “Wonder what he is like. Oh! impossible. How easily a man can be jealous.”As he stood looking up at the portrait of a lady—Myra’s mother—he fancied he heard steps in the hall, and directly after the butler entered.“Sir Mark will see you, sir,” said the butler.“But Mr Barron is there?”“No, sir, just gone up to join the ladies.”Stratton winced, and the next moment was shown into the library.“Ah, Malcolm Stratton,” cried the admiral bluntly. “Come in, my dear boy. How are you? Glad you’ve called. My friend Mr Barron was here. I wanted to introduce you two. Travelled much, but he’s chary of making new friends. You’ll like him, though, I’m sure. Wonderful fellow at the management of a yacht, and a magnificent swimmer. Why, I believe that man, sir, could swim for miles.”“Indeed, Sir Mark.”“Oh, yes; but sit down, Stratton; you are quite a stranger. Want to see me on business?”“Yes; I—”But before he could get any further the admiral, who seemed in high spirits, interrupted him.“Pity you were not ten minutes sooner. Barron was telling me a most amusing story of slave life in Trinidad in the old days. Wonderful fund of anecdote. But you said business or an appointment, my dear boy. Bad man to come to unless it’s about the sea. What is it?”Stratton made no answer for a few moments. The difficulty was how to begin. It was not that he was strange with the admiral, for, consequent upon the friendship formerly existing between Miss Jerrold and his mother, Sir Mark’s house had been open to him times enough. Seeing his hesitation the old sailor smiled encouragement.“Come, my lad,” he said, “out with it. Is something wrong? Want help?”“Yes, sir, yours,” said Stratton, making his plunge, and now speaking quickly. “The fact is, Sir Mark, I have had news this morning—glorious news for me.”“Glad of it, my dear boy. But you looked just now as if you were going to court-martial for running your ship aground.”“I suppose it was natural, sir. Yesterday I was a poor struggling man, to-day I have had the letter announcing my appointment to the Headley Museum, and it is not only the stipend—a liberal one—but the position that is so valuable for one who is fighting to make his way in the scientific ranks.”The admiral stretched out his hand, and shook Stratton’s warmly.“Glad of it, my dear boy. My congratulations on your promotion. I shall see you an admiral among the scientific bigwigs yet. To be sure; of course. I have been so taken up with other things—being abroad—and so much worried and occupied since I came back, that I had forgotten all about it. But my sister told me she was moving heaven and earth, and going down on her knees to all kinds of great guns to beg them to salute you.”“Then it has been her doing,” cried Stratton excitedly.“Oh, yes; I think she has done something in it. Do the girls know?”“No, sir; not yet,” said Stratton hastily. “I felt that it was my duty to come to you first.”“Eh? Very good of you, I’m sure. I’ll send for them. They’ll be delighted.”He rose to ring, but Stratton interposed.“Not yet, sir, please,” he cried; “I have something else to say.”“Wants to borrow a hundred for his outfit,” thought the admiral. “Well, I like the fellow; he shall have it. Now, my lad,” he said aloud as he resumed his seat. “What is it?”Stratton hesitated for a few moments, and then hurriedly:“I have met Miss Myra Jerrold and Miss Perrin frequently at their aunt’s, Sir Mark, and to a great extent you have made me free of your house. You will grant, I hope, that feelings such as have grown up in me were quite natural. It was impossible for me to be in their society without forming an attachment, but I give you my word, sir, as a man, that never by word or look have I trespassed upon the kindness you have accorded me; and had I remained poor, as I believed myself yesterday, I should never have uttered a word.”“Humph!” ejaculated the admiral, gazing at him sternly.“But now that I do know my position, my first step is to come to you and explain.”“And the young lady? You have not spoken to her on the subject?”“Never, Sir Mark, I swear.”“A gentleman’s word is enough, sir. Well, I will not profess ignorance. My sister did once drop me a kind of hint about my duties, and I have noticed a little thing now and then.”“You have noticed, sir?” cried Stratton, looking startled.“Oh, yes,” said the admiral, smiling. “I’m not an observant man over such matters; in fact, I woke up only three months ago to find how blind I could be; but in your case I did have a few suspicions; for you young men are very transparent.”“Really, Sir Mark, I assure you,” faltered Stratton, “I have been most guarded.”“Of course you have, my lad. Well, I am a poor pilot in love matters, but I don’t see here why we should not go straight ahead. You are both young and suitable for each other. Rebecca swears by you, and I confess that I rather like you when you are not so confoundedly learned.”“Sir Mark!” cried Stratton, his voice husky with emotion, “in my wildest moments I never thought—”“That I should be such an easy-going fellow, eh? But we are running too fast, boy. There is the young lady to think about.”“Of course—of course, sir.”“Not the custom to consult the ship about her captain, but we will here,” cried Sir Mark with a laugh; “they generally appoint the captain right off. We’ll have her down, bless her. A good girl, Stratton, and I congratulate you.”“But one moment, sir,” faltered the young man; “is it kind—so suddenly—give me leave to speak to her first.”“No,” said the old sailor abruptly; “she shall come down, and it shall beyesornoright off.”He rang the bell sharply, and then crossed back to Stratton, and shook his hand again.“You’ve behaved very well indeed, my lad,” he said; “and I like you for it. I never knew your father, but he must have been a gentleman. Your mother, Becky’s friend, was as sweet a lady as I ever met.”The butler entered.“Mr Barron gone?”“No, Sir Mark.”“Don’t matter. Go and ask Miss Perrin to step down here.”The butler bowed, and left the room.Stratton started from his seat with his face ghastly.“Hullo, my lad! what’s the matter? Time for action, and afraid to meet that saucy little thing. I say, you scientific fellows make poor lovers. Hold up, man, or she’ll laugh at you.”“Sir Mark!” gasped Stratton. “Ring again—a horrible mistake on your part.”“What the deuce do you mean, sir? You come and propose for my niece’s hand—”“No; no, Sir Mark,” cried the young man wildly.“What! Why I’ve seen you attentive to her a score of times. I say again, what the deuce do you mean? Why—why—you were not talking about my own child?”“My words all related to Miss Jerrold, Sir Mark,” said Stratton, now speaking in a voice full of despair. “I never imagined that you could possibly misunderstand me.”“But, confound you, I did, sir. What the devil do you mean by blundering out such a lame tale as that?”“Want me, uncle dear?” said Edie, entering the room.“No, no, my dear. Run along upstairs. You’re not wanted. I have business with Mr Stratton here.”Edie darted a frightened glance from the choleric, flushed countenance of her uncle to Stratton’s, which was almost white.“Oh, poor Mr Stratton,” she thought as she drew back. “Then he did not know before.”The door closed, and Sir Mark turned upon Stratton fiercely.“Why, confound you, sir!” he began; but the despairing face before him was disarming. “No, no,” he cried, calming down; “no use to get in a passion about it. Poor lad! poor lad!” he muttered. Then aloud: “You were speaking, then, of Myra—my daughter—all the time?”“Yes.” Only that word in a despondent tone, for he could read rejection in every line of the old sailor’s face.“But I always thought—oh, what a confounded angle. This is not men’s work. Why isn’t Rebecca here? Mr Stratton, this is all a horrible blunder. Surely Myra—my daughter—never encouraged you to hope?”“Never, sir; but I did hope and believe. Let me see her, Sir Mark. I thought I was explicit, but we have been playing at cross purposes. Yes; ask Miss Jerrold to see me here—in your presence. Surely it is not too late to remedy such a terrible mistake.”“But it is too late, Mr Stratton; and really I don’t think I could ever have agreed to such an engagement, even if my child had been willing.”“Sir Mark!” pleaded Stratton.“For Heaven’s sake, let’s bring it to an end, sir. I never imagined such a thing. Why, man, then all the time you were making friends with one cousin, so as to get her on your side.”“I don’t know—was I?” said Stratton dejectedly.“Of course, sir. Acting the timid lover with the old result!” cried Sir Mark angrily.Stratton gazed excitedly in his face; there was so much meaning in his words.“There,” continued the admiral; “but it must come, sir, and you must bear it like a man. My child, Myra, has accepted my friend Mr Barron, and the marriage is to take place almost at once.”Stratton stood for a few moments gazing in Sir Mark’s face, as if he failed to grasp the full tenor of his words. Then, turning slowly, and without a word, he left the room, walked back to his quaint, panelled chambers, and hid his despair from the eyes of man.
“Sir Mark at home, Andrews?” said Stratton as the door was opened by the butler.
“Yes, sir. Mr Barron’s with him, but of course he’ll see you. Will you step up in the drawing room? Only the young ladies there.”
“No, thanks,” said Stratton hurriedly. “Ask Sir Mark if he will see me or make some appointment. Where is he?”
“In the library, sir.”
“Mr Barron with him,” thought Stratton as the butler showed him into the dining room and closed the door. “Wonder what he is like. Oh! impossible. How easily a man can be jealous.”
As he stood looking up at the portrait of a lady—Myra’s mother—he fancied he heard steps in the hall, and directly after the butler entered.
“Sir Mark will see you, sir,” said the butler.
“But Mr Barron is there?”
“No, sir, just gone up to join the ladies.”
Stratton winced, and the next moment was shown into the library.
“Ah, Malcolm Stratton,” cried the admiral bluntly. “Come in, my dear boy. How are you? Glad you’ve called. My friend Mr Barron was here. I wanted to introduce you two. Travelled much, but he’s chary of making new friends. You’ll like him, though, I’m sure. Wonderful fellow at the management of a yacht, and a magnificent swimmer. Why, I believe that man, sir, could swim for miles.”
“Indeed, Sir Mark.”
“Oh, yes; but sit down, Stratton; you are quite a stranger. Want to see me on business?”
“Yes; I—”
But before he could get any further the admiral, who seemed in high spirits, interrupted him.
“Pity you were not ten minutes sooner. Barron was telling me a most amusing story of slave life in Trinidad in the old days. Wonderful fund of anecdote. But you said business or an appointment, my dear boy. Bad man to come to unless it’s about the sea. What is it?”
Stratton made no answer for a few moments. The difficulty was how to begin. It was not that he was strange with the admiral, for, consequent upon the friendship formerly existing between Miss Jerrold and his mother, Sir Mark’s house had been open to him times enough. Seeing his hesitation the old sailor smiled encouragement.
“Come, my lad,” he said, “out with it. Is something wrong? Want help?”
“Yes, sir, yours,” said Stratton, making his plunge, and now speaking quickly. “The fact is, Sir Mark, I have had news this morning—glorious news for me.”
“Glad of it, my dear boy. But you looked just now as if you were going to court-martial for running your ship aground.”
“I suppose it was natural, sir. Yesterday I was a poor struggling man, to-day I have had the letter announcing my appointment to the Headley Museum, and it is not only the stipend—a liberal one—but the position that is so valuable for one who is fighting to make his way in the scientific ranks.”
The admiral stretched out his hand, and shook Stratton’s warmly.
“Glad of it, my dear boy. My congratulations on your promotion. I shall see you an admiral among the scientific bigwigs yet. To be sure; of course. I have been so taken up with other things—being abroad—and so much worried and occupied since I came back, that I had forgotten all about it. But my sister told me she was moving heaven and earth, and going down on her knees to all kinds of great guns to beg them to salute you.”
“Then it has been her doing,” cried Stratton excitedly.
“Oh, yes; I think she has done something in it. Do the girls know?”
“No, sir; not yet,” said Stratton hastily. “I felt that it was my duty to come to you first.”
“Eh? Very good of you, I’m sure. I’ll send for them. They’ll be delighted.”
He rose to ring, but Stratton interposed.
“Not yet, sir, please,” he cried; “I have something else to say.”
“Wants to borrow a hundred for his outfit,” thought the admiral. “Well, I like the fellow; he shall have it. Now, my lad,” he said aloud as he resumed his seat. “What is it?”
Stratton hesitated for a few moments, and then hurriedly:
“I have met Miss Myra Jerrold and Miss Perrin frequently at their aunt’s, Sir Mark, and to a great extent you have made me free of your house. You will grant, I hope, that feelings such as have grown up in me were quite natural. It was impossible for me to be in their society without forming an attachment, but I give you my word, sir, as a man, that never by word or look have I trespassed upon the kindness you have accorded me; and had I remained poor, as I believed myself yesterday, I should never have uttered a word.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the admiral, gazing at him sternly.
“But now that I do know my position, my first step is to come to you and explain.”
“And the young lady? You have not spoken to her on the subject?”
“Never, Sir Mark, I swear.”
“A gentleman’s word is enough, sir. Well, I will not profess ignorance. My sister did once drop me a kind of hint about my duties, and I have noticed a little thing now and then.”
“You have noticed, sir?” cried Stratton, looking startled.
“Oh, yes,” said the admiral, smiling. “I’m not an observant man over such matters; in fact, I woke up only three months ago to find how blind I could be; but in your case I did have a few suspicions; for you young men are very transparent.”
“Really, Sir Mark, I assure you,” faltered Stratton, “I have been most guarded.”
“Of course you have, my lad. Well, I am a poor pilot in love matters, but I don’t see here why we should not go straight ahead. You are both young and suitable for each other. Rebecca swears by you, and I confess that I rather like you when you are not so confoundedly learned.”
“Sir Mark!” cried Stratton, his voice husky with emotion, “in my wildest moments I never thought—”
“That I should be such an easy-going fellow, eh? But we are running too fast, boy. There is the young lady to think about.”
“Of course—of course, sir.”
“Not the custom to consult the ship about her captain, but we will here,” cried Sir Mark with a laugh; “they generally appoint the captain right off. We’ll have her down, bless her. A good girl, Stratton, and I congratulate you.”
“But one moment, sir,” faltered the young man; “is it kind—so suddenly—give me leave to speak to her first.”
“No,” said the old sailor abruptly; “she shall come down, and it shall beyesornoright off.”
He rang the bell sharply, and then crossed back to Stratton, and shook his hand again.
“You’ve behaved very well indeed, my lad,” he said; “and I like you for it. I never knew your father, but he must have been a gentleman. Your mother, Becky’s friend, was as sweet a lady as I ever met.”
The butler entered.
“Mr Barron gone?”
“No, Sir Mark.”
“Don’t matter. Go and ask Miss Perrin to step down here.”
The butler bowed, and left the room.
Stratton started from his seat with his face ghastly.
“Hullo, my lad! what’s the matter? Time for action, and afraid to meet that saucy little thing. I say, you scientific fellows make poor lovers. Hold up, man, or she’ll laugh at you.”
“Sir Mark!” gasped Stratton. “Ring again—a horrible mistake on your part.”
“What the deuce do you mean, sir? You come and propose for my niece’s hand—”
“No; no, Sir Mark,” cried the young man wildly.
“What! Why I’ve seen you attentive to her a score of times. I say again, what the deuce do you mean? Why—why—you were not talking about my own child?”
“My words all related to Miss Jerrold, Sir Mark,” said Stratton, now speaking in a voice full of despair. “I never imagined that you could possibly misunderstand me.”
“But, confound you, I did, sir. What the devil do you mean by blundering out such a lame tale as that?”
“Want me, uncle dear?” said Edie, entering the room.
“No, no, my dear. Run along upstairs. You’re not wanted. I have business with Mr Stratton here.”
Edie darted a frightened glance from the choleric, flushed countenance of her uncle to Stratton’s, which was almost white.
“Oh, poor Mr Stratton,” she thought as she drew back. “Then he did not know before.”
The door closed, and Sir Mark turned upon Stratton fiercely.
“Why, confound you, sir!” he began; but the despairing face before him was disarming. “No, no,” he cried, calming down; “no use to get in a passion about it. Poor lad! poor lad!” he muttered. Then aloud: “You were speaking, then, of Myra—my daughter—all the time?”
“Yes.” Only that word in a despondent tone, for he could read rejection in every line of the old sailor’s face.
“But I always thought—oh, what a confounded angle. This is not men’s work. Why isn’t Rebecca here? Mr Stratton, this is all a horrible blunder. Surely Myra—my daughter—never encouraged you to hope?”
“Never, sir; but I did hope and believe. Let me see her, Sir Mark. I thought I was explicit, but we have been playing at cross purposes. Yes; ask Miss Jerrold to see me here—in your presence. Surely it is not too late to remedy such a terrible mistake.”
“But it is too late, Mr Stratton; and really I don’t think I could ever have agreed to such an engagement, even if my child had been willing.”
“Sir Mark!” pleaded Stratton.
“For Heaven’s sake, let’s bring it to an end, sir. I never imagined such a thing. Why, man, then all the time you were making friends with one cousin, so as to get her on your side.”
“I don’t know—was I?” said Stratton dejectedly.
“Of course, sir. Acting the timid lover with the old result!” cried Sir Mark angrily.
Stratton gazed excitedly in his face; there was so much meaning in his words.
“There,” continued the admiral; “but it must come, sir, and you must bear it like a man. My child, Myra, has accepted my friend Mr Barron, and the marriage is to take place almost at once.”
Stratton stood for a few moments gazing in Sir Mark’s face, as if he failed to grasp the full tenor of his words. Then, turning slowly, and without a word, he left the room, walked back to his quaint, panelled chambers, and hid his despair from the eyes of man.