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      The Lion's Skin, by Rafael Sabatini
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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lion's Skin, by Rafael Sabatini

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Title: The Lion's Skin

Author: Rafael Sabatini

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</pre>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h1>
      THE LION'S SKIN
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      By Rafael Sabatini
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p class="toc">
        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <big><b>THE LION'S SKIN</b></big> </a>
        <br /><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
        FANATIC <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;AT
        THE &ldquo;ADAM AND EVE&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
        WITNESS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;Mr.
        GREEN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;MOONSHINE
        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;HORTENSIA'S
        RETURN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;FATHER
        AND SON <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;TEMPTATION
        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
        CHAMPION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;SPURS
        TO THE RELUCTANT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
        ASSAULT-AT-ARMS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;SUNSHINE
        AND SHADOW <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
        FORLORN HOPE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;LADY
        OSTERMORE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;LOVE
        AND RAGE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;MR.
        GREEN EXECUTES HIS WARRANT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER
        XVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;AMID THE GRAVES <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018">
        CHAPTER XVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE GHOST OF THE PAST <br /><br /> <a
        href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE END OF LORD
        OSTERMORE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;Mr.
        CARYLL'S IDENTITY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
        LION'S SKIN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
        HUNTERS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. &nbsp;&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
        LION <br /><br />
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <h1>
      THE LION'S SKIN
    </h1>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I. THE FANATIC
    </h2>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll, lately from Rome, stood by the window, looking out over the
      rainswept, steaming quays to Notre Dame on the island yonder. Overhead
      rolled and crackled the artillery of an April thunderstorm, and Mr.
      Caryll, looking out upon Paris in her shroud of rain, under her pall of
      thundercloud, felt himself at harmony with Nature. Over his heart, too,
      the gloom of storm was lowering, just as in his heart it was still little
      more than April time.
    </p>
    <p>
      Behind him, in that chamber furnished in dark oak and leather of a reign
      or two ago, sat Sir Richard Everard at a vast writing-table all a-litter
      with books and papers; and Sir Richard watched his adoptive son with
      fierce, melancholy eyes, watched him until he grew impatient of this
      pause.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; demanded the old baronet harshly. &ldquo;Will you undertake it, Justin,
      now that the chance has come?&rdquo; And he added: &ldquo;You'll never hesitate if you
      are the man I have sought to make you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll turned slowly. &ldquo;It is because I am the man that you&mdash;that
      God and you&mdash;have made me that I do hesitate.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His voice was quiet and pleasantly modulated, and he spoke English with
      the faintest slur&mdash;perceptible, perhaps, only to the keenest ear&mdash;of
      a French accent. To ears less keen it would merely seem that he
      articulated with a precision so singular as to verge on pedantry.
    </p>
    <p>
      The light falling full upon his profile revealed the rather singular
      countenance that was his own. It was not in any remarkable beauty that its
      distinction lay, for by the canons of beauty that prevail it was not
      beautiful. The features were irregular and inclined to harshness, the nose
      was too abruptly arched, the chin too long and square, the complexion too
      pallid. Yet a certain dignity haunted that youthful face, of such a
      quality as to stamp it upon the memory of the merest passer-by. The mouth
      was difficult to read and full of contradictions; the lips were full and
      red, and you would declare them the lips of a sensualist but for the line
      of stern, almost grim, determination in which they met; and yet, somewhere
      behind that grimness, there appeared to lurk a haunting whimsicality; a
      smile seemed ever to impend, but whether sweet or bitter none could have
      told until it broke. The eyes were as remarkable; wide-set and
      slow-moving, as becomes the eyes of an observant man, they were of an
      almost greenish color, and so level in their ordinary glance as to seem
      imbued with an uncanny penetration. His hair&mdash;he dared to wear his
      own, and clubbed it in a broad ribbon of watered silk&mdash;was almost of
      the hue of bronze, with here and there a glint of gold, and as luxuriant
      as any wig.
    </p>
    <p>
      For the rest, he was scarcely above the middle height, of an almost frail
      but very graceful slenderness, and very graceful, too, in all his
      movements. In dress he was supremely elegant, with the elegance of France,
      that in England would be accounted foppishness. He wore a suit of dark
      blue cloth, with white satin linings that were revealed when he moved; it
      was heavily laced with gold, and a ramiform pattern broidered in gold
      thread ran up the sides of his silk stockings of a paler blue. Jewels
      gleamed in the Brussels at his throat, and there were diamond buckles on
      his lacquered, red-heeled shoes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard considered him with anxiety and some chagrin. &ldquo;Justin!&rdquo; he
      cried, a world of reproach in his voice. &ldquo;What can you need to ponder?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Whatever it may be,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, &ldquo;it will be better that I ponder it
      now than after I have pledged myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But what is it? What?&rdquo; demanded the baronet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am marvelling, for one thing, that you should have waited thirty
      years.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard's fingers stirred the papers before him in an idle, absent
      manner. Into his brooding eyes there leapt the glitter to be seen in the
      eyes of the fevered of body or of mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Vengeance,&rdquo; said he slowly, &ldquo;is a dish best relished when 'tis eaten
      cold.&rdquo; He paused an instant; then continued: &ldquo;I might have crossed to
      England at the time, and slain him. Should that have satisfied me? What is
      death but peace and rest?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is a hell, we are told,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll reminded him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; was the answer, &ldquo;we are told. But I dursn't risk its being false
      where Ostermore is concerned. So I preferred to wait until I could brew
      him such a cup of bitterness as no man ever drank ere he was glad to die.&rdquo;
       In a quieter, retrospective voice he continued: &ldquo;Had we prevailed in the
      '15, I might have found a way to punish him that had been worthy of the
      crime that calls for it. We did not prevail. Moreover, I was taken, and
      transported.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What think you, Justin, gave me courage to endure the rigors of the
      plantations, cunning and energy to escape after five such years of it as
      had assuredly killed a stronger man less strong of purpose? What but the
      task that was awaiting me? It imported that I should live and be free to
      call a reckoning in full with my Lord Ostermore before I go to my own
      account.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Opportunity has gone lame upon this journey. But it has arrived at last.
      Unless&mdash;&rdquo; He paused, his voice sank from the high note of exaltation
      to which it had soared; it became charged with dread, as did the fierce
      eyes with which he raked his companion's face. &ldquo;Unless you prove false to
      the duty that awaits you. And that I'll not believe! You are your mother's
      son, Justin.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And my father's, too,&rdquo; answered Justin in a thick voice; &ldquo;and the Earl of
      Ostermore is that same father.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The more sweetly shall your mother be avenged,&rdquo; cried the other, and
      again his eyes blazed with that unhealthy, fanatical light. &ldquo;What fitter
      than the hand of that poor lady's son to pull your father down in ruins?&rdquo;
       He laughed short and fiercely. &ldquo;It seldom chances in this world that
      justice is done so nicely.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You hate him very deeply,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll pensively, and the look in his
      eyes betrayed the trend of his thoughts; they were of pity&mdash;but of
      pity at the futility of such strong emotions.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As deeply as I loved your mother, Justin.&rdquo; The sharp, rugged features of
      that seared old face seemed of a sudden transfigured and softened. The
      wild eyes lost some of their glitter in a look of wistfulness, as he
      pondered a moment the one sweet memory in a wasted life, a life wrecked
      over thirty years ago&mdash;wrecked wantonly by that same Ostermore of
      whom they spoke, who had been his friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      A groan broke from his lips. He took his head in his hands, and, elbows on
      the table, he sat very still a moment, reviewing as in a flash the events
      of thirty and more years ago, when he and Viscount Rotherby&mdash;as
      Ostermore was then&mdash;had been young men at the St. Germain's Court of
      James II.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was on an excursion into Normandy that they had met Mademoiselle de
      Maligny, the daughter of an impoverished gentleman of the chetive noblesse
      of that province. Both had loved her. She had preferred&mdash;as women
      will&mdash;the outward handsomeness of Viscount Rotherby to the sounder
      heart and brain that were Dick Everard's. As bold and dominant as any
      ruffler of them all where men and perils were concerned, young Everard was
      timid, bashful and without assertiveness with women. He had withdrawn from
      the contest ere it was well lost, leaving an easy victory to his friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      And how had that friend used it? Most foully, as you shall learn.
    </p>
    <p>
      Leaving Rotherby in Normandy, Everard had returned to Paris. The affairs
      of his king gave him cause to cross at once to Ireland. For three years he
      abode there, working secretly in his master's interest, to little purpose
      be it confessed. At the end of that time he returned to Paris. Rotherby
      was gone. It appeared that his father, Lord Ostermore, had prevailed upon
      Bentinck to use his influence with William on the errant youth's behalf.
      Rotherby had been pardoned his loyalty to the fallen dynasty. A deserter
      in every sense, he had abandoned the fortunes of King James&mdash;which in
      Everard's eyes was bad enough&mdash;and he had abandoned the sweet lady he
      had fetched out of Normandy six months before his going, of whom it seemed
      that in his lordly way he was grown tired.
    </p>
    <p>
      From the beginning it would appear they were ill-matched. It was her
      beauty had made appeal to him, even as his beauty had enamoured her.
      Elementals had brought about their union; and when these elementals shrank
      with habit, as elementals will, they found themselves without a tie of
      sympathy or common interest to link them each to the other. She was by
      nature blythe; a thing of sunshine, flowers and music, who craved a very
      poet for her lover; and by &ldquo;a poet&rdquo; I mean not your mere rhymer. He was
      downright stolid and stupid under his fine exterior; the worst type of
      Briton, without the saving grace of a Briton's honor. And so she had
      wearied him, who saw in her no more than a sweet loveliness that had
      cloyed him presently. And when the chance was offered him by Bentinck and
      his father, he took it and went his ways, and this sweet flower that he
      had plucked from its Normandy garden to adorn him for a brief summer's day
      was left to wilt, discarded.
    </p>
    <p>
      The tale that greeted Everard on his return from Ireland was that,
      broken-hearted, she had died&mdash;crushed neath her load of shame. For it
      was said that there had been no marriage.
    </p>
    <p>
      The rumor of her death had gone abroad, and it had been carried to England
      and my Lord Rotherby by a cousin of hers&mdash;the last living Maligny&mdash;who
      crossed the channel to demand of that stolid gentleman satisfaction for
      the dishonor put upon his house. All the satisfaction the poor fellow got
      was a foot or so of steel through the lungs, of which he died; and there,
      may it have seemed to Rotherby, the matter ended.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Everard remained&mdash;Everard, who had loved her with a great and
      almost sacred love; Everard, who swore black ruin for my Lord Rotherby&mdash;the
      rumor of which may also have been carried to his lordship and stimulated
      his activities in having Everard hunted down after the Braemar fiasco of
      1715.
    </p>
    <p>
      But before that came to pass Everard had discovered that the rumor of her
      death was false&mdash;put about, no doubt, out of fear of that same cousin
      who had made himself champion and avenger of her honor. Everard sought her
      out, and found her perishing of want in an attic in the Cour des Miracles
      some four months later&mdash;eight months after Rotherby's desertion.
    </p>
    <p>
      In that sordid, wind-swept chamber of Paris' most abandoned haunt, a son
      had been born to Antoinette de Maligny two days before Everard had come
      upon her. Both were dying; both had assuredly died within the week but
      that he came so timely to her aid. And that aid he rendered like the
      noble-hearted gentleman he was. He had contrived to save his fortune from
      the wreck of James' kingship, and this was safely invested in France, in
      Holland and elsewhere abroad. With a portion of it he repurchased the
      chateau and estates of Maligny, which on the death of Antoinette's father
      had been seized upon by creditors.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thither he sent her and her child&mdash;Rotherby's child&mdash;making that
      noble domain a christening-gift to the boy, for whom he had stood sponsor
      at the font. And he did his work of love in the background. He was the god
      in the machine; no more. No single opportunity of thanking him did he
      afford her. He effaced himself that she might not see the sorrow she
      occasioned him, lest it should increase her own.
    </p>
    <p>
      For two years she dwelt at Maligny in such peace as the broken-hearted may
      know, the little of life that was left her irradiated by Everard's noble
      friendship. He wrote to her from time to time, now from Italy, now from
      Holland. But he never came to visit her. A delicacy, which may or may not
      have been false, restrained him. And she, respecting what instinctively
      she knew to be his feelings, never bade him come to her. In their letters
      they never spoke of Rotherby; not once did his name pass between them; it
      was as if he had never lived or never crossed their lives. Meanwhile she
      weakened and faded day by day, despite all the care with which she was
      surrounded. That winter of cold and want in the Cour des Miracles had sown
      its seeds, and Death was sharpening his scythe against the harvest.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the end was come she sent urgently for Everard. He came at once in
      answer to her summons; but he came too late. She died the evening before
      he arrived. But she had left a letter, written days before, against the
      chance of his not reaching her before the end. That letter, in her fine
      French hand, was before him now.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will not try to thank you, dearest friend,&rdquo; she wrote. &ldquo;For the thing
      that you have done, what payment is there in poor thanks? Oh, Everard,
      Everard! Had it but pleased God to have helped me to a wiser choice when
      it was mine to choose!&rdquo; she cried to him from that letter, and poor
      Everard deemed that the thin ray of joy her words sent through his
      anguished soul was payment more than enough for the little that he had
      done. &ldquo;God's will be done!&rdquo; she continued. &ldquo;It is His will. He knows why
      it is best so, though we discern it not. But there is the boy; there is
      Justin. I bequeath him to you who already have done so much for him. Love
      him a little for my sake; cherish and rear him as your own, and make of
      him such a gentleman as are you. His father does not so much as know of
      his existence. That, too, is best so, for I would not have him claim my
      boy. Never let him learn that Justin exists, unless it be to punish him by
      the knowledge for his cruel desertion of me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Choking, the writing blurred by tears that he accounted no disgrace to his
      young manhood, Everard had sworn in that hour that Justin should be as a
      son to him. He would do her will, and he set upon it a more definite
      meaning than she intended. Rotherby should remain in ignorance of his
      son's existence until such season as should make the knowledge a very
      anguish to him. He would rear Justin in bitter hatred of the foul villain
      who had been his father; and with the boy's help, when the time should be
      ripe, he would lay my Lord Rotherby in ruins. Thus should my lord's sin
      come to find him out.
    </p>
    <p>
      This Everard had sworn, and this he had done. He had told Justin the story
      almost as soon as Justin was of an age to understand it. He had repeated
      it at very frequent intervals, and as the lad grew, Everard watched in him&mdash;fostering
      it by every means in his power&mdash;the growth of his execration for the
      author of his days, and of his reverence for the sweet, departed saint
      that had been his mother.
    </p>
    <p>
      For the rest, he had lavished Justin nobly for his mother's sake. The
      repurchased estates of Maligny, with their handsome rent roll, remained
      Justin's own, administered by Sir Richard during the lad's minority and
      vastly enriched by the care of that administration. He had sent the lad to
      Oxford, and afterwards&mdash;the more thoroughly to complete his education&mdash;on
      a two years' tour of Europe; and on his return, a grown and cultured man,
      he had attached him to the court in Rome of the Pretender, whose agent he
      was himself in Paris.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had done his duty by the boy as he understood his duty, always with
      that grim purpose of revenge for his horizon. And the result had been a
      stranger compound than even Everard knew, for all that he knew the lad
      exceedingly well. For he had scarcely reckoned sufficiently upon Justin's
      mixed nationality and the circumstance that in soul and mind he was
      entirely his mother's child, with nothing&mdash;or an imperceptible little&mdash;of
      his father. As his mother's nature had been, so was Justin's&mdash;joyous.
      But Everard's training of him had suppressed all inborn vivacity. The
      mirth and diablerie that were his birthright had been overlaid with
      British phlegm, until in their stead, and through the blend, a certain
      sardonic humor had developed, an ironical attitude toward all things
      whether sacred or profane. This had been helped on by culture, and&mdash;in
      a still greater measure&mdash;by the odd training in worldliness which he
      had from Everard. His illusions were shattered ere he had cut his wisdom
      teeth, thanks to the tutelage of Sir Richard, who in giving him the ugly
      story of his own existence, taught him the misanthropical lesson that all
      men are knaves, all women fools. He developed, as a consequence, that
      sardonic outlook upon the world. He sought to take vos non vobis for his
      motto, affected to a spectator in the theatre of Life, with the obvious
      result that he became the greatest actor of them all.
    </p>
    <p>
      So we find him even now, his main emotion pity for Sir Richard, who sat
      silent for some moments, reviewing that thirty-year dead past, until the
      tears scalded his old eyes. The baronet made a queer noise in his throat,
      something between a snarl and a sob, and he flung himself suddenly back in
      his chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      Justin sat down, a becoming gravity in his countenance. &ldquo;Tell me all,&rdquo; he
      begged his adoptive father. &ldquo;Tell me how matters stand precisely&mdash;how
      you propose to act.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;With all my heart,&rdquo; the baronet assented. &ldquo;Lord Ostermore, having turned
      his coat once for profit, is ready now to turn it again for the same end.
      From the information that reaches me from England, it would appear that in
      the rage of speculation that has been toward in London, his lordship has
      suffered heavily. How heavily I am not prepared to say. But heavily
      enough, I dare swear, to have caused this offer to return to his king; for
      he looks, no doubt, to sell his services at a price that will help him
      mend the wreckage of his fortunes. A week ago a gentleman who goes between
      his majesty's court at Rome and his friends here in Paris brought me word
      from his majesty that Ostermore had signified to him his willingness to
      rejoin the Stuart cause.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Together with that information, this messenger brought me letters from
      his majesty to several of his friends, which I was to send to England by a
      safe hand at the first opportunity. Now, amongst these letters&mdash;delivered
      to me unsealed&mdash;is one to my Lord Ostermore, making him certain
      advantageous proposals which he is sure to accept if his circumstances be
      as crippled as I am given to understand. Atterbury and his friends, it
      seems, have already tampered with my lord's loyalty to Dutch George to
      some purpose, and there is little doubt but that this letter&rdquo;&mdash;and he
      tapped a document before him&mdash;&ldquo;will do what else is to be done.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, since these letters were left with me, come you with his majesty's
      fresh injunctions that I am to suppress them and cross to England at once
      myself, to prevail upon Atterbury and his associates to abandon the
      undertaking.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll nodded. &ldquo;Because, as I have told you,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;King James in
      Rome has received positive information that in London the plot is already
      suspected, little though Atterbury may dream it. But what has this to do
      with my Lord Ostermore?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This,&rdquo; said Everard slowly, leaning across toward Justin, and laying a
      hand upon his sleeve. &ldquo;I am to counsel the Bishop to stay his hand against
      a more favorable opportunity. There is no reason why you should not do the
      very opposite with Ostermore.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll knit his brows, his eyes intent upon the other's face; but he
      said no word.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is,&rdquo; urged Everard, &ldquo;an opportunity such as there may never be
      another. We destroy Ostermore. By a turn of the hand we bring him to the
      gallows.&rdquo; He chuckled over the word with a joy almost diabolical.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But how&mdash;how do we destroy him?&rdquo; quoth Justin, who suspected yet
      dared not encourage his suspicions.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How? Do you ask how? Is't not plain?&rdquo; snapped Sir Richard, and what he
      avoided putting into words, his eloquent glance made clear to his
      companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll rose a thought quickly, a faint flush stirring in his cheeks,
      and he threw off Everard's grasp with a gesture that was almost of
      repugnance. &ldquo;You mean that I am to enmesh him....&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard smiled grimly. &ldquo;As his majesty's accredited agent,&rdquo; he
      explained. &ldquo;I will equip you with papers. Word shall go ahead of you to
      Ostermore by a safe hand to bid him look for the coming of a messenger
      bearing his own family name. No more than that; nothing that can betray
      us; yet enough to whet his lordship's appetite. You shall be the
      ambassador to bear him the tempting offers from the king. You will obtain
      his answers&mdash;accepting. Those you will deliver to me, and I shall do
      the trifle that may still be needed to set the rope about his neck.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A little while there was silence. Outside, the rain, driven by gusts,
      smote the window as with a scourge. The thunder was grumbling in the
      distance now. Mr. Caryll resumed his chair. He sat very thoughtful, but
      with no emotion showing in his face. British stolidity was in the
      ascendant with him then. He felt that he had the need of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is... ugly,&rdquo; he said at last slowly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is God's own will,&rdquo; was the hot answer, and Sir Richard smote the
      table.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Has God taken you into His confidence?&rdquo; wondered Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know that God is justice.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yet is it not written that 'vengeance is His own'?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Aye, but He needs human instruments to execute it. Such instruments are
      we. Can you&mdash;Oh, can you hesitate?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll clenched his hands hard. &ldquo;Do it,&rdquo; he answered through set
      teeth. &ldquo;Do it! I shall approve it when 'tis done. But find other hands for
      the work, Sir Richard. He is my father.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard remained cool. &ldquo;That is the argument I employ for insisting
      upon the task being yours,&rdquo; he replied. Then, in a blaze of passion, he&mdash;who
      had schooled his adoptive son so ably in self-control&mdash;marshalled
      once more his arguments. &ldquo;It is your duty to your mother to forget that he
      is your father. Think of him only as the man who wronged your mother; the
      man to whom her ruined life, her early death are due&mdash;her murderer
      and worse. Consider that. Your father, you say!&rdquo; He mocked almost. &ldquo;Your
      father! In what is he your father? You have never seen him; he does not
      know that you exist, that you ever existed. Is that to be a father?
      Father, you say! A word, a name&mdash;no more than that; a name that gives
      rise to a sentiment, and a sentiment is to stand between you and your
      clear duty; a sentiment is to set a protecting shield over the man who
      killed your mother!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think I shall despise you, Justin, if you fail me in this. I have lived
      for it,&rdquo; he ran on tempestuously. &ldquo;I have reared you for it, and you shall
      not fail me!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Then his voice dropped again, and in quieter tones
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You hate the very name of John Caryll, Earl of Ostermore,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;as
      must every decent man who knows the truth of what the life of that satyr
      holds. If I have suffered you to bear his name, it is to the end that it
      should remind you daily that you have no right to it, that you have no
      right to any name.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      When he said that he thrust his finger consciously into a raw wound. He
      saw Justin wince, and with pitiless cunning he continued to prod that
      tender place until he had aggravated the smart of it into a very agony.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is what you owe your father; that is the full extent of what lies
      between you&mdash;that you are of those at whom the world is given to
      sneer and point scorn's ready finger.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;None has ever dared,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because none has ever known. We have kept the secret well. You display no
      coat of arms that no bar sinister may be displayed. But the time may come
      when the secret must out. You might, for instance, think of marrying a
      lady of quality, a lady of your own supposed station. What shall you tell
      her of yourself? That you have no name to offer her; that the name you
      bear is yours by assumption only? Ah! That brings home your own wrongs to
      you, Justin! Consider them; have them ever present in your mind, together
      with your mother's blighted life, that you may not shrink when the hour
      strikes to punish the evildoer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He flung himself back in his chair again, and watched the younger man with
      brooding eye. Mr. Caryll was plainly moved. He had paled a little, and he
      sat now with brows contracted and set teeth.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard pushed back his chair and rose, recapitulating. &ldquo;He is your
      mother's destroyer,&rdquo; he said, with a sad sternness. &ldquo;Is the ruin of that
      fair life to go unpunished? Is it, Justin?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll's Gallic spirit burst abruptly through its British glaze. He
      crushed fist into palm, and swore: &ldquo;No, by God! It shall not, Sir
      Richard!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard held out his hands, and there was a fierce joy in his gloomy
      eyes at last. &ldquo;You'll cross to England with me, Justin?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But Mr. Caryll's soul fell once more into travail. &ldquo;Wait!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Ah,
      wait!&rdquo; His level glance met Sir Richard's in earnestness and entreaty.
      &ldquo;Answer me the truth upon your soul and conscience: Do you in your heart
      believe that it is what my mother would have had me do?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There was an instant's pause. Then Everard, the fanatic of vengeance, the
      man whose mind upon that one subject was become unsound with excess of
      brooding, answered with conviction: &ldquo;As I have a soul to be saved, Justin,
      I do believe it. More&mdash;I know it. Here!&rdquo; Trembling hands took up the
      old letter from the table and proffered it to Justin. &ldquo;Here is her own
      message to you. Read it again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And what time the young man's eyes rested upon that fine, pointed writing,
      Sir Richard recited aloud the words he knew by heart, the words that had
      been ringing in his ears since that day when he had seen her lowered to
      rest: &ldquo;'Never let him learn that Justin exists unless it be to punish him
      by the knowledge for his cruel desertion of me.' It is your mother's voice
      speaking to you from the grave,&rdquo; the fanatic pursued, and so infected
      Justin at last with something of his fanaticism.
    </p>
    <p>
      The green eyes flashed uncannily, the white young face grew cruelly
      sardonic. &ldquo;You believe it?&rdquo; he asked, and the eagerness that now invested
      his voice showed how it really was with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As I have a soul to be saved,&rdquo; Sir Richard repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then gladly will I set my hand to it.&rdquo; Fire stirred through Justin now, a
      fire of righteous passion. &ldquo;An idea&mdash;no more than an idea&mdash;daunted
      me. You have shown me that. I cross to England with you, Sir Richard, and
      let my Lord Ostermore look to himself, for my name&mdash;I who have no
      right to any name&mdash;my name is judgment!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The exaltation fell from him as suddenly as it had mounted. He dropped
      into a chair, thoughtful again and slightly ashamed of his sudden
      outburst.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard Everard watched with an eye of gloomy joy the man whom he had
      been at such pains to school in self-control.
    </p>
    <p>
      Overhead there was a sudden crackle of thunder, sharp and staccato as a
      peal of demoniac laughter.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II. AT THE &ldquo;ADAM AND EVE&rdquo;
     </h2>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll, alighted from his traveling chaise in the yard of the &ldquo;Adam
      and Eve,&rdquo; at Maidstone, on a sunny afternoon in May. Landed at Dover the
      night before, he had parted company with Sir Richard Everard that morning.
      His adoptive father had turned aside toward Rochester, to discharge his
      king's business with plotting Bishop Atterbury, what time Justin was to
      push on toward town as King James' ambassador to the Earl of Ostermore,
      who, advised of his coming, was expecting him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here at Maidstone it was Mr. Caryll's intent to dine, resuming his journey
      in the cool of the evening, when he hoped to get at least as far as
      Farnborough ere he slept.
    </p>
    <p>
      Landlady, chamberlain, ostler and a posse of underlings hastened to give
      welcome to so fine a gentleman, and a private room above-stairs was placed
      at his disposal. Before ascending, however, Mr. Caryll sauntered into the
      bar for a whetting glass to give him an appetite, and further for the
      purpose of bespeaking in detail his dinner with the hostess. It was one of
      his traits that he gave the greatest attention to detail, and held that
      the man who left the ordering of his edibles to his servants was no better
      than an animal who saw no more than nourishment in food. Nor was the
      matter one to be settled summarily; it asked thought and time. So he
      sipped his Hock, listening to the landlady's proposals, and amending them
      where necessary with suggestions of his own, and what time he was so
      engaged, there ambled into the inn yard a sturdy cob bearing a sturdy
      little man in snuff-colored clothes that had seen some wear.
    </p>
    <p>
      The newcomer threw his reins to the stable-boy&mdash;a person of all the
      importance necessary to receive so indifferent a guest. He got down nimbly
      from his horse, produced an enormous handkerchief of many colors, and
      removed his three-cornered hat that he might the better mop his brow and
      youthful, almost cherubic face. What time he did so, a pair of bright
      little blue eyes were very busy with Mr. Caryll's carriage, from which
      Leduc, Mr. Caryll's valet, was in the act of removing a portmantle. His
      mobile mouth fell into lines of satisfaction.
    </p>
    <p>
      Still mopping himself, he entered the inn, and, guided by the drone of
      voices, sauntered into the bar. At sight of Mr. Caryll leaning there, his
      little eyes beamed an instant, as do the eyes of one who espies a friend,
      or&mdash;apter figure&mdash;the eyes of the hunter when they sight the
      quarry.
    </p>
    <p>
      He advanced to the bar, bowing to Mr. Caryll with an air almost
      apologetic, and to the landlady with an air scarcely less so, as he asked
      for a nipperkin of ale to wash the dust of the road from his throat. The
      hostess called a drawer to serve him, and departed herself upon the
      momentous business of Mr. Caryll's dinner.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A warm day, sir,&rdquo; said the chubby man.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll agreed with him politely, and finished his glass, the other
      sipping meanwhile at his ale.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A fine brew, sir,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;A prodigious fine brew! With all respect,
      sir, your honor should try a whet of our English ale.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll, setting down his glass, looked languidly at the man. &ldquo;Why do
      you exclude me, sir, from the nation of this beverage?&rdquo; he inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      The chubby man's face expressed astonishment. &ldquo;Ye're English, sir! Ecod! I
      had thought ye French!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is an honor, sir, that you should have thought me anything.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The other abased himself. &ldquo;'Twas an unwarrantable presumption, Codso!
      which I hope your honor'll pardon.&rdquo; Then he smiled again, his little eyes
      twinkling humorously. &ldquo;An ye would try the ale, I dare swear your honor
      would forgive me. I know ale, ecod! I am a brewer myself. Green is my
      name, sir&mdash;Tom Green&mdash;your very obedient servant, sir.&rdquo; And he
      drank as if pledging that same service he professed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll observed him calmly and a thought indifferently. &ldquo;Ye're
      determined to honor me,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I am your debtor for your reflections
      upon whetting glasses; but ale, sir, is a beverage I don't affect, nor
      shall while there are vines in France.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; sighed Mr. Green rapturously. &ldquo;'Tis a great country, France; is it
      not, sir?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis not the general opinion here at present. But I make no doubt that it
      deserves your praise.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And Paris, now,&rdquo; persisted Mr. Green. &ldquo;They tell me 'tis a great city; a
      marvel o' th' ages. There be those, ecod! that say London's but a kennel
      to't.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Be there so?&rdquo; quoth Mr. Caryll indifferently.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye don't agree with them, belike?&rdquo; asked Mr. Green, with eagerness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pooh! Men will say anything,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll replied, and added pointedly:
      &ldquo;Men will talk, ye see.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not always,&rdquo; was the retort in a sly tone. &ldquo;I've known men to be
      prodigious short when they had aught to hide.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have ye so? Ye seem to have had a wide experience.&rdquo; And Mr. Caryll
      sauntered out, humming a French air through closed lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green looked after him with hardened eyes. He turned to the drawer who
      stood by. &ldquo;He's mighty close,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Mighty close!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye're not perhaps quite the company he cares for,&rdquo; the drawer suggested
      candidly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green looked at him. &ldquo;Very like,&rdquo; he snapped. &ldquo;How long does he stay
      here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye lost a rare chance of finding out when ye let him go without
      inquiring,&rdquo; said the drawer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green's face lost some of its chubbiness. &ldquo;When d'ye look to marry the
      landlady?&rdquo; was his next question.
    </p>
    <p>
      The man stared. &ldquo;Cod!&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Marry the&mdash;Are ye daft?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green affected surprise. &ldquo;I'm mistook, it seems. Ye misled me by your
      pertness. Get me another nipperkin.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile Mr. Caryll had taken his way above stairs to the room set apart
      for him. He dined to his satisfaction, and thereafter, his shapely,
      silk-clad legs thrown over a second chair, his waistcoat all unbuttoned,
      for the day was of an almost midsummer warmth&mdash;he sat mightily at his
      ease, a decanter of sherry at his elbow, a pipe in one hand and a book of
      Mr. Gay's poems in the other. But the ease went no further than the body,
      as witnessed the circumstances that his pipe was cold, the decanter
      tolerably full, and Mr. Gay's pleasant rhymes and quaint conceits of fancy
      all unheeded. The light, mercurial spirit which he had from nature and his
      unfortunate mother, and which he had retained in spite of the stern
      training he had received at his adoptive father's hands, was
      heavy-fettered now.
    </p>
    <p>
      The mild fatigue of his journey through the heat of the day had led him to
      look forward to a voluptuous hour of indolence following upon dinner, with
      pipe and book and glass. The hour was come, the elements were there, but
      since he could not abandon himself to their dominion the voluptuousness
      was wanting. The task before him haunted him with anticipatory remorse. It
      hung upon his spirit like a sick man's dream. It obtruded itself upon his
      constant thought, and the more he pondered it the more did he sicken at
      what lay before him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wrought upon by Everard's fanaticism that day in Paris some three weeks
      ago, infected for the time being by something of his adoptive father's
      fever, he had set his hands to the task in a glow of passionate
      exaltation. But with the hour, the exaltation went, and reaction started
      in his soul. And yet draw back he dared not; too long and sedulously had
      Everard trained his spirit to look upon the avenging of his mother as a
      duty. Believing that it was his duty, he thirsted on the one hand to
      fulfill it, whilst, on the other, he recoiled in horror at the thought
      that the man upon whom he was to wreak that vengeance was his father&mdash;albeit
      a father whom he did not know, who had never seen him, who was not so much
      as aware of his existence.
    </p>
    <p>
      He sought forgetfulness in Mr. Gay. He had the delicate-minded man's
      inherent taste for verse, a quick ear for the melody of words, the
      aesthete's love of beauty in phrase as of beauty in all else; and culture
      had quickened his perceptions, developed his capacity for appreciation.
      For the tenth time he called Leduc to light his pipe; and, that done, he
      set his eye to the page once more. But it was like harnessing a bullock to
      a cart; unmindful of the way it went and over what it travelled, his eye
      ambled heavily along the lines, and when he came to turn the page he
      realized with a start that he had no impression of what he had read upon
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      In sheer disgust he tossed the book aside, and kicking away the second
      chair, rose lythely. He crossed to the window, and stood there gazing out
      at nothing, nor conscious of the incense that came to him from garden,
      from orchard, and from meadow.
    </p>
    <p>
      It needed a clatter of hoofs and a cloud of dust approaching from the
      north to draw his mind from its obsessing thoughts. He watched the yellow
      body of the coach as it came furiously onward, its four horses stretched
      to the gallop, postillion lusty of lungs and whip, and the great trail of
      dust left behind it spreading to right and left over the flowering
      hedge-rows to lose itself above the gold-flecked meadowland. On it came,
      to draw up there, at the very entrance to Maidstone, at the sign of the
      &ldquo;Adam and Eve.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll, leaning on the sill of his window, looked down with interest
      to see what manner of travellers were these that went at so red-hot a
      pace. From the rumble a lackey swung himself to the rough cobbles of the
      yard. From within the inn came again landlady and chamberlain, and from
      the stable ostler and boy, obsequious all and of no interest to Mr.
      Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then the door of the coach was opened, the steps were let down, and there
      emerged&mdash;his hand upon the shoulder of the servant&mdash;a very
      ferret of a man in black, with a parson's bands and neckcloth, a
      coal-black full-bottomed wig, and under this a white face, rather drawn
      and haggard, and thin lips perpetually agrin to flaunt two rows of yellow
      teeth disproportionately large. After him, and the more remarkable by
      contrast, came a tall, black-faced fellow, very brave in buff-colored
      cloth, with a fortune in lace at wrist and throat, and a heavily powdered
      tie-wig.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lackey, chamberlain and parson attended his alighting, and then he joined
      their ranks to attend in his turn&mdash;hat under arm&mdash;the last of
      these odd travellers.
    </p>
    <p>
      The interest grew. Mr. Caryll felt that the climax was about to be
      presented, and he leaned farther forward that he might obtain a better
      view of the awaited personage. In the silence he caught a rustle of silk.
      A flowered petticoat appeared&mdash;as much of it as may be seen from the
      knee downwards&mdash;and from beneath this the daintiest foot conceivable
      was seen to grope an instant for the step. Another second and the rest of
      her emerged.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll observed&mdash;and be it known that he had the very shrewdest
      eye for a woman, as became one of the race from which on his mother's side
      he sprang&mdash;that she was middling tall, chastely slender, having, as
      he judged from her high waist, a fine, clean length of limb. All this he
      observed and approved, and prayed for a glimpse of the face which her
      silken hood obscured and screened from his desiring gaze. She raised it at
      that moment&mdash;raised it in a timid, frightened fashion, as one who
      looks fearfully about to see that she is not remarked&mdash;and Mr. Caryll
      had a glimpse of an oval face, pale with a warm pallor&mdash;like the
      pallor of the peach, he thought, and touched, like the peach, with a faint
      hint of pink in either cheek. A pair of eyes, large, brown, and gentle as
      a saint's, met his, and Mr. Caryll realized that she was beautiful and
      that it might be good to look into those eyes at closer quarters.
    </p>
    <p>
      Seeing him, a faint exclamation escaped her, and she turned away in sudden
      haste to enter the inn. The fine gentleman looked up and scowled; the
      parson looked up and trembled; the ostler and his boy looked up and
      grinned. Then all swept forward and were screened by the porch from the
      wondering eyes of Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      He turned from the window with a sigh, and stepped back to the table for
      the tinder-box, that for the eleventh time he might relight his pipe. He
      sat down, blew a cloud of smoke to the ceiling, and considered. His nature
      triumphed now over his recent preoccupation; the matter of the moment,
      which concerned him not at all, engrossed him beyond any other matter of
      his life. He was intrigued to know in what relation one to the other stood
      the three so oddly assorted travellers he had seen arrive. He bethought
      him that, after all, the odd assortment arose from the presence of the
      parson; and he wondered what the plague should any Christian&mdash;and
      seemingly a gentleman at that&mdash;be doing travelling with a parson.
      Then there was the wild speed at which they had come.
    </p>
    <p>
      The matter absorbed and vexed him. I fear he was inquisitive by nature.
      There came a moment when he went so far as to consider making his way
      below to pursue his investigations in situ. It would have been at great
      cost to his dignity, and this he was destined to be spared.
    </p>
    <p>
      A knock fell upon his door, and the landlady came in. She was genial,
      buxom and apple-faced, as becomes a landlady.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is a gentleman below&mdash;&rdquo; she was beginning, when Mr. Caryll
      interrupted her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would rather that you told me of the lady,&rdquo; said
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;La, sir!&rdquo; she cried, displaying ivory teeth, her eyes cast upwards, hands
      upraised in gentle, mirthful protest. &ldquo;La, sir! But I come from the lady,
      too.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He looked at her. &ldquo;A good ambassador,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;should begin with the
      best news; not add it as an afterthought. But proceed, I beg. You give me
      hope, mistress.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They send their compliments, and would be prodigiously obliged if you was
      to give yourself the trouble of stepping below.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of stepping below?&rdquo; he inquired, head on one side, solemn eyes upon the
      hostess. &ldquo;Would it be impertinent to inquire what they may want with me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think they want you for a witness, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For a witness? Am I to testify to the lady's perfection of face and
      shape, to the heaven that sits in her eyes, to the miracle she calls her
      ankle? Are these and other things besides of the same kind what I am
      required to witness? If so, they could not have sent for one more
      qualified. I am an expert, ma'am.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, sir, nay!&rdquo; she laughed. &ldquo;'Tis a marriage they need you for.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll opened his queer eyes a little wider. &ldquo;Soho!&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;The
      parson is explained.&rdquo; Then he fell thoughtful, his tone lost its note of
      flippancy. &ldquo;This gentleman who sends his compliments, does he send his
      name?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He does not, sir; but I overheard it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Confide in me,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll invited her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is a great gentleman,&rdquo; she prepared him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No matter. I love great gentlemen.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They call him Lord Rotherby.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At that sudden and utterly unexpected mention of his half-brother's name&mdash;his
      unknown half-brother&mdash;Mr. Caryll came to his feet with an alacrity
      which a more shrewd observer would have set down to some cause other than
      mere respect for a viscount. The hostess was shrewd, but not shrewd
      enough, and if Mr. Caryll's expression changed for an instant, it resumed
      its habitual half-scornful calm so swiftly that it would have needed eyes
      of an exceptional quickness to have read it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Enough!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Who could deny his lordship?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shall I tell them you are coming?&rdquo; she inquired, her hand already upon
      the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A moment,&rdquo; he begged, detaining her. &ldquo;'Tis a runaway marriage this, eh?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her full-hearted smile beamed on him again; she was a very woman, with a
      taste for the romantic, loving love. &ldquo;What else, sir?&rdquo; she laughed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And why, mistress,&rdquo; he inquired, eying her, his fingers plucking at his
      nether lip, &ldquo;do they desire my testimony?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His lordship's own man will stand witness, for one; but they'll need
      another,&rdquo; she explained, her voice reflecting astonishment at his
      question.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;True. But why do they need me?&rdquo; he pressed her. &ldquo;Heard you no reason
      given why they should prefer me to your chamberlain, your ostler or your
      drawer?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She knit her brows and shrugged impatient shoulders. Here was a deal of
      pother about a trifling affair. &ldquo;His lordship saw you as he entered, sir,
      and inquired of me who you might be.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His lordship flatters me by this interest. My looks pleased him, let us
      hope. And you answered him&mdash;what?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That your honor is a gentleman newly crossed from France.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are well-informed, mistress,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, a thought tartly, for
      if his speech was tainted with a French accent it was in so slight a
      degree as surely to be imperceptible to the vulgar.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your clothes, sir,&rdquo; the landlady explained, and he bethought him, then,
      that the greater elegance and refinement of his French apparel must indeed
      proclaim his origin to one who had so many occasions of seeing travelers
      from Gaul. That might even account for Mr. Green's attempts to talk to him
      of France. His mind returned to the matter of the bridal pair below.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You told him that, eh?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;And what said his lordship then?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He turned to the parson. 'The very man for us, Jenkins,' says he.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And the parson&mdash;this Jenkins&mdash;what answer did he make?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Excellently thought,' he says, grinning.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hum! And you yourself, mistress, what inference did you draw?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Inference, sir?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Aye, inference, ma'am. Did you not gather that this was not only a
      runaway match, but a clandestine one? My lord can depend upon the
      discretion of his servant, no doubt; for other witness he would prefer
      some passer-by, some stranger who will go his ways to-morrow, and not be
      like to be heard of again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lard, sir!&rdquo; cried the landlady, her eyes wide with astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll smiled enigmatically. &ldquo;'Tis so, I assure ye, ma'am. My Lord
      Rotherby is of a family singularly cautious in the unions it contracts. In
      entering matrimony he prefers, no doubt, to leave a back door open for
      quiet retreat should he repent him later.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your honor has his lordship's acquaintance, then?&rdquo; quoth the landlady.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a misfortune from which Heaven has hitherto preserved me, but which
      the devil, it seems, now thrusts upon me. It will, nevertheless, interest
      me to see him at close quarters. Come, ma'am.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As they were going out, Mr. Caryll checked suddenly. &ldquo;Why, what's
      o'clock?&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      She stared, so abruptly came the question. &ldquo;Past four, sir,&rdquo; she answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      He uttered a short laugh. &ldquo;Decidedly,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;his lordship must be
      viewed at closer quarters.&rdquo; And he led the way downstairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the passage he waited for her to come up with him. &ldquo;You had best
      announce me by name,&rdquo; he suggested. &ldquo;It is Caryll.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She nodded, and, going forward, threw open a door, inviting him to enter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Caryll,&rdquo; she announced, obedient to his injunction, and as he went in
      she closed the door behind him.
    </p>
    <p>
      From the group of three that had been sitting about the polished walnut
      table, the tall gentleman in buff and silver rose swiftly, and advanced to
      the newcomer; what time Mr. Caryll made a rapid observation of this
      brother whom he was meeting under circumstances so odd and by a chance so
      peculiar.
    </p>
    <p>
      He beheld a man of twenty-five, or perhaps a little more, tall and well
      made, if already inclining to heaviness, with a swarthy face, full-lipped,
      big-nosed, black-eyed, an obstinate chin, and a deplorable brow. At sight,
      by instinct, he disliked his brother. He wondered vaguely was Lord
      Rotherby in appearance at all like their common father; but beyond that he
      gave little thought to the tie that bound them. Indeed, he has placed it
      upon record that, saving in such moments of high stress as followed in
      their later connection, he never could remember that they were the sons of
      the same parent.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thought,&rdquo; was Rotherby's greeting, a note almost of irritation in his
      voice, &ldquo;that the woman said you were from France.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was an odd welcome, but its oddness at the moment went unheeded. His
      swift scrutiny of his brother over, Mr. Caryll's glance passed on to
      become riveted upon the face of the lady at the table's head. In addition
      to the beauties which from above he had descried, he now perceived that
      her mouth was sensitive and kindly, her whole expression one of gentle
      wistfulness, exceeding sweet to contemplate. What did she in this galley,
      he wondered; and he has confessed that just as at sight he had disliked
      his brother, so from that hour&mdash;from the very instant of his eyes'
      alighting on her there&mdash;he loved the lady whom his brother was to
      wed, felt a surpassing need of her, conceived that in the meeting of their
      eyes their very souls had met, so that it was to him as if he had known
      her since he had known anything. Meanwhile there was his lordship's
      question to be answered. He answered it mechanically, his eyes upon the
      lady, and she returning the gaze of those queer, greenish eyes with a
      sweetness that gave place to no confusion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am from France, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But not French?&rdquo; his lordship continued.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll fetched his eyes from the lady's to meet Lord Rotherby's. &ldquo;More
      than half French,&rdquo; he replied, the French taint in his accent growing
      slightly more pronounced. &ldquo;It was but an accident that my father was an
      Englishman.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby laughed softly, a thought contemptuously. Foreigners were things
      which in his untraveled, unlettered ignorance he despised. The difference
      between a Frenchman and a South Sea Islander was a thing never quite
      appreciated by his lordship. Some subtle difference he had no doubt
      existed; but for him it was enough to know that both were foreigners;
      therefore, it logically followed, both were kin.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your words, sir, might be oddly interpreted. 'Pon honor, they might!&rdquo;
       said he, and laughed softly again with singular insolence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If they have amused your lordship I am happy,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll in such a
      tone that Rotherby looked to see whether he was being roasted. &ldquo;You wanted
      me, I think. I beg that you'll not thank me for having descended. It was
      an honor.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It occurred to Rotherby that this was a veiled reproof for the ill manners
      of the omission. Again he looked sharply at this man who was scanning him
      with such interest, but he detected in the calm, high-bred face nothing to
      suggest that any mockery was intended. Belatedly he fell to doing the very
      thing that Mr. Caryll had begged him to leave undone: he fell to thanking
      him. As for Mr. Caryll himself, not even the queer position into which he
      had been thrust could repress his characteristics. What time his lordship
      thanked him, he looked about him at the other occupants of the room, and
      found that, besides the parson, sitting pale and wide-eyed at the table,
      there was present in the background his lordship's man&mdash;a quiet
      fellow, quietly garbed in gray, with a shrewd face and shrewd, shifty
      eyes. Mr. Caryll saw, and registered, for future use, the reflection that
      eyes that are overshrewd are seldom wont to look out of honest heads.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are desired,&rdquo; his lordship informed him, &ldquo;to be witness to a
      marriage.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So much the landlady had made known to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is not, I trust, a task that will occasion you any scruples.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;None. On the contrary, it is the absence of the marriage might do that.&rdquo;
       The smooth, easy tone so masked the inner meaning of the answer that his
      lordship scarce attended to the words.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then we had best get on. We are in haste.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis the characteristic rashness of folk about to enter wedlock,&rdquo; said
      Mr. Caryll, as he approached the table with his lordship, his eyes as he
      spoke turning full upon the bride.
    </p>
    <p>
      My lord laughed, musically enough, but overloud for a man of brains or
      breeding. &ldquo;Marry in haste, eh?&rdquo; quoth he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are penetration itself,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll praised him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Twill take a shrewd rogue to better me,&rdquo; his lordship agreed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yet an honest man might worst you. One never knows. But the lady's
      patience is being taxed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was as well he added that, for his lordship had turned with intent to
      ask him what he meant.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Aye! Come, Jenkins. Get on with your patter. Gaskell,&rdquo; he called to his
      man, &ldquo;stand forward here.&rdquo; Then he took his place beside the lady, who had
      risen, and stood pale, with eyes cast down and&mdash;as Mr. Caryll alone
      saw&mdash;the faintest quiver at the corners of her lips. This served to
      increase Mr. Caryll's already considerable cogitations.
    </p>
    <p>
      The parson faced them, fumbling at his book, Mr. Caryll's eyes watching
      him with that cold, level glance of theirs. The parson looked up, met that
      uncanny gaze, displayed his teeth in a grin of terror, fell to trembling,
      and dropped the book in his confusion. Mr. Caryll, smiling sardonically,
      stooped to restore it him.
    </p>
    <p>
      There followed a fresh pause. Mr. Jenkins, having lost his place, seemed
      at some pains to find it again&mdash;amazing, indeed, in one whose
      profession should have rendered him so familiar with its pages.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll continued to watch him, in silence, and&mdash;as an observer
      might have thought, as, indeed, Gaskell did think, though he said nothing
      at the time&mdash;with wicked relish.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III. THE WITNESS
    </h2>
    <p>
      At last the page was found again by Mr. Jenkins. Having found it, he
      hesitated still a moment, then cleared his throat, and in the manner of
      one hurling himself forward upon a desperate venture, he began to read.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God,&rdquo; he read, and
      on in a nasal, whining voice, which not only was the very voice you would
      have expected from such a man, but in accordance, too, with sound clerical
      convention. The bridal pair stood before him, the groom with a slight
      flush on his cheeks and a bright glitter in his black eyes, which were not
      nice to see; the bride with bowed head and bosom heaving as in response to
      inward tumult.
    </p>
    <p>
      The cleric came to the end of his exordium, paused a moment, and whether
      because he gathered confidence, whether because he realized the impressive
      character of the fresh matter upon which he entered, he proceeded now in a
      firmer, more sonorous voice: &ldquo;I require and charge you both as ye will
      answer on the dreadful day of judgment.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye've forgot something,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll interrupted blandly.
    </p>
    <p>
      His lordship swung round with an impatient gesture and an impatient snort;
      the lady, too, looked up suddenly, whilst Mr. Jenkins seemed to fall into
      an utter panic.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wha&mdash;what?&rdquo; he stammered. &ldquo;What have I forgot?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To read the directions, I think.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His lordship scowled darkly upon Mr. Caryll, who heeded him not at all,
      but watched the lady sideways.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Jenkins turned first scarlet, then paler than he had been before, and
      bent his eyes to the book to read in a slightly puzzled voice the
      italicized words above the period he had embarked upon. &ldquo;And also speaking
      unto the persons that shall be married, he shall say:&rdquo; he read, and looked
      up inquiry, his faintly-colored, prominent eyes endeavoring to sustain Mr.
      Caryll's steady glance, but failing miserably.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis farther back,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll informed him in answer to that mute
      question; and as the fellow moistened his thumb to turn back the pages,
      Mr. Caryll saved him the trouble. &ldquo;It says, I think, that the man should
      be on your right hand and the woman on your left. Ye seem to have reversed
      matters, Mr. Jenkins. But perhaps ye're left-handed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stab me!&rdquo; was Mr. Jenkins' most uncanonical comment. &ldquo;I vow I am
      over-flustered. Your lordship is so impatient with me. This gentleman is
      right. But that I was so flustered. Will you not change places with his
      lordship, ma'am?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They changed places, after the viscount had thanked Mr. Caryll shortly and
      cursed the parson with circumstance and fervor. It was well done on his
      lordship's part, but the lady did not seem convinced by it. Her face
      looked whiter, and her eyes had an alarmed, half-suspicious expression.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We must begin again,&rdquo; said Mr. Jenkins. And he began again.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll listened and watched, and he began to enjoy himself
      exceedingly. He had not reckoned upon so rich an entertainment when he had
      consented to come down to witness this odd ceremony. His sense of humor
      conquered every other consideration, and the circumstance that Lord
      Rotherby was his brother, if remembered at all, served but to add a spice
      to the situation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Out of sheer deviltry he waited until Mr. Jenkins had labored for a second
      time through the opening periods. Again he allowed him to get as far as &ldquo;I
      charge and require you both-,&rdquo; before again he interrupted him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is something else ye've forgot,&rdquo; said he in that sweet, quiet voice
      of his.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was too much for Rotherby. &ldquo;Damn you!&rdquo; he swore, turning a livid face
      upon Mr. Caryll, and failed to observe that at the sound of that harsh
      oath and at the sight of his furious face, the lady recoiled from him, the
      suspicion lately in her face turning first to conviction and then to
      absolute horror.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not think you are civil,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll critically. &ldquo;It was in
      your interests that I spoke.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then I'll thank you, in my interests, to hold your tongue!&rdquo; his lordship
      stormed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In that case,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, &ldquo;I must still speak in the interests of
      the lady. Since you've desired me to be a witness, I'll do my duty by you
      both and see you properly wed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now, what the devil may you mean by that?&rdquo; demanded his lordship,
      betraying himself more and more at every word.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Jenkins, in a spasm of terror, sought to pour oil upon these waters.
      &ldquo;My lord,&rdquo; he bleated, teeth and eyeballs protruding from his pallid face.
      &ldquo;My lord! Perhaps the gentleman is right. Perhaps&mdash;Perhaps&mdash;&rdquo; He
      gulped, and turned to Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;What is't ye think we have forgot now?&rdquo;
       he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The time of day,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll replied, and watched the puzzled look that
      came into both their faces.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do ye deal in riddles with us?&rdquo; quoth his lordship. &ldquo;What have we to do
      with the time of day?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Best ask the parson,&rdquo; suggested Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby swung round again to Jenkins. Jenkins spread his hands in mute
      bewilderment and distress. Mr. Caryll laughed silently.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll not be married! I'll not be married!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was the lady who spoke, and those odd words were the first that Mr.
      Caryll heard from her lips. They made an excellent impression upon him,
      bearing witness to her good sense and judgment&mdash;although belatedly
      aroused&mdash;and informing him, although the pitch was strained just now;
      that the rich contralto of her voice was full of music. He was a judge of
      voices, as of much else besides.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hoity-toity!&rdquo; quoth his lordship, between petulance and simulated
      amusement. &ldquo;What's all the pother? Hortensia, dear&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll not be married!&rdquo; she repeated firmly, her wide brown eyes meeting
      his in absolute defiance, head thrown back, face pale but fearless.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don't believe,&rdquo; ventured Mr. Caryll, &ldquo;that you could be if you desired
      it. Leastways not here and now and by this.&rdquo; And he jerked a contemptuous
      thumb sideways at Mr. Jenkins, toward whom he had turned his shoulder.
      &ldquo;Perhaps you have realized it for yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A shudder ran through her; color flooded into her face and out again,
      leaving it paler than before; yet she maintained a brave front that moved
      Mr. Caryll profoundly to an even greater admiration of her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby, his great jaw set, his hands clenched and eyes blazing, stood
      irresolute between her and Mr. Caryll. Jenkins, in sheer terror, now sank
      limply to a chair, whilst Gaskell looked on&mdash;a perfect servant&mdash;as
      immovable outwardly and unconcerned as if he had been a piece of
      furniture. Then his lordship turned again to Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You take a deal upon yourself, sir,&rdquo; said he menacingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A deal of what?&rdquo; wondered Mr. Caryll blandly.
    </p>
    <p>
      The question nonplussed Rotherby. He swore ferociously. &ldquo;By God!&rdquo; he
      fumed, &ldquo;I'll have you make good your insinuations. You shall disabuse this
      lady's mind. You shall&mdash;damn you!&mdash;or I'll compel you!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll smiled very engagingly. The matter was speeding excellently&mdash;a
      comedy the like of which he did not remember to have played a part in
      since his student days at Oxford, ten years and more ago.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I had thought,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that the woman who summoned me to be a witness
      of this&mdash;this&mdash;ah wedding&rdquo;&mdash;there was a whole volume of
      criticism in his utterance of the word&mdash;&ldquo;was the landlady of the
      'Adam and Eve.' I begin to think that she was this lady's good angel;
      Fate, clothed, for once, matronly and benign.&rdquo; Then he dropped the easy,
      bantering manner with a suddenness that was startling. Gallic fire blazed
      up through British training. &ldquo;Let us speak plainly, my Lord Rotherby. This
      marriage is no marriage. It is a mockery and a villainy. And that
      scoundrel&mdash;worthy servant of his master&mdash;is no parson; no, not
      so much as a hedge-parson is he. Madame,&rdquo; he proceeded, turning now to the
      frightened lady, &ldquo;you have been grossly abused by these villains.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir!&rdquo; blazed Rotherby at last, breaking in upon his denunciation, hand
      clapped to sword. &ldquo;Do ye dare use such words to me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Jenkins got to his feet, in a slow, foolish fashion. He put out a hand
      to stay his lordship. The lady, in the background, looked on with wide
      eyes, very breathless, one hand to her bosom as if to control its heave.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll proceeded, undismayed, to make good his accusation. He had
      dropped back into his slightly listless air of thinly veiled persiflage,
      and he appeared to address the lady, to explain the situation to her,
      rather than to justify the charge he had made.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A blind man could have perceived, from the rustling of his prayer book
      when he fumbled at it, that the contents were strange to him. And observe
      the volume,&rdquo; he continued, picking it up and flaunting it aloft.
      &ldquo;Fire-new; not a thumbmark anywhere; purchased expressly for this foul
      venture. Is there aught else so clean and fresh about the scurvy thief?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You shall moderate your tones, sir&mdash;&rdquo; began his lordship in a snarl.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He sets you each on the wrong side of him,&rdquo; continued Mr. Caryll, all
      imperturbable, &ldquo;lacking even the sense to read the directions which the
      book contains, and he has no thought for the circumstance that the time of
      day is uncanonical. Is more needed, madame?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So much was not needed,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;though I am your debtor, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her voice was marvelously steady, ice-cold with scorn, a royal anger
      increasing the glory of her eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby's hand fell away from his sword. He realized that bluster was not
      the most convenient weapon here. He addressed Mr. Caryll very haughtily.
      &ldquo;You are from France, sir, and something may be excused you. But not quite
      all. You have used expressions that are not to be offered to a person of
      my quality. I fear you scarcely apprehend it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As well, no doubt, as those who avoid you, sir,&rdquo; answered Mr. Caryll,
      with cool contempt, his dislike of the man and of the business in which he
      had found him engaged mounting above every other consideration.
    </p>
    <p>
      His lordship frowned inquiry. &ldquo;And who may those be?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Most decent folk, I should conceive, if this be an example of your ways.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By God, sir! You are a thought too pert. We'll mend that presently. I
      will first convince you of your error, and you, Hortensia.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will be interesting,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, and meant it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby turned from him, keeping a tight rein upon his anger; and so much
      restraint in so tempestuous a man was little short of wonderful.
      &ldquo;Hortensia,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;this is fool's talk. What object could I seek to
      serve?&rdquo; She drew back another step, contempt and loathing in her face.
      &ldquo;This man,&rdquo; he continued, flinging a hand toward Jenkins, and checked upon
      the word. He swung round upon the fellow. &ldquo;Have you fooled me, knave?&rdquo; he
      bawled. &ldquo;Is it true what this man says of you&mdash;that ye're no parson
      at all?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Jenkins quailed and shriveled. Here was a move for which he was all
      unprepared, and knew not how to play to it. On the bridegroom's part it
      was excellently acted; yet it came too late to be convincing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You'll have the license in your pocket, no doubt, my lord,&rdquo; put in Mr.
      Caryll. &ldquo;It will help to convince the lady of the honesty of your
      intentions. It will show her that ye were abused by this thief for the
      sake of the guinea ye were to pay him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      That was checkmate, and Lord Rotherby realized it. There remained him
      nothing but violence, and in violence he was exceedingly at home&mdash;being
      a member of the Hell Fire Club and having served in the Bold Bucks under
      his Grace of Wharton.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You damned, infernal marplot! You blasted meddler!&rdquo; he swore, and some
      other things besides, froth on his lips, the veins of his brow congested.
      &ldquo;What affair was this of yours?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thought you desired me for a witness,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll reminded him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did, let me perish!&rdquo; said Rotherby. &ldquo;And I wish to the devil I had bit
      my tongue out first.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The loss to eloquence had been irreparable,&rdquo; sighed Mr. Caryll, his eyes
      upon a beam of the ceiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby stared and choked. &ldquo;Is there no sense in you, you gibbering
      parrot?&rdquo; he inquired. &ldquo;What are you&mdash;an actor or a fool?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A gentleman, I hope,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll urbanely. &ldquo;What are you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll learn you,&rdquo; said his lordship, and plucked at his sword.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll in the same quiet voice that thinly veiled his
      inward laughter&mdash;&ldquo;a bully!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      With more oaths, my lord heaved himself forward. Mr. Caryll was without
      weapons. He had left his sword above-stairs, not deeming that he would be
      needing it at a wedding. He never moved hand or foot as Rotherby bore down
      upon him, but his greenish eyes grew keen and very watchful. He began to
      wonder had he indulged his amusement overlong, and imperceptibly he
      adjusted his balance for a spring.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby stretched out to lunge, murder in his inflamed eyes. &ldquo;I'll
      silence you, you&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There was a swift rustle behind him. His hand&mdash;drawn back to thrust&mdash;was
      suddenly caught, and ere he realized it the sword was wrenched from
      fingers that held it lightly, unprepared for this.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You dog!&rdquo; said the lady's voice, strident now with anger and disdain. She
      had his sword.
    </p>
    <p>
      He faced about with a horrible oath. Mr. Caryll conceived that he was
      becoming a thought disgusting.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hoofs and wheels ground on the cobbles of the yard and came to a halt
      outside, but went unheeded in the excitement of the moment. Rotherby stood
      facing her, she facing him, the sword in her hand and a look in her eyes
      that promised she would use it upon him did he urge her.
    </p>
    <p>
      A moment thus&mdash;of utter, breathless silence. Then, as if her passion
      mounted and swept all aside, she raised the sword, and using it as a whip,
      she lashed him with it until at the third blow it rebounded to the table
      and was snapped. Instinctively his lordship had put up his hands to save
      his face, and across one of them a red line grew and grew and oozed forth
      blood which spread to envelop it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Gaskell advanced with a sharp cry of concern. But Rotherby waved him back,
      and the gesture shook blood from his hand like raindrops. His face was
      livid; his eyes were upon the woman he had gone so near betraying with a
      look that none might read. Jenkins swayed, sickly, against the table,
      whilst Mr. Caryll observed all with a critical eye and came to the
      conclusion that she must have loved this villain.
    </p>
    <p>
      The hilt and stump of sword clattered in the fireplace, whither she hurled
      it. A moment she caught her face in her hands, and a sob shook her almost
      fiercely. Then she came past his lordship, across the room to Mr. Caryll,
      Rotherby making no shift to detain her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Take me away, sir! Take me away,&rdquo; she begged him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll's gloomy face lightened suddenly. &ldquo;Your servant, ma'am,&rdquo; said
      he, and made her a bow. &ldquo;I think you are very well advised,&rdquo; he added
      cheerfully and offered her his arm. She took it, and moved a step or two
      toward the door. It opened at that moment, and a burly, elderly man came
      in heavily.
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady halted, a cry escaped her&mdash;a cry of pain almost&mdash;and
      she fell to weeping there and then. Mr. Caryll was very mystified.
    </p>
    <p>
      The newcomer paused at the sight that met him, considered it with a dull
      blue eye, and, for all that he looked stupid, it seemed he had wit enough
      to take in the situation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So!&rdquo; said he, with heavy mockery. &ldquo;I might have spared myself the trouble
      of coming after you. For it seems that she has found you out in time, you
      villain!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby turned sharply at that voice. He fell back a step, his brow
      seeming to grow blacker than it had been. &ldquo;Father!&rdquo; he exclaimed; but
      there was little that was filial in the accent.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll staggered and recovered himself. It had been indeed a
      staggering shock; for here, of course, was his own father, too.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV. Mr. GREEN
    </h2>
    <p>
      There was a quick patter of feet, the rustle of a hooped petticoat, and
      the lady was in the arms of my Lord Ostermore.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Forgive me, my lord!&rdquo; she was crying. &ldquo;Oh, forgive me! I was a little
      fool, and I have been punished enough already!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      To Mr. Caryll this was a surprising development. The earl, whose arms
      seemed to have opened readily enough to receive her, was patting her
      soothingly upon the shoulder. &ldquo;Pish! What's this? What's this?&rdquo; he
      grumbled; yet his voice, Mr. Caryll noticed, was if anything kindly; but
      it must be confessed that it was a dull, gruff voice, seldom indicating
      any shade of emotion, unless&mdash;as sometimes happened&mdash;it was
      raised in anger. He was frowning now upon his son over the girl's head,
      his bushy, grizzled brows contracted.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll observed&mdash;and with what interest you should well imagine&mdash;that
      Lord Ostermore was still in a general way a handsome man. Of a good
      height, but slightly excessive bulk, he had a face that still retained a
      fair shape. Short-necked, florid and plethoric, he had the air of the man
      who seldom makes a long illness at the end. His eyes were very blue, and
      the lids were puffed and heavy, whilst the mouth, Mr. Caryll remarked in a
      critical, detached spirit, was stupid rather than sensuous. He made his
      survey swiftly, and the result left him wondering.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile the earl was addressing his son, whose hand was being bandaged
      by Gaskell. There was little variety in his invective. &ldquo;You villain!&rdquo; he
      bawled at him. &ldquo;You damned villain!&rdquo; Then he patted the girl's head. &ldquo;You
      found the scoundrel out before you married him,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I am glad on't;
      glad on't!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis such a reversing of the usual order of things that it calls for
      wonder,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Eh?&rdquo; quoth his lordship. &ldquo;Who the devil are you? One of his friends?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your lordship overwhelms me,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll gravely, making a bow. He
      observed the bewilderment in Ostermore's eyes, and began to realize at
      that early stage of their acquaintance that to speak ironically to the
      Earl of Ostermore was not to speak at all.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was Hortensia&mdash;a very tearful Hortensia now who explained. &ldquo;This
      gentleman saved me, my lord,&rdquo; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Saved you?&rdquo; quoth he dully. &ldquo;How did he come to save you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He discovered the parson,&rdquo; she explained.
    </p>
    <p>
      The earl looked more and more bewildered. &ldquo;Just so,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;It
      was my privilege to discover that the parson is no parson.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The parson is no parson?&rdquo; echoed his lordship, scowling more and more.
      &ldquo;Then what the devil is the parson?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Hortensia freed herself from his protecting arms. &ldquo;He is a villain,&rdquo; she
      said, &ldquo;who was hired by my Lord Rotherby to come here and pretend to be a
      parson.&rdquo; Her eyes flamed, her cheeks were scarlet. &ldquo;God help me for a
      fool, my lord, to have put my faith in that man! Oh!&rdquo; she choked. &ldquo;The
      shame&mdash;the burning shame of it! I would I had a brother to punish
      him!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Lord Ostermore was crimson, too, with indignation. Mr. Caryll was relieved
      to see that he was capable of so much emotion. &ldquo;Did I not warn you against
      him, Hortensia?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Could you not have trusted that I knew him&mdash;I,
      his father, to my everlasting shame?&rdquo; Then he swung upon Rotherby. &ldquo;You
      dog!&rdquo; he began, and there&mdash;being a man of little invention&mdash;words
      failed him, and wrath alone remained, very intense, but entirely
      inarticulate.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby moved forward till he reached the table, then stood leaning upon
      it, scowling at the company from under his black brows. &ldquo;'Tis your
      lordship alone is to blame for this,&rdquo; he informed his father, with a vain
      pretence at composure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am to blame!&rdquo; gurgled his lordship, veins swelling at his brow. &ldquo;I am
      to blame that you should have carried her off thus? And&mdash;by God!&mdash;had
      you meant to marry her honestly and fittingly, I might find it in my heart
      to forgive you. But to practice such villainy! To attempt to put this foul
      trick upon the child!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll thought for an instant of another child whose child he was, and
      a passion of angry mockery at the forgetfulness of age welled up from the
      bitter soul of him. Outwardly he remained a very mirror for placidity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your lordship had threatened to disinherit me if I married her,&rdquo; said
      Rotherby.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Twas to save her from you,&rdquo; Ostermore explained, entirely unnecessarily.
      &ldquo;And you thought to&mdash;to&mdash;By God! sir, I marvel you have the
      courage to confront me. I marvel!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Take me away, my lord,&rdquo; Hortensia begged him, touching his arm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Aye, we were best away,&rdquo; said the earl, drawing her to him. Then he flung
      a hand out at Rotherby in a gesture of repudiation, of anathema. &ldquo;But 'tis
      not the end on't for you, you knave! What I threatened, I will perform.
      I'll disinherit you. Not a penny of mine shall come to you. Ye shall
      starve for aught I care; starve, and&mdash;and&mdash;the world be well rid
      of a villain. I&mdash;I disown you. Ye're no son of mine. I'll take oath
      ye're no son of mine!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll thought that, on the contrary, Rotherby was very much his
      father's son, and he added to his observations upon human nature the
      reflection that sinners are oddly blessed with short memories. He was
      entirely dispassionate again by now.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for Rotherby, he received his father's anger with a scornful smile and
      a curling lip. &ldquo;You'll disinherit me?&rdquo; quoth he in mockery. &ldquo;And of what,
      pray? If report speaks true, you'll be needing to inherit something
      yourself to bear you through your present straitness.&rdquo; He shrugged and
      produced his snuff-box with an offensive simulation of nonchalance. &ldquo;Ye
      cannot cut the entail,&rdquo; he reminded his almost apoplectic sire, and took
      snuff delicately, sauntering windowwards.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Cut the entail? The entail?&rdquo; cried the earl, and laughed in a manner that
      seemed to bode no good. &ldquo;Have you ever troubled to ascertain what it
      amounts to? You fool, it wouldn't keep you in&mdash;in&mdash;in snuff!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Lord Rotherby halted in his stride, half-turned and looked at his father
      over his shoulder. The sneering mask was wiped from his face, which became
      blank. &ldquo;My lord&mdash;&rdquo; he began.
    </p>
    <p>
      The earl waved a silencing hand, and turned with dignity to Hortensia.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, child,&rdquo; said he. Then he remembered something. &ldquo;Gad!&rdquo; he exclaimed.
      &ldquo;I had forgot the parson. I'll have him gaoled! I'll have him hanged if
      the law will help me. Come forth, man!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Ignoring the invitation, Mr. Jenkins scuttled, ratlike, across the room,
      mounted the window-seat, and was gone in a flash through the open window.
      He dropped plump upon Mr. Green, who was crouching underneath. The pair
      rolled over together in the mould of a flowerbed; then Mr. Green clutched
      Mr. Jenkins, and Mr. Jenkins squealed like a trapped rabbit. Mr. Green
      thrust his fist carefully into the mockparson's mouth.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sh! You blubbering fool!&rdquo; he snapped in his ear. &ldquo;My business is not with
      you. Lie still!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Within the room all stood at gaze, following the sudden flight of Mr.
      Jenkins. Then Lord Ostermore made as if to approach the winnow, but
      Hortensia restrained him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let the wretch go,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;The blame is not his. What is he but my
      lord's tool?&rdquo; And her eyes scorched Rotherby with such a glance of scorn
      as must have killed any but a shameless man. Then turning to the demurely
      observant gentleman who had done her such good service, &ldquo;Mr. Caryll&rdquo; she
      said, &ldquo;I want to thank you. I want my lord, here, to thank you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll bowed to her. &ldquo;I beg that you will not think of it,&rdquo; said he.
      &ldquo;It is I who will remain in your debt.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is your name Caryll, sir?&rdquo; quoth the earl. He had a trick of fastening
      upon the inconsequent, though that was scarcely the case now.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That, my lord, is my name. I believe I have the honor of sharing it with
      your lordship.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye'll belong to some younger branch of the family,&rdquo; the earl supposed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Like enough&mdash;some outlying branch,&rdquo; answered the imperturbable
      Caryll&mdash;a jest which only himself could appreciate, and that
      bitterly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And how came you into this?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby sneered audibly&mdash;in self-mockery, no doubt, as he came to
      reflect that it was he, himself, had had him fetched.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They needed another witness,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, &ldquo;and hearing there was at
      the inn a gentleman newly crossed from France, his lordship no doubt
      opined that a traveller, here to-day and gone for good tomorrow, would be
      just the witness that he needed for the business he proposed. That
      circumstance aroused my suspicions, and&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But the earl, as usual, seemed to have fastened upon the minor point,
      although again it was not so. &ldquo;You are newly crossed from France?&rdquo; said
      he. &ldquo;Ay, and your name is the same as mine. 'Twas what I was advised.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll flashed a sidelong glance at Rotherby, who had turned to stare
      at his father, and in his heart he cursed the stupidity of my Lord
      Ostermore. If this proposed to be a member of a conspiracy, Heaven help
      that same conspiracy!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Were you, by any chance, going to seek me in town, Mr. Caryll?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll suppressed a desire to laugh. Here was a way to deal with State
      secrets. &ldquo;I, my lord?&rdquo; he inquired, with an assumed air of surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      The earl looked at him, and from him to Rotherby, bethought himself, and
      started so overtly that Rotherby's eyes grew narrow, the lines of his
      mouth tightened. &ldquo;Nay, of course not; of course not,&rdquo; he blustered
      clumsily.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Rotherby laughed aloud. &ldquo;Now what a plague is all this mystery?&rdquo; he
      inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mystery?&rdquo; quoth my lord. &ldquo;What mystery should there be?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis what I would fain be informed,&rdquo; he answered in a voice that showed
      he meant to gain the information. He sauntered forward towards Caryll, his
      eye playing mockingly over this gentleman from France. &ldquo;Now, sir,&rdquo; said
      he, &ldquo;whose messenger may you be, eh? What's all this&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Rotherby!&rdquo; the earl interrupted in a voice intended to be compelling.
      &ldquo;Come away, Mr. Caryll,&rdquo; he added quickly. &ldquo;I'll not have any gentleman
      who has shown himself a friend to my ward, here, affronted by that rascal.
      Come away, sir!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not so fast! Not so fast, ecod!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was another voice that broke in upon them. Rotherby started round.
      Gaskell, in the shadows of the cowled fireplace jumped in sheer alarm. All
      stared at the window whence the voice proceeded.
    </p>
    <p>
      They beheld a plump, chubby-faced little man, astride the sill, a pistol
      displayed with ostentation in his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll was the only one with the presence of mind to welcome him.
      &ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; said he, smiling engagingly. &ldquo;My little friend, the brewer of ale.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let no one leave this room,&rdquo; said Mr. Green with a great dignity. Then,
      with rather less dignity, he whistled shrilly through his fingers, and got
      down lightly into the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; blustered the earl, &ldquo;this is an intrusion; an impertinence. What do
      you want?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The papers this gentleman carries,&rdquo; said Mr. Green, indicating Caryll
      with the hand that held the pistol. The earl looked alarmed, which was
      foolish in him, thought Mr. Caryll. Rotherby covered his mouth with his
      hand, after the fashion of one who masks a smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye're rightly served for meddling,&rdquo; said he with relish.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Out with them,&rdquo; the chubby man demanded. &ldquo;Ye'll gain nothing by
      resistance. So don't be obstinate, now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I could be nothing so discourteous,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;Would it be prying
      on my part to inquire what may be your interest in my papers?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His serenity lessened the earl's anxieties, but bewildered him; and it
      took the edge off the malicious pleasure which Rotherby was beginning to
      experience.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am obeying the orders of my Lord Carteret, the Secretary of State,&rdquo;
       said Mr. Green. &ldquo;I was to watch for a gentleman from France with letters
      for my Lord Ostermore. He had a messenger a week ago to tell him to look
      for such a visitor. He took the messenger, if you must know, and&mdash;well,
      we induced him to tell us what was the message he had carried. There is so
      much mystery in all this that my Lord Carteret desires more knowledge on
      the subject. I think you are the gentleman I am looking for.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll looked him over with an amused eye, and laughed. &ldquo;It distresses
      me,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;to see so much good thought wasted.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green was abashed a moment. But he recovered quickly; no doubt he had
      met the cool type before. &ldquo;Come, come!&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;No blustering. Out with
      your papers, my fine fellow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The door opened, and a couple of men came in; over their shoulders, ere
      the door closed again, Mr. Caryll had a glimpse of the landlady's rosy
      face, alarm in her glance. The newcomers were dirty rogues; tipstaves,
      recognizable at a glance. One of them wore a ragged bob-wig&mdash;the
      cast-off, no doubt, of some gentleman's gentleman, fished out of the
      sixpenny tub in Rosemary Lane; it was ill-fitting, and wisps of the
      fellow's own unkempt hair hung out in places. The other wore no wig at
      all; his yellow thatch fell in streaks from under his shabby hat, which he
      had the ill-manners to retain until Lord Ostermore knocked it from his
      head with a blow of his cane. Both were fierily bottle-nosed, and neither
      appeared to have shaved for a week or so.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; quoth Mr. Green, &ldquo;will you hand them over of your own accord, or
      must I have you searched?&rdquo; And a wave of the hand towards the advancing
      myrmidons indicated the searchers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You go too far, sir,&rdquo; blustered the earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, surely,&rdquo; put in Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;You are mad to think a gentleman is to
      submit to being searched by any knave that comes to him with a
      cock-and-bull tale about the Secretary of State.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green leered again, and produced a paper. &ldquo;There,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;is my
      Lord Carteret's warrant, signed and sealed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll glanced over it with a disdainful eye. &ldquo;It is in blank,&rdquo; said
      he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Just so,&rdquo; agreed Mr. Green. &ldquo;Carte blanche, as you say over the water. If
      you insist,&rdquo; he offered obligingly, &ldquo;I'll fill in your name before we
      proceed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll shrugged his shoulders. &ldquo;It might be well,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;if you
      are to search me at all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green advanced to the table. The writing implements provided for the
      wedding were still there. He took up a pen, scrawled a name across the
      blank, dusted it with sand, and presented it again to Mr. Caryll. The
      latter nodded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll not trouble you to search me,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I would as soon not have
      these noblemen of yours for my valets.&rdquo; He thrust his hands into the
      pockets of his fine coat, and brought forth several papers. These he
      proffered to Mr. Green, who took them between satisfaction and amazement.
      Ostermore stared, too stricken for words at this meek surrender; and well
      was it for Mr. Caryll that he was so stricken, for had he spoken he had
      assuredly betrayed himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hortensia, Mr. Caryll observed, watched his cowardly yielding with an eye
      of stern contempt. Rotherby looked on with a dark face that betrayed
      nothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile Mr. Green was running through the papers, and as fast as he ran
      through them he permitted himself certain comments that passed for humor
      with his followers. There could be no doubt that in his own social stratum
      Mr. Green must have been accounted something of a wag.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha! What's this? A bill! A bill for snuff! My Lord Carteret'll snuff you,
      sir. He'll tobacco you, ecod! He'll smoke you first, and snuff you
      afterwards.&rdquo; He flung the bill aside. &ldquo;Phew!&rdquo; he whistled. &ldquo;Verses! 'To
      Theocritus upon sailing for Albion.' That's mighty choice! D'ye write
      verses, sir?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Heyday! 'Tis an occupation to which I have succumbed in moments of
      weakness. I crave your indulgence, Mr. Green.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green perceived that here was a weak attempt at irony, and went on
      with his investigations. He came to the last of the papers Mr. Caryll had
      handed him, glanced at it, swore coarsely, and dropped it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;D'ye think ye can bubble me?'&rdquo; he cried, red in the face.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Ostermore heaved a sigh of relief; the hard look had faded from
      Hortensia's eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is't ye mean, giving me this rubbish?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I offer you my excuses for the contents of my pockets,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll.
      &ldquo;Ye see, I did not expect to be honored by your inquisition. Had I but
      known&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green struck an attitude. &ldquo;Now attend to me, sir! I am a servant of
      His Majesty's Government.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His Majesty's Government cannot be sufficiently congratulated,&rdquo; said Mr.
      Caryll, the irrepressible.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green banged the table. &ldquo;Are ye rallying me, ecod!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have upset the ink,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll pointed out to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Damn the ink!&rdquo; swore the spy. &ldquo;And damn you for a Tom o' Bedlam! I ask
      you again&mdash;what d'ye mean, giving me this rubbish?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You asked me to turn out my pockets.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I asked you for the letter ye have brought Lord Ostermore.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am sorry,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, and eyed the other sympathetically. &ldquo;I am
      sorry to disappoint you. But, then, you assumed too much when you assumed
      that I had such a letter. I have obliged you to the fullest extent in my
      power. I do not think you show a becoming gratitude.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green eyed him blankly a moment; then exploded. &ldquo;Ecod, sir! You are
      cool.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a condition we do not appear to share.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;D'ye say ye've brought his lordship no letter from France?&rdquo; thundered the
      spy. &ldquo;What else ha' ye come to England for?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To study manners, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, bowing.
    </p>
    <p>
      That was the last drop in the cup of Mr. Green's endurance. He waved his
      men towards the gentleman from France. &ldquo;Find it,&rdquo; he bade them shortly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll drew himself up with a great dignity, and waved the bailiffs
      back, his white face set, an unpleasant glimmer in his eyes. &ldquo;A moment!&rdquo;
       he cried. &ldquo;You have no authority to go to such extremes. I make no
      objection to being searched; but every objection to being soiled, and I'll
      not have the fingers of these scavengers about my person.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And you are right, egad!&rdquo; cried Lord Ostermore, advancing. &ldquo;Harkee, you
      dirty spy, this is no way to deal with gentlemen. Be off, now, and take
      your carrion-crows with you, or I'll have my grooms in with their whips to
      you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To me?&rdquo; roared Green. &ldquo;I represent the Secretary of State.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye'll represent a side of raw venison if you tarry here,&rdquo; the earl
      promised him. &ldquo;D'ye dare look me in the eye? D'ye dare, ye rogue? D'ye
      know who I am? And don't wag that pistol, my fine fellow! Be off, now!
      Away with you!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green looked his name. The rosiness was all departed from his cheeks;
      he quivered with suppressed wrath. &ldquo;If I go&mdash;giving way to constraint&mdash;what
      shall you say to my Lord Carteret?&rdquo; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What concern may that be of yours, sirrah?''
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will be some concern of yours, my lord.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll interposed. &ldquo;The knave is right,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;It were to
      implicate your lordship. It were to give color to his silly suspicions.
      Let him make his search. But be so good as to summon my valet. He shall
      hand you my garments that you may do your will upon them. But unless you
      justify yourself by finding the letter you are seeking, you shall have to
      reckon with the consequences of discomposing a gentleman for nothing. Now,
      sir! Is it a bargain?&rdquo; Mr. Green looked him over, and if he was shaken by
      the calm assurance of Mr. Caryll's tone and manner, he concealed it very
      effectively. &ldquo;We'll make no bargains,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I have my duty to do.&rdquo; He
      signed to one of the bailiffs. &ldquo;Fetch the gentleman's servant,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So be it,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;But you take too much upon yourself, sir.
      Your duty, I think, would have been to arrest me and carry me to Lord
      Carteret's, there to be searched if his lordship considered it necessary.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have no cause to arrest you until I find it,&rdquo; Mr. Green snapped
      impatiently.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your logic is faultless.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am following my Lord Carteret's orders to the letter. I am to effect no
      arrest until I have positive evidence.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yet you are detaining me. What does this amount to but an arrest?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green disdained to answer. Leduc entered, and Mr. Caryll turned to
      Lord Ostermore.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is no reason why I should detain your lordship,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and
      these operations&mdash;The lady&mdash;&rdquo; He waved an expressive hand, bent
      an expressive eye upon the earl.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Ostermore seemed to waver. He was not&mdash;he had never been&mdash;a
      man to think for others. But Hortensia cut in before he could reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We will wait,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Since you are travelling to town, I am sure his
      lordship will be glad of your company, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll looked deep into those great brown eyes, and bowed his thanks.
      &ldquo;If it will not discompose your lordship&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; said Ostermore, gruff of voice and manner. &ldquo;We will wait. I
      shall be honored, sir, if you will journey with us afterwards.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll bowed again, and went to hold the door for them, Mr. Green's
      eyes keenly alert for an attempt at evasion. But there was none. When his
      lordship and his ward had departed, Mr. Caryll turned to Rotherby, who had
      taken a chair, his man Gaskell behind him. He looked from the viscount to
      Mr. Green.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do we require this gentleman?&rdquo; he asked the spy.
    </p>
    <p>
      A smile broke over Rotherby's swam face. &ldquo;By your leave, sir, I'll remain
      to see fair play. You may find me useful, Mr. Green. I have no cause to
      wish this marplot well,&rdquo; he explained.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll turned his back upon him, took off his coat and waistcoat. He
      sat down while Mr. Green spread the garments upon the table, emptied out
      the pockets, turned down the cuffs, ripped up the satin linings. He did it
      in a consummate fashion, very thoroughly. Yet, though he parted the
      linings from the cloth, he did so in such a manner as to leave the
      garments easily repairable.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll watched him with interest and appreciation, and what time he
      watched he was wondering might it not be better straightway to place the
      spy in possession of the letter, and thus destroy himself and Lord
      Ostermore, at the same time&mdash;and have done with the task on which he
      was come to England. It seemed almost an easy way out of the affair. His
      betrayal of the earl would be less ugly if he, himself, were to share the
      consequences of that betrayal.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he checked his thoughts. What manner of mood was this? Besides, his
      inclination was all to become better acquainted with this odd family upon
      which he had stumbled in so extraordinary a manner. Down in his heart of
      hearts he had a feeling that the thing he was come to do would never be
      done&mdash;leastways, not by him. It was in vain that he might attempt to
      steel himself to the task. It repelled him. It went not with a nature such
      as his.
    </p>
    <p>
      He thought of Everard, afire with the idea of vengence and to such an
      extent that he had succeeded in infecting Justin himself with a spark of
      it. He thought of him with pity almost; pity that a man should obsess his
      life by such a phantasm as this same vengeance must have been to him. Was
      it worth while? Was anything worth while, he wondered.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Rotherby approached the table, and took up the garments upon which
      Mr. Green had finished. He turned them over and supplemented Mr. Green's
      search.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye're welcome to all that ye can find,&rdquo; sneered Mr. Green, and turned to
      Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;Let us have your shoes, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll removed his shoes, in silence, and Mr. Green proceeded to
      examine them in a manner that provoked Mr. Caryll's profound admiration.
      He separated the lining from the Spanish leather, and probed slowly and
      carefully in the space between. He examined the heels very closely, going
      over to the window for the purpose. That done, he dropped them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your breeches now,&rdquo; said he laconically.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile Leduc had taken up the coat, and with a needle and thread
      wherewith he had equipped himself he was industriously restoring the
      stitches that Mr. Green had taken out.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll surrendered his breeches. His fine Holland shirt went next, his
      stockings and what other trifles he wore, until he stood as naked as Adam
      before the fall. Yet all in vain.
    </p>
    <p>
      His garments were restored to him, one by one, and one by one, with
      Leduc's aid, he resumed them. Mr. Green was looking crestfallen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Are you satisfied?&rdquo; inquired Mr. Caryll pleasantly, his good temper
      inexhaustible.
    </p>
    <p>
      The spy looked at him with a moody eye, plucking thoughtfully at his lip
      with thumb and forefinger. Then he brightened suddenly. &ldquo;There's your
      man,&rdquo; said he, flashing a quick eye upon Leduc, who looked up with a quiet
      smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;True,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, &ldquo;and there's my portmantle above-stairs, and my
      saddle on my horse in the stables. It is even possible, for aught you
      know, that there may be a hollow tooth or two in my head. Pray let your
      search be thorough.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green considered him again. &ldquo;If you had it, it would be upon your
      person.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yet consider,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll begged him, holding out his foot that Leduc
      might put on his shoe again, &ldquo;I might have supposed that you would suppose
      that, and disposed accordingly. You had better investigate to the bitter
      end.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green's small eyes continued to scrutinize Leduc at intervals. The
      valet was a silent, serious-faced fellow. &ldquo;I'll search your servant,
      leastways,&rdquo; the spy announced.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By all means. Leduc, I beg that you will place yourself at this
      interesting gentleman's disposal.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      What time Mr. Caryll, unaided now, completed the resumption of his
      garments, Leduc, silent and expressionless, submitted to being searched.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will observe, Leduc,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, &ldquo;that we have not come to this
      country in vain. We are undergoing experiences that would be interesting
      if they were not quite so dull, amusing if they entailed less discomfort
      to ourselves. Assuredly, it was worth while to cross to England to study
      manners. And there are sights for you that you will never see in France.
      You would not, for instance, had you not come hither, have had an
      opportunity of observing a member of the noblesse seconding and assisting
      a tipstaff in the discharge of his duty. And doing it just as a hog
      wallows in foulness&mdash;for the love of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The gentlemen in your country, Leduc, are too fastidious to enjoy life as
      it should be enjoyed; they are too prone to adhere to the amusements of
      their class. You have here an opportunity of perceiving how deeply they
      are mistaken, what relish may lie in setting one's rank on one side, in
      forgetting at times that by an accident&mdash;a sheer, incredible
      accident, I assure you, Leduc&mdash;one may have been born to a
      gentleman's estate.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby had drawn himself up, his dark face crimsoning.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;D'ye talk at me, sir?&rdquo; he demanded. &ldquo;D'ye dare discuss me with your
      lackey?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But why not, since you search me with my tipstaff! If you can perceive a
      difference, you are too subtle for me, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby advanced a step; then checked. He inherited mental sluggishness
      from his father. &ldquo;You are insolent!&rdquo; he charged Caryll. &ldquo;You insult me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed! Ha! I am working miracles.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby governed his anger by an effort. &ldquo;There was enough between us
      without this,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There could not be too much between us&mdash;too much space, I mean.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The viscount looked at him furiously. &ldquo;I shall discuss this further with
      you,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;The present is not the time nor place. But I shall know
      where to look for you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Leduc, I am sure, will always be pleased to see you. He, too, is studying
      manners.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby ignored the insult. &ldquo;We shall see, then, whether you can do
      anything more than talk.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope that your lordship, too, is master of other accomplishments. As a
      talker, I do not find you very gifted. But perhaps Leduc will be less
      exigent than I.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Bah!&rdquo; his lordship flung at him, and went out, cursing him profusely,
      Gaskell following at his master's heels.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V. MOONSHINE
    </h2>
    <p>
      My Lord Ostermore, though puzzled, entertained no tormenting anxiety on
      the score of the search to which Mr. Caryll was to be submitted. He
      assured himself from that gentleman's confident, easy manner&mdash;being a
      man who always drew from things the inference that was obvious&mdash;that
      either he carried no such letter as my lord expected, or else he had so
      disposed of it as to baffle search.
    </p>
    <p>
      So, for the moment, he dismissed the subject from his mind. With Hortensia
      he entered the parlor across the stone-flagged passage, to which the
      landlady ushered them, and turned whole-heartedly to the matter of his
      ward's elopement with his son.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hortensia,&rdquo; said he, when they were alone. &ldquo;You have been foolish; very
      foolish.&rdquo; He had a trick of repeating himself, conceiving, no doubt, that
      the commonplace achieves distinction by repetition.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hortensia sat in an arm-chair by the window, and sighed, looking out over
      the downs. &ldquo;Do I not know it?&rdquo; she cried, and the eyes which were averted
      from his lordship were charred with tears&mdash;tears of hot anger, shame
      and mortification. &ldquo;God help all women!&rdquo; she added bitterly, after a
      moment, as many another woman under similar and worse circumstances has
      cried before and since.
    </p>
    <p>
      A more feeling man might have conceived that this was a moment in which to
      leave her to herself and her own thoughts, and in that it is possible that
      a more feeling man had been mistaken. Ostermore, stolid and unimaginative,
      but not altogether without sympathy for his ward, of whom he was
      reasonably fond&mdash;as fond, no doubt, as it was his capacity to be for
      any other than himself&mdash;approached her and set a plump hand upon the
      back of her chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What was it drove you to this?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She turned upon him almost fiercely. &ldquo;My Lady Ostermore,&rdquo; she answered
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      His lordship frowned, and his eyes shifted uneasily from her face. In his
      heart he disliked his wife excessively, disliked her because she was the
      one person in the world who governed him, who rode rough-shod over his
      feelings and desires; because, perhaps, she was the mother of his
      unfeeling, detestable son. She may not have been the only person living to
      despise Lord Ostermore; but she was certainly the only one with the
      courage to manifest her contempt, and that in no circumscribed terms. And
      yet, disliking her as he did, returning with interest her contempt of him,
      he veiled it, and was loyal to his termagant, never suffering himself to
      utter a complaint of her to others, never suffering others to censure her
      within his hearing. This loyalty may have had its roots in pride&mdash;indeed,
      no other soil can be assigned to them&mdash;a pride that would allow no
      strangers to pry into the sore places of his being. He frowned now to hear
      Hortensia's angry mention of her ladyship's name; and if his blue eyes
      moved uneasily under his beetling brows, it was because the situation
      irked him. How should he stand as judge between Mistress Winthrop&mdash;towards
      whom, as we have seen, he had a kindness&mdash;and his wife, whom he
      hated, yet towards whom he would not be disloyal?
    </p>
    <p>
      He wished the subject dropped, since, did he ask the obvious question&mdash;in
      what my Lady Ostermore could have been the cause of Hortensia's flight&mdash;he
      would provoke, he knew, a storm of censure from his wife. Therefore he
      fell silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hortensia, however, felt that she had said too much not to say more.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Her ladyship has never failed to make me feel my position&mdash;my&mdash;my
      poverty,&rdquo; she pursued. &ldquo;There is no slight her ladyship has not put upon
      me, until not even your servants use me with the respect that is due to my
      father's daughter. And my father,&rdquo; she added, with a reproachful glance,
      &ldquo;was your friend, my lord.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, deploring now the question with
      which he had fired the train of feminine complaint. &ldquo;Pish, pish!&rdquo; he
      deprecated, &ldquo;'tis fancy, child&mdash;pure fancy!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So her Ladyship would say, did you tax her with it. Yet your lordship
      knows I am not fanciful in other things. Should I, then, be fanciful in
      this?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But what has her ladyship ever done, child?&rdquo; he demanded, thinking thus
      to baffle her&mdash;since he was acquainted with the subtlety of her
      ladyship's methods.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A thousand things,&rdquo; replied Hortensia hotly, &ldquo;and yet not one upon which
      I may fasten. 'Tis thus she works: by words, half-words, looks, sneers,
      shrugs, and sometimes foul abuse entirely disproportionate to the little
      cause I may unwittingly have given.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Her ladyship is a little hot,&rdquo; the earl admitted, &ldquo;but a good heart; 'tis
      an excellent heart, Hortensia.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For hating-ay, my lord.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, plague on't! That's womanish in you. 'Pon honor it is! Womanish!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What else would you have a woman? Mannish and raffish, like my Lady
      Ostermore?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll not listen to you,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Ye're not just, Hortensia. Ye're
      heated; heated! I'll not listen to you. Besides, when all is said, what
      reasons be these for the folly ye've committed?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Reasons?&rdquo; she echoed scornfully. &ldquo;Reasons and to spare! Her ladyship has
      made my life so hard, has so shamed and crushed me, put such indignities
      upon me, that existence grew unbearable under your roof. It could not
      continue, my lord,&rdquo; she pursued, rising under the sway of her indignation.
      &ldquo;It could not continue. I am not of the stuff that goes to making martyrs.
      I am weak, and&mdash;and&mdash;as your lordship has said&mdash;womanish.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed, you talk a deal,&rdquo; said his lordship peevishly. But she did not
      heed the sarcasm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lord Rotherby,&rdquo; she continued, &ldquo;offered me the means to escape. He urged
      me to elope with him. His reason was that you would never consent to our
      marriage; but that if we took the matter into our hands, and were married
      first, we might depend upon your sanction afterwards; that you had too
      great a kindness for me to withhold your pardon. I was weak, my lord&mdash;womanish,&rdquo;
       (she threw the word at him again) &ldquo;and it happened&mdash;God help me for a
      fool!&mdash;that I thought I loved Lord Rotherby. And so&mdash;and so&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She sat down again, weakly, miserably, averting her face that she might
      hide her tears. He was touched, and he even went so far as to show
      something of his sympathy. He approached her again, and laid a benign hand
      lightly upon her shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But&mdash;but&mdash;in that case&mdash;Oh, the damned villain!&mdash;why
      this mock-parson?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Does your lordship not perceive? Must I die of shame? Do you not see?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;See? No!&rdquo; He was thoughtful a second; then repeated, &ldquo;No!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I understood,&rdquo; she informed him, a smile&mdash;a cruelly bitter smile&mdash;lifting
      and steadying the corner of her lately quivering lip, &ldquo;when he alluded to
      your lordship's straitened circumstances. He has no disinheritance to fear
      because he has no inheritance to look for beyond the entail, of which you
      cannot disinherit him. My Lord Rotherby sets a high value upon himself. He
      may&mdash;I do not know&mdash;he may have been in love with me&mdash;though
      not as I know love, which is all sacrifice, all self-denial. But by his
      lights he may have cared for me; he must have done, by his lights. Had I
      been a lady of fortune, not a doubt but he would have made me his wife; as
      it was, he must aim at a more profitable marriage, and meanwhile, to
      gratify his love for me&mdash;base as it was&mdash;he would&mdash;he would&mdash;O
      God! I cannot say it. You understand, my lord.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      My lord swore strenuously. &ldquo;There is a punishment for such a crime as
      this.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, my lord&mdash;and a way to avoid punishment for a gentleman in your
      son's position, even did I flaunt my shame in some vain endeavor to have
      justice&mdash;a thing he knew I never could have done.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      My lord swore again. &ldquo;He shall be punished,&rdquo; he declared emphatically.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No doubt. God will see to that,&rdquo; she said, a world of faith in her
      quivering voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      My lord's eyes expressed his doubt of divine intervention. He preferred to
      speak for himself. &ldquo;I'll disown the dog. He shall not enter my house
      again. You shall not be reminded of what has happened here. Gad! You were
      shrewd to have smoked his motives so!&rdquo; he cried in a burst of admiration
      for her insight. &ldquo;Gad, child! Shouldst have been a lawyer! A lawyer!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If it had not been for Mr. Caryll&mdash;&rdquo; she began, but to what else she
      said he lent no ear, being suddenly brought back to his fears at the
      mention of that gentleman's name.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Caryll! Save us! What is keeping him?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Can they&mdash;can
      they&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The door opened, and Mr. Caryll walked in, ushered by the hostess. Both
      turned to confront him, Hortensia's eyes swollen from her weeping.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; quoth his lordship. &ldquo;Did they find nothing?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll advanced with the easy, graceful carriage that was one of his
      main charms, his clothes so skilfully restored by Leduc that none could
      have guessed the severity of the examination they had undergone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Since I am here, and alone, your lordship may conclude such to be the
      case. Mr. Green is preparing for departure. He is very abject; very
      chap-fallen. I am almost sorry for Mr. Green. I am by nature sympathetic.
      I have promised to make my complaint to my Lord Carteret. And so, I trust
      there is an end to a tiresome matter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But then, sir?&rdquo; quoth his lordship. &ldquo;But then&mdash;are you the bearer of
      no letter?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll shot a swift glance over his shoulder at the door. He
      deliberately winked at the earl. &ldquo;Did your lordship expect letters?&rdquo; he
      inquired. &ldquo;That was scarcely reason enough to suppose me a courier. There
      is some mistake, I imagine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Between the wink and the words his lordship was bewildered.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll turned to the lady, bowing. Then he waved a hand over the
      downs. &ldquo;A fine view,&rdquo; said he airily, and she stared at him. &ldquo;I shall
      treasure sweet memories of Maidstone.&rdquo; Her stare grew stonier. Did he mean
      the landscape or some other matter? His tone was difficult to read&mdash;a
      feature peculiar to his tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not so shall I, sir,&rdquo; she made answer. &ldquo;I shall never think of it other
      than with burning cheeks&mdash;unless it be with gratitude to your
      shrewdness which saved me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No more, I beg. It is a matter painful to you to dwell on. Let me exhort
      you to forget it. I have already done so.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is a sweet courtesy in you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am compounded of sweet courtesy,&rdquo; he informed her modestly.
    </p>
    <p>
      His lordship spoke of departure, renewing his offer to carry Mr. Caryll to
      town in his chaise. Meanwhile, Mr. Caryll was behaving curiously. He was
      tiptoeing towards the door, along the wall, where he was out of line with
      the keyhole. He reached it suddenly, and abruptly pulled it open. There
      was a squeal, and Mr. Green rolled forward into the room. Mr. Caryll
      kicked him out again before he could rise, and called Leduc to throw him
      outside. And that was the last they saw of Mr. Green at Maidstone.
    </p>
    <p>
      They set out soon afterwards, Mr. Caryll travelling in his lordship's
      chaise, and Leduc following in his master's.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was an hour or so after candle-lighting time when they reached Croydon,
      the country lying all white under a full moon that sailed in a clear, calm
      sky. His lordship swore that he would go no farther that night. The
      travelling fatigued him; indeed, for the last few miles of the journey he
      had been dozing in his corner of the carriage, conversation having long
      since been abandoned as too great an effort on so bad a road, which shook
      and jolted them beyond endurance. His lordship's chaise was of an
      old-fashioned pattern, and the springs far from what might have been
      desired or expected in a nobleman's conveyance.
    </p>
    <p>
      They alighted at the &ldquo;Bells.&rdquo; His lordship bespoke supper, invited Mr.
      Caryll to join them, and, what time the meal was preparing, went into a
      noisy doze in the parlor's best chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mistress Winthrop sauntered out into the garden. The calm and fragrance of
      the night invited her. Alone with her thoughts, she paced the lawn a
      while, until her solitude was disturbed by the advent of Mr. Caryll. He,
      too, had need to think, and he had come out into the peace of the night to
      indulge his need. Seeing her, he made as if to withdraw again; but she
      perceived him, and called him to her side. He went most readily. Yet when
      he stood before her in an attitude of courteous deference, she was at a
      loss what she should say to him, or, rather, what words she should employ.
      At last, with a half-laugh of nervousness, &ldquo;I am by nature very
      inquisitive, sir,&rdquo; she prefaced.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I had already judged you to be an exceptional woman,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll
      commented softly.
    </p>
    <p>
      She mused an instant. &ldquo;Are you never serious?&rdquo; she asked him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is it worth while?&rdquo; he counter-questioned, and, whether intent or
      accident, he let her see something of himself. &ldquo;Is it even amusing&mdash;to
      be serious?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is there in life nothing but amusement?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, yes&mdash;but nothing so vital. I speak with knowledge. The gift of
      laughter has been my salvation.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;From what, sir?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah&mdash;who shall say that? My history and my rearing have been such
      that had I bowed before them, I had become the most gloomy, melancholy man
      that steps this gloomy, melancholy world. By now I might have found
      existence insupportable, and so&mdash;who knows? I might have set a term
      to it. But I had the wisdom to prefer laughter. Humanity is a delectable
      spectacle if we but have the gift to observe it in a dispassionate spirit.
      Such a gift have I cultivated. The squirming of the human worm is
      interesting to observe, and the practice of observing it has this
      advantage, that while we observe it we forget to squirm ourselves.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The bitterness of your words belies their purport.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He shrugged and smiled. &ldquo;But proves my contention. That I might explain
      myself, you made me for a moment serious, set me squirming in my turn.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She moved a little, and he fell into step beside her. A little while there
      was silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Presently&mdash;&ldquo;You find me, no doubt, as amusing as any other of your
      human worms,&rdquo; said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;God forbid!&rdquo; he answered soberly.
    </p>
    <p>
      She laughed. &ldquo;You make an exception in my case, then. That is a subtle
      flattery!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have I not said that I had judged you to be an exceptional woman?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Exceptionally foolish, not a doubt.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Exceptionally beautiful; exceptionally admirable,&rdquo; he corrected.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A clumsy compliment, devoid of wit!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When we grow truthful, it may be forgiven us if we fall short of wit.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That were an argument in favor of avoiding truth.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Were it necessary,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;For truth is seldom so intrusive as to need
      avoiding. But we are straying. There was a score upon which you were
      inquisitive, you said; from which I take it that you sought knowledge at
      my hands. Pray seek it; I am a well, of knowledge.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I desired to know&mdash;Nay, but I have asked you already. I desired to
      know did you deem me a very pitiful little fool?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They had reached the privet hedge, and turned. They paused now before
      resuming their walk. He paused, also, before replying. Then:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I should judge you wise in most things,&rdquo; he answered slowly, critically.
      &ldquo;But in the matter to which I owe the blessing of having served you, I do
      not think you wise. Did you&mdash;do you love Lord Rotherby?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What if so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After what you have learned, I should account you still less wise.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are impertinent, sir,&rdquo; she reproved him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, most pertinent. Did you not ask me to sit in judgment upon this
      matter? And unless you confess to me, how am I to absolve you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did not crave your absolution. You take too much upon yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So said Lord Rotherby. You seem to have something in common when all is
      said.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She bit her lip in chagrin. They paced in silence to the lawn's end, and
      turned again. Then: &ldquo;You treat me like a fool,&rdquo; she reproved him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How is that possible, when, already I think I love you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She started from him, and stared at him for a long moment. &ldquo;You insult
      me!&rdquo; she cried angrily, conceiving that she understood his mind. &ldquo;Do you
      think that because I may have committed a folly I have forfeited all claim
      to be respected&mdash;that I am a subject for insolent speeches?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are illogical,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, the imperturbable. &ldquo;I have told you
      that I love you. Should I insult the woman I have said I love?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You love me?&rdquo; She looked at him, her face very white in the white
      moonlight, her lips parted, a kindling anger in her eyes. &ldquo;Are you mad?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I a'n't sure. There have been moments when I have almost feared it. This
      is not one of them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You wish me to think you serious?&rdquo; She laughed a thought stridently in
      her indignation. &ldquo;I have known you just four hours,&rdquo; said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Precisely the time I think I have loved you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You think?&rdquo; she echoed scornfully. &ldquo;Oh, you make that reservation! You
      are not quite sure?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Can we be sure of anything?&rdquo; he deprecated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of some things,&rdquo; she answered icily. &ldquo;And I am sure of one&mdash;that I
      am beginning to understand you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I envy you. Since that is so, help me&mdash;of your charity!&mdash;to
      understand myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then understand yourself for an impudent, fleering coxcomb,&rdquo; she flung at
      him, and turned to leave him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is not explanation,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll thoughtfully. &ldquo;It is mere
      abuse.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What else do you deserve?&rdquo; she asked him over her shoulder. &ldquo;That you
      should have dared!&rdquo; she withered him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To love you quite so suddenly?&rdquo; he inquired, and misquoted: &ldquo;'Whoever
      loved at all, that loved not at first sight?' Hortensia!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have not the right to my name, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yet I offer you the right to mine,&rdquo; he answered, with humble reproach.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You shall be punished,&rdquo; she promised him, and in high dudgeon left him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Punished? Oh, cruel! Can you then be&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
      &ldquo;'Unsoft to him who's smooth to thee?
        Tigers and bears, I've heard some say,
        For proffered love will love repay.&rdquo;'
</pre>
    <p>
      But she was gone. He looked up at the moon, and took it into his
      confidence to reproach it. &ldquo;'Twas your white face beglamored me,&rdquo; he told
      it aloud. &ldquo;See, how execrable a beginning I've made, and, therefore, how
      excellent!&rdquo; And he laughed, but entirely without mirth.
    </p>
    <p>
      He remained pacing in the moonlight, very thoughtful, and, for once, it
      seemed, not at all amused. His life appeared to be tangling itself beyond
      unravelling, and his vaunted habit of laughter scarce served at present to
      show him the way out.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI. HORTENSIA'S RETURN
    </h2>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll needs explaining as he walks there in the moonlight; that is,
      if we are at all to understand him&mdash;a matter by no means easy,
      considering that he has confessed he did not understand himself. Did ever
      man make a sincere declaration of sudden passion as flippantly as he had
      done, or in terms-better calculated to alienate the regard he sought to
      win? Did ever man choose his time with less discrimination, or his words
      with less discretion? Assuredly not. To suppose that Mr. Caryll was
      unaware of this, would be to suppose him a fool, and that he most
      certainly was not.
    </p>
    <p>
      His mood was extremely complex; its analysis, I fear, may baffle us. It
      must have seemed to you&mdash;as it certainly seemed to Mistress Winthrop&mdash;that
      he made a mock of her; that in truth he was the impudent, fleering coxcomb
      she pronounced him, and nothing more. Not so. Mock he most certainly did;
      but his mockery was all aimed to strike himself on the recoil&mdash;himself
      and the sentiments which had sprung to being in his soul, and to which&mdash;nameless
      as he was, pledged as he was to a task that would most likely involve his
      ruin&mdash;he conceived that he had no right. He gave expression to his
      feelings, yet chose for them the expression best calculated to render them
      barren of all consequence where Mistress Winthrop was concerned. Where
      another would have hidden those emotions, Mr. Caryll elected to flaunt
      them half-derisively, that Hortensia might trample them under foot in
      sheer disgust.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was, perhaps, the knowledge that did he wait, and come to her as an
      honest, devout lover, he must in honesty tell her all there was to know of
      his odd history and of his bastardy, and thus set up between them a
      barrier insurmountable. Better, he may have thought, to make from the
      outset a mockery of a passion for which there could be no hope. And so,
      under that mocking, impertinent exterior, I hope you catch some glimpse of
      the real, suffering man&mdash;the man who boasted that he had the gift of
      laughter.
    </p>
    <p>
      He continued a while to pace the dewy lawn after she had left him, and a
      deep despondency descended upon the spirit of this man who accounted
      seriousness a folly. Hitherto his rancor against his father had been a
      theoretical rancor, a thing educated into him by Everard, and accepted by
      him as we accept a proposition in Euclid that is proved to us. In its way
      it had been a make-believe rancor, a rancor on principle, for he had been
      made to see that unless he was inflamed by it, he was not worthy to be his
      mother's son. Tonight had changed all this. No longer was his grievance
      sentimental, theoretical or abstract. It was suddenly become real and very
      bitter. It was no longer a question of the wrong done his mother thirty
      years ago; it became the question of a wrong done himself in casting him
      nameless upon the world, a thing of scorn to cruel, unjust humanity. Could
      Mistress Winthrop have guessed the bitter self-derision with which he had,
      in apparent levity, offered her his name, she might have felt some pity
      for him who had no pity for himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      And so, to-night he felt&mdash;as once for a moment Everard had made him
      feel&mdash;that he had a very real wrong of his own to avenge upon his
      father; and the task before him lost much of the repugnance that it had
      held for him hitherto.
    </p>
    <p>
      All this because four hours ago he had looked into the brown depths of
      Mistress Winthrop's eyes. He sighed, and declaimed a line of Congreve's:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Woman is a fair image in a pool; who leaps at it is sunk.'&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The landlord came to bid him in to supper. He excused himself. Sent his
      lordship word that he was over-tired, and went off to bed.
    </p>
    <p>
      They met at breakfast, at an early hour upon the morrow, Mistress Winthrop
      cool and distant; his lordship grumpy and mute; Mr. Caryll airy and
      talkative as was his habit. They set out soon afterwards. But matters were
      nowise improved. His lordship dozed in a corner of the carriage, while
      Mistress Winthrop found more interest in the flowering hedgerows than in
      Mr. Caryll, ignored him when he talked, and did not answer him when he set
      questions; till, in the end, he, too, lapsed into silence, and as a
      solatium for his soreness assured himself by lengthy, wordless arguments
      that matters were best so.
    </p>
    <p>
      They entered the outlying parts of London some two hours later, and it
      still wanted an hour or so to noon when the chaise brought up inside the
      railings before the earl's house in Lincoln's Inn Fields.
    </p>
    <p>
      There came a rush of footmen, a bustle of service, amid which they
      alighted and entered the splendid residence that was part of the little
      that remained Lord Ostermore from the wreck his fortunes had suffered on
      the shoals of the South Sea.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll paused a moment to dismiss Leduc to the address in Old Palace
      Yard where he had hired a lodging. That done, he followed his lordship and
      Hortensia within doors.
    </p>
    <p>
      From the inner hall a footman ushered him across an ante-chamber to a room
      on the right, which proved to be the library, and was his lordship's
      habitual retreat. It was a spacious, pillared chamber, very richly
      panelled in damask silk, and very richly furnished, having long French
      windows that opened on a terrace above the garden.
    </p>
    <p>
      As they entered there came a swift rustle of petticoats at their heels,
      and Mr. Caryll stood aside, bowing, to give passage to a tall lady who
      swept by with no more regard for him than had he been one of the house's
      lackeys. She was, he observed, of middle-age, lean and aquiline-featured,
      with an exaggerated chin, that ended squarely as boot. Her sallow cheeks
      were raddled to a hectic color, a monstrous head-dress&mdash;like that of
      some horse in a lord mayor's show&mdash;coiffed her, and her dress was a
      mixture of extravagance and incongruity, the petticoat absurdly hooped.
    </p>
    <p>
      She swept into the room like a battleship into action, and let fly her
      first broadside at Mistress Winthrop from the threshold.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Codso!&rdquo; she shrilled. &ldquo;You have come back! And for what have you come
      back? Am I to live in the same house with you, you shameless madam&mdash;that
      have no more thought for your reputation than a slut in a smock-race?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Hortensia raised indignant eyes from out of a face that was very pale. Her
      lips were tightly pressed&mdash;in resolution, thought Mr. Caryll, who was
      very observant of her&mdash;not to answer her ladyship; for Mr. Caryll had
      little doubt as to the identity of this dragon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My love&mdash;my dear&mdash;&rdquo; began his lordship, advancing a step, his
      tone a very salve. Then, seeking to create a diversion, he waved a hand
      towards Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;Let me present&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did I speak to you?&rdquo; she turned to bombard him. &ldquo;Have you not done harm
      enough? Had you been aught but a fool&mdash;had you respected me as a
      husband should&mdash;you had left well alone and let her go her ways.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There was my duty to her father, to say aught of&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And what of your duty to me?&rdquo; she blazed, her eyes puckering most
      malignantly. She reminded Mr. Caryll of nothing so much as a vulture. &ldquo;Had
      ye forgotten that? Have ye no thought for decency&mdash;no respect for
      your wife?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her strident voice was echoing through the house and drawing a little
      crowd of gaping servants to the hall. To spare Mistress Winthrop, Mr.
      Caryll took it upon himself to close the door. The countess turned at the
      sound.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who is this?&rdquo; she asked, measuring the elegant figure with an evil eye.
      And Mr. Caryll felt it in his bones that she had done him the honor to
      dislike him at sight.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a gentleman who&mdash;who&mdash;&rdquo; His lordship thought it better,
      apparently, not to explain the exact circumstances under which he had met
      the gentleman. He shifted ground. &ldquo;I was about to present him, my love. It
      is Mr. Caryll&mdash;Mr. Justin Caryll. This, sir, is my Lady Ostermore.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll made her a profound bow. Her ladyship retorted with a sniff.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is it a kinsman of yours, my lord?&rdquo; and the contempt of the question was
      laden with a suggestion that smote Mr. Caryll hard. What she implied in
      wanton offensive mockery was no more than he alone present knew to be the
      exact and hideous truth.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Some remote kinsman, I make no doubt,&rdquo; the earl explained. &ldquo;Until
      yesterday I had not the honor of his acquaintance. Mr. Caryll is from
      France.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye'll be a Jacobite, no doubt, then,&rdquo; were her first, uncompromising
      words to the guest.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll made her another bow. &ldquo;If I were, I should make no secret of it
      with your ladyship,&rdquo; he answered with that irritating suavity in which he
      clothed his most obvious sarcasms.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship opened her eyes a little wider. Here was a tone she was
      unused to. &ldquo;And what may your business with his lordship be?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His lordship's business, I think,&rdquo; answered Mr. Caryll in a tone of such
      exquisite politeness and deference that the words seemed purged of all
      their rudeness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will you answer me so, sir?&rdquo; she demanded, nevertheless, her voice
      quivering.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My love!&rdquo; interpolated his lordship hurriedly, his florid face aflush.
      &ldquo;We are vastly indebted to Mr. Caryll, as you shall learn. It was he who
      saved Hortensia.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Saved the drab, did he? And from what, pray?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Madam!&rdquo; It was Hortensia who spoke. She had risen, pale with anger, and
      she made appeal now to her guardian. &ldquo;My lord, I'll not remain to be so
      spoken of. Suffer me to go. That her ladyship should so speak of me to my
      face&mdash;and to a stranger!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stranger!&rdquo; crowed her ladyship. &ldquo;Lard! And what d'ye suppose will happen?
      Are you so nice about a stranger hearing what I may have to say of you&mdash;you
      that will be the talk of the whole lewd town for this fine escapade? And
      what'll the town say of you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My love!&rdquo; his lordship sought again to soothe her. &ldquo;Sylvia, let me
      implore you! A little moderation! A little charity! Hortensia has been
      foolish. She confesses so much, herself. Yet, when all is said, 'tis not
      she is to blame.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Am I?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My love! Was it suggested?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I marvel it was not. Indeed, I marvel! Oh, Hortensia is not to blame, the
      sweet, pure dove! What is she, then?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To be pitied, ma'am,&rdquo; said his lordship, stirred to sudden anger, &ldquo;that
      she should have lent an ear to your disreputable son.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My son? My son?&rdquo; cried her ladyship, her voice more and more strident,
      her face flushing till the rouge upon it was put to shame, revealed in all
      its unnatural hideousness. &ldquo;And is he not your son, my lord?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There are moments,&rdquo; he answered hardily, &ldquo;when I find it difficult to
      believe.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was much for him to say, and to her ladyship, of all people. It was
      pure mutiny. She gasped for air; pumped her brain for words. Meantime, his
      lordship continued with an eloquence entirely unusual in him and prompted
      entirely by his strong feelings in the matter of his son. &ldquo;He is a
      disgrace to his name! He always has been. When a boy, he was a liar and a
      thief, and had he had his deserts he had been lodged in Newgate long ago&mdash;or
      worse. Now that he's a man, he's an abandoned profligate, a brawler, a
      drunkard, a rakehell. So much I have long known him for; but to-day he has
      shown himself for something even worse. I had thought that my ward, at
      least, had been sacred from his villainy. That is the last drop. I'll not
      condone it. Damn me! I can't condone it. I'll disown him. He shall not set
      foot in house of mine again. Let him keep the company of his Grace of
      Wharton and his other abandoned friends of the Hell Fire Club; he keeps
      not mine. He keeps not mine, I say!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship swallowed hard. From red that she had been, she was now ashen
      under her rouge. &ldquo;And, is this wanton baggage to keep mine? Is she to
      disgrace a household that has grown too nice to contain your son?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My lord! Oh, my lord, give me leave to go,&rdquo; Hortensia entreated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, go,&rdquo; sneered her ladyship. &ldquo;Go! You had best go&mdash;back to him.
      What for did ye leave him? Did ye dream there could be aught to return
      to?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Hortensia turned to her guardian again appealingly. But her ladyship bore
      down upon her, incensed by this ignoring; she caught the girl's wrist in
      her claw-like hand. &ldquo;Answer me, you drab! What for did you return? What is
      to be done with you now that y' are soiled goods? Where shall we find a
      husband for you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not want a husband, madam,&rdquo; answered Hortensia.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will ye lead apes in hell, then? Bah! 'Tis not what ye want, my fine
      madam; 'tis what we can get you; and where shall we find you a husband
      now?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her eye fell upon Mr. Caryll, standing by one of the windows, a look of
      profound disgust overplaying the usually immobile face. &ldquo;Perhaps the
      gentleman from France&mdash;the gentleman who saved you,&rdquo; she sneered,
      &ldquo;will propose to take the office.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;With all my heart, ma'am,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll startled them and himself by
      answering. Then, perceiving that he had spoken too much upon impulse&mdash;given
      utterance to what was passing in his mind&mdash;&ldquo;I but mention it to show
      your ladyship how mistaken are your conclusions,&rdquo; he added.
    </p>
    <p>
      The countess loosed her hold of Hortensia's wrist in her amazement, and
      looked the gentleman from France up and down in a mighty scornful manner.
      &ldquo;Codso!&rdquo; she swore, &ldquo;I may take it, then, that your saving her&mdash;as ye
      call it&mdash;was no accident.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed it was, ma'am&mdash;and a most fortunate accident for your son.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For my son? As how?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It saved him from hanging, ma'am,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll informed her, and gave her
      something other than the baiting of Hortensia to occupy her mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hang?&rdquo; she gasped. &ldquo;Are you speaking of Lord Rotherby?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, of Lord Rotherby&mdash;and not a word more than is true,&rdquo; put in the
      earl. &ldquo;Do you know&mdash;but you do not&mdash;the extent of your precious
      son's villainy? At Maidstone, where I overtook them&mdash;at the Adam and
      Eve&mdash;he had a make-believe parson, and he was luring this poor child
      into a mock-marriage.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship stared. &ldquo;Mock-marriage?&rdquo; she echoed. &ldquo;Marriage? La!&rdquo; And
      again she vented her unpleasant laugh. &ldquo;Did she insist on that, the prude?
      Y' amaze me!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Surely, my love, you do not apprehend. Had Lord Rotherby's parson not
      been detected and unmasked by Mr. Caryll, here&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Would you ha' me believe she did not know the fellow was no parson?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; cried Hortensia. &ldquo;Your ladyship has a very wicked soul. May God
      forgive you!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And who is to forgive you?&rdquo; snapped the countess.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I need no forgiveness, for I have done no wrong. A folly, I confess to. I
      was mad to have heeded such a villain.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship gathered forces for a fresh assault. But Mr. Caryll
      anticipated it. It was no doubt a great impertinence in him; but he saw
      Hortensia's urgent need, and he felt, moreover, that not even Lord
      Ostermore would resent his crossing swords a moment with her ladyship.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You would do well, ma'am, to remember,&rdquo; said he, in his singularly
      precise voice, &ldquo;that Lord Rotherby even now&mdash;and as things have
      fallen out&mdash;is by no means quit of all danger.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked at this smooth gentleman, and his words burned themselves into
      her brain. She quivered with mingling fear and anger.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wha'&mdash;what is't ye mean?&rdquo; quoth she.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That even at this hour, if the matter were put about, his lordship might
      be brought to account for it, and it might fare very ill with him. The law
      of England deals heavily with an offense such as Lord Rotherby's, and the
      attempt at a mock-marriage, of which there is no lack of evidence, would
      so aggravate the crime of abduction, if he were informed against, that it
      might go very hard with him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her jaw fell. She caught more than an admonition in his words. It almost
      seemed to her that he was threatening.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who&mdash;who is to inform?&rdquo; she asked point-blank, her tone a challenge;
      and yet the odd change in it from its recent aggressiveness was almost
      ludicrous.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah&mdash;who?&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, raising his eyes and fetching a sigh. &ldquo;It
      would appear that a messenger from the Secretary of State&mdash;on another
      matter&mdash;was at the Adam and Eve at the time with two of his
      catchpolls, and he was a witness of the whole affair. Then again,&rdquo; and he
      waved a hand doorwards, &ldquo;servants are servants. I make no doubt they are
      listening, and your ladyship's voice has scarce been controlled. You can
      never say when a servant may cease to be a servant, and become an active
      enemy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Damn the servants!&rdquo; she swore, dismissing them from consideration. &ldquo;Who
      is this messenger of the secretary's? Who is he?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He was named Green. 'Tis all I know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And where may he be found?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot say.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She turned to Lord Ostermore. &ldquo;Where is Rotherby?&rdquo; she inquired. She was a
      thought breathless.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not know,&rdquo; said he, in a voice that signified how little he cared.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He must be found. This fellow's silence must be bought. I'll not have my
      son disgraced, and gaoled, perhaps. He must be found.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her alarm was very real now. She moved towards the door, then paused, and
      turned again. &ldquo;Meantime, let your lordship consider what dispositions you
      are to make for this wretched girl who is the cause of all this garboil.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And she swept out, slamming the door violently after her.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII. FATHER AND SON
    </h2>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll stayed to dine at Stretton House. Although they had journeyed
      but from Croydon that morning, he would have preferred to have gone first
      to his lodging to have made&mdash;fastidious as he was&mdash;a suitable
      change in his apparel. But the urgency that his task dictated caused him
      to waive the point.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had a half-hour or so to himself after the stormy scene with her
      ladyship, in which he had played again&mdash;though in a lesser degree&mdash;the
      part of savior to Mistress Winthrop, a matter for which the lady had
      rewarded him, ere withdrawing, with a friendly smile, which caused him to
      think her disposed to forgive him his yesternight's folly.
    </p>
    <p>
      In that half-hour he gave himself again very seriously to the
      contemplation of his position. He had no illusions on the score of Lord
      Ostermore, and he rated his father no higher than he deserved. But he was
      just and shrewd in his judgment, and he was forced to confess that he had
      found this father of his vastly different from the man he had been led to
      expect. He had looked to find a debauched old rake, a vile creature
      steeped in vice and wickedness. Instead, he found a weak, easy-natured,
      commonplace fellow, whose worst sin seemed to be the selfishness that is
      usually inseparable from those other characteristics. If Ostermore was not
      a man of the type that inspires strong affection, neither was he of the
      type that provokes strong dislike. His colorless nature left one
      indifferent to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll, somewhat to his dismay, found himself inclined to extend the
      man some sympathy; caught himself upon the verge of pitying him for being
      burdened with so very unfilial a son and so very cursed a wife. It was one
      of his cherished beliefs that the evil that men do has a trick of finding
      them out in this life, and here, he believed, as shrew-ridden husband and
      despised father, the Earl of Ostermore was being made to expiate that sin
      of his early years.
    </p>
    <p>
      Another of Mr. Caryll's philosophies was that, when all is said, man is
      little of a free agent. His viciousness or sanctity is temperamental; and
      not the man, but his nature&mdash;which is not self-imbued&mdash;must bear
      the responsibility of a man's deeds, be they good or bad.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the abstract such beliefs are well enough; they are excellent standards
      by which to judge where other sufferers than ourselves are concerned. But
      when we ourselves are touched, they are discounted by the measure in which
      a man's deeds or misdeeds may affect us. And although to an extent this
      might be the case now with Mr. Caryll, yet, in spite of it, he found
      himself excusing his father on the score of the man's weakness and
      stupidity, until he caught himself up with the reflection that this was a
      disloyalty to Everard, to his training, and to his mother. And yet&mdash;he
      reverted&mdash;in such a man as Ostermore, sheer stupidity, a lack of
      imagination, of insight into things as they really are, a lack of feeling
      that would disable him from appreciating the extent of any wrong he did,
      seemed to Mr. Caryll to be extenuating circumstances.
    </p>
    <p>
      He conceived that he was amazingly dispassionate in his judgment, and he
      wondered was he right or wrong so to be. Then the thought of his task
      arose in his mind, and it bathed him in a sweat of horror. Over in France
      he had allowed himself to be persuaded, and had pledged himself to do this
      thing. Everard, the relentless, unforgiving fanatic of vengeance, had&mdash;as
      we have seen&mdash;trained him to believe that the avenging of his
      mother's wrongs was the only thing that could justify his own existence.
      Besides, it had all seemed remote then, and easy as remote things are apt
      to seem. But now&mdash;now that he had met in the flesh this man who was
      his father&mdash;his hesitation was turned to very horror. It was not that
      he did not conceive, in spite of his odd ideas upon temperament and its
      responsibilities, that his mother's' wrongs cried out for vengeance, and
      that the avenging of them would be a righteous, fitting deed; but it was
      that he conceived that his own was not the hand to do the work of the
      executioner upon one who&mdash;after all&mdash;was still his own father.
      It was hideously unnatural.
    </p>
    <p>
      He sat in the library, awaiting his lordship and the announcement of
      dinner. There was a book before him; but his eyes were upon the window,
      the smooth lawns beyond, all drenched in summer sunshine, and his thoughts
      were introspective. He looked into his shuddering soul, and saw that he
      could not&mdash;that he would not&mdash;do the thing which he was come to
      do. He would await the coming of Everard, to tell him so. There would be a
      storm to face, he knew. But sooner that than carry this vile thing
      through. It was vile&mdash;most damnably vile&mdash;he now opined.
    </p>
    <p>
      The decision taken, he rose and crossed to the window. His mind had been
      in travail; his soul had known the pangs of labor. But now that this
      strong resolve had been brought forth, an ease and peace were his that
      seemed to prove to him how right he was, how wrong must aught else have
      been.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Ostermore came in. He announced that they would be dining alone
      together. &ldquo;Her ladyship,&rdquo; he explained, &ldquo;has gone forth in person to seek
      Lord Rotherby. She believes that she knows where to find him&mdash;in some
      disreputable haunt, no doubt, whither her ladyship would have been better
      advised to have sent a servant. But women are wayward cattle&mdash;wayward,
      headstrong cattle! Have you not found them so, Mr. Caryll?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have found that the opinion is common to most husbands,&rdquo; said Mr.
      Caryll, then added a question touching Mistress Winthrop, and wondered
      would she not be joining them at table.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The poor child keeps her chamber,&rdquo; said the earl. &ldquo;She is overwrought&mdash;overwrought!
      I am afraid her ladyship&mdash;&rdquo; He broke off abruptly, and coughed. &ldquo;She
      is overwrought,&rdquo; he repeated in conclusion. &ldquo;So that we dine alone.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And alone they dined. Ostermore, despite the havoc suffered by his
      fortunes, kept an excellent table and a clever cook, and Mr. Caryll was
      glad to discover in his sire this one commendable trait.
    </p>
    <p>
      The conversation was desultory throughout the repast; but when the cloth
      was raised and the table cleared of all but the dishes of fruit and the
      decanters of Oporto, Canary and Madeira, there came a moment of expansion.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll was leaning back in his chair, fingering the stem of his
      wine-glass, watching the play of sunlight through the ruddy amber of the
      wine, and considering the extraordinarily odd position of a man sitting at
      table, by the merest chance, almost, with a father who was not aware that
      he had begotten him. A question from his lordship came to stir him
      partially from the reverie into which he was beginning to lapse.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you look to make a long sojourn in England, Mr. Caryll?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will depend,&rdquo; was the vague and half-unconscious answer, &ldquo;upon the
      success of the matter I am come to transact.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There ensued a brief pause, during which Mr. Caryll fell again into his
      abstraction.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where do you dwell when in France, sir?&rdquo; inquired my lord, as if to make
      polite conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll lulled by his musings into carelessness, answered truthfully,
      &ldquo;At Maligny, in Normandy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The next moment there was a tinkle of breaking glass, and Mr. Caryll
      realized his indiscretion and turned cold.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Ostermore, who had been in the act of raising his glass, fetched it
      down again so suddenly that the stem broke in his fingers, and the
      mahogany was flooded with the liquor. A servant hastened forward, and set
      a fresh glass for his lordship. That done, Ostermore signed to the man to
      withdraw. The fellow went, closing the door, and leaving those two alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      The pause had been sufficient to enable Mr. Caryll to recover, and for all
      that his pulses throbbed more quickly than their habit, outwardly he
      maintained his lazily indifferent pose, as if entirely unconscious that
      what he had said had occasioned his father the least disturbance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You&mdash;you dwelt at Maligny?&rdquo; said his lordship, the usual high color
      all vanished from his face. And again: &ldquo;You dwelt at Maligny, and&mdash;and&mdash;your
      name is Caryll.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll looked up quickly, as if suddenly aware that his lordship was
      expressing surprise. &ldquo;Why, yes,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;What is there odd in that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How does it happen that you come to live there? Are you at all connected
      with the family of Maligny? On your mother's side, perhaps?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll took up his wine-glass. &ldquo;I take it,&rdquo; said he easily, &ldquo;that
      there was some such family at some time. But it is clear it must have
      fallen upon evil days.&rdquo; He sipped at his wine. &ldquo;There are none left now,&rdquo;
       he explained, as he set down his glass. &ldquo;The last of them died, I believe,
      in England.&rdquo; His eyes turned full upon the earl, but their glance seemed
      entirely idle. &ldquo;It was in consequence of that that my father was enabled
      to purchase the estate.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll accounted it no lie that he suppressed the fact that the father
      to whom he referred was but his father by adoption.
    </p>
    <p>
      Relief spread instantly upon Lord Ostermore's countenance. Clearly, he
      saw, here was pure coincidence, and nothing more. Indeed, what else should
      there have been? What was it that he had feared? He did not know. Still he
      accounted it an odd matter, and said so.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is odd?&rdquo; inquired Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;Does it happen that your lordship was
      acquainted at any time with that vanished family?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was, sir&mdash;slightly acquainted&mdash;at one time with one or two of
      its members. 'Tis that that is odd. You see, sir, my name, too, happens to
      be Caryll.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;True&mdash;yet I see nothing so oddly coincident in the matter,
      particularly if your acquaintance with these Malignys was but slight.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed, you are right. You are right. There is no such great coincidence,
      when all is said. The name reminded me of a&mdash;a folly of my youth.
      'Twas that that made impression.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A folly?&rdquo; quoth Mr. Caryll, his eyebrows raised.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, a folly&mdash;a folly that went near undoing me, for had it come to
      my father's ears, he had broke me without mercy. He was a hard man, my
      father; a puritan in his ideas.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A greater than your lordship?&rdquo; inquired Mr. Caryll blandly, masking the
      rage that seethed in him.
    </p>
    <p>
      His lordship laughed. &ldquo;Ye're a wag, Mr. Caryll&mdash;a damned wag!&rdquo; Then
      reverting to the matter that was uppermost in his mind. &ldquo;'Tis a fact,
      though&mdash;'pon honor. My father would ha' broke me. Luckily she died.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who died?&rdquo; asked Mr. Caryll, with a show of interest.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The girl. Did I not tell you there was a girl? 'Twas she was the folly&mdash;Antoinette
      de Maligny. But she died&mdash;most opportunely, egad! 'Twas a very damned
      mercy that she did. It&mdash;cut the&mdash;the&mdash;what d'ye call it&mdash;knot?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Gordian knot?&rdquo; suggested Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay&mdash;the Gordian knot. Had she lived and had my father smoked the
      affair&mdash;Gad! he would ha' broke me; he would so!&rdquo; he repeated, and
      emptied his glass.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll, white to the lips, sat very still a moment. Then he did a
      curious thing; did it with a curious suddenness. He took a knife from the
      table, and hacked off the lowest button from his coat. This he pushed
      across the board to his father.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To turn to other matters,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;there is the letter you were
      expecting from abroad.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Eh? What?&rdquo; Lord Ostermore took up the button. It was of silk, interwoven
      with gold thread. He turned it over in his fingers, looking at it with a
      heavy eye, and then at his guest. &ldquo;Eh? Letter?&rdquo; he muttered, puzzled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If your lordship will cut that open, you will see what his majesty has to
      propose.&rdquo; He mentioned the king in a voice charged with suggestion, so
      that no doubt could linger on the score of the king he meant.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Gad!&rdquo; cried his lordship. &ldquo;Gad! 'Twas thus ye bubbled Mr. Green? Shrewd,
      on my soul. And you are the messenger, then?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am the messenger,&rdquo; answered Mr. Caryll coldly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And why did you not say so before?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      For the fraction of a second Mr. Caryll hesitated. Then: &ldquo;Because I did
      not judge that the time was come,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII. TEMPTATION
    </h2>
    <p>
      His lordship ripped away the silk covering of the button with a penknife,
      and disembowelled it of a small packet, which consisted of a sheet of fine
      and very closely-folded and tightly-compressed paper. This he spread, cast
      an eye over, and then looked up at his companion, who was watching him
      with simulated indolence.
    </p>
    <p>
      His lordship had paled a little, and there was about the lines of his
      mouth a look of preternatural gravity. He looked furtively towards the
      door, his heavy eyebrows lowering.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that we shall be more snug in the library. Will you
      bear me company, Mr. Caryll?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll rose instantly. The earl folded the letter, and turned to go.
      His companion paused to pick up the fragments of the button and slip them
      into his pocket. He performed the office with a smile on his lips that was
      half pity, half contempt. It did not seem to him that there would be the
      least need to betray Lord Ostermore once his lordship was wedded to the
      Stuart faction. He would not fail to betray himself through some act of
      thoughtless stupidity such as this.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the library&mdash;the door, and that of the ante-room beyond it,
      carefully closed&mdash;his lordship unlocked a secretaire of walnut, very
      handsomely inlaid, and, drawing up a chair, he sat down to the perusal of
      the king's letter. When he had read it through, he remained lost in
      thought a while. At length he looked up and across towards Mr. Caryll, who
      was standing by one of the windows.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are no doubt a confidential agent, sir,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;And you will be
      fully aware of the contents of this letter that you have brought me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fully, my lord,&rdquo; answered Mr. Caryll, &ldquo;and I venture to hope that his
      majesty's promises will overcome any hesitation that you may feel.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His majesty's promises?&rdquo; said my lord thoughtfully. &ldquo;His majesty may
      never have a chance of fulfilling them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very true, sir. But who gambles must set a stake upon the board. Your
      lordship has been something of a gamester already, and&mdash;or so I
      gather&mdash;with little profit. Here is a chance to play another game
      that may mend the evil fortunes of the last.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The earl scanned him in surprise. &ldquo;You are excellent well informed,&rdquo; said
      he, between surprise and irony.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My trade demands it. Knowledge is my buckler.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His lordship nodded slowly, and fell very thoughtful, the letter before
      him, his eyes wandering ever and anon to con again some portion of it. &ldquo;It
      is a game in which I stake my head,&rdquo; he muttered presently.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Has your lordship anything else to stake?&rdquo; inquired Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      The earl looked at him again with a gloomy eye, and sighed, but said
      nothing. Mr. Caryll resumed. &ldquo;It is for your lordship to declare,&rdquo; he said
      quite coolly, &ldquo;whether his majesty has covered your stake. If you think
      not, it is even possible that he may be induced to improve his offer.
      Though if you think not, for my own part I consider that you set too high
      a value on that same head of yours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Touched in his vanity, Ostermore looked up at him with a sudden frown.
      &ldquo;You take a bold tone, sir,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;a very bold tone!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Boldness is the attribute next to knowledge most essential to my
      calling,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll reminded him.
    </p>
    <p>
      His lordship's eye fell before the other's cold glance, and again he
      lapsed into thoughtfulness, his cheek now upon his hand. Suddenly he
      looked up again. &ldquo;Tell me,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Who else is in this thing? Men say
      that Atterbury is not above suspicion. Is it&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll bent forward to tap the king's letter with a rigid forefinger.
      &ldquo;When your lordship tells me that you are ready to concert upon embarking
      your fortunes in this bottom, you shall find me disposed, perhaps, to
      answer questions concerning others. Meanwhile, our concern is with
      yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dons and the devil!&rdquo; swore his lordship angrily. &ldquo;Is this a way to speak
      to me?&rdquo; He scowled at the agent. &ldquo;Tell me, my fine fellow, what would
      happen if I were to lay this letter you have brought me before the nearest
      justice?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot say for sure,&rdquo; answered Mr. Caryll quietly, &ldquo;but it is very
      probable it would help your lordship to the gallows. For if you will give
      yourself the trouble of reading it again&mdash;and more carefully&mdash;you
      will see that it makes acknowledgment of the offer of services you wrote
      his majesty a month or so ago.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His lordship's eyes dropped to the letter again. He caught his breath in
      sudden fear.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Were I your lordship, I should leave the nearest justice to enjoy his
      dinner in peace,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      His lordship laughed in a sickly manner. He felt foolish&mdash;a rare
      condition in him, as in most fools. &ldquo;Well, well,&rdquo; said he gruffly. &ldquo;The
      matter needs reflection. It needs reflection.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Behind them the door opened noiselessly, and her ladyship appeared in
      cloak and wimple. She paused there, unperceived by either, arrested by the
      words she had caught, and waiting in the hope of hearing more.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I must sleep on't, at least,&rdquo; his lordship was continuing. &ldquo;'Tis too
      grave a matter to be determined thus in haste.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A faint sound caught the keen ears of Mr. Caryll. He turned with a
      leisureliness that bore witness to his miraculous self-control. Perceiving
      the countess, he bowed, and casually put his lordship on his guard.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Here is her ladyship returned.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Lord Ostermore gasped audibly and swung round in an alarm than which
      nothing could have betrayed him more effectively. &ldquo;My&mdash;my love!&rdquo; he
      cried, stammering, and by his wild haste to conceal the letter that he
      held, drew her attention to it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll stepped between them, his back to his lordship, that he might
      act as a screen under cover of which to dispose safely of that dangerous
      document. But he was too late. Her ladyship's quick eyes had flashed to
      it, and if the distance precluded the possibility of her discovering
      anything that might be written upon it, she, nevertheless, could see the
      curious nature of the paper, which was of the flimsiest tissue of a sort
      extremely uncommon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is't ye hide?&rdquo; said she, as she came forward. &ldquo;Why, we are very
      close, surely! What mischief is't ye hatch, my lord?&rdquo;'
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mis&mdash;mischief, my love?&rdquo; He smiled propitiatingly&mdash;hating her
      more than ever in that moment. He had stuffed the letter into an inner
      pocket of his coat, and but that she had another matter to concern her at
      the moment she would not have allowed the question she had asked to be so
      put aside. But this other matter upon her mind touched her very closely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Devil take it, whatever it may be! Rotherby is here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Rotherby?&rdquo; His demeanor changed; from conciliating it was of a sudden
      transformed to indignant. &ldquo;What makes he here?&rdquo; he demanded. &ldquo;Did I not
      forbid him my house?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I brought him,&rdquo; she answered pregnantly.
    </p>
    <p>
      But for once he was not to be put down. &ldquo;Then you may take him hence
      again,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I'll not have him under my roof&mdash;under the same
      roof with that poor child he used so infamously. I'll not suffer it!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Gorgon cannot have looked more coldly wicked than her ladyship just
      then. &ldquo;Have a care, my lord!&rdquo; she muttered threateningly. &ldquo;Oh, have a
      care, I do beseech you. I am not so to be crossed!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nor am I, ma'am,&rdquo; he rejoined, and then, before more could be said, Mr.
      Caryll stepped forward to remind them of his presence&mdash;which they
      seemed to stand in danger of forgetting.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I fear that I intrude, my lord,&rdquo; said he, and bowed in leave-taking. &ldquo;I
      shall wait upon your lordship later. Your most devoted. Ma'am, your very
      humble servant.&rdquo; And he bowed himself out.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the ante-room he came upon Lord Rotherby, striding to and fro, his brow
      all furrowed with care. At sight of Mr. Caryll, the viscount's scowl grew
      blacker. &ldquo;Oons and the devil!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;What make you here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll pleasantly, &ldquo;is the very question your father is
      asking her ladyship concerning yourself. Your servant, sir.&rdquo; And airy,
      graceful, smiling that damnable close smile of his, he was gone, leaving
      Rotherby very hot and angry.
    </p>
    <p>
      Outside Mr. Caryll hailed a chair, and had himself carried to his lodging
      in Old Palace Yard, where Leduc awaited him. As his bearers swung briskly
      along, Mr. Caryll sat back and gave himself up to thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Ostermore interested him vastly. For a moment that day the earl had
      aroused his anger, as you may have judged from the sudden resolve upon
      which he had acted when he delivered him that letter, thus embarking at
      the eleventh hour upon a task which he had already determined to abandon.
      He knew not now whether to rejoice or deplore that he had acted upon that
      angry impulse. He knew not, indeed, whether to pity or despise this man
      who was swayed by no such high motives as must have affected most of those
      who were faithful to the exiled James. Those motives&mdash;motives of
      chivalry and romanticism in most cases&mdash;Lord Ostermore would have
      despised if he could have understood them; for he was a man of the type
      that despises all things that are not essentially practical, whose results
      are not immediately obvious. Being all but ruined by his association with
      the South Sea Company, he was willing for the sake of profit to turn
      traitor to the king de facto, even as thirty years ago, actuated by
      similar motives, he had turned traitor to the king de jure.
    </p>
    <p>
      What was one to make of such a man, wondered Mr. Caryll. If he were
      equipped with wit enough to apprehend the baseness of his conduct, he
      would be easily understood and it would be easy to despise him. But Mr.
      Caryll perceived that he was dealing with one who never probed into the
      deeps of anything&mdash;himself and his own conduct least of all&mdash;and
      that a deplorable lack of perception, of understanding almost, deprived
      his lordship of the power to feel as most men feel, to judge as most men
      judge. And hence was it that Mr. Caryll thought him a subject for pity
      rather than contempt. Even in that other thirty-year-old matter that so
      closely touched Mr. Caryll, the latter was sure that the same pitiful
      shortcomings might be urged in the man's excuse.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, behind him at Stretton House, Mr. Caryll had left a scene of
      strife between Lady Ostermore and her son on one side and Lord Ostermore
      on the other. Weak and vacillating as he was in most things, it seemed
      that the earl could be strong in his dislike of his son, and firm in his
      determination not to condone the infamy of his behavior toward Hortensia
      Winthrop.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The fault is yours,&rdquo; Rotherby sought to excuse himself again&mdash;employing
      the old argument, and in an angry, contemptuous tone that was entirely
      unfilial. &ldquo;I'd ha' married the girl in earnest, but for your threats to
      disinherit me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You fool!&rdquo; his father stormed at him, &ldquo;did you suppose that if I should
      disinherit you for marrying her, I should be likely to do less for your
      luring her into a mock marriage? I've done with you! Go your ways for a
      damned profligate&mdash;a scandal to the very name of gentleman. I've done
      with you!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And to that the earl adhered in spite of all that Rotherby and his mother
      could urge. He stamped out of the library with a final command to his son
      to quit his house and never disgrace it again by his presence. Rotherby
      looked ruefully at his mother.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He means it,&rdquo;' said he. &ldquo;He never loved me. He was never a father to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Were you ever greatly a son to him?&rdquo; asked her ladyship.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As much as he would ha' me be,&rdquo; he answered, his black face very sullen.
      &ldquo;Oh, 'sdeath! I am damnably used by him.&rdquo; He paced the chamber, storming.
      &ldquo;All this garboil about nothing!&rdquo;, he complained. &ldquo;Was he never young
      himself? And when all is said, there's no harm done. The girl's been
      fetched home again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pshaw! Ye're a fool, Rotherby&mdash;a fool, and there's an end on't,&rdquo;
       said his mother. &ldquo;I sometimes wonder which is the greater fool&mdash;you
      or your father. And yet he can marvel that you are his son. What do ye
      think would have happened if you had had your way with that
      bread-and-butter miss? It had been matter enough to hang you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pooh!&rdquo; said the viscount, dropping into a chair and staring sullenly at
      the carpet. Then sullenly he added: &ldquo;His lordship would have been glad
      on't&mdash;so some one would have been pleased. As it is&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As it is, ye'd better find the man Green who was at Maidstone, and stop
      his mouth with guineas. He is aware of what passed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Bah! Green was there on other business.&rdquo; And he told her of the
      suspicions the messenger entertained against Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      It set her ladyship thinking. &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; she said presently, &ldquo;'twill be that!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Twill be what, ma'am?&rdquo; asked Rotherby, looking up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, this fellow Caryll must ha' bubbled the messenger in spite of the
      search he may have made. I found the popinjay here with your father, the
      pair as thick as thieves&mdash;and your father with a paper in his hand as
      fine as a cobweb. 'Sdeath! I'll be sworn he's a damned Jacobite.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby was on his feet in an instant. He remembered suddenly all that he
      had overheard at Maidstone. &ldquo;Oho!&rdquo; he crowed. &ldquo;What cause have ye to think
      that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Cause? Why, what I have seen. Besides, I feel it in my bones. My every
      instinct tells me 'tis so.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you should prove right! Oh, if you should prove right! Death! I'd find
      a way to settle the score of that pert fellow from France, and to dictate
      terms to his lordship at the same time.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship stared at him. &ldquo;Ye're an unnatural hound, Rotherby. Would ye
      betray your own father?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Betray him? No! But I'll set a term to his plotting. Egad! Has he not
      lost enough in the South Sea Bubble, without sinking the little that is
      left in some wild-goose Jacobite plot?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How shall it matter to you, since he's sworn to disinherit you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How, madam?&rdquo; Rotherby laughed cunningly. &ldquo;I'll prevent the one and the
      other&mdash;and pay off Mr. Caryll at the same time. Three birds with one
      stone, let me perish!&rdquo; He reached for his hat. &ldquo;I must find this fellow
      Green.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What will you do?&rdquo; she asked, a slight anxiety trembling in her voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stir up his suspicions of Caryll. He'll be ready enough to act after his
      discomfiture at Maidstone. I'll warrant he's smarting under it. If once we
      can find cause to lay Caryll by the heels, the fear of the consequences
      should bring his lordship to his senses. 'Twill be my turn then.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you'll do nothing that&mdash;that will hurt your father?&rdquo; she
      enjoined him, her hand upon his shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Trust me,&rdquo; he laughed, and added cynically: &ldquo;It would hardly sort with my
      interests to involve him. It will serve me best to frighten him into
      reason and a sense of his paternal duty.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX. THE CHAMPION
    </h2>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll was well and handsomely housed, as became the man of fashion,
      in the lodging he had taken in Old Palace Yard. Knowing him from abroad,
      it was not impossible that the government&mdash;fearful of sedition since
      the disturbance caused by the South Sea distress, and aware of an
      undercurrent of Jacobitism&mdash;might for a time, at least, keep an eye
      upon him. It behooved him, therefore, to appear neither more nor less than
      a lounger, a gentleman of pleasure who had come to London in quest of
      diversion. To support this appearance, Mr. Caryll had sought out some
      friends of his in town. There were Stapleton and Collis, who had been at
      Oxford with him, and with whom he had ever since maintained a
      correspondence and a friendship. He sought them out on the very evening of
      his arrival&mdash;after his interview with Lord Ostermore. He had the
      satisfaction of being handsomely welcomed by them, and was plunged under
      their guidance into the gaieties that the town afforded liberally for
      people of quality.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll was&mdash;as I hope you have gathered&mdash;an agreeable
      fellow, very free, moreover, with the contents of his well-equipped purse;
      and so you may conceive that the town showed him a very friendly, cordial
      countenance. He fell into the habits of the men whose company he
      frequented; his days were as idle as theirs, and spent at the parade, the
      Ring, the play, the coffeehouse and the ordinary.
    </p>
    <p>
      But under the gay exterior he affected he carried a spirit of most vile
      unrest. The anger which had prompted his impulse to execute, after all,
      the business on which he was come, and to deliver his father the letter
      that was to work his ruin, was all spent. He had cooled, and cool it was
      idle for him to tell himself that Lord Ostermore, by his heartless
      allusion to the crime of his early years, had proved himself worthy of
      nothing but the pit Mr. Caryll had been sent to dig for him. There were
      moments when he sought to compel himself so to think, to steel himself
      against all other considerations. But it was idle. The reflection that the
      task before him was unnatural came ever to revolt him. To gain ease, the
      most that he could do&mdash;and he had the faculty of it developed in a
      preternatural degree&mdash;was to put the business from him for the time,
      endeavor to forget it. And he had another matter to consider and to plague
      him&mdash;the matter of Hortensia Winthrop. He thought of her a great deal
      more than was good for his peace of mind, for all that he pretended to a
      gladness that things were as they were. Each morning that he lounged at
      the parade in St. James's Park, each evening that he visited the Ring, it
      was in the hope of catching some glimpse of her among the fashionable
      women that went abroad to see and to be seen. And on the third morning
      after his arrival the thing he hoped for came to pass.
    </p>
    <p>
      It had happened that my lady had ordered her carriage that morning,
      dressed herself with the habitual splendor, which but set off the
      shortcomings of her lean and angular person, egregiously coiffed,
      pulvilled and topknotted, and she had sent a message amounting to a
      command to Mistress Winthrop that she should drive in the park with her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Poor Hortensia, whose one desire was to hide her face from the town's
      uncharitable sight just then, fearing, indeed, that Rumor's unscrupulous
      tongue would be as busy about her reputation as her ladyship had
      represented, attempted to assert herself by refusing to obey the command.
      It was in vain. Her ladyship dispensed with ambassadors, and went in
      person to convey her orders to her husband's ward, and to enforce them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What's this I am told?&rdquo; quoth she, as she sailed into Hortensia's room.
      &ldquo;Do my wishes count for nothing, that you send me pert answers by my
      woman?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Hortensia rose. She had been sitting by the window, a book in her lap.
      &ldquo;Not so, indeed, madam. Not pert, I trust. I am none so well, and I fear
      the sun.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis little wonder,&rdquo; laughed her ladyship; &ldquo;and I'm glad on't, for it
      shows ye have a conscience somewhere. But 'tis no matter for that. I am
      tender for your reputation, mistress, and I'll not have you shunning
      daylight like the guilty thing ye know yourself to be.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis false, madam,&rdquo; said Hortensia, with indignation. &ldquo;Your ladyship
      knows it to be false.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Harkee, ninny, if you'd have the town believe it false, you'll show
      yourself&mdash;show that ye have no cause for shame, no cause to hide you
      from the eyes of honest folk. Come, girl; bid your woman get your hood and
      tippet. The carriage stays for us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      To Hortensia her ladyship's seemed, after all, a good argument. Did she
      hide, what must the town think but that it confirmed the talk that she
      made no doubt was going round already. Better to go forth and brave it,
      and surely it should disarm the backbiters if she showed herself in the
      park with Lord Rotherby's own mother.
    </p>
    <p>
      It never occurred to her that this seeming tenderness for her reputation
      might be but wanton cruelty on her ladyship's part; a gratifying of her
      spleen against the girl by setting her in the pillory of public sight to
      the end that she should experience the insult of supercilious glances and
      lips that smile with an ostentation of furtiveness; a desire to put down
      her pride and break the spirit which my lady accounted insolent and
      stubborn.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suspecting naught of this, she consented, and drove out with her ladyship
      as she was desired to do. But understanding of her ladyship's cruel
      motives, and repentance of her own acquiescence, were not long in
      following. Soon&mdash;very soon&mdash;she realized that anything would
      have been better than the ordeal she was forced to undergo.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a warm, sunny morning, and the park was crowded with fashionable
      loungers. Lady Ostermore left her carriage at the gates, and entered the
      enclosure on foot, accompanied by Hortensia and followed at a respectful
      distance by a footman. Her arrival proved something of a sensation. Hats
      were swept off to her ladyship, sly glances flashed at her companion, who
      went pale, but apparently serene, eyes looking straight before her; and
      there was an obvious concealing of smiles at first, which later grew to be
      all unconcealed, and, later still, became supplemented by remarks that all
      might hear, remarks which did not escape&mdash;as they were meant not to
      escape&mdash;her ladyship and Mistress Winthrop.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; murmured the girl, in her agony of shame, &ldquo;we were not
      well-advised to come. Will not your ladyship turn back?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship displayed a vinegary smile, and looked at her companion over
      the top of her slowly moving fan. &ldquo;Why? Is't not pleasant here?&rdquo; quoth
      she. &ldquo;'Twill be more agreeable under the trees yonder. The sun will not
      reach you there, child.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis not the sun I mind, madam,&rdquo; said Hortensia, but received no answer.
      Perforce she must pace on beside her ladyship.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Rotherby came by, arm in arm with his friend, the Duke of Wharton. It
      was a one-sided friendship. Lord Rotherby was but one of the many of his
      type who furnished a court, a valetaille, to the gay, dissolute, handsome,
      witty duke, who might have been great had he not preferred his vices to
      his worthier parts.
    </p>
    <p>
      As they went by, Lord Rotherby bared his head and bowed, as did his
      companion. Her ladyship smiled upon him, but Hortensia's eyes looked
      rigidly ahead, her face a stone. She heard his grace's insolent laugh as
      they passed on; she heard his voice&mdash;nowise subdued, for he was a man
      who loved to let the world hear what he might have to say.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Gad! Rotherby, the wind has changed! Your Dulcinea flies with you o'
      Wednesday, and has ne'er a glance for you o' Saturday! I' faith! ye
      deserve no better. Art a clumsy gallant to have been overtaken, and the
      maid's in the right on't to resent your clumsiness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby's reply was lost in a splutter of laughter from a group of
      sycophants who had overheard his grace's criticism and were but too ready
      to laugh at aught his grace might deign to utter. Her cheeks burned; it
      was by an effort that she suppressed the tears that anger was forcing to
      her eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      The duke, 'twas plain, had set the fashion. Emulators were not wanting.
      Stray words she caught; by instinct was she conscious of the oglings, the
      fluttering of fans from the women, the flashing of quizzing-glasses from
      the men. And everywhere was there a suppressed laugh, a stifled
      exclamation of surprise at her appearance in public&mdash;yet not so
      stifled but that it reached her, as it was intended that it should.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the shadow of a great elm, around which there was a seat, a little
      group had gathered, of which the centre was the sometime toast of the town
      and queen of many Wells, the Lady Mary Deller, still beautiful and still
      unwed&mdash;as is so often the way of reigning toasts&mdash;but already
      past her pristine freshness, already leaning upon the support of art to
      maintain the endowments she had had from nature. She was accounted witty
      by the witless, and by some others.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of the group that paid its court to her and her companions&mdash;two
      giggling cousins in their first season were Mr. Caryll and his friends,
      Sir Harry Collis and Mr. Edward Stapleton, the former of whom&mdash;he was
      the lady's brother-in-law&mdash;had just presented him. Mr. Caryll was
      dressed with even more than his ordinary magnificence. He was in
      dove-colored cloth, his coat very richly laced with gold, his waistcoat&mdash;of
      white brocade with jeweled buttons, the flower-pattern outlined in finest
      gold thread&mdash;descended midway to his knees, whilst the ruffles at his
      wrists and the Steinkirk at his throat were of the finest point. He cut a
      figure of supremest elegance, as he stood there, his chestnut head
      slightly bowed in deference as my Lady Mary spoke, his hat tucked under
      his arm, his right hand outstretched beside him to rest upon the gold head
      of his clouded-amber cane.
    </p>
    <p>
      To the general he was a stranger still in town, and of the sort that draws
      the eye and provokes inquiry. Lady Mary, the only goal of whose shallow
      existence was the attention of the sterner sex, who loved to break hearts
      as a child breaks toys, for the fun of seeing how they look when broken&mdash;and
      who, because of that, had succeeded in breaking far fewer than she fondly
      imagined&mdash;looked up into his face with the &ldquo;most perditiously
      alluring&rdquo; eyes in England&mdash;so Mr. Craske, the poet, who stood at her
      elbow now, had described them in the dedicatory sonnet of his last book of
      poems. (Wherefore, in parenthesis be it observed, she had rewarded him
      with twenty guineas, as he had calculated that she would.)
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a sudden stir in the group. Mr. Craske had caught sight of Lady
      Ostermore and Mistress Winthrop, and he fell to giggling, a flimsy
      handkerchief to his painted lips. &ldquo;Oh, 'Sbud!&rdquo; he bleated. &ldquo;Let me die!
      The audaciousness of the creature! And behold me the port and glance of
      her! Cold as a vestal, let me perish!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Lady Mary turned with the others to look in the direction he was pointing&mdash;pointing
      openly, with no thought of dissembling.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll's eyes fell upon Mistress Winthrop, and his glance was oddly
      perceptive. He observed those matters of which Mr. Craske had seemed to
      make sardonic comment: the erect stiffness of her carriage, the eyes that
      looked neither to right nor left, and the pallor of her face. He observed,
      too, the complacent air with which her ladyship advanced beside her
      husband's ward, her fan moving languidly, her head nodding to her
      acquaintance, as in supreme unconcern of the stir her coming had effected.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll had been dull indeed, knowing what he knew, had he not
      understood to the full the humiliation to which Mistress Hortensia was
      being of purpose set submitted.
    </p>
    <p>
      And just then Rotherby, who had turned, with Wharton and another now, came
      by them again. This time he halted, and his companions with him, for just
      a moment, to address his mother. She turned; there was an exchange of
      greetings, in which Mistress Hortensia standing rigid as stone&mdash;took
      no part. A silence fell about; quizzing-glasses went up; all eyes were
      focussed upon the group. Then Rotherby and his friends resumed their way.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The dog!&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, between his teeth, but went unheard by any,
      for in that moment Dorothy Deller&mdash;the younger of the Lady Mary's
      cousins&mdash;gave expression to the generous and as yet unsullied little
      heart that was her own.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, 'tis shameful!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Will you not go speak with her, Molly?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Lady Mary stiffened. She looked at the company about her with an
      apologetic smile. &ldquo;I beg that ye'll not heed the child,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;'Tis
      not that she is without morals&mdash;but without knowledge. An innocent
      little fool; no worse.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis bad enough, I vow,&rdquo; laughed an old beau, who sought fame as a man of
      a cynical turn of humor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But fortunately rare,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll dryly. &ldquo;Like charity, almost
      unknown in this Babylon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His tone was not quite nice, although perhaps the Lady Mary was the only
      one to perceive the note of challenge in it. But Mr. Craske, the poet,
      diverted attention to himself by a prolonged, malicious chuckle. Rotherby
      was just moving away from his mother at that moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They've never a word for each other to-day!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Oh, 'Sbud! not so
      much as the mercy of a glance will the lady afford him.&rdquo; And he burst into
      the ballad of King Francis:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                &ldquo;Souvent femme varie,
                 Bien, fol est qui s'y fie!&rdquo;
 </pre>
    <p>
      and laughed his prodigious delight at the aptness of his quotation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll put up his gold-rimmed quizzing-glass, and directed through
      that powerful weapon of offence an eye of supreme displeasure upon the
      singer. He could not contain his rage, yet from his languid tone none
      would have suspected it. &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;ye've a singular unpleasant
      voice.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Craske, thrown out of countenance by so much directness, could only
      stare; the same did the others, though some few tittered, for Mr. Craske,
      when all was said, was held in no great esteem by the discriminant.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll lowered his glass. &ldquo;I've heard it said by the uncharitable that
      ye were a lackey before ye became a plagiarist. 'Tis a rumor I shall
      contradict in future; 'tis plainly a lie, for your voice betrays you to
      have been a chairman.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir&mdash;sir&mdash;&rdquo; spluttered the poetaster, crimson with anger and
      mortification. &ldquo;Is this&mdash;is this&mdash;seemly&mdash;between
      gentlemen?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Between gentlemen it would not be seemly,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll agreed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Craske, quivering, yet controlling himself, bowed stiffly. &ldquo;I have too
      much respect for myself&mdash;&rdquo; he gasped.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye'll be singular in that, no doubt,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, and turned his
      shoulder upon him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Again Mr. Craske appeared to make an effort at self-control; again he
      bowed. &ldquo;I know&mdash;I hope&mdash;what is due to the Lady Mary Deller, to&mdash;to
      answer you as&mdash;as befits. But you shall hear from me, sir. You shall
      hear from me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He bowed a third time&mdash;a bow that took in the entire company&mdash;and
      withdrew in high dudgeon and with a great show of dignity. A pause ensued,
      and then the Lady Mary reproved Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, 'twas cruel in you, sir,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Poor Mr. Craske! And to dub him
      plagiarist! 'Twas the unkindest cut of all!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Truth, madam, is never kind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, fie! You make bad worse!&rdquo; she cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He'll put you in the pillory of his verse for this,&rdquo; laughed Collis.
      &ldquo;Ye'll be most scurvily lampooned for't.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Poor Mr. Craske!&rdquo; sighed the Lady Mary again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Poor, indeed; but not in the sense to deserve pity. An upstart impostor
      such as that to soil a lady with his criticism!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Lady Mary's brows went up. &ldquo;You use a singular severity, sir,&rdquo; she opined,
      &ldquo;and I think it unwise in you to grow so hot in the defence of a
      reputation whose owner has so little care for it herself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll looked at her out of his level gray-green eyes; a hot answer
      quivered on his tongue, an answer that had crushed her venom for some time
      and had probably left him with a quarrel on his hands. Yet his smile, as
      he considered her, was very sweet, so sweet that her ladyship, guessing
      nothing of the bitterness it was used to cover, went as near a smirk as it
      was possible for one so elegant. He was, she judged, another victim ripe
      for immolation on the altar of her goddessship. And Mr. Caryll, who had
      taken her measure very thoroughly, seeing something of how her thoughts
      were running, bethought him of a sweeter vengeance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lady Mary,&rdquo; he cried, a soft reproach in his voice, &ldquo;I have been sore
      mistook in you if you are one to be guided by the rabble.&rdquo; And he waved a
      hand toward the modish throng.
    </p>
    <p>
      She knit her fine brows, bewildered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he cried, interpreting her glance to suit his ends, &ldquo;perish the
      thought, indeed! I knew that I could not be wrong. I knew that one so
      peerless in all else must be peerless, too, in her opinions; judging for
      herself, and standing firm upon her judgment in disdain of meaner souls&mdash;mere
      sheep to follow their bell-wether.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing, being too intrigued by
      this sudden and most sweet flattery. Her mere beauty had oft been praised,
      and in terms that glowed like fire. But what was that compared with this
      fine appreciation of her less obvious mental parts&mdash;and that from one
      who had seen the world?
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll was bending over her. &ldquo;What a chance is here,&rdquo; he was
      murmuring, &ldquo;to mark your lofty detachment&mdash;to show how utter is your
      indifference to what the common herd may think.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As&mdash;as how?&rdquo; she asked, blinking up at him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The others stood at gaze, scarce yet suspecting the drift of so much talk.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is a poor lady yonder, of whose fair name a bubble is being blown
      and pricked. I dare swear there's not a woman here durst speak to her. Yet
      what a chance for one that dared! How fine a triumph would be hers!&rdquo; He
      sighed. &ldquo;Heigho! I almost wish I were a woman, that I might make that
      triumph mine and mark my superiority to these painted dolls that have
      neither wit nor courage.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Lady Mary rose, a faint color in her cheeks, a sparkle in her fine
      eyes. A great joy flashed into Mr. Caryll's in quick response; a joy in
      her&mdash;she thought with ready vanity&mdash;and a heightening
      admiration.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will you make it yours, as it should be&mdash;as it must ever be&mdash;to
      lead and not to follow?&rdquo; he cried, flattering incredibility trembling in
      his voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And why not, sir?&rdquo; she demanded, now thoroughly aroused.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why not, indeed&mdash;since you are you?&rdquo; quoth he. &ldquo;It is what I had
      hoped in you, and yet&mdash;and yet what I had almost feared to hope.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She frowned upon him now, so excellently had he done his work. &ldquo;Why should
      you have feared that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Alas! I am a man of little faith&mdash;unworthy, indeed, your good
      opinion since I entertained a doubt. It was a blasphemy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She smiled again. &ldquo;You acknowledge your faults with such a grace,&rdquo; said
      she, &ldquo;that we must needs forgive them. And now to show you how much you
      need forgiveness. Come, children,&rdquo; she bade her cousins&mdash;for whose
      innocence she had made apology but a moment back. &ldquo;Your arm, Harry,&rdquo; she
      begged her brother-in-law.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Harry obeyed her readily, but without eagerness. In his heart he
      cursed his friend Caryll for having set her on to this.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll himself hung upon her other side, his eyes toward Lady
      Ostermore and Hortensia, who, whilst being observed by all, were being
      approached by few; and these few confined themselves to an exchange of
      greetings with her ladyship, which constituted a worse offence to Mistress
      Winthrop than had they stayed away.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly, as if drawn by his ardent gaze, Hortensia's eyes moved at last
      from their forward fixity. Her glance met Mr. Caryll's across the
      intervening space. Instantly he swept off his hat, and bowed profoundly.
      The action drew attention to himself. All eyes were focussed upon him, and
      between many a pair there was a frown for one who should dare thus to run
      counter to the general attitude.
    </p>
    <p>
      But there was more to follow. The Lady Mary accepted Mr. Caryll's
      salutation of Hortensia as a signal. She led the way promptly, and the
      little band swept forward, straight for its goal, raked by the volleys
      from a thousand eyes, under which the Lady Mary already began to giggle
      excitedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus they reached the countess, the countess standing very rigid in her
      amazement, to receive them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope I see your ladyship well,&rdquo; said Lady Mary.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope your ladyship does,&rdquo; answered the countess tartly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mistress Winthrop's eyes were lowered; her cheeks were scarlet. Her
      distress was plain, born of her doubt of the Lady Mary's purpose, and
      suspense as to what might follow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have not the honor of your ward's acquaintance, Lady Ostermore,&rdquo; said
      Lady Mary, whilst the men were bowing, and her cousins curtseying to the
      countess and her companion collectively.
    </p>
    <p>
      The countess gasped, recovered, and eyed the speaker without any sign of
      affection. &ldquo;My husband's ward, ma'am,&rdquo; she corrected, in a voice that
      seemed to discourage further mention of Hortensia.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis but a distinction,&rdquo; put in Mr. Caryll suggestively.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed, yes. Will not your ladyship present me?&rdquo; The countess' malevolent
      eyes turned a moment upon Mr. Caryll, smiling demurely at Lady Mary's
      elbow. In his face&mdash;as well as in the four words he had uttered&mdash;she
      saw that here was work of his, and he gained nothing in her favor by it.
      Meanwhile there were no grounds&mdash;other than such as must have been
      wantonly offensive to the Lady Mary, and so not to be dreamed of&mdash;upon
      which to refuse her request. The countess braced herself, and with an ill
      grace performed the brief ceremony of presentation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mistress Winthrop looked up an instant, then down again; it was a piteous,
      almost a pleading glance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lady Mary, leaving the countess to Sir Harry Stapleton, Caryll and the
      others, moved to Hortensia's side for a moment she was at loss what to
      say, and took refuge in a commonplace.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have long desired the pleasure of your acquaintance,&rdquo; said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am honored, madam,&rdquo; replied Hortensia, with downcast eyes. Then lifting
      them with almost disconcerting suddenness. &ldquo;Your ladyship has chosen an
      odd season in which to gratify this desire with which you honor me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Lady Mary laughed, as much at the remark as for the benefit of those whose
      eyes were upon her. She knew there would not be wanting many who would
      condemn her; but these should be far outnumbered by those who would be
      lost in admiration of her daring, that she could so fly in the face of
      public opinion; and she was grateful to Mr. Caryll for having suggested to
      her a course of such distinction.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I could have chosen no better season,&rdquo; she replied, &ldquo;to mark my scorn of
      evil tongues and backbiters.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Color stained Hortensia's cheek again; gratitude glowed in her eyes. &ldquo;You
      are very noble, madam,&rdquo; she answered with flattering earnestness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;La!&rdquo; said the Lady Mary. &ldquo;Is nobility, then, so easily achieved?&rdquo; And
      thereafter they talked of inconsequent trifles, until Mr. Caryll moved
      towards them, and Lady Mary turned aside to speak to the countess.
    </p>
    <p>
      At Mr. Caryll's approach Hortensia's eyes had been lowered again, and she
      made no offer to address him as he stood before her now, hat under arm,
      leaning easily upon his amber cane.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, heart of stone!&rdquo; said he at last. &ldquo;Am I not yet forgiven?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She misread his meaning&mdash;perhaps already the suspicion she now voiced
      had been in her mind. She looked up at him sharply. &ldquo;Was it&mdash;was it
      you who fetched the Lady Mary to me?&rdquo; she inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lo!&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You have a voice! Now Heaven be praised! I was fearing it
      was lost for me&mdash;that you had made some awful vow never again to
      rejoice my ears with the music of it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have not answered my question,&rdquo; she reminded him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nor you mine,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I asked you am I not yet forgiven.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Forgiven what?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For being born an impudent, fleering coxcomb&mdash;twas that you called
      me, I think.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She flushed deeply. &ldquo;If you would win forgiveness, you should not remind
      me of the offence,&rdquo; she answered low.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; he rejoined, &ldquo;that is to confound forgiveness with forgetfulness. I
      want you to forgive and yet to remember.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That were to condone.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What else? 'Tis nothing less will satisfy me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You expect too much,&rdquo; she answered, with a touch that was almost of
      sternness.
    </p>
    <p>
      He shrugged and smiled whimsically. &ldquo;It is my way,&rdquo; he said
      apologetically. &ldquo;Nature has made me expectant, and life, whilst showing me
      the folly of it, has not yet cured me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked at him, and repeated her earlier question. &ldquo;Was it at your
      bidding that Lady Mary came to speak with me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fie!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;What insinuations do you make against her?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Insinuations?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What else? That she should do things at my bidding!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She smiled understanding. &ldquo;You have a talent, sir, for crooked answers.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis to conceal the rectitude of my behavior.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It fails of its object, then,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;for it deludes no one.&rdquo; She
      paused and laughed at his look of assumed blankness. &ldquo;I am deeply beholden
      to you,&rdquo; she whispered quickly, breathing at once gratitude and confusion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Though I don't descry the cause,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;'twill be something to
      comfort me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      More he might have added then, for the mad mood was upon him, awakened by
      those soft brown eyes of hers. But in that moment the others of that
      little party crowded upon them to take their leave of Mistress Winthrop.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll felt satisfied that enough had been done to curb the slander
      concerning Hortensia. But he was not long in learning how profound was his
      mistake. On every side he continued to hear her discussed, and in such
      terms as made his ears tingle and his hands itch to be at work in her
      defence; for, with smirks and sneers and innuendoes, her escapade with
      Lord Rotherby continued to furnish a topic for the town as her ladyship
      had sworn it would. Yet by what right could he espouse her cause with any
      one of her defamers without bringing her fair name into still more odious
      notoriety?
    </p>
    <p>
      And meanwhile he knew that he was under strict surveillance from Mr.
      Green; knew that he was watched wherever he went; and nothing but his
      confidence that no evidence could be produced against him allowed him to
      remain, as he did, all unconcerned of this.
    </p>
    <p>
      Leduc had more than once seen Mr. Green about Old Palace Yard, besides a
      couple of his underlings, one or the other of whom was never absent from
      the place, no doubt with intent to observe who came and went at Mr.
      Caryll's. Once, indeed, during the absence of master and servant, Mr.
      Caryll's lodging was broken into, and on Leduc's return he found a
      confusion which told him how thoroughly the place had been ransacked.
    </p>
    <p>
      If Mr. Caryll had had anything to hide, this would have given him the hint
      to take his precautions; but as he had nothing that was in the least
      degree in incriminating, he went his ways in supremest unconcern of the
      vigilance exerted over him. He used, however, a greater discretion in the
      resorts he frequented. And if upon occasion he visited such Tory
      meeting-places as the Bell Tavern in King Street or the Cocoa-Tree in Pall
      Mall, he was still more often to be found at White's, that ultra-Whig
      resort.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was at this latter house, one evening three or four days after his
      meeting with Hortensia in the park, that the chance was afforded him at
      last of vindicating her honor in a manner that need not add to the scandal
      that was already abroad, nor serve to couple his name with hers unduly.
      And it was Lord Rotherby himself who afforded him the opportunity.
    </p>
    <p>
      The thing fell out in this wise: Mr. Caryll was at cards with Harry Collis
      and Stapleton and Major Gascoigne, in a room above-stairs. There were at
      least a dozen others present, some also at play, others merely lounging.
      Of the latter was his Grace of Wharton. He was a slender, graceful
      gentleman, whose face, if slightly effeminate and markedly dissipated, was
      nevertheless of considerable beauty. He was very splendid in a suit of
      green camlett and silver lace, and he wore a flaxen periwig without
      powder.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was awaiting Rotherby, with whom&mdash;as he told the company&mdash;he
      was for a frolic at Drury Lane, where a ridotto was following the play. He
      spoke, as usual, in a loud voice that all might hear, and his talk was
      loose and heavily salted as became the talk of a rake of his exalted rank.
      It was chiefly concerned with airing his bitter grievance against Mrs.
      Girdlebank, of the Theatre Royal, of whom he announced himself &ldquo;devilishly
      enamoured.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He inveighed against her that she should have the gross vulgarity to love
      her husband, and against her husband that he should have the audacity to
      play the watchdog over her, and bark and growl at the duke's approach.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A plague on all husbands, say I,&rdquo; ended the worthy president of the Bold
      Bucks.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, now, but I'm a husband myself, gad!&rdquo; protested Mr. Sidney, who was
      quite the most delicate, mincing man of fashion about town, and one of
      that valetaille that hovered about his Grace of Wharton's heels.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis no matter in your case,&rdquo; said the duke, with that contempt he used
      towards his followers. &ldquo;Your wife's too ugly to be looked at.&rdquo; And Mr.
      Sidney's fresh protest was drowned in the roar of laughter that went up to
      applaud that brutal frankness. Mr. Caryll turned to the fop, who happened
      to be standing at his elbow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never repine, man,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;In the company you keep, such a wife makes
      for peace of mind. To have that is to have much.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Wharton resumed his railings at the Girdlebanks, and was still at them
      when Rotherby came in.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At last, Charles!&rdquo; the duke hailed him, rising. &ldquo;Another minute, and I
      had gone without you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But Rotherby scarce looked at him, and answered with unwonted shortness.
      His eyes had discovered Mr. Caryll. It was the first time he had run
      against him since that day, over a week ago, at Stretton House, and at
      sight of him now all Rotherby's spleen was moved. He stood and stared, his
      dark eyes narrowing, his cheeks flushing slightly under their tan.
      Wharton, who had approached him, observing his sudden halt, his sudden
      look of concentration, asked him shortly what might ail him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have seen someone I did not expect to find in a resort of gentlemen,&rdquo;
       said Rotherby, his eyes ever on Mr. Caryll, who&mdash;engrossed in his
      game&mdash;was all unconscious of his lordship's advent.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wharton followed the direction of his companion's gaze, and giving now
      attention himself to Mr. Caryll, he fell to appraising his genteel
      appearance, negligent of the insinuation in what Rotherby had said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Sdeath!&rdquo; swore the duke. &ldquo;'Tis a man of taste&mdash;a travelled
      gentleman by his air. Behold me the grace of that shoulder-knot, Charles,
      and the set of that most admirable coat. Fifty guineas wouldn't buy his
      Steinkirk. Who is this beau?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll present him to your grace,&rdquo; said Rotherby shortly. He had
      pretentions at being a beau himself; but his grace&mdash;supreme arbiter
      in such matters&mdash;had never yet remarked it.
    </p>
    <p>
      They moved across the room, greetings passing as they went. At their
      approach, Mr. Caryll looked up. Rotherby made him a leg with an excessive
      show of deference, arguing irony. &ldquo;'Tis an unlooked-for pleasure to meet
      you here, sir,&rdquo; said he in a tone that drew the attention of all present.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No pleasures are so sweet as the unexpected,&rdquo; answered Mr. Caryll, with
      casual amiability, and since he perceived at once the errand upon which
      Lord Rotherby was come to him, he went half-way to meet him. &ldquo;Has your
      lordship been contracting any marriages of late?&rdquo; he inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      The viscount smiled icily. &ldquo;You have quick wits, sir,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;which is
      as it should be in one who lives by them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let your lordship be thankful that such is not your own case,&rdquo; returned
      Mr. Caryll, with imperturbable good humor, and sent a titter round the
      room.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A hit! A shrewd hit, 'pon honor!&rdquo; cried Wharton, tapping his snuff-box.
      &ldquo;I vow to Gad, Ye're undone, Charles. Ye'd better play at repartee with
      Gascoigne, there. Ye're more of a weight.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your grace,&rdquo; cried Rotherby, suppressing at great cost his passion, &ldquo;'tis
      not to be borne that a fellow of this condition should sit among men of
      quality.&rdquo; And with that he swung round and addressed the company in
      general. &ldquo;Gentlemen, do you know who this fellow is? He has the effrontery
      to take my name, and call himself Caryll.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll looked a moment at his brother in the silence that followed.
      Then, as in a flash, he saw his chance of vindicating Mistress Winthrop,
      and he seized it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And do you know, gentlemen, who this fellow is?&rdquo; he inquired, with an air
      of sly amusement. &ldquo;He is&mdash;Nay, you shall judge for yourselves. You
      shall hear the story of how we met; it is the story of his abduction of a
      lady whose name need not be mentioned; the story of his dastardly attempt
      to cozen her into a mock-marriage.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mock&mdash;mock-marriage?&rdquo; cried the duke and a dozen others with him,
      some in surprise, but most in an unbelief that was already faintly tinged
      with horror&mdash;which argued ill for my Lord Rotherby when the story
      should be told.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You damned rogue&mdash;&rdquo; began his lordship, and would have flung himself
      upon Caryll, but that Collis and Stapleton, and Wharton himself, put forth
      hands to stay him by main force.
    </p>
    <p>
      Others, too, had risen. But Mr. Caryll sat quietly in his chair, idly
      fingering the cards before him, and smiling gently, between amusement and
      irony. He was much mistaken if he did not make Lord Rotherby bitterly
      regret the initiative he had taken in their quarrel.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Gently, my lord,&rdquo; the duke admonished the viscount. &ldquo;This&mdash;this
      gentleman has said that which touches your honor. He shall say more. He
      shall make good his words, or eat them. But the matter cannot rest thus.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It shall not, by God!&rdquo; swore Rotherby, purple now. &ldquo;It shall not. I'll
      kill him like a dog for what he has said.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But before I die, gentlemen,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, &ldquo;it were well that you
      should have the full story of that sorry adventure from an eye-witness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;An eye-witness? Were ye present?&rdquo; cried two or three in a breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I desire to lay before you all the story of how we met my lord there and
      I. It is so closely enmeshed with the story of that abduction and
      mock-marriage that the one is scarce to be distinguished from the other.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby writhed to shake off those who held him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will ye listen to this fellow?&rdquo; he roared. &ldquo;He's a spy, I tell you&mdash;a
      Jacobite spy!&rdquo; He was beside himself with anger and apprehension, and he
      never paused to weigh the words he uttered. It was with him a question of
      stopping his accuser's mouth with whatever mud came under his hands. &ldquo;He
      has no right here. It is not to be borne. I know not by what means he has
      thrust himself among you, but&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is a knowledge I can afford your lordship,&rdquo; came Stapleton's steady
      voice to interrupt the speaker. &ldquo;Mr. Caryll is here by my invitation.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And by mine and Gascoigne's here,&rdquo; added Sir Harry Collis, &ldquo;and I will
      answer for his quality to any man who doubts it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby glared at Mr. Caryll's sponsors, struck dumb by this sudden and
      unexpected refutation of the charge he had leveled.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wharton, who had stepped aside, knit his brows and flashed his
      quizzing-glass&mdash;through sheer force of habit&mdash;upon Lord
      Rotherby. Then:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You'll pardon me, Harry,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;but you'll see, I hope, that the
      question is not impertinent; that I put it to the end that we may clearly
      know with whom we have to deal and what consideration to extend him, what
      credit to attach to the communication he is to make us touching my lord
      here. Under what circumstances did you become acquainted with Mr. Caryll?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have known him these twelve years,&rdquo; answered Collis promptly; &ldquo;so has
      Stapleton, so has Gascoigne, so have a dozen other gentlemen who could be
      produced, and who, like ourselves, were at Oxford with him. For myself and
      Stapleton, I can say that our acquaintance&mdash;indeed, I should say our
      friendship&mdash;with Mr. Caryll has been continuous since then, and that
      we have visited him on several occasions at his estate of Maligny in
      Normandy. That he habitually inhabits the country of his birth is the
      reason why Mr. Caryll has not hitherto had the advantage of your grace's
      acquaintance. Need I say more to efface the false statement made by my
      Lord Rotherby?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;False? Do you dare give me the lie, sir?&rdquo; roared Rotherby.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the duke soothed him. Under his profligate exterior his Grace of
      Wharton concealed&mdash;indeed, wasted&mdash;a deal of shrewdness, ability
      and inherent strength. &ldquo;One thing at a time, my lord,&rdquo; said the president
      of the Bold Bucks. &ldquo;Let us attend to the matter of Mr. Caryll.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dons and the devil! Does your grace take sides with him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I take no sides. But I owe it to myself&mdash;we all owe it to ourselves&mdash;that
      this matter should be cleared.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby leered at him, his lip trembling with anger. &ldquo;Does the president
      of the Bold Bucks pretend to administrate a court of honor?&rdquo; he sneered
      heavily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your lordship will gain little by this,&rdquo; Wharton admonished him, so
      coldly that Rotherby belatedly came to some portion of his senses again.
      The duke turned to Caryll. &ldquo;Mr. Caryll,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;Sir Harry has given you
      very handsome credentials, which would seem to prove you worthy the
      hospitality of White's. You have, however, permitted yourself certain
      expressions concerning his lordship here, which we cannot allow to remain
      where you have left them. You must retract, sir, or make them good.&rdquo; His
      gravity, and the preciseness of his diction now, sorted most oddly with
      his foppish airs.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll closed his snuff-box with a snap. A hush fell instantly upon
      the company, which by now was all crowding about the little table at which
      sat Mr. Caryll and his three friends. A footman who entered at the moment
      to snuff the candles and see what the gentlemen might be requiring, was
      dismissed the room. When the door had closed, Mr. Caryll began to speak.
    </p>
    <p>
      One more attempt was made by Rotherby to interfere, but this attempt was
      disposed of by Wharton, who had constituted himself entirely master of the
      proceedings.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you will not allow Mr. Caryll to speak, we shall infer that you fear
      what he may have to say; you will compel us to hear him in your absence,
      and I cannot think that you would prefer that, my lord.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      My lord fell silent. He was breathing heavily, and his face was pale, his
      eyes angry beyond words, what time Mr. Caryll, in amiable, musical voice,
      with its precise and at moments slightly foreign enunciation, unfolded the
      shameful story of the affair at the &ldquo;Adam and Eve,&rdquo; at Maidstone. He told
      a plain, straightforward tale, making little attempt to reproduce any of
      its color, giving his audience purely and simply the facts that had taken
      place. He told how he himself had been chosen as a witness when my lord
      had heard that there was a traveller from France in the house, and showed
      how that slight circumstance had first awakened his suspicions of foul
      play. He provoked some amusement when he dealt with his detection and
      exposure of the sham parson. But in the main he was heard with a stern and
      ominous attention&mdash;ominous for Lord Rotherby.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rakes these men admittedly were with but few exceptions. No ordinary tale
      of gallantry could have shocked them, or provoked them to aught but a
      contemptuous mirth at the expense of the victim, male or female. They
      would have thought little the worse of a man for running off with the
      wife, say, of one of his acquaintance; they would have thought nothing of
      his running off with a sister or a daughter&mdash;so long as it was not of
      their own. All these were fair game, and if the husband, father or brother
      could not protect the wife, sister or daughter that was his, the more
      shame to him. But though they might be fair game, the game had its rules&mdash;anomalous
      as it may seem. These rules Lord Rotherby&mdash;if the tale Mr. Caryll
      told was true&mdash;had violated. He had practiced a cheat, the more
      dastardly because the poor lady who had so narrowly escaped being his
      victim had nether father nor brother to avenge her. And in every eye that
      was upon him Lord Rotherby might have read, had he had the wit to do so,
      the very sternest condemnation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A pretty story, as I've a soul!&rdquo; was his grace's comment, when Mr. Caryll
      had done. &ldquo;A pretty story, my Lord Rotherby. I have a stomach for strong
      meat myself. But&mdash;odds my life!&mdash;this is too nauseous!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby glared at him. &ldquo;'Slife! your grace is grown very nice on a
      sudden!&rdquo; he sneered. &ldquo;The president of the Bold Bucks, the master of the
      Hell Fire Club, is most oddly squeamish where the diversions of another
      are concerned.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Diversions?&rdquo; said his grace, his eyebrows raised until they all but
      vanished under the golden curls of his peruke. &ldquo;Diversions? Ha! I observe
      that you make no attempt to deny the story. You admit it, then?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There was a stir in the group, a drawing back from his lordship. He
      observed it, trembling between chagrin and rage. &ldquo;What's here?&rdquo; he cried,
      and laughed contemptuously. &ldquo;Oh, ah! You'll follow where his grace leads
      you! Ye've followed him so long in lewdness that now yell follow him in
      conversion! But as for you, sir,&rdquo; and he swung fiercely upon Caryll, &ldquo;you
      and your precious story&mdash;will you maintain it sword in hand?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can do better,&rdquo; answered Mr. Caryll, &ldquo;if any doubts my word.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As how?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can prove it categorically, by witnesses.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well said, Caryll,&rdquo; Stapleton approved him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And if I say that you lie&mdash;you and your witnesses?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'T is you will be liar,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Besides, it is a little late for that,&rdquo; cut in the duke.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your grace,&rdquo; cried Rotherby, &ldquo;is this affair yours?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, I thank Heaven!&rdquo; said his grace, and sat down.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby scowled at the man who until ten minutes ago had been his friend
      and boon companion, and there was more of contempt than anger in his eyes.
      He turned again to Mr. Caryll, who was watching him with a gleam of
      amusement&mdash;that infernally irritating amusement of his&mdash;in his
      gray-green eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; he demanded foolishly, &ldquo;have you naught to say?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I had thought,&rdquo; returned Mr. Caryll, &ldquo;that I had said enough.&rdquo; And the
      duke laughed aloud.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby's lip was curled. &ldquo;Ha! You don't think, now, that you may have
      said too much?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll stifled a yawn. &ldquo;Do you?&rdquo; he inquired blandly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, by God! Too much for a gentleman to leave unpunished.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Possibly. But what gentleman is concerned in this?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am!&rdquo; thundered Rotherby.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see. And how do you conceive that you answer the description?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby swore at him with great choice and variety. &ldquo;You shall learn,&rdquo; he
      promised him. &ldquo;My friends shall wait on you to-night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wonder who will carry his message?&rdquo; ventured Collis to the ceiling.
      Rotherby turned on him, fierce as a rat. &ldquo;It is a matter you may discover
      to your cost, Sir Harry,&rdquo; he snarled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think,&rdquo; put in his grace very languidly, &ldquo;that you are troubling the
      harmony that is wont to reign here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His lordship stood still a moment. Then, quite suddenly, he snatched up a
      candlestick to hurl at Mr. Caryll. But he had it wrenched from his hands
      ere he could launch it.
    </p>
    <p>
      He stood a moment, discomfited, glowering upon his brother. &ldquo;My friends
      shall wait on you to-night,&rdquo; he repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You said so before,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll replied wearily. &ldquo;I shall endeavor to
      make them welcome.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His lordship nodded stupidly, and strode to the door. His departure was
      observed in silence. On every face he read his sentence. These men&mdash;rakes
      though they were, professedly&mdash;would own him no more for their
      associate; and what these men thought to-night not a gentleman in town but
      would be thinking the same tomorrow. He had the stupidity to lay it all to
      the score of Mr. Caryll, not perceiving that he had brought it upon
      himself by his own aggressiveness. He paused, his hand upon the doorknob,
      and turned to loose a last shaft at them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As for you others, that follow your bell-wether there,&rdquo; and he indicated
      his grace, whose shoulder was towards him, &ldquo;this matter ends not here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And with that general threat he passed out, and that snug room at White's
      knew him no more.
    </p>
    <p>
      Major Gascoigne was gathering up the cards that had been flung down when
      first the storm arose. Mr. Caryll bent to assist him. And the last voice
      Lord Rotherby heard as he departed was Mr. Caryll's, and the words it
      uttered were: &ldquo;Come, Ned; the deal is with you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His lordship swore through his teeth, and went downstairs heavily.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER X. SPURS TO THE RELUCTANT
    </h2>
    <p>
      Before Mr. Caryll left White's&mdash;which he did at a comparatively early
      hour, that he might be at home to receive Lord Rotherby's friends&mdash;not
      a man present but had offered him his services in the affair he had upon
      his hands. Wharton, indeed, was not to be denied for one; and for the
      other Mr. Caryll desired Gascoigne to do him the honor of representing
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a fine, dry night, and feeling the need for exercise, Mr. Caryll
      set out to walk the short distance from St. James's Street to his lodging,
      with a link-boy, preceding him, for only attendant. Arrived home, he was
      met by Leduc with the information that Sir Richard Everard was awaiting
      him. He went in, and the next moment he was in the arms of his adoptive
      father.
    </p>
    <p>
      Greetings and minor courtesies disposed of, Sir Richard came straight to
      the affair which he had at heart. &ldquo;Well? How speeds the matter?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll's face became overcast. He sat down, a thought wearily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So far as Lord Ostermore is concerned, it speeds&mdash;as you would wish
      it. So far as I am concerned&rdquo;&mdash;he paused and sighed&mdash;&ldquo;I would
      that it sped not at all, or that I was out of it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard looked at him with searching eyes. &ldquo;How?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;What
      would you have me understand?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That in spite of all that has been said between us, in spite of all the
      arguments you have employed, and with which once, for a little while, you
      convinced me, this task is loathsome to me in the last degree. Ostermore
      is my father, and I can't forget it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And your mother?&rdquo; Sir Richard's tone was sad, rather than indignant; it
      spoke of a bitter disappointment, not at the events, but at this man whom
      he loved with all a father's love.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It were idle to go over it all again. I know everything that you would&mdash;that
      you could&mdash;say. I have said it all to myself again and again, in a
      vain endeavor to steel myself to the business to which you plighted me.
      Had Ostermore been different, perhaps it had been easier. I cannot say. As
      it is, I see in him a weakling, a man of inferior intellect, who does not
      judge things as you and I judge them, whose life cannot have been guided
      by the rules that serve for men of stronger purpose.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You find excuses for him? For his deed?&rdquo; cried Sir Richard, and his voice
      was full of horror now; he stared askance at his adoptive son.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no! Oh, I don't know. On my soul and conscience, I don't know!&rdquo; cried
      Mr. Caryll, like one in pain. He rose and moved restlessly about the room.
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he pursued more calmly, &ldquo;I don't excuse him. I blame him&mdash;more
      bitterly than you can think; perhaps more bitterly even than do you, for I
      have had a look into his mind and see the exact place held there by my
      mother's memory. I can judge and condemn him; but I can't execute him; I
      can't betray him. I don't think I could do it even if he were not my
      father.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He paused, and leaning his hands upon the table at which Sir Richard sat,
      he faced him, and spoke in a voice of earnest pleading. &ldquo;Sir Richard, this
      was not the task to give me; or, if you had planned to give it me, you
      should have reared me differently; you should not have sought to make of
      me a gentleman. You have brought me up to principles of honor, and you ask
      me now to outrage them, to cast them off, and to become a very Judas. Is't
      wonderful I should rebel?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They were hurtful words to Sir Richard&mdash;the poor fanatic whose mind
      was all unsound on this one point, who had lived in contemplation of his
      vengeance as a fasting monk lives through Lent in contemplation of the
      Easter plenty. The lines of sorrow deepened in his face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Justin,&rdquo; he said slowly, &ldquo;you forget one thing. Honor is to be used with
      men of honor; but he who allows his honor to stand a barrier between
      himself and the man who has wronged him by dishonor, is no better than a
      fool. You speak of yourself; you think of yourself. And what of me,
      Justin? The things you say of yourself apply in a like degree&mdash;nay,
      even more&mdash;to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, but you are not his son. Oh, believe me, I speak not hastily or
      lightly. I have been torn this way and that in these past days, until at
      moments the burden has been heavier than I could bear. Once, for a little
      while, I thought I could do all and more than you expect of me&mdash;the
      moment, indeed, in which I took the first step, and delivered him the
      letter. But it was a moment of wild heat. I cooled, and reflection
      followed, and since then, because so much was done, I have not known an
      instant's peace of mind; I have endeavored to forget the position in which
      I am placed; but I have failed. I cannot. And if I go through with this
      thing, I shall not know another hour in life that is not poisoned by
      remorse.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Remorse?&rdquo; echoed Sir Richard, between consternation and anger. &ldquo;Remorse?&rdquo;
       He laughed bitterly. &ldquo;What ails thee, boy? Do you pretend that Lord
      Ostermore should go unpunished? Do you go so far as that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not so. He has made others suffer, and it is just&mdash;as we understand
      justice&mdash;that he should suffer in his turn. Though, when all is said,
      he is but a poor egotist, too dull-witted to understand the full vileness
      of his sin. He is suffering, as it is&mdash;cursed in his son; for 'the
      father of a fool hath no joy.' He hates this son of his, and his son
      despises him. His wife is a shrew, a termagant, who embitters every hour
      of his existence. Thus he drags out his life, unloving and unloved, a
      thing to evoke pity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pity?&rdquo; cried Sir Richard in a voice of thunder. &ldquo;Pity? Ha! As I've a
      soul, Justin, he shall be more pitiful yet ere I have done with him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Be it so, then. But&mdash;if you love me&mdash;find some other hand to do
      the work.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I love you, Justin?&rdquo; echoed the other, and his voice softened, his
      eyes looked reproachfully upon his adoptive child. &ldquo;Needs there an 'if' to
      that? Are you not all I have&mdash;my son, indeed?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He held out his hands, and Justin took them affectionately and pressed
      them in his own.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You'll put these weak notions from your mind, Justin, and prove worthy
      the noble lady who was your mother?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll moved aside again, hanging his head, his face pale and
      troubled. Where Everard's arguments must fail, his own affection for
      Everard was like to conquer him. It was very weak in him, he told himself;
      but then his love for Everard was strong, and he would fain spare Everard
      the pain he knew he must be occasioning him. Still he did battle, his
      repugnance up in arms.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would you could see the matter as I see it,&rdquo; he sighed. &ldquo;This man grown
      old, and reaping in his old age the fruits of the egotism he has sown. I
      do not believe that in all the world there is a single soul would weep his
      lordship's death&mdash;if we except, perhaps, Mistress Winthrop.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And do you pity him for that?&rdquo; quoth Sir Richard coldly. &ldquo;What right has
      he to expect aught else? Who sows for himself, reaps for himself. I
      marvel, indeed, that there should be even one to bewail him&mdash;to spare
      him a kind thought.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And even there,&rdquo; mused Mr. Caryll, &ldquo;it is perhaps gratitude rather than
      affection that inspires the kindness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who is Mistress Winthrop?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His ward. As sweet a lady, I think, as I have ever seen,&rdquo; said Mr.
      Caryll, incautious enthusiasm assailing him. Sir Richard's eyes narrowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have some acquaintance with her?&rdquo; he suggested.
    </p>
    <p>
      Very briefly Mr. Caryll sketched for the second time that evening the
      circumstances of his first meeting with Rotherby.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard nodded sardonically. &ldquo;Hum! He is his father's son, not a doubt
      of that. 'Twill be a most worthy successor to my Lord Ostermore. But the
      lady? Tell me of the lady. How comes she linked with them?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I scarce know, save from the scraps that I have heard. Her father, it
      would seem, was Ostermore's friend, and, dying, he appointed Ostermore her
      guardian. Her fortune, I take it, is very slender. Nevertheless,
      Ostermore, whatever he may have done by other people, appears in this case
      to have discharged his trust with zeal and with affection. But, indeed,
      who could have done other where that sweet lady was concerned? You should
      see her, Sir Richard!&rdquo; He was pacing the room now as he spoke, and as he
      spoke he warmed to his subject more and more. &ldquo;She is middling tall, of a
      most dainty slenderness, dark-haired, with a so sweet and saintly beauty
      of face that it must be seen to be believed. And eyes&mdash;Lord! the
      glory of her eyes! They are eyes that would lead a man into hell and make
      him believe it heaven,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
         &ldquo;'Love doth to her eyes repair
           To help him of his blindness.'&rdquo;
 </pre>
    <p>
      Sir Richard watched him, displeasure growing in his face. &ldquo;So!&rdquo; he said at
      last. &ldquo;Is that the reason?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The reason of what?&rdquo; quoth Mr. Caryll, recalled from his sweet rapture.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The reason of these fresh qualms of yours. The reason of all this
      sympathy for Ostermore; this unwillingness to perform the sacred duty that
      is yours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay&mdash;on my soul, you do me wrong!&rdquo; cried Mr. Caryll indignantly. &ldquo;If
      aught had been needed to spur me on, it had been my meeting with this
      lady. It needed that to make me realize to the bitter full the wrong my
      Lord Ostermore has done me in getting me; to make me realize that I am a
      man without a name to offer any woman.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But Sir Richard, watching him intently, shook his head and fetched a sigh
      of sorrow and disdain. &ldquo;Pshaw, Justin! How we befool ourselves! You think
      it is not so; you try to think it is not so; but to me it is very plain. A
      woman has arisen in your life, and this woman, seen but once or twice,
      unknown a week or so ago, suffices to eclipse the memory of your mother
      and turns your aim in life&mdash;the avenging of her bitter wrongs&mdash;to
      water. Oh, Justin, Justin! I had thought you stronger.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your conclusions are all wrong. I swear they are wrong!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard considered him sombrely. &ldquo;Are you sure&mdash;quite, quite
      sure?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll's eyes fell, as the doubt now entered his mind for the first
      time that it might be indeed as Sir Richard was suggesting. He was not
      quite sure.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Prove it to me, Justin,&rdquo; Everard pleaded. &ldquo;Prove it by abandoning this
      weakness where my Lord Ostermore is concerned. Remember only the wrong he
      has done. You are the incarnation of that wrong, and by your hand must he
      be destroyed.&rdquo; He rose, and caught the younger man's hands again in his
      own, forced Mr. Caryll to confront him. &ldquo;He shall know when the time comes
      whose hand it was that pulled him down; he shall know the Nemesis that has
      lain in wait for him these thirty years to smite him at the end. And he
      shall taste hell in this world before he goes to it in the next. It is
      God's own justice, boy! Will you be false to the duty that lies before
      you? Will you forget your mother and her sufferings because you have
      looked into the eyes of this girl, who&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no! Say no more!&rdquo; cried Mr. Caryll, his voice trembling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will do it,&rdquo; said Sir Richard, between question and assertion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If Heaven lends me strength of purpose. But it asks much,&rdquo; was the gloomy
      answer. &ldquo;I am to see Lord Ostermore to-morrow to obtain his answer to King
      James' letter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard's eyes gleamed. He released the other's hands, and turned
      slowly to his chair again. &ldquo;It is well,&rdquo; he said slowly. &ldquo;The thing asks
      dispatch, or else some of his majesty's real friends may be involved.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He proceeded to explain his words. &ldquo;I have talked in vain with Atterbury.
      He will not abandon the enterprise even at King James' commands. He urges
      that his majesty can have no conception of how the matter is advanced;
      that he has been laboring like Hercules, and that the party is being
      swelled by men of weight and substance every day; that it is too late to
      go back, and that he will go forward with the king's consent or without
      it. Should he or his agents approach Ostermore, in the meantime, it will
      be too late for us to take such measures as we have concerted. For to
      deliver up Ostermore then would entail the betrayal of others, which is
      not to be dreamt of. So you'll use dispatch.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I do the thing at all, it shall be done to-morrow,&rdquo; answered Mr.
      Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If at all?&rdquo; cried Sir Richard, frowning again. &ldquo;If at all?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Caryll turned to him. He crossed to the table, and leaning across it,
      until his face was quite close to his adoptive father's. &ldquo;Sir Richard,&rdquo; he
      begged, &ldquo;let us say no more to-night. My will is all to do the thing. It
      is my&mdash;my instincts that rebel. I think that the day will be carried
      by my will. I shall strive to that end, believe me. But let us say no more
      now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard, looking deep into Mr. Caryll's eyes, was touched by something
      that he saw. &ldquo;My poor Justin!&rdquo; he said gently. Then, checking the sympathy
      as swiftly as it rose: &ldquo;So be it, then,&rdquo; he said briskly. &ldquo;You'll come to
      me to-morrow after you have seen his lordship?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will you not remain here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have not the room. Besides, Sir Richard Everard&mdash;is too well
      known for a Jacobite to be observed sharing your lodging. I have no right
      at all in England, and there is always the chance of my being discovered.
      I would not pull you down with me. I am lodged at the corner of Maiden
      Lane, next door to the sign of Golden Flitch. Come to me there to-morrow
      after you have seen Lord Ostermore.&rdquo; He hesitated a moment. He was
      impelled to recapitulate his injunctions; but he forbore. He put out his
      hand abruptly. &ldquo;Good-night, Justin.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Justin took the hand and pressed it. The door opened, and Leduc entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Captain Mainwaring and Mr. Falgate are here, sir, and would speak with
      you,&rdquo; he announced.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll knit his brows a moment. His acquaintance with both men was of
      the slightest, and it was only upon reflection that he bethought him they
      would, no doubt, be come in the matter of his affair with Rotherby, which
      in the stress of his interview with Sir Richard had been quite forgotten.
      He nodded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wait upon Sir Richard to the door, Leduc,&rdquo; he bade his man. &ldquo;Then
      introduce these gentlemen.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard had drawn back a step. &ldquo;I trust neither of these gentlemen
      knows me,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I would not be seen here by any that did. It might
      compromise you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But Mr. Caryll belittled Sir Richard's fears. &ldquo;Pooh! 'Tis very unlike,&rdquo;
       said he; whereupon Sir Richard, seeing no help for it, went out quickly,
      Leduc in attendance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Rotherby's friends in the ante-room paid little heed to him as he
      passed briskly through. Surveillance came rather from an entirely
      unsuspected quarter. As he left the house and crossed the square, a figure
      detached itself from the shadow of the wall, and set out to follow. It
      hung in his rear through the filthy, labyrinthine streets which Sir
      Richard took to Charing Cross, followed him along the Strand and up
      Bedford Street, and took note of the house he entered at the corner of
      Maiden Lane.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI. THE ASSAULT-AT-ARMS
    </h2>
    <p>
      The meeting was appointed by my Lord Rotherby for seven o'clock next
      morning in Lincoln's Inn Fields. It is true that Lincoln's Inn Fields at
      an early hour of the day was accounted a convenient spot for the
      transaction of such business as this; yet, considering that it was in the
      immediate neighborhood of Stretton House, overlooked, indeed, by the
      windows of that mansion, it is not easy to rid the mind of a suspicion
      that Rotherby appointed that place of purpose set, and with intent to mark
      his contempt and defiance of his father, with whom he supposed Mr. Caryll
      to be in some league.
    </p>
    <p>
      Accompanied by the Duke of Wharton and Major Gascoigne, Mr. Caryll entered
      the enclosure promptly as seven was striking from St. Clement Danes. They
      had come in a coach, which they had left in waiting at the corner of
      Portugal Row.
    </p>
    <p>
      As they penetrated beyond the belt of trees they found that they were the
      first in the field, and his grace proceeded with the major to inspect the
      ground, so that time might be saved against the coming of the other party.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll stood apart, breathing the freshness of the sunlit morning, but
      supremely indifferent to its glory. He was gloomy and preoccupied. He had
      slept ill that night after his interview with Sir Richard, tormented by
      the odious choice that lay before him of either breaking with the adoptive
      father to whom he owed obedience and affection, or betraying his natural
      father whom he had every reason to hate, yet who remained his father. He
      had been able to arrive at no solution. Duty seemed to point one way;
      instinct the other. Down in his heart he felt that when the moment came it
      would be the behests of instinct that he would obey, and, in obeying them,
      play false to Sir Richard and to the memory of his mother. It was the only
      course that went with honor; and yet it was a course that must lead to a
      break with the one friend he had in the world&mdash;the one man who stood
      to him for family and kin.
    </p>
    <p>
      And now, as if that were not enough to plague him, there was this quarrel
      with Rotherby which he had upon his hands. That, too, he had been
      considering during the wakeful hours of that summer night. Had he
      reflected he must have seen that no other result could have followed his
      narrative at White's last night; and yet it was a case in which reflection
      would not have stayed him. Hortensia Winthrop's fair name was to be
      cleansed of the smirch that had been cast upon it, and Justin was the only
      man in whose power it had lain to do it. More than that&mdash;if more were
      needed&mdash;it was Rotherby himself, by his aggressiveness, who had
      thrust Mr. Caryll into a position which almost made it necessary for him
      to explain himself; and that he could scarcely have done by any other than
      the means which he had adopted. Under ordinary circumstances the matter
      would have troubled him not at all; this meeting with such a man as
      Rotherby would not have robbed him of a moment's sleep. But there came the
      reflection&mdash;belatedly&mdash;that Rotherby was his brother, his
      father's son; and he experienced just the same degree of repugnance at the
      prospect of crossing swords with him as he did at the prospect of
      betraying Lord Ostermore. Sir Richard would force upon him a parricide's
      task; Fate a fratricide's. Truly, he thought, it was an enviable position,
      his.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pacing the turf, on which the dew still gleamed and sparkled diamond-like,
      he pondered his course, and wondered now, at the last moment, was there no
      way to avert this meeting. Could not the matter be arranged? He was
      stirred out of his musings by Gascoigne's voice, raised to curse the
      tardiness of Lord Rotherby.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Slife! Where does the fellow tarry? Was he so drunk last night that he's
      not yet slept himself sober?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The streets are astir,&rdquo; put in Wharton, helping himself to snuff. And,
      indeed, the cries of the morning hawkers reached them now from the four
      sides of the square. &ldquo;If his lordship does not come soon, I doubt if we
      may stay for him. We shall have half the town for spectators.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who are these?&rdquo; quoth Gascoigne, stepping aside and craning his neck to
      get a better view. &ldquo;Ah! Here they come.&rdquo; And he indicated a group of three
      that had that moment passed the palings.
    </p>
    <p>
      Gascoigne and Wharton went to meet the newcomers. Lord Rotherby was
      attended by Mainwaring, a militia captain&mdash;a great, burly, scarred
      bully of a man&mdash;and a Mr. Falgate, an extravagant young buck of his
      acquaintance. An odder pair of sponsors he could not have found had he
      been at pains to choose them so.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Adso!&rdquo; swore Mr. Falgate, in his shrill, affected voice. &ldquo;I vow 'tis a
      most ungenteel hour, this, for men of quality to be abroad. I had my
      beauty sleep broke into to be here in time. Lard! I shall be dozing all
      day for't!&rdquo; He took off his hat and delicately mopped his brow with a
      square of lace he called a handkerchief.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shall we come to business, gentlemen?&rdquo; quoth Mainwaring gruffly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;With all my heart,&rdquo; answered Wharton. &ldquo;It is growing late.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Late! La, my dears!&rdquo; clucked Mr. Falgate in horror. &ldquo;Has your grace not
      been to bed yet?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To save time,&rdquo; said Gascoigne, &ldquo;we have made an inspection of the ground,
      and we think that under the trees yonder is a spot not to be bettered.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mainwaring flashed a critical and experienced eye over the place. &ldquo;The sun
      is&mdash;So?&rdquo; he said, looking up. &ldquo;Yes; it should serve well enough, I&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will not serve at all,&rdquo; cried Rotherby, who stood a pace or two apart.
      &ldquo;A little to the right, there, the turf is better.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But there is no protection,&rdquo; put in the duke. &ldquo;You will be under
      observation from that side of the square, including Stretton House.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What odds?&rdquo; quoth Rotherby. &ldquo;Do I care who overlooks us?&rdquo; And he laughed
      unpleasantly. &ldquo;Or is your grace ashamed of being seen in your friend's
      company?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Wharton looked him steadily in the face a moment, then turned to his
      lordship's seconds. &ldquo;If Mr. Caryll is of the same mind as his lordship, we
      had best get to work at once,&rdquo; he said; and bowing to them, withdrew with
      Gascoigne.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;See to the swords, Mainwaring,&rdquo; said Rotherby shortly. &ldquo;Here, Fanny!&rdquo;
       This to Falgate, whose name was Francis, and who delighted in the feminine
      diminutive which his intimates used toward him. &ldquo;Come help me with my
      clothes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I vow to Gad,&rdquo; protested Mr. Falgate, advancing to the task. &ldquo;I make but
      an indifferent valet, my dear.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll stood thoughtful a moment when Rotherby's wishes had been made
      known to him. The odd irony of the situation&mdash;the key to which he was
      the only one to hold&mdash;was borne in upon him. He fetched a sigh of
      utter weariness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;the greatest repugnance to meeting his lordship.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis little wonder,&rdquo; returned his grace contemptuously. &ldquo;But since 'tis
      forced upon you, I hope you'll give him the lesson in manners that he
      needs.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is it&mdash;is it unavoidable?&rdquo; quoth Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Unavoidable?&rdquo; Wharton looked at him in stern wonder.
    </p>
    <p>
      Gascoigne, too, swung round to stare. &ldquo;Unavoidable? What can you mean,
      Caryll?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I mean is the matter not to be arranged in any way? Must the duel take
      place?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His Grace of Wharton stroked his chin contemplatively, his eye ironical,
      his lip curling never so slightly. &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; said he, at length, &ldquo;you may beg
      my Lord Rotherby's pardon for having given him the lie. You may retract,
      and brand yourself a liar and your version of the Maidstone affair a silly
      invention which ye have not the courage to maintain. You may do that, Mr.
      Caryll. For my own sake, let me add, I hope you will not do it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am not thinking of your grace at all,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, slightly piqued
      by the tone the other took with him. &ldquo;But to relieve your mind of such
      doubts as I see you entertain, I can assure you that it is out of no
      motives of weakness that I boggle at this combat. Though I confess that I
      am no ferrailleur, and that I abhor the duel as a means of settling a
      difference just as I abhor all things that are stupid and insensate, yet I
      am not the man to shirk an encounter where an encounter is forced upon me.
      But in this affair&mdash;&rdquo; he paused, then ended&mdash;&ldquo;there is more than
      meets your grace's eye, or, indeed, anyone's.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He was so calm, so master of himself, that Wharton perceived how
      groundless must have been his first notion. Whatever might be Mr. Caryll's
      motives, it was plain from his most perfect composure that they were not
      motives of fear. His grace's half-contemptuous smile was dissipated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This is mere trifling, Mr. Caryll,&rdquo; he reminded his principal, &ldquo;and time
      is speeding. Your withdrawal now would not only be damaging to yourself;
      it would be damaging to the lady of whose fair name you have made yourself
      the champion. You must see that it is too late for doubts on the score of
      this meeting.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay&mdash;by God!&rdquo; swore Gascoigne hotly. &ldquo;What a pox ails you, Caryll?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll took off his hat and flung it on the ground behind him. &ldquo;We
      must go on, then,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Gascoigne, see to the swords with his
      lordship's friend there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      With a relieved look, the major went forward to make the final
      preparations, whilst Mr. Caryll, attended by Wharton, rapidly divested
      himself of coat and waistcoat, then kicked off his light shoes, and stood
      ready, a slight, lithe, graceful figure in white Holland shirt and
      pearl-colored small clothes.
    </p>
    <p>
      A moment later the adversaries were face to face&mdash;Rotherby, divested
      of his wig and with a kerchief bound about his close-cropped head, all a
      trembling eagerness; Mr. Caryll with a reluctance lightly masked by a
      dangerous composure.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a perfunctory salute&mdash;a mere presenting of arms&mdash;and
      the blades swept round in a half-circle to their first meeting. But
      Rotherby, without so much as allowing his steel to touch his opponent's,
      as the laws of courtesy demanded, swirled it away again into the higher
      lines and lunged. It was almost like a foul attempt to take his adversary
      unawares and unprepared, and for a second it looked as if it must succeed.
      It must have succeeded but for the miraculous quickness of Mr. Caryll.
      Swinging round on the ball of his right foot, lightly and gracefully as a
      dancing master, and with no sign of haste or fear in his amazing speed, he
      let the other's hard-driven blade glance past him, to meet nothing but the
      empty air.
    </p>
    <p>
      As a result, by the very force of the stroke, Rotherby found himself
      over-reached and carried beyond his point of aim; while Mr. Caryll's
      sideward movement brought him not only nearer his opponent, but entirely
      within his guard.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was seen by them all, and by none with such panic as Rotherby himself,
      that, as a consequence of his quasi-foul stroke, the viscount was thrown
      entirely at the mercy of his opponent thus at the very outset of the
      encounter, before their blades had so much as touched each other. A
      straightening of the arm on the part of Mr. Caryll, and the engagement
      would have been at an end.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll, however, did not straighten his arm. He was observed to smile
      as he broke ground and waited for his lordship to recover.
    </p>
    <p>
      Falgate turned pale. Mainwaring swore softly under his breath, in fear for
      his principal; Gascoigne did the same in vexation at the opportunity Mr.
      Caryll had so wantonly wasted. Wharton looked on with tight-pressed lips,
      and wondered.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby recovered, and for a moment the two men stood apart, seeming to
      feel each other with their eyes before resuming. Then his lordship renewed
      the attack with vigor.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll parried lightly and closely, plying a beautiful weapon in the
      best manner of the French school, and opposing to the ponderous force of
      his antagonist a delicate frustrating science. Rotherby, a fine swordsman
      in his way, soon saw that here was need for all his skill, and he exerted
      it. But the prodigious rapidity of his blade broke as upon a cuirass
      against the other's light, impenetrable guard.
    </p>
    <p>
      His lordship broke ground, breathed heavily, and sweated under the glare
      of the morning sun, cursing this swordsman who, so cool and deliberate,
      husbanded his strength and scarcely seemed to move, yet by sheer skill and
      address more than neutralized his lordship's advantages of greater
      strength and length of reach.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You cursed French dog!&rdquo; swore the viscount presently, between his teeth,
      and as he spoke he made a ringing parade, feinted, beat the ground with
      his foot to draw off the other's attention, and went in again with a
      full-length lunge. &ldquo;Parry that, you damned maitre-d'armes&rdquo; he roared.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll answered nothing; he parried; parried again; delivered a
      riposte whenever the opportunity offered, or whenever his lordship grew
      too pressing, and it became expedient to drive him back; but never once
      did he stretch out to lunge in his turn. The seconds were so lost in
      wonder at the beauty of this close play of his that they paid no heed to
      what was taking place in the square about them. They never observed the
      opening windows and the spectators gathering at them&mdash;as Wharton had
      feared. Amongst these, had either of the combatants looked up, he would
      have seen his own father on the balcony of Stretton House. A moment the
      earl stood there, Lady Ostermore at his side; then he vanished into the
      house again, to reappear almost at once in the street, with a couple of
      footmen hurrying after him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile the combat went on. Once Lord Rotherby had attempted to fall
      back for a respite, realizing that he was winded. But Mr. Caryll denied
      him this, attacking now for the first time, and the rapidity of his play
      was such that Rotherby opined&mdash;the end to be at hand, appreciated to
      the full his peril. In a last desperate effort, gathering up what shreds
      of strength remained him, he repulsed Mr. Caryll by a vigorous counter
      attack. He saw an opening, feinted to enlarge it, and drove in quickly,
      throwing his last ounce of strength into the effort. This time it could
      not be said to have been parried. Something else happened. His blade,
      coming foible on forte against Mr. Caryll's, was suddenly enveloped. It
      was as if a tentacle had been thrust out to seize it. For the barest
      fraction of a second was it held so by Mr. Caryll's sword; then, easily
      but irresistibly, it was lifted out of Rotherby's hand, and dropped on the
      turf a half-yard or so from his lordship's stockinged feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      A cold sweat of terror broke upon him. He caught his breath with a
      half-shuddering sob of fear, his eyes dilating wildly&mdash;for Mr.
      Caryll's point was coming straight as an arrow at his throat. On it came
      and on, until it was within perhaps three inches of the flesh.
    </p>
    <p>
      There it was suddenly arrested, and for a long moment it was held there
      poised, death itself, menacing and imminent. And Lord Rotherby, not daring
      to move, rooted where he stood, looked with fascinated eyes along that
      shimmering blade into two gleaming eyes behind it that seemed to watch him
      with a solemnity that was grim to the point of mockery.
    </p>
    <p>
      Time and the world stood still, or were annihilated in that moment for the
      man who waited.
    </p>
    <p>
      High in the blue overhead a lark was pouring out its song; but his
      lordship heard it not. He heard nothing, he was conscious of nothing but
      that gleaming sword and those gleaming eyes behind it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then a voice&mdash;the voice of his antagonist&mdash;broke the silence.
      &ldquo;Is more needed?&rdquo; it asked, and without waiting for a reply, Mr. Caryll
      lowered his blade and drew himself upright. &ldquo;Let this suffice,&rdquo; he said.
      &ldquo;To take your life would be to deprive you of the means of profiting by
      this lesson.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It seemed to Rotherby as if he were awaking from a trance. The world
      resumed its way. He breathed again, and straightened himself, too, from
      the arrested attitude of his last lunge. Rage welled up from his black
      soul; a crimson flood swept into his pallid cheeks; his eyes rolled and
      blazed with the fury of the mad.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll moved away. In that quiet voice of his: &ldquo;Take up your sword,&rdquo;
       he said to the vanquished, over his shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      Wharton and Gascoigne moved towards him, without words to express the
      amazement that still held Rotherby glared an instant longer without
      moving. Then, doing as Mr. Caryll had bidden him, he stooped to recover
      his blade. A moment he held it, looking after his departing adversary;
      then with swift, silent stealth he sprang to follow. His fell intent was
      written on his face.
    </p>
    <p>
      Falgate gasped&mdash;a helpless fool&mdash;while Mainwaring hurled himself
      forward to prevent the thing he saw impended. Too late. Even as he flung
      out his hands to grapple with his lordship, Rotherby's arm drove straight
      before him and sent his sword through the undefended back of Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      All that Mr. Caryll realized at first was that he had been struck a blow
      between the shoulder blades; and then, ere he could turn to inquire into
      the cause, he was amazed to see some three inches of steel come through
      his shirt in front. The next instant an exquisite, burning, searing pain
      went through and through him as the blade was being withdrawn. He coughed
      and swayed, then hurtled sideways into the arms of Major Gascoigne. His
      senses swam. The turf heaved and rolled as if an earthquake moved it; the
      houses fronting the square and the trees immediately before him leaped and
      danced as if suddenly launched into grotesque animation, while about him
      swirled a wild, incoherent noise of voices, rising and falling, now loud,
      now silent, and reaching him through a murmuring hum that surged about his
      ears until it shut out all else and consciousness deserted him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Around him, meanwhile, a wild scene was toward.
    </p>
    <p>
      His Grace of Wharton had wrenched away the sword from Rotherby, and
      mastered by an effort his own impulse to use it upon the murderer. Captain
      Mainwaring&mdash;Rotherby's own second, a man of quick, fierce passions&mdash;utterly
      unable to control himself, fell upon his lordship and beat him to the
      ground with his hands, cursing him and heaping abuse upon him with every
      blow; whilst delicate Mr. Falgate, in the background, sick to the point of
      faintness, stood dabbing his lips with his handkerchief and swearing that
      he would rot before he allowed himself again to be dragged into an affair
      of honor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye damned cutthroat!&rdquo; swore the militia captain, standing over the man he
      had felled. &ldquo;D'ye know what'll be the fruits of this? Ye'll swing at
      Tyburn like the dirty thief y' are. God help me! I'd give a hundred
      guineas sooner than be mixed in this filthy business.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis no matter for that now,&rdquo; said the duke, touching him on the shoulder
      and drawing him away from his lordship. &ldquo;Get up, Rotherby.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Heavily, mechanically, Rotherby got to his feet. Now that the fit of rage
      was over, he was himself all stricken at the thing he had done. He looked
      at the limp figure on the turf, huddled against the knee of Major
      Gascoigne; looked at the white face, the closed eyes and the stain of
      blood oozing farther and farther across the Holland shirt, and, as white
      himself as the stricken man, he shuddered and his mouth was drawn wide
      with horror.
    </p>
    <p>
      But pitiful though he looked, he inspired no pity in the Duke of Wharton,
      who considered him with an eye of unspeakable severity. &ldquo;If Mr. Caryll
      dies,&rdquo; said he coldly, &ldquo;I shall see to it that you hang, my lord. I'll not
      rest until I bring you to the gallows.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And then, before more could be said, there came a sound of running steps
      and labored breathing, and his grace swore softly to himself as he beheld
      no other than Lord Ostermore advancing rapidly, all out of breath and
      apoplectic of face, a couple of footmen pressing close upon his heels,
      and, behind these, a score of sightseers who had followed them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What's here?&rdquo; cried the earl, without glancing at his son. &ldquo;Is he dead?
      Is he dead?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Gascoigne, who was busily endeavoring to stanch the bleeding, answered
      without looking up: &ldquo;It is in God's hands. I think he is very like to
      die.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Ostermore swung round upon Rotherby. He had paled suddenly, and his mouth
      trembled. He raised his clenched hand, and it seemed that he was about to
      strike his son; then he let it fall again. &ldquo;You villain!&rdquo; he panted,
      breathless from running and from rage. &ldquo;I saw it! I saw it all. It was
      murder, and, as God's my life, if Mr. Caryll dies, I shall see to it that
      you hang&mdash;I, your own father.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Thus assailed on every side, some of the cowering, shrinking manner left
      the viscount. His antagonism to his father spurred him to a prouder
      carriage. He shrugged indifferently. &ldquo;So be it,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I have been
      told that already. I don't greatly care.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mainwaring, who had been stooping over Mr. Caryll, and who had perhaps
      more knowledge of wounds than any present, shook his head ominously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Twould be dangerous to move him far,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;'Twill increase the
      hemorrhage.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My men shall carry him across to Stretton House,&rdquo; said Lord Ostermore.
      &ldquo;Lend a hand here, you gaping oafs.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The footmen advanced. The crowd, which was growing rapidly and was
      watching almost in silence, awed, pressed as close as it dared upon these
      gentlemen. Mainwaring procured a couple of cloaks and improvised a
      stretcher with them. Of this he took one corner himself, Gascoigne
      another, and the footmen the remaining two. Thus, as gently as might be,
      they bore the wounded man from the enclosure, through the crowd that had
      by now assembled in the street, and over the threshold of Stretton House.
    </p>
    <p>
      A groom had been dispatched for a doctor, and his Grace of Wharton had
      compelled Rotherby to accompany them into his father's house, sternly
      threatening to hand him over to a constable at once if he refused.
    </p>
    <p>
      Within the cool hall of Stretton House they were met by her ladyship and
      Mistress Winthrop, both pale, but the eyes of each wearing a vastly
      different expression.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What's this?&rdquo; demanded her ladyship, as they trooped in. &ldquo;Why do you
      bring him here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because, madam,&rdquo; answered Ostermore in a voice as hard as iron, &ldquo;it
      imports to save his life; for if he dies, your son dies as surely&mdash;and
      on the scaffold.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship staggered and flung a hand to her breast. But her recovery
      was almost immediate. &ldquo;'Twas a duel&mdash;&rdquo; she began stoutly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Twas murder,&rdquo; his lordship corrected, interrupting&mdash;&ldquo;murder, as any
      of these gentlemen can and will bear witness. Rotherby ran Mr. Caryll
      through the back after Mr. Caryll had spared his life.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis a lie!&rdquo; screamed her ladyship, her lips ashen. She turned to
      Rotherby, who stood there in shirt and breeches and shoeless, as he had
      fought. &ldquo;Why don't you say that it is a lie?&rdquo; she demanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby endeavored to master himself. &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;here is no place
      for you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But is it true? Is it true what is being said?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He half-turned from her, with a despairing movement, and caught the sharp
      hiss of her indrawn breath. Then she swept past him to the side of the
      wounded man, who had been laid on a settle. &ldquo;What is his hurt?&rdquo; she
      inquired wildly, looking about her. But no one spoke. Tragedy&mdash;more
      far than the tragedy of that man's possible death&mdash;was in the air,
      and struck them all silent. &ldquo;Will no one answer me?&rdquo; she insisted. &ldquo;Is it
      mortal? Is it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His Grace of Wharton turned to her with an unusual gravity in his blue
      eyes. &ldquo;We hope not, ma'am,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But it is as God wills.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her limbs seemed to fail her, and she sank down on her knees beside the
      settle. &ldquo;We must save him,&rdquo; she muttered fearfully. &ldquo;We must save his
      life. Where is the doctor? He won't die! Oh, he must not die!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They stood grouped about, looking on in silence, Rotherby in the
      background. Behind him again, on the topmost of the three steps that led
      up into the inner hall, stood Mistress Winthrop, white of face, a wild
      horror in the eyes she riveted upon the wounded and unconscious man. She
      realized that he was like to die. There was an infinite pity in her soul&mdash;and,
      maybe, something more. Her impulse was to go to him; her every instinct
      urged her. But her reason held her back.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, as she looked, she saw with a feeling almost of terror that his eyes
      were suddenly wide open.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wha&mdash;what?&rdquo; came in feeble accents from his lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a stir about him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never move, Justin,&rdquo; said Gascoigne, who stood by his head. &ldquo;You are
      hurt. Lie still. The doctor has been summoned.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; It was a sigh. The wounded man closed his eyes a moment, then
      re-opened them. &ldquo;I remember. I remember,&rdquo; he said feebly. &ldquo;It is&mdash;it
      is grave?&rdquo; he inquired. &ldquo;It went right through me. I remember!&rdquo; He
      surveyed himself. &ldquo;There's been a deal of blood lost. I am like to die, I
      take it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, sir, we hope not&mdash;we hope not!&rdquo; It was the countess who spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      A wry smile twisted his lips. &ldquo;Your ladyship is very good,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I
      had not thought you quite so much my well-wisher. I&mdash;I have done you
      a wrong, madam.&rdquo; He paused for breath, and it was not plain whether he
      spoke in sincerity or in sarcasm. Then with a startling suddenness he
      broke into a soft laugh and to those risen, who could not think what had
      occasioned it, it sounded more dreadful than any plaint he could have
      uttered.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had bethought him that there was no longer the need for him to come to
      a decision in the matter that had brought him to England, and his laugh
      was almost of relief. The riddle he could never have solved for himself in
      a manner that had not shattered his future peace of mind, was solved and
      well solved if this were death.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where&mdash;where is Rotherby?&rdquo; he inquired presently.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a stir, and men drew back, leaving an open lane to the place
      where Rotherby stood. Mr. Caryll saw him, and smiled, and his smile held
      no tinge of mockery. &ldquo;You are the best friend I ever had, Rotherby,&rdquo; he
      startled all by saying. &ldquo;Let him approach,&rdquo; he begged.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby came forward like one who walks in his sleep. &ldquo;I am sorry,&rdquo; he
      said thickly, &ldquo;cursed sorry.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There's scarce the need,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;Lift me up, Tom,&rdquo; he begged
      Gascoigne. &ldquo;There's scarce the need. You have cleared up something that
      was plaguing me, my lord. I am your debtor for&mdash;for that. It disposes
      of something I could never have disposed of had I lived.&rdquo; He turned to the
      Duke of Wharton. &ldquo;It was an accident,&rdquo; he said significantly. &ldquo;You all saw
      that it was an accident.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A denial rang out. &ldquo;It was no accident!&rdquo; cried Lord Ostermore, and swore
      an oath. &ldquo;We all saw what it was.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'faith, then, your eyes deceived you. It was an accident, I say&mdash;and
      who should know better than I?&rdquo; He was smiling in that whimsical enigmatic
      way of his. Smiling still he sank back into Gascoigne's arms.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are talking too much,&rdquo; said the Major.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What odds? I am not like to talk much longer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The door opened to admit a gentleman in black, wearing a grizzle wig and
      carrying a gold-headed cane. Men moved aside to allow him to approach Mr.
      Caryll. The latter, not noticing him, had met at last the gaze of
      Hortensia's eyes. He continued to smile, but his smile was now changed to
      wistfulness under that pitiful regard of hers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is better so,&rdquo; he was saying. &ldquo;Better so!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His glance was upon her, and she understood what none other there
      suspected&mdash;that those words were for her alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      He closed his eyes and swooned again, as the doctor stooped to remove the
      temporary bandages from his wound.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hortensia, a sob beating in her throat, turned and fled to her own room.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII. SUNSHINE AND SHADOW
    </h2>
    <h3>
      Mr. Caryll was almost happy.
    </h3>
    <p>
      He reclined on a long chair, supported by pillows cunningly set for him by
      the deft hands of Leduc, and took his ease and indulged his day-dreams in
      Lord Ostermore's garden. He sat within the cool, fragrant shade of a
      privet arbor, interlaced with flowering lilac and laburnum, and he looked
      out upon the long sweep of emerald lawn and the little patch of ornamental
      water where the water-lilies gaped their ivory chalices to the morning
      sun.
    </p>
    <p>
      He looked thinner, paler and more frail than was his habit, which is not
      wonderful, considering that he had been four weeks abed while his wound
      was mending. He was dressed, again by the hands of the incomparable Leduc,
      in a deshabille of some artistry. A dark-blue dressing-gown of flowered
      satin fell open at the waist; disclosing sky-blue breeches and
      pearl-colored stockings, elegant shoes of Spanish leather with red heels
      and diamond buckles. His chestnut hair had been dressed with as great care
      as though he were attending a levee, and Leduc had insisted upon placing a
      small round patch under his left eye, that it might&mdash;said Leduc&mdash;impart
      vivacity to a countenance that looked over-wan from his long confinement.
    </p>
    <p>
      He reclined there, and, as I have said, was almost happy.
    </p>
    <p>
      The creature of sunshine that was himself at heart, had broken through the
      heavy clouds that had been obscuring him. An oppressive burden was lifted
      from his mind and conscience. That sword-thrust through the back a month
      ago had been guided, he opined, by the hand of a befriending Providence;
      for although he had, as you see, survived it, it had none the less solved
      for him that hateful problem he could never have solved for himself, that
      problem whose solution,&mdash;no matter which alternative he had adopted&mdash;must
      have brought him untold misery afterwards.
    </p>
    <p>
      As it was, during the weeks that he had lain helpless, his life attached
      to him by but the merest thread, the chance of betraying Lord Ostermore
      was gone, nor&mdash;the circumstances being such as they were&mdash;could
      Sir Richard Everard blame him that he had let it pass.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus he knew peace; knew it as only those know it who have sustained
      unrest and can appreciate relief from it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nature had made him a voluptuary, and reclining there in an ease which the
      languor born of his long illness rendered the more delicious, inhaling the
      tepid summer air that came to him laden with a most sweet attar from the
      flowering rose-garden, he realized that with all its cares life may be
      sweet to live in youth and in the month of June.
    </p>
    <p>
      He sighed, and smiled pensively at the water-lilies; nor was his happiness
      entirely and solely the essence of his material ease. This was his third
      morning out of doors, and on each of the two mornings that were gone
      Hortensia had borne him company, coming with the charitable intent of
      lightening his tedium by reading to him, but remaining to talk instead.
    </p>
    <p>
      The most perfect friendliness had prevailed between them; a camaraderie
      which Mr. Caryll had been careful not to dispel by any return to such
      speeches as those which had originally offended but which seemed now
      mercifully forgotten.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was awaiting her, and his expectancy heightened for him the glory of
      the morning, increased the meed of happiness that was his. But there was
      more besides. Leduc, who stood slightly behind him, fussily, busy about a
      little table on which were books and cordials, flowers and comfits, a pipe
      and a tobacco-jar, had just informed him for the first time that during
      the more dangerous period of his illness Mistress Winthrop had watched by
      his bedside for many hours together upon many occasions, and once&mdash;on
      the day after he had been wounded, and while his fever was at its height&mdash;Leduc,
      entering suddenly and quietly, had surprised her in tears.
    </p>
    <p>
      All this was most sweet news to Mr. Caryll. He found that between himself
      and his half-brother there lay an even deeper debt than he had at first
      supposed, and already acknowledged. In the delicious contemplation of
      Hortensia in tears beside him stricken all but to the point of death, he
      forgot entirely his erstwhile scruples that being nameless he had no name
      to offer her. In imagination he conjured up the scene. It made, he found,
      a very pretty picture. He would smoke upon it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Leduc, if you were to fill me a pipe of Spanish&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Monsieur has smoked one pipe already,&rdquo; Leduc reminded him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are inconsequent, Leduc. It is a sign of advancing age. Repress it.
      The pipe!&rdquo; And he flicked impatient fingers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Monsieur is forgetting that the doctor&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The devil take the doctor,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll with finality.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Parfaitement!&rdquo; answered the smooth Leduc. &ldquo;Over the bridge we laugh at
      the saint. Now that we are cured, the devil take the doctor by all means.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A ripple of laughter came to applaud Leduc's excursion into irony. The
      arbor had another, narrower entrance, on the left. Hortensia had
      approached this, all unheard on the soft turf, and stood there now, a
      heavenly apparition in white flimsy garments, head slightly a-tilt, eyes
      mocking, lips laughing, a heavy curl of her dark hair falling caressingly
      into the hollow where white neck sprang from whiter shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You make too rapid a recovery, sir,&rdquo; said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It comes of learning how well I have been nursed,&rdquo; he answered, making
      shift to rise, and he laughed inwardly to see the red flush of confusion
      spread over the milk-white skin, the reproachful shaft her eyes let loose
      upon Leduc.
    </p>
    <p>
      She came forward swiftly to check his rising; but he was already on his
      feet, proud of his return to strength, vain to display it. &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; she
      reproved him. &ldquo;If you are so headstrong, I shall leave you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you do, ma'am. I vow here, as I am, I hope, a gentleman, that I shall
      go home to-day, and on foot.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You would kill yourself,&rdquo; she told him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I might kill myself for less, and yet be justified.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked her despair of him. &ldquo;What must I do to make you reasonable?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Set me the example by being reasonable yourself, and let there be no more
      of this wild talk of leaving me the very moment you are come. Leduc, a
      chair for Mistress Winthrop!&rdquo; he commanded, as though chairs abounded in a
      garden nook. But Leduc, the diplomat, had effaced himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      She laughed at his grand air, and, herself, drew forward the stool that
      had been Leduc's, and sat down. Satisfied, Mr. Caryll made her a bow, and
      seated himself sideways on his long chair, so that he faced her. She
      begged that he would dispose himself more comfortably; but he scorned the
      very notion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Unaided I walked here from the house,&rdquo; he informed her with a boastful
      air. &ldquo;I had need to begin to feel my feet again. You are pampering me
      here, and to pamper an invalid is bad; it keeps him an invalid. Now I am
      an invalid no longer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But the doctor&mdash;&rdquo; she began.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The doctor, ma'am, is disposed of already,&rdquo; he assured her. &ldquo;Very
      definitely disposed of. Ask Leduc. He will tell you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not a doubt of that,&rdquo; she answered. &ldquo;Leduc talks too much.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have a spite against him for the information he gave me on the score
      of how and by whom I was nursed. So have I. Because he did not tell me
      before, and because when he told me he would not tell me enough. He has no
      eyes, this Leduc. He is a dolt, who only sees the half of what happens,
      and only remembers the half of what he has seen.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am sure of it,&rdquo; said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      He looked surprised an instant. Then he laughed. &ldquo;I am glad that we
      agree.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you have yet to learn the cause. Had this Leduc used his eyes or his
      ears to better purpose, he had been able to tell you something of the
      extent to which I am in your debt.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah?&rdquo; said he, mystified. Then: &ldquo;The news will be none the less welcome
      from your lips, ma'am,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Is it that you are interested in the
      ravings of delirium, and welcomed the opportunity of observing them at
      first hand? I hope I raved engagingly, if so be that I did rave. Would it,
      perchance, be of a lady that I talked in my fevered wanderings?&mdash;of a
      lady pale as a lenten rose, with soft brown eyes, and lips that&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your guesses are all wild,&rdquo; she checked him. &ldquo;My debt is of a more real
      kind. It concerns my&mdash;my reputation.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fan me, ye winds!&rdquo; he ejaculated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Those fine ladies and gentlemen of the town had made my name a by-word,&rdquo;
       she explained in a low, tense voice, her eyelids lowered. &ldquo;My foolishness
      in running off with my Lord Rotherby&mdash;that I might at all cost escape
      the tyranny of my Lady Ostermore&rdquo; (Mr. Caryll's eyelids flickered suddenly
      at that explanation)&mdash;&ldquo;had made me a butt and a jest and an object
      for slander. You remember, yourself, sir, the sneers and oglings, the
      starings and simperings in the park that day when you made your first
      attempt to champion my cause, inducing the Lady Mary Deller to come and
      speak to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, nay&mdash;think of these things no more. Gnats will sting; 'tis in
      their nature. I admit 'tis very vexing at the time; but it soon wears off
      if the flesh they have stung be healthy. So think no more on't.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you do not know what follows. Her ladyship insisted that I should
      drive with her a week after your hurt, when the doctor first proclaimed
      you out of danger, and while the town was still all agog with the affair.
      No doubt her ladyship thought to put a fresh and greater humiliation upon
      me; you would not be present to blunt the edge of the insult of those
      creatures' glances. She carried me to Vauxhall, where a fuller scope might
      be given to the pursuit of my shame and mortification. Instead, what think
      you happened?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Her ladyship, I trust, was disappointed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The word is too poor to describe her condition. She broke a fan, beat her
      black boy and dismissed a footman, that she might vent some of the spleen
      it moved in her. Never was such respect, never such homage shown to any
      woman as was shown to me that evening. We were all but mobbed by the very
      people who had earlier slighted me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Twas all so mysterious that I must seek the explanation of it. And I had
      it, at length, from his Grace of Wharton, who was at my side for most of
      the time we walked in the gardens. I asked him frankly to what was this
      change owing. And he told me, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked at him as though no more need be said. But his brows were knit.
      &ldquo;He told you, ma'am?&rdquo; he questioned. &ldquo;He told you what?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What you had done at White's. How to all present and to my Lord
      Rotherby's own face you had related the true story of what befell at
      Maidstone&mdash;how I had gone thither, an innocent, foolish maid, to be
      married to a villain, whom, like the silly child I was, I thought I loved;
      how that villain, taking advantage of my innocence and ignorance, intended
      to hoodwink me with a mock-marriage.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That was the story that was on every lip; it had gone round the town like
      fire; and it says much for the town that what between that and the foul
      business of the duel, my Lord Rotherby was receiving on every hand the
      condemnation he deserves, while for me there was once more&mdash;and with
      heavy interest for the lapse from it&mdash;the respect which my
      indiscretion had forfeited, and which would have continued to be denied me
      but for your noble championing of my cause.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That, sir, is the extent to which. I am in your debt. Do you think it
      small? It is so great that I have no words in which to attempt to express
      my thanks.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll looked at her a moment with eyes that were very bright. Then he
      broke into a soft laugh that had a note of slyness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In my time,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I have seen many attempts to change an
      inconvenient topic. Some have been artful; others artless; others utterly
      clumsy. But this, I think, is the clumsiest of them all. Mistress
      Winthrop, 'tis not worthy in you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked puzzled, intrigued by his mood.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mistress Winthrop,&rdquo; he resumed, with an entire change of voice. &ldquo;To speak
      of this trifle is but a subterfuge of yours to prevent me from expressing
      my deep gratitude for your care of me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed, no&mdash;&rdquo; she began.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed, yes,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;How can this compare with what you have done for
      me? For I have learnt how greatly it is to you, yourself, that I owe my
      recovery&mdash;the saving of my life.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, but that is not true. It&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let me think so, whether it be true or not,&rdquo; he implored her, eyes
      between tenderness and whimsicality intent upon her face. &ldquo;Let me believe
      it, for the belief has brought me happiness&mdash;the greatest happiness,
      I think, that I have ever known. I can know but one greater, and that&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He broke off suddenly, and she observed that the hand he had stretched out
      trembled a moment ere it was abruptly lowered again. It was as a man who
      had reached forth to grasp something that he craves, and checked his
      desire upon a sudden thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      She felt oddly stirred, despite herself, and oddly constrained. It may
      have been to disguise this that she half turned to the table, saying: &ldquo;You
      were about to smoke when I came.&rdquo; And she took up his pipe and tobacco&mdash;jar
      to offer them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, but since you've come, I would not dream,&rdquo; he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      She looked at him. The complete change of topic permitted it. &ldquo;If I
      desired you so to do?&rdquo; she inquired, and added: &ldquo;I love the fragrance of
      it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He raised his brows. &ldquo;Fragrance?&rdquo; quoth he. &ldquo;My Lady Ostermore has another
      word for it.&rdquo; He took the pipe and jar from her. &ldquo;'Tis no humoring, this,
      of a man you imagine sick&mdash;no silly chivalry of yours?&rdquo; he questioned
      doubtfully. &ldquo;Did I think that, I'd never smoke another pipe again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She shook her head, and laughed at his solemnity. &ldquo;I love the fragrance,&rdquo;
       she repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! Why, then, I'll pleasure you,&rdquo; said he, with the air of one
      conferring favors, and filled his pipe. Presently he spoke again in a
      musing tone. &ldquo;In a week or so, I shall be well enough to travel.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis your intent to travel?&rdquo; she inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      He set down the jar, and reached for the tinderbox. &ldquo;It is time I was
      returning home,&rdquo; he explained.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, yes. Your home is in France.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At Maligny; the sweetest nook in Normandy. 'Twas my mother's birthplace,
      and 'twas there she died.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have felt the loss of her, I make no doubt.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That might have been the case if I had known her,&rdquo; answered he. &ldquo;But as
      it is, I never did. I was but two years old&mdash;she, herself, but twenty&mdash;when
      she died.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He pulled at his pipe in silence a moment or two, his face overcast and
      thoughtful. A shallower woman would have broken in with expressions of
      regret; Hortensia offered him the nobler sympathy of silence. Moreover,
      she had felt from his tone that there was more to come; that what he had
      said was but the preface to some story that he desired her to be
      acquainted with. And presently, as she expected, he continued.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She died, Mistress Winthrop, of a broken heart. My father had abandoned
      her two years and more before she died. In those years of repining&mdash;ay,
      and worse, of actual want&mdash;her health was broken so that, poor soul,
      she died.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O pitiful!&rdquo; cried Hortensia, pain in her face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pitiful, indeed&mdash;the more pitiful that her death was a source of
      some slight happiness to those who loved her; the only happiness they
      could have in her was to know that she was at rest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And&mdash;and your father?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am coming to him. My mother had a friend&mdash;a very noble,
      lofty-minded gentleman who had loved her with a great and honest love
      before the profligate who was my father came forward as a suitor.
      Recognizing in the latter&mdash;as he thought in his honest heart&mdash;a
      man in better case to make her happy, this gentleman I speak of went his
      ways. He came upon her afterwards, broken and abandoned, and he gathered
      up the poor shards of her shattered life, and sought with tender but
      unavailing hands to piece them together again. And when she died he vowed
      to stand my friend and to make up to me for the want I had of parents.
      'Tis by his bounty that to-day I am lord of Maligny that was for
      generations the property of my mother's people. 'Tis by his bounty and
      loving care that I am what I am, and not what so easily I might have
      become had the seed sown by my father been allowed to put out shoots.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He paused, as if bethinking himself, and looked at her with a wistful,
      inquiring smile. &ldquo;But why plague you,&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;with this poor tale of
      yesterday that will be forgot to-morrow?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay&mdash;ah, nay,&rdquo; she begged, and put out a hand in impulsive sympathy
      to touch his own, so transparent now in its emaciation. &ldquo;Tell me; tell
      me!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His smile softened. He sighed gently and continued. &ldquo;This gentleman who
      adopted me lived for one single purpose, with one single aim in view&mdash;to
      avenge my mother, whom he had loved, upon the man whom she had loved and
      who had so ill repaid her. He reared me for that purpose, as much, I
      think, as out of any other feeling. Thirty years have sped, and still the
      hand of the avenger has not fallen upon my father. It should have fallen a
      month ago; but I was weak; I hesitated; and then this sword-thrust put me
      out of all case of doing what I had crossed from France to do.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked at him with something of horror in her face. &ldquo;Were you&mdash;were
      you to have been the instrument?&rdquo; she inquired. &ldquo;Were you to have avenged
      this thing upon your own father?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He nodded slowly. &ldquo;'Twas to that end that I was reared,&rdquo; he answered, and
      put aside his pipe, which had gone out. &ldquo;The spirit of revenge was
      educated into me until I came to look upon revenge as the best and holiest
      of emotions; until I believed that if I failed to wreak it I must be a
      craven and a dastard. All this seemed so until the moment came to set my
      hand to the task. And then&mdash;&rdquo; He shrugged.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And then?&rdquo; she questioned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I couldn't. The full horror of it burst upon me. I saw the thing in its
      true and hideous proportions, and it revolted me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It must have been so,&rdquo; she approved him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I told my foster-father; but I met with neither sympathy nor
      understanding. He renewed his old-time arguments, and again he seemed to
      prove to me that did I fail I should be false to my duty and to my
      mother's memory&mdash;a weakling, a thing of shame.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The monster! Oh, the monster! He is an evil man for all that you have
      said of him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not so. There is no nobler gentleman in all the world. I who know him,
      know that. It is through the very nobility of it that this warp has come
      into his nature. Sane in all things else, he is&mdash;I see it now, I
      understand it at last&mdash;insane on this one subject. Much brooding has
      made him mad upon this matter&mdash;a fanatic whose gospel is Vengeance,
      and, like all fanatics, he is harsh and intolerant when resisted on the
      point of his fanaticism. This is something I have come to realize in these
      past days, when I lay with naught else to do but ponder.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In all things else he sees as deep and clear as any man; in this his
      vision is distorted. He has looked at nothing else for thirty years; can
      you wonder that his sight is blurred?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is to be pitied then,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;deeply to be pitied.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;True. And because I pitied him, because I valued his regard-however
      mistaken he might be&mdash;above all else, I was hesitating again&mdash;this
      time between my duty to myself and my duty to him. I was so hesitating&mdash;though
      I scarce can doubt which had prevailed in the end&mdash;when came this
      sword-thrust so very opportunely to put me out of case of doing one thing
      or the other.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But now that you are well again?&rdquo; she asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now that I am well again&mdash;I thank Heaven that it will be too late.
      The opportunity that was ours is lost. His&mdash;my father should now be
      beyond our power.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There ensued a spell of silence. He sat with eyes averted from her face&mdash;those
      eyes which she had never known other than whimsical and mocking, now full
      of gloom and pain&mdash;riveted upon the glare of sunshine on the pond out
      yonder. A great sympathy welled up from her heart for this man whom she
      was still far from understanding, and who, nevertheless&mdash;because of
      it, perhaps, for there is much fascination in that which puzzles&mdash;was
      already growing very dear to her. The story he had told her drew her
      infinitely closer to him, softening her heart for him even more perhaps
      than it had already been softened when she had seen him&mdash;as she had
      thought&mdash;upon the point of dying. A wonder flitted through her mind
      as to why he had told her; then another question surged. She gave it
      tongue.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have told me so much, Mr. Caryll,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;that I am emboldened to
      ask something more.&rdquo; His eyes invited her to put her question. &ldquo;Your&mdash;your
      father? Was he related to Lord Ostermore?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Not a muscle of his face moved. &ldquo;Why that?&rdquo; he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because your name is Caryll,&rdquo; said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My name?&rdquo; he laughed softly and bitterly. &ldquo;My name?&rdquo; He reached for an
      ebony cane that stood beside his chair. &ldquo;I had thought you understood.&rdquo; He
      heaved himself to his feet, and she forgot to caution him against
      exertion. &ldquo;I have no right to any name,&rdquo; he told her. &ldquo;My father was a man
      too full of worldly affairs to think of trifles. And so it befell that
      before he went his ways he forgot to marry the poor lady who was my
      mother. I might take what name I chose. I chose Caryll. But you will
      understand, Mistress Winthrop,&rdquo; and he looked her fully in the face,
      attempting in vain to dissemble the agony in his eyes&mdash;he who a
      little while ago had been almost happy&mdash;&ldquo;that if ever it should
      happen that I should come to love a woman who is worthy of being loved, I
      who am nameless have no name to offer her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Revelation illumined her mind as in a flash. She looked at him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Was&mdash;was that what you meant, that day we thought you dying, when
      you said to me&mdash;for it was to me you spoke, to me alone&mdash;that it
      was better so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He inclined his head. &ldquo;That is what I meant,&rdquo; he answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her lids drooped; her cheeks were very white, and he remarked the swift,
      agitated surge of her bosom, the fingers that were plucking at one another
      in her lap. Without looking up, she spoke again. &ldquo;If you had the love to
      offer, what would the rest matter? What is a name that it should weigh so
      much?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Heyday!&rdquo; He sighed, and smiled very wistfully. &ldquo;You are young, child. In
      time you will understand what place the world assigns to such men as I. It
      is a place I could ask no woman to share. Such as I am, could I speak of
      love to any woman?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yet you spoke of love once to me,&rdquo; she reminded him, scarcely above her
      breath, and stabbed him with the recollection.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In an hour of moonshine, an hour of madness, when I was a reckless fool
      that must give tongue to every impulse. You reproved me then in just the
      terms my case deserved. Hortensia,&rdquo; he bent towards her, leaning on his
      cane, &ldquo;'tis very sweet and merciful in you to recall it without reproach.
      Recall it no more, save to think with scorn of the fleering coxcomb who
      was so lost to the respect that is due to so sweet a lady. I have told you
      so much of myself to-day that you may.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Decidedly,&rdquo; came a shrill, ironical voice from the arbor's entrance, &ldquo;I
      may congratulate you, sir, upon the prodigious strides of your recovery.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll straightened himself from his stooping posture, turned and made
      Lady Ostermore a bow, his whole manner changed again to that which was
      habitual to him. &ldquo;And no less decidedly, my lady,&rdquo; said he with a
      tight-lipped smile, &ldquo;may I congratulate your ladyship's son upon that
      happy circumstance, which is&mdash;as I have learned&mdash;so greatly due
      to the steps your ladyship took&mdash;for which I shall be ever grateful&mdash;to
      ensure that I should be made whole again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIII. THE FORLORN HOPE
    </h2>
    <p>
      Her ladyship stood a moment, leaning upon her cane, her head thrown back,
      her thin lip curling, and her eyes playing over Mr. Caryll with a look of
      dislike that she made no attempt to dissemble.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll found the situation redolent with comedy. He had a quick eye
      for such matters; so quick an eye that he deplored on the present occasion
      her ladyship's entire lack of a sense of humor. But for that lamentable
      shortcoming, she might have enjoyed with him the grotesqueness of her
      having&mdash;she, who disliked him so exceedingly&mdash;toiled and
      anguished, robbed herself of sleep, and hoped and prayed with more fervor,
      perhaps, than she had ever yet hoped and prayed for anything, that his
      life might be spared.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her glance shifted presently from him to Hortensia, who had risen and who
      stood in deep confusion at having been so found by her ladyship, and in
      deep agitation still arising from the things he had said and from those
      which he had been hindered from adding by the coming of the countess.
    </p>
    <p>
      The explanations that had been interrupted might never be renewed; she
      felt they never would be; he would account that he had said enough; since
      he was determined to ask for nothing. And unless the matter were broached
      again, what chance had she of combatting his foolish scruples; for foolish
      she accounted them; they were of no weight with her, unless, indeed, to
      heighten the warm feeling that already she had conceived for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship moved forward a step or two, her fan going gently to and fro,
      stirring the barbs of the white plume that formed part of her tall
      head-dress.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What were you doing here, child?&rdquo; she inquired, very coldly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mistress Winthrop looked up&mdash;a sudden, almost scared glance it was.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I, madam? Why&mdash;I was walking in the garden, and seeing Mr. Caryll
      here, I came to ask him how he did; to offer to read to him if he would
      have me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And the Maidstone matter not yet cold in its grave!&rdquo; commented her
      ladyship sourly. &ldquo;As I'm a woman, it is monstrous I should be inflicted
      with the care of you that have no care for yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Hortensia bit her lip, controlling herself bravely, a spot of red in
      either cheek. Mr. Caryll came promptly to her rescue.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your ladyship must confess that Mistress Winthrop has assisted nobly in
      the care of me, and so, has placed your ladyship in her debt.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In my debt?&rdquo; shrilled the countess, eyebrows aloft, head-dress nodding.
      &ldquo;And what of yours?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In my clumsy way, ma'am, I have already attempted to convey my thanks to
      her. It might be graceful in your ladyship to follow my example.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mentally Mr. Caryll observed that it is unwise to rouge so heavily as did
      Lady Ostermore when prone to anger and to paling under it. The false color
      looks so very false on such occasions.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship struck the ground with her cane. &ldquo;For what have I to thank
      her, sir? Will you tell me that, you who seem so very well informed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, for her part in saving your son's life, ma'am, if you must have it.
      Heaven knows,&rdquo; he continued in his characteristic, half-bantering manner,
      under which it was so difficult to catch a glimpse of his real feelings,
      &ldquo;I am not one to throw services done in the face of folk, but here have
      Mistress Winthrop and I been doing our best for your son in this matter;
      she by so diligently nursing me; I by responding to her nursing&mdash;and
      your ladyship's&mdash;and so, recovering from my wound. I do not think
      that your ladyship shows us a becoming gratitude. It is but natural that
      we fellow-workers in your ladyship's and Lord Rotherby's interests, should
      have a word to say to each other on the score of those labors which have
      made us colleagues.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship measured him with a malignant eye. &ldquo;Are you quite mad, sir?&rdquo;
       she asked him.
    </p>
    <p>
      He shrugged and smiled. &ldquo;It has been alleged against me on occasion. But I
      think it was pure spite.&rdquo; Then he waved his hand towards the long seat
      that stood at the back of the arbor. &ldquo;Will your ladyship not sit? You will
      forgive that I urge it in my own interest. They tell me that it is not
      good for me to stand too long just yet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was his hope that she would depart. Not so. &ldquo;I cry you mercy!&rdquo; said she
      acidly, and rustled to the bench. &ldquo;Be seated, pray.&rdquo; She continued to
      watch them with her baleful glance. &ldquo;We have heard fine things from you,
      sir, of what you have both done for my Lord Rotherby,&rdquo; she gibed, mocking
      him with the spirit of his half-jest. &ldquo;Shall I tell you more precisely
      what 'tis he owes you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Can there be more?&rdquo; quoth Mr. Caryll, smiling so amiably that he must
      have disarmed a Gorgon.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship ignored him. &ldquo;He owes it to you both that you have estranged
      him from his father, set up a breach between them that is never like to be
      healed. 'Tis what he owes you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Does he not owe it, rather, to his abandoned ways?&rdquo; asked Hortensia, in a
      calm, clear voice, bravely giving back her ladyship look for look.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Abandoned ways?&rdquo; screamed the countess. &ldquo;Is't you that speak of abandoned
      ways, ye shameless baggage? Faith, ye may be some judge of them. Ye fooled
      him into running off with you. 'Twas that began all this. Just as with
      your airs and simpers, and prettily-played innocences you fooled this
      other, here, into being your champion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Madam, you insult me!&rdquo; Hortensia was on her feet, eyes flashing, cheeks
      aflame.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am witness to that,&rdquo; said Lord Ostermore, coming in through the
      side-entrance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll was the only one who had seen him approach. The earl's face
      that had wont to be so florid, was now pale and careworn, and he seemed to
      have lost flesh during the past month. He turned to her ladyship.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Out on you!&rdquo; he said testily, &ldquo;to chide the poor child so!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Poor child!&rdquo; sneered her ladyship, eyes raised to heaven to invoke its
      testimony to this absurdity. &ldquo;Poor child.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let there be an end to it, madam,&rdquo; he said with attempted sternness. &ldquo;It
      is unjust and unreasonable in you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If it were that&mdash;which it is not&mdash;it would be but following the
      example that you set me. What are you but unreasonable and unjust&mdash;to
      treat your son as you are treating him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His lordship crimsoned. On the subject of his son he could be angry in
      earnest, even with her ladyship, as already we have seen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have no son,&rdquo; he declared, &ldquo;there is a lewd, drunken, bullying
      profligate who bears my name, and who will be Lord Ostermore some day. I
      can't strip him of that. But I'll strip him of all else that's mine, God
      helping me. I beg, my lady, that you'll let me hear no more of this, I beg
      it. Lord Rotherby leaves my house to-day&mdash;now that Mr. Caryll is
      restored to health. Indeed, he has stayed longer than was necessary. He
      leaves to-day. He has my orders, and my servants have orders to see that
      he obeys them. I do not wish to see him again&mdash;never. Let him go, and
      let him be thankful&mdash;and be your ladyship thankful, too, since it
      seems you must have a kindness for him in spite of all he has done to
      disgrace and discredit us&mdash;that he goes not by way of Holborn Hill
      and Tyburn.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked at him, very white from suppressed fury. &ldquo;I do believe you had
      been glad had it been so.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;I had been sorry for Mr. Caryll's sake.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And for his own?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pshaw!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Are you a father?&rdquo; she wondered contemptuously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To my eternal shame, ma'am!&rdquo; he flung back at her. He seemed, indeed, a
      changed man in more than body since Mr. Caryll's duel with Lord Rotherby.
      &ldquo;No more, ma'am&mdash;no more!&rdquo; he cried, seeming suddenly to remember the
      presence of Mr. Caryll, who sat languidly drawing figures on the ground
      with the ferrule of his cane. He turned to ask the convalescent how he
      did. Her ladyship rose to withdraw, and at that moment Leduc made his
      appearance with a salver, on which was a bowl of soup, a flask of Hock,
      and a letter. Setting this down in such a manner that the letter was
      immediately under his master's eyes, he further proceeded to draw Mr.
      Caryll's attention to it. It was addressed in Sir Richard Everard's hand.
      Mr. Caryll took it, and slipped it into his pocket. Her ladyship's
      eyebrows went up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will you not read your letter, Mr. Caryll?&rdquo; she invited him, with an
      amazingly sudden change to amiability.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will keep, ma'am, to while away an hour that is less pleasantly
      engaged.&rdquo; And he took the napkin Leduc was proffering.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You pay your correspondent a poor compliment,&rdquo; said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My correspondent is not one to look for them or need them,&rdquo; he answered
      lightly, and dipped his spoon in the broth.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is she not?&rdquo; quoth her ladyship.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll laughed. &ldquo;So feminine!&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Ha, ha! So very feminine&mdash;to
      assume the sex so readily.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis an easy assumption when the superscription is writ in a woman's
      hand.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll, the picture of amiability, smiled between spoonfuls. &ldquo;Your
      ladyship's eyes preserve not only their beauty but a keenness beyond
      belief.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How could you have seen it from that distance, Sylvia?&rdquo; inquired his
      practical lordship.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then again,&rdquo; said her ladyship, ignoring both remarks, &ldquo;there is the
      assiduity of this fair writer since Mr. Caryll has been in case to receive
      letters. Five billets in six days! Deny it if you can, Mr. Caryll.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her playfulness, so ill-assumed, sat more awkwardly upon her than her
      usual and more overt malice towards him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To what end should I deny it?&rdquo; he replied, and added in his most
      ingratiating manner another of his two-edged compliments. &ldquo;Your ladyship
      is the model chatelaine. No happening in your household can escape your
      knowledge. His lordship is greatly to be envied.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yet, you see,&rdquo; she cried, appealing to her husband, and even to
      Hortensia, who sat apart, scarce heeding this trivial matter of which so
      much was being made, &ldquo;you see that he evades the point, avoids a direct
      answer to the question that is raised.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Since your ladyship perceives it, it were more merciful to spare my
      invention the labor of fashioning further subterfuges. I am a sick man
      still, and my wits are far from brisk.&rdquo; He took up the glass of wine Leduc
      had poured for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The countess looked at him again through narrowing eyelids, the
      playfulness all vanished. &ldquo;You do yourself injustice, sir, as I am a
      woman. Your wits want nothing more in briskness.&rdquo; She rose, and looked
      down upon him engrossed in his broth. &ldquo;For a dissembler, sir,&rdquo; she
      pronounced upon him acidly, &ldquo;I think it would be difficult to meet your
      match.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He dropped his spoon into the bowl with a clatter. He looked up, the very
      picture of amazement and consternation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A dissembler, I?&rdquo; quoth he in earnest protest; then laughed and quoted,
      adapting,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
       &ldquo;'Tis not my talent to conceal my thoughts
        Or carry smiles and sunshine in my face
        Should discontent sit heavy at my heart.&rdquo;
 </pre>
    <p>
      She looked him over, pursing her lips. &ldquo;I've often thought you might have
      been a player,&rdquo; said she contemptuously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'faith,&rdquo; he laughed, &ldquo;I'd sooner play than toil.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay; but you make a toil of play, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Compassionate me, ma'am,&rdquo; he implored in the best of humors. &ldquo;I am but a
      sick man. Your ladyship's too keen for me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She moved across to the exit without answering him. &ldquo;Come, child,&rdquo; she
      said to Hortensia. &ldquo;We are tiring Mr. Caryll, I fear. Let us leave him to
      his letter, ere it sets his pocket afire.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Hortensia rose. Loath though she might be to depart, there was no reason
      she could urge for lingering.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is not your lordship coming?&rdquo; said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of course he is,&rdquo; her ladyship commanded. &ldquo;I need to speak with you yet
      concerning Rotherby,&rdquo; she informed him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hem!&rdquo; His lordship coughed. Plainly he was not at his ease. &ldquo;I will
      follow soon. Do not stay for me. I have a word to say to Mr. Caryll.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will it not keep? What can you have to say to him that is so pressing?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But a word&mdash;no more.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, then, we'll stay for you,&rdquo; said her ladyship, and threw him into
      confusion, hopeless dissembler that he was.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, nay! I beg that you will not.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship's brows went up; her eyes narrowed again, and a frown came
      between them. &ldquo;You are mighty mysterious,&rdquo; said she, looking from one to
      the other of the men, and bethinking her that it was not the first time
      she had found them so; bethinking her, too&mdash;jumping, woman-like, to
      rash conclusions&mdash;that in this mystery that linked them might lie the
      true secret of her husband's aversion to his son and of his oath a month
      ago to see that same son hang if Mr. Caryll succumbed to the wound he had
      taken. With some women, to suspect a thing is to believe that thing. Her
      ladyship was of these. She set too high value upon her acumen, upon the
      keenness of her instincts.
    </p>
    <p>
      And if aught were needed to cement her present suspicions, Mr. Caryll
      himself afforded that cement, by seeming to betray the same eagerness to
      be alone with his lordship that his lordship was betraying to be alone
      with him; though, in truth, he no more than desired to lend assistance to
      the earl out of curiosity to learn what it was his lordship might have to
      say.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;if you could give his lordship leave, ma'am, for a few
      moments, I should myself be glad on't.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, Hortensia,&rdquo; said her ladyship shortly, and swept out, Mistress
      Winthrop following.
    </p>
    <p>
      In silence they crossed the lawn together. Once only ere they reached the
      house, her ladyship looked back. &ldquo;I would I knew what they are plotting,&rdquo;
       she said through her teeth.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Plotting?&rdquo; echoed Hortensia.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay&mdash;plotting, simpleton. I said plotting. I mind me 'tis not the
      first time I have seen them so mysterious together. It began on the day
      that first Mr. Caryll set foot at Stretton House. There's a deal of
      mystery about that man&mdash;too much for honesty. And then these letters
      touching which he is so close&mdash;one a day&mdash;and his French lackey
      always at hand to pounce upon them the moment they arrive. I wonder what's
      at bottom on't! I wonder! And I'd give these ears to know,&rdquo; she snapped in
      conclusion as they went indoors.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the arbor, meanwhile, his lordship had taken the rustic seat her
      ladyship had vacated. He sat down heavily, like a man who is weary in body
      and in mind, like a man who is bearing a load too heavy for his shoulders.
      Mr. Caryll, watching him, observed all this.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A glass of Hock?&rdquo; he suggested, waving his hand towards the flask. &ldquo;Let
      me play host to you out of the contents of your own cellar.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His lordship's eye brightened at the suggestion, which confirmed the
      impression Mr. Caryll had formed that all was far from well with his
      lordship. Leduc brimmed a glass, and handed it to my lord, who emptied it
      at a draught. Mr. Caryll waved an impatient hand. &ldquo;Away with you, Leduc.
      Go watch the goldfish in the pond. I'll call you if I need you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      After Leduc had departed a silence fell between them, and endured some
      moments. His lordship was leaning forward, elbows on knees, his face in
      shadow. At length he sat back, and looked at his companion across the
      little intervening space.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have hesitated to speak to you before, Mr. Caryll, upon the matter that
      you know of, lest your recovery should not be so far advanced that you
      might bear the strain and fatigue of conversing upon serious topics. I
      trust that that cause is now so far removed that I may put aside my
      scruples.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Assuredly&mdash;I am glad to say&mdash;thanks to the great care you have
      had of me here at Stretton House.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is no debt between us on that score,&rdquo; answered his lordship
      shortly, brusquely almost. &ldquo;Well, then&mdash;&rdquo; He checked, and looked
      about him. &ldquo;We might be approached without hearing any one,&rdquo; he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll smiled, and shook his head. &ldquo;I am not wont to neglect such
      details,&rdquo; he observed. &ldquo;The eyes of Argus were not so vigilant as my
      Leduc's; and he understands that we are private. He will give us warning
      should any attempt to approach. Be assured of that, and believe,
      therefore, that we are more snug here than we should be even in your
      lordship's closet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That being so, sir&mdash;hem! You are receiving letters daily. Do they
      concern the business of King James?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In a measure; or, rather, they are from one concerned in it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Ostermore's eyes were on the ground again. There fell a pause, Mr. Caryll
      frowning slightly and full of curiosity as to what might be coming.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How soon, think you,&rdquo; asked his lordship presently, &ldquo;you will be in case
      to travel?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In a week, I hope,&rdquo; was the reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good.&rdquo; The earl nodded thoughtfully. &ldquo;That may be in time. I pray it may
      be. 'Tis now the best that we can do. You'll bear a letter for me to the
      king?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll passed a hand across his chin, his face very grave. &ldquo;Your
      answer to the letter that I brought you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My answer. My acceptance of his majesty's proposals.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; Mr. Caryll seemed to be breathing hard.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your letters, sir&mdash;the letters that you have been receiving will
      have told you, perhaps, something of how his majesty's affairs are
      speeding here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very little; and from that little I fear that they speed none too well. I
      would counsel your lordship,&rdquo; he continued slowly&mdash;he was thinking as
      he went&mdash;&ldquo;to wait a while before you burn your boats. From what I
      gather, matters are in the air just now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The earl made a gesture, brusque and impatient. &ldquo;Your information is very
      scant, then,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll looked askance at him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pho, sir! While you have been abed, I have been up and doing; up and
      doing. Matters are being pushed forward rapidly. I have seen Atterbury. He
      knows my mind. There lately came an agent from the king, it seems, to
      enjoin the bishop to abandon this conspiracy, telling him that the time
      was not yet ripe. Atterbury scorns to act upon that order. He will work in
      the king's interests against the king's own commands even.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then, 'tis possible he may work to his own undoing,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, to
      whom this was, after all, no news.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, nay; you have been sick; you do not know how things have sped in
      this past month. Atterbury holds, and he is right, I dare swear&mdash;he
      holds that never will there be such another opportunity. The finances of
      the country are still in chaos, in spite of all Walpole's efforts and fine
      promises. The South Sea bubble has sapped the confidence in the government
      of all men of weight. The very Whigs themselves are shaken. 'Tis to King
      James, England begins to look for salvation from this topsy-turveydom. The
      tide runs strongly in our favor. Strongly, sir! If we stay for the ebb, we
      may stay for good; for there may never be another flow within our
      lifetime.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your lordship is grown strangely hot upon this question,&rdquo; said Caryll,
      very full of wonder.
    </p>
    <p>
      As he understood Ostermore, the earl was scarcely the sentimentalist to
      give way to such a passion of loyalty for a weaker side. Yet his lordship
      had spoken, not with the cold calm of the practical man who seeks
      advantage, but with all the fervor of the enthusiast.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Such is my interest,&rdquo; answered his lordship. &ldquo;Even as the fortunes of the
      country are beggared by the South Sea Company, so are my own; even as the
      country must look to King James for its salvation, so must I. At best 'tis
      but a forlorn hope, I confess; yet 'tis the only hope I see.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll looked at him, smiled to himself, and nodded. So! All this fire
      and enthusiasm was about the mending of his personal fortunes&mdash;the
      grubbing of riches for himself. Well, well! It was good matter wasted on a
      paltry cause. But it sorted excellently with what Mr. Caryll knew of the
      nature of this father of his. It never could transcend the practical;
      there was no imagination to carry it beyond those narrow sordid confines,
      and Mr. Caryll had been a fool to have supposed that any other springs
      were pushing here. Egotism, egotism, egotism! Its name, he thought, was
      surely Ostermore. And again, as once before, under the like circumstances,
      he found more pity than scorn awaking in his heart. The whole wasted,
      sterile life that lay behind this man; the unhappy, loveless home that
      stood about him now in his declining years were the fruits he had garnered
      from that consuming love of self with which the gods had cursed him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The only ray to illumine the black desert of Ostermore's existence was the
      affection of his ward, Hortensia Winthrop, because in that one instance he
      had sunk his egotism a little, sparing a crumb of pity&mdash;for once in
      his life&mdash;for the child's orphanhood. Had Ostermore been other than
      the man he was, his existence must have proved a burden beyond his
      strength. It was so barren of good deeds, so sterile of affection. Yet
      encrusted as he was in that egotism of his&mdash;like the limpet in its
      shell&mdash;my lord perceived nothing of this, suffered nothing of it,
      understanding nothing. He was all-sufficient to himself. Giving nothing,
      he looked for nothing, and sought his happiness&mdash;without knowing the
      quest vain&mdash;in what he had. The fear of losing this had now in his
      declining years cast, at length, a shadow upon his existence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll looked at him almost sorrowfully. Then he put by his thoughts,
      and broke the silence. &ldquo;All this I had understood when first I sought you
      out,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Yet your lordship did not seem to realize it quite so
      keenly. Is it that Atterbury and his friends&mdash;?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; Ostermore broke in. &ldquo;Look'ee! I will be frank&mdash;quite frank
      and open with you, Mr. Caryll. Things were bad when first you came to me.
      Yet not so bad that I was driven to a choice of evils. I had lost heavily.
      But enough remained to bear me through my time, though Rotherby might have
      found little enough left after I had gone. While that was so, I hesitated
      to take a risk. I am an old man. It had been different had I been young
      with ambitions that craved satisfying. I am an old man; and I desired
      peace and my comforts. Deeming these assured, I paused ere I risked their
      loss against the stake which in King James's name you set upon the board.
      But it happens to-day that these are assured no longer,&rdquo; he ended, his
      voice breaking almost, his eyes haggard. &ldquo;They are assured no longer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You mean?&rdquo; inquired Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I mean that I am confronted by the danger of beggary, ruin, shame, and
      the sponging-house, at best.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll was stirred out of his calm. &ldquo;My lord!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;How is this
      possible? What can have come to pass?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The earl was silent for a long while. It was as if he pondered how he
      should answer, or whether he should answer at all. At last, in a low
      voice, a faint tinge reddening his face, his eyes averted, he explained.
      It shamed him so to do, yet must he satisfy that craving of weak minds to
      unburden, to seek relief in confession. &ldquo;Mine is the case of Craggs, the
      secretary of state,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;And Craggs, you'll remember, shot himself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My God,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, and opened wide his eyes. &ldquo;Did you-?&rdquo; He
      paused, not knowing what euphemism to supply for the thing his lordship
      must have done.
    </p>
    <p>
      His lordship looked up, sneering almost in self-derision. &ldquo;I did,&rdquo; he
      answered. &ldquo;To tell you all&mdash;I accepted twenty thousand pounds' worth
      of South Sea stock when the company was first formed, for which I did not
      pay other than by lending the scheme the support of my name at a time when
      such support was needed. I was of the ministry, then, you will remember.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll considered him again, and wondered a moment at the confession,
      till he understood by intuition that the matter and its consequences were
      so deeply preying upon the man's mind that he could not refrain from
      giving vent to his fears.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now you know,&rdquo; his lordship added, &ldquo;why my hopes are all in King
      James. Ruin stares me in the face. Ruin and shame. This forlorn Stuart
      hope is the only hope remaining me. Therefore, am I eager to embrace it. I
      have made all plain to you. You should understand now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yet not quite all. You did this thing. But the inspection of the
      company's books is past. The danger of discovery, at least, is averted. Or
      is it that your conscience compels you to make restitution?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His lordship stared and gaped. &ldquo;Do you suppose me mad?&rdquo; he inquired, quite
      seriously. &ldquo;Pho! Others were overlooked at the time. We did not all go the
      way of Craggs and Aislabie and their fellow-sufferers. Stanhope was
      assailed afterward, though he was innocent. That filthy fellow, the Duke
      of Wharton, from being an empty fop turned himself on a sudden into a
      Crown attorney to prosecute the peculators. It was an easy road to fame
      for him, and the fool had a gift of eloquence. Stanhope's death is on his
      conscience&mdash;or would be if he had one. That was six months ago. When
      he discovered his error in the case of Stanhope and saw the fatal
      consequences it had, he ceased his dirty lawyer's work. But he had good
      grounds upon which to suspect others as highly placed as Stanhope, and had
      he followed his suspicions he might have turned them into certainties and
      discovered evidence. As it was, he let the matter lie, content with the
      execution he had done, and the esteem into which he had so suddenly
      hoisted himself&mdash;the damned profligate!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll let pass, as typical, the ludicrous want of logic in
      Ostermore's strictures of his Grace of Wharton, and the application by him
      to the duke of opprobrious terms that were no whit less applicable to
      himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then, that being so, what cause for these alarms some six months later?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because,&rdquo; answered his lordship in a sudden burst of passion that brought
      him to his feet, empurpled his face and swelled the veins of his forehead,
      &ldquo;because I am cursed with the filthiest fellow in England for my son.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He said it with the air of one who throws a flood of light where darkness
      has been hitherto, who supplies the key that must resolve at a turn a
      whole situation. But Mr. Caryll blinked foolishly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My wits are very dull, I fear,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I still cannot understand.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then I'll make it all clear to you,&rdquo; said his lordship.
    </p>
    <p>
      Leduc appeared at the arbor entrance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What now?&rdquo; asked Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Her ladyship is approaching, sir,&rdquo; answered Leduc the vigilant.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIV. LADY OSTERMORE
    </h2>
    <p>
      Lord Ostermore and Mr. Caryll looked across the lawn towards the house,
      but failed to see any sign of her ladyship's approach.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll raised questioning eyes to his servant's stolid face, and in
      that moment caught the faintest rustle of a gown behind the arbor. He
      half-turned to my lord, and nodded slightly in the direction of the sound,
      a smile twisting his lips. With a gesture he dismissed Leduc, who returned
      to the neighborhood of the pond.
    </p>
    <p>
      His lordship frowned, angered by the interruption. Then: &ldquo;If your ladyship
      will come inside,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;you will hear better and with greater
      comfort.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not to speak of dignity,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      The stiff gown rustled again, this time without stealth. The countess
      appeared, no whit abashed. Mr. Caryll rose politely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You sit with spies to guard your approaches,&rdquo; said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As a precaution against spies,&rdquo; was his lordship's curt answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      She measured him with a cool eye. &ldquo;What is't ye hide?&rdquo; she asked him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My shame,&rdquo; he answered readily. Then after a moment's pause, he rose and
      offered her his seat. &ldquo;Since you have thrust yourself in where you were
      not bidden, you may hear and welcome, ma'am,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;It may help you to
      understand what you term my injustice to my son.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Are these matters wherewith to importune a stranger&mdash;a guest?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am proposing to say in your presence what I was about to say in your
      absence,&rdquo; said he, without answering her question. &ldquo;Be seated, ma'am.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She sniffed, closed her fan with a clatter, and sat down. Mr. Caryll
      resumed his long chair, and his lordship took the stool.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am told,&rdquo; the latter resumed presently, recapitulating in part for her
      ladyship's better understanding, &ldquo;that his Grace of Wharton is intending
      to reopen the South Sea scandal, as soon as he can find evidence that I
      was one of those who profited by the company's charter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Profited?&rdquo; she echoed, between scorn and bitter amusement. &ldquo;Profited, did
      ye say? I think your dotage is surely upon you&mdash;you that have sunk
      nigh all your fortune and all that you had with me in this thieving
      venture&mdash;d'ye talk of profits?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At the commencement I did profit, as did many others. Had I been content
      with my gains, had I been less of a trusting fool, it had been well. I was
      dazzled, maybe, by the glare of so much gold. I needed more; and so I lost
      all. That is evil enough. But there is worse. I may be called upon to make
      restitution of what I had from the company without paying for it&mdash;I
      may give all that's left me and barely cover the amount, and I may starve
      and be damned thereafter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship's face was ghastly. Horror stared from her pale eyes. She had
      known, from the beginning, of that twenty thousand pounds' worth of stock,
      and she had had&mdash;with his lordship&mdash;her anxious moments when the
      disclosures were being made six months ago that had brought the Craggses,
      Aislabie and a half-dozen others to shame and ruin.
    </p>
    <p>
      His lordship looked at her a moment. &ldquo;And if this shipwreck comes, as it
      now threatens,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;it is my son I shall have to thank for't.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She found voice to ask: &ldquo;How so?&rdquo; courage to put the question scornfully.
      &ldquo;Is it not rather Rotherby you have to thank that the disclosures did not
      come six months ago? What was it saved you but the friendship his Grace of
      Wharton had for Charles?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, then,&rdquo; stormed his lordship, &ldquo;did he not see to't that he preserved
      that friendship? It but needed a behavior of as much decency and honor as
      Wharton exacts in his associates&mdash;and the Lord knows how much that
      is!&rdquo; he sneered. &ldquo;As it is, he has gone even lower than that abandoned
      scourer; so low that even this rakehell duke must become his enemy for his
      own credit's sake. He attempts mock-marriages with ladies of quality; and
      he attempts murder by stabbing through the back a gentleman who has spared
      his worthless life. Not even the president of the Hell Fire Club can
      countenance these things, strong stomach though he have for villainy. It
      is something to have contrived to come so low that even his Grace of
      Wharton must turn upon him, and swear his ruin. And so that he may ruin
      him, his grace is determined to ruin me. Now you understand, madam&mdash;and
      you, Mr. Caryll.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll understood. He understood even more than his lordship meant him
      to understand; more than his lordship understood, himself. So, too, did
      her ladyship, if we may judge from the reply she made him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You fool,&rdquo; she railed. &ldquo;You vain, blind, selfish fool! To blame Rotherby
      for this. Rather should Rotherby, blame you that by your damned dishonesty
      have set a weapon against him in his enemy's hands.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Madam!&rdquo; he roared, empurpling, and coming heavily to his feet. &ldquo;Do you
      know who I am?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay&mdash;and what you are, which is something you will never know. God!
      Was there ever so self-centered a fool? Compassionate me, Heaven!&rdquo; She
      rose, too, and turned to Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;You, sir,&rdquo; she said to him, &ldquo;you
      have been dragged into this, I know not why.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She broke off suddenly, looking at him, her eyes a pair of gimlets now for
      penetration. &ldquo;Why have you been dragged into it?&rdquo; she demanded. &ldquo;What is
      here? I demand to know. What help does my lord expect from you that he
      tells you this? Does he&mdash;&rdquo; She paused an instant, a cunning smile
      breaking over her wrinkled, painted face. &ldquo;Does he propose to sell himself
      to the king over the water, and are you a secret agent come to do the
      buying? Is that the answer to this riddle?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll, imperturbable outwardly, but very ill at ease within, smiled
      and waved the delicate hand that appeared through the heavy ruffle at his
      wrist. &ldquo;Madam, indeed&mdash;ah&mdash;your ladyship goes very fast. You
      leap so at conclusions for which no grounds can exist. His lordship is so
      overwrought&mdash;as well he may be, alas!&mdash;that he cares not before
      whom he speaks. Is it not plainly so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She smiled very sourly. &ldquo;You are a very master of evasion, sir. But your
      evasion gives me the answer that I lack&mdash;that and his lordship's
      face. I drew my bow at a venture; yet look, sir, and tell me, has my
      quarrel missed its mark?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And, indeed, the sudden fear and consternation written on my lord's face
      was so plain that all might read it. He was&mdash;as Mr. Caryll had
      remarked on the first occasion that they met&mdash;the worst dissembler
      that ever set hand to a conspiracy. He betrayed himself at every step, if
      not positively, by incautious words, why then by the utter lack of control
      he had upon his countenance.
    </p>
    <p>
      He made now a wild attempt to bluster. &ldquo;Lies! Lies!&rdquo; he protested. &ldquo;Your
      ladyship's a-dreaming. Should I be making bad worse by plotting at my time
      of life? Should I? What can King James avail me, indeed?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis what I will ask Rotherby to help me to discover,&rdquo; she informed him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Rotherby?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Would you tell that villain what you suspect? Would
      you arm him with another weapon for my undoing?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;You admit so much, then?&rdquo; And she laughed disdainfully.
      Then with a sudden sternness, a sudden nobility almost in the motherhood
      which she put forward&mdash;&ldquo;Rotherby is my son,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;and I'll not
      have my son the victim of your follies as well as of your injustice. We
      may curb the one and the other yet, my lord.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And she swept out, fan going briskly in one hand, her long ebony cane
      swinging as briskly in the other.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O God!&rdquo; groaned Ostermore, and sat down heavily.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll helped himself copiously to snuff. &ldquo;I think,&rdquo; said he, his
      voice so cool that it had an almost soothing influence, &ldquo;I think your
      lordship has now another reason why you should go no further in this
      matter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But if I do not&mdash;what other hopes have I? Damn me! I'm a ruined man
      either way.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, nay,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll reminded him. &ldquo;Assuming even that you are correctly
      informed, and that his Grace of Wharton is determined to move against you,
      it is not to be depended that he will succeed in collecting such evidence
      as he must need. At this date much of the evidence that may once have been
      available will have been dissipated. You are rash to despair so soon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is that,&rdquo; his lordship admitted thoughtfully, a little hopefully,
      even; &ldquo;there is that.&rdquo; And with the resilience of his nature&mdash;of men
      who form opinions on slight grounds, and, therefore, are ready to change
      them upon grounds as slight&mdash;&ldquo;I' faith! I may have been running to
      meet my trouble. 'Tis but a rumor, after all, that Wharton is for
      mischief, and&mdash;as you say&mdash;as like as not there'll be no
      evidence by now. There was little enough at the time.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Still, I'll make doubly sure. My letter to King James can do no harm.
      We'll talk of it again, when you are in case to travel.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It passed through Mr. Caryll's mind at the moment that Lady Ostermore and
      her son might between them brew such mischief as might seriously hinder
      him from travelling, and he was very near the truth. For already her
      ladyship was closeted with Rotherby in her boudoir.
    </p>
    <p>
      The viscount was dressed for travelling, intent upon withdrawing to the
      country, for he was well-informed already of the feeling of the town
      concerning him, and had no mind to brave the slights and cold-shoulderings
      that would await him did he penetrate to any of the haunts of people of
      quality and fashion. He stood before his mother now, a tall, lank figure,
      his black face very gloomy, his sensual lips thrust forward in a sullen
      pout. She, in a gilt arm-chair before her toilet-table, was telling him
      the story of what had passed, his father's fear of ruin and disgrace. He
      swore between his teeth when he heard that the danger threatened from the
      Duke of Wharton.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And your father's destitution means our destitution&mdash;yours and mine;
      for his gambling schemes have consumed my portion long since.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He laughed and shrugged. &ldquo;I marvel I should concern myself,&rdquo; said he.
      &ldquo;What can it avail me to save the rags that are left him of his fortune?
      He's sworn I shall never touch a penny that he may die possessed of.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But there's the entail,&rdquo; she reminded him. &ldquo;If restitution is demanded,
      the Crown will not respect it. 'Twill be another sop to throw the whining
      curs that were crippled by the bubble, and who threaten to disturb the
      country if they are not appeased. If Wharton carries out this exposure,
      we're beggars&mdash;utter beggars, that may ask an alms to quiet hunger.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis Wharton's present hate of me,&rdquo; said he thoughtfully, and swore. &ldquo;The
      damned puppy! He'd make a sacrifice of me upon the altar of
      respectability, just as he made a sacrifice of the South Sea bubblers.
      What else was the stinking rakehell seeking but to put himself right again
      in the eyes of a town that was nauseated with him and his excesses? The
      self-seeking toad that makes virtue his profession&mdash;the virtue of
      others&mdash;and profligacy his recreation!&rdquo; He smote fist into palm.
      &ldquo;There's a way to silence him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah?&rdquo; she looked up quickly, hopefully.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A foot or so of steel,&rdquo; Rotherby explained, and struck the hilt of his
      sword. &ldquo;I might pick a quarrel with him. 'Twould not be difficult. Come
      upon him unawares, say, and strike him. That should force a fight.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tusk, fool! He's all empanoplied in virtue where you are concerned. He'd
      use the matter of your affair with Caryll as a reason not to meet you,
      whatever you might do, and he'd set his grooms to punish any indignity you
      might put upon him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He durst not.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pooh! The town would all approve him in it since your running Caryll
      through the back. What a fool you were, Charles.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He turned away, hanging his head, full conscious, and with no little
      bitterness, of how great had been his folly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Salvation may lie for you in the same source that has brought you to the
      present pass&mdash;this man Caryll,&rdquo; said the countess presently. &ldquo;I
      suspect him more than ever of being a Jacobite agent.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know him to be such.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You know it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All but; and Green is assured of it, too.&rdquo; He proceeded to tell her what
      he knew. &ldquo;Ever since Green met Caryll at Maidstone has he suspected him,
      yet but that I kept him to the task he would have abandoned it. He's in my
      pay now as much as in Lord Carteret's, and if he can run Caryll to earth
      he receives his wages from both sides.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well&mdash;well? What has he discovered? Anything?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A little. This Caryll frequented regularly the house of one Everard, who
      came to town a week after Caryll's own arrival. This Everard&mdash;Sir
      Richard Everard is known to be a Jacobite. He is the Pretender's Paris
      agent. They would have laid him by the heels before, but that by
      precipitancy they feared to ruin their chances of discovering the business
      that may have brought him over. They are giving him rope at present.
      Meanwhile, by my cursed folly, Caryll's visits to him were interrupted.
      But there has been correspondence between them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know,&rdquo; said her ladyship. &ldquo;A letter was delivered him just now. I tried
      to smoke him concerning it. But he's too astute.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Astute or not,&rdquo; replied her son, &ldquo;once he leaves Stretton House it should
      not be long ere he betrays himself and gives us cause to lay him by the
      heels. But how will that help us?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you ask how? Why, if there is a plot, and we can discover it, we might
      make terms with the secretary of state to avoid any disclosure Wharton may
      intend concerning the South Sea matter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But that would be to discover my father for a Jacobite! What advantage
      should we derive from that? 'Twould be as bad as t'other matter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let me die, but ye're a slow-witted clod, Charles. D'ye think we can find
      no way to disclose the plot and Mr. Caryll&mdash;and Everard, too, if you
      choose&mdash;without including your father? My lord is timidly cautious,
      and you may depend he'll not have put himself in their hands to any extent
      just yet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The viscount paced the chamber slowly in long strides, head bent in
      thought, hands clasped behind him. &ldquo;It will need consideration,&rdquo; said he.
      &ldquo;But it may serve, and I can count upon Green. He is satisfied that Caryll
      befooled him at Maidstone, and that he kept the papers he carried despite
      the thoroughness of Green's investigations. Moreover, he was handled with
      some roughness by Caryll. For that and the other matter he asks redress&mdash;thirsts
      for it. He's a very willing tool, as I have found.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then see that you use him adroitly to your work,&rdquo; said his mother. &ldquo;Best
      not leave town at present, Charles.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, no,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I'll find me a lodging somewhere at hand, since my
      fond sire is determined I shall pollute no longer the sacrosanctity of his
      dwelling. Perhaps when I have pulled him out of this quicksand, he will
      deign to mitigate the bitterness of his feelings for me. Though, faith, I
      find life endurable without the affection he should have consecrated to
      me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; she said, looking up at him. &ldquo;You are his son; too much his son, I
      fear. 'Tis why he dislikes you so intensely. He sees in you the faults to
      which he is blind in himself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sweet mother!&rdquo; said his lordship, bowing.
    </p>
    <p>
      She scowled at him. She could deal in irony herself&mdash;and loved to&mdash;but
      she detested to have it dealt to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      He bowed again; gained the door, and would have passed out but that she
      detained him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis a pity, on some scores, to dispose so utterly of this Caryll,&rdquo; she
      said. &ldquo;The pestilent coxcomb has his uses, and his uses, like adversity's,
      are sweet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He paused to question her with his eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He might have made a husband for Hortensia, and rid me of the company of
      that white-faced changeling.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Might he so?&rdquo; quoth the viscount, face and voice, expressionless.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They were made for each other,&rdquo; her ladyship opined.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Were they so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay&mdash;were they. And faith they've discovered it. I would you had seen
      the turtles in the arbor an hour ago, when I surprised them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His lordship attempted a smile, but achieved nothing more than a wry face
      and a change of color. His mother's eyes, observing these signs, grew on a
      sudden startled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, fool,&rdquo; quoth she, &ldquo;do you hold there still? Art not yet cured of
      that folly?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What folly, ma'am?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This folly that already has cost you so much. 'Sdeath! As I'm a woman, if
      you'd so much feeling for the girl, I marvel ye did not marry her honestly
      and in earnest when the chance was yours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The pallor of his face increased. He clenched his hands. &ldquo;I marvel myself
      that I did not,&rdquo; he answered passionately&mdash;and went out, slamming the
      door after him, and leaving her ladyship agape and angry.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XV. LOVE AND RAGE
    </h2>
    <p>
      Lord Rotherby, descending from that interview with his mother, espied
      Hortensia crossing the hall below. Forgetting his dignity, he quickened
      his movements, and took the remainder of the stairs two at a stride. But,
      then, his lordship was excited and angry, and considerations of dignity
      did not obtain with him at the time. For that matter, they seldom did.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hortensia! Hortensia!&rdquo; he called to her, and at his call she paused.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not once during the month that was past&mdash;and during which he had, for
      the most part, kept his room, to all intents a prisoner&mdash;had she
      exchanged so much as a word with him. Thus, not seeing him, she had been
      able, to an extent, to exclude him from her thoughts, which, naturally
      enough, were reluctant to entertain him for their guest.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her calm, as she paused now in acquiescence to his bidding, was such that
      it almost surprised herself. She had loved him once&mdash;or thought so, a
      little month ago&mdash;and at a single blow he had slain that love. Now
      love so slain has a trick of resurrecting in the guise of hate; and so,
      she had thought at first had been the case with her. But this moment
      proved to her now that her love was dead, indeed, since of her erstwhile
      affection not even a recoil to hate remained. Dislike she may have felt;
      but it was that cold dislike that breeds a deadly indifference, and seeks
      no active expression, asking no more than the avoidance of its object.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her calm, reflected in her face of a beauty almost spiritual, in every
      steady line of her slight, graceful figure, gave him pause a moment, and
      his hot glance fell abashed before the chill indifference that met him
      from those brown eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      A man of deeper sensibilities, of keener perceptions, would have bowed and
      gone his way. But then a man of deeper sensibilities would never have
      sought this interview that the viscount was now seeking. Therefore, it was
      but natural that he should recover swiftly from his momentary halt, and
      step aside to throw open the door of a little room on the right of the
      hall. Bowing slightly, he invited her to enter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Grant me a moment ere I go, Hortensia,&rdquo; he said, between command and
      exhortation.
    </p>
    <p>
      She stood cogitating him an instant, with no outward sign of what might be
      passing in her mind; then she slightly inclined her head, and went forward
      as he bade her.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a sunny room, gay with light color and dainty furnishings, having
      long window-doors that opened to the garden. An Aubusson carpet of palest
      green, with a festoon pattern of pink roses, covered two-thirds of the
      blocked, polished floor. The empanelled walls were white, with here a gilt
      mirror, flanked on either side by a girandole in ormolu. A spinet stood
      open in mid-chamber, and upon it were sheets of music, a few books and a
      bowl of emerald-green ware, charged now with roses, whose fragrance lay
      heavy on the air. There were two or three small tables of very dainty,
      fragile make, and the chairs were in delicately-tinted tapestry
      illustrating the fables of La Fontaine.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was an apartment looked upon by Hortensia as her own withdrawing-room,
      set apart for her own use, and as that the household&mdash;her very
      ladyship included&mdash;had ever recognized it.
    </p>
    <p>
      His lordship closed the door with care. Hortensia took her seat upon the
      long stool that stood at the spinet, her back to the instrument, and with
      hands idle in her lap&mdash;the same cold reserve upon her countenance-she
      awaited his communication.
    </p>
    <p>
      He advanced until he was close beside her, and stood leaning an elbow on
      the corner of the spinet, a long and not ungraceful figure, with the black
      curls of his full-bottomed wig falling about his swarthy, big-featured
      face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have but my farewells to make, Hortensia,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I am leaving
      Stretton House, to-day, at last.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am glad,&rdquo; said she, in a formal, level voice, &ldquo;that things should have
      fallen out so as to leave you free to go your ways.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are glad,&rdquo; he answered, frowning slightly, and leaning farther
      towards her. &ldquo;Ay, and why are you glad? Why? You are glad for Mr. Caryll's
      sake. Do you deny it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked up at him quite calm and fearlessly. &ldquo;I am glad for your own
      sake, too.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His dark brooding eyes looked deep into hers, which did not falter under
      his insistent gaze. &ldquo;Am I to believe you?&rdquo; he inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why not? I do not wish your death.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not my death&mdash;but my absence?&rdquo; he sneered. &ldquo;You wish for that, do
      you not? You would prefer me gone? My room is better than my company just
      now? 'Tis what you think, eh?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have not thought of it at all,&rdquo; she answered him with a pitiless
      frankness.
    </p>
    <p>
      He laughed, soft and wickedly. &ldquo;Is it so very hopeless, then? You have not
      thought of it at all by which you mean that you have not thought of me at
      all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is't not best so? You have given me no cause to think of you to your
      advantage. I am therefore kind to exclude you from my thoughts.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Kind?&rdquo; he mocked her. &ldquo;You think it kind to put me from your mind&mdash;I
      who love you, Hortensia!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She rose upon the instant, her cheeks warming faintly. &ldquo;My lord,&rdquo; said
      she, &ldquo;I think there is no more to be said between us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, but there is,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;A deal more yet.&rdquo; And he left his place by
      the spinet to come and stand immediately before her, barring her passage
      to the door. &ldquo;Not only to say farewell was it that I desired to speak with
      you alone here.&rdquo; His voice softened amazingly. &ldquo;I want your pardon ere I
      go. I want you to say that you forgive me the vile thing I would have
      done, Hortensia.&rdquo; Contrition quivered in his lowered voice. He bent a knee
      to her, and held out his hand. &ldquo;I will not rise until you speak my pardon,
      child.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, if that be all, I pardon you very readily,&rdquo; she answered, still
      betraying no emotion.
    </p>
    <p>
      He frowned. &ldquo;Too readily!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Too readily for sincerity. I will
      not take it so.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed, my lord, for a penitent, you are very difficult to please. I
      pardon you with all my heart.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are sincere?&rdquo; he cried, and sought to take her hands; but she whipped
      them away and behind her. &ldquo;You bear me no ill-will?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She considered him now with a calm, critical gaze, before which he was
      forced to lower his bold eyes. &ldquo;Why should I bear you an ill-will?&rdquo; she
      asked him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For the thing I did&mdash;the thing I sought to do.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wonder do you know all that you did?&rdquo; she asked him, musingly. &ldquo;Shall I
      tell you, my lord? You cured me of a folly. I had been blind, and you made
      me see. I had foolishly thought to escape one evil, and you made me
      realize that I was rushing into a worse. You saved me from myself. You may
      have made me suffer then; but it was a healing hurt you dealt me. And
      should I bear you an ill-will for that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He had risen from his knee. He stood apart, pondering her from under bent
      brows with eyes that were full of angry fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not think,&rdquo; she ended, &ldquo;that there needs more between us. I have
      understood you, sir, since that day at Maidstone&mdash;I think we were
      strangers until then; and perhaps now you may begin to understand me. Fare
      you well, my lord.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She made shift to go, but he barred her passage now in earnest, his hands
      clenched beside him in witness of the violence he did himself to keep them
      there. &ldquo;Not yet,&rdquo; he said, in a deep, concentrated voice. &ldquo;Not yet. I did
      you a wrong, I know. And what you say&mdash;cruel as it is&mdash;is no
      more than I deserve. But I desire to make amends. I love you, Hortensia,
      and desire to make amends.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She smiled wistfully. &ldquo;'Tis overlate to talk of that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; he demanded fiercely, and caught her arms, holding her there before
      him. &ldquo;Why is it overlate?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Suffer me to go,&rdquo; she commanded, rather than begged, and made to free
      herself of his grasp.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I want you to be my wife, Hortensia&mdash;my wedded wife.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked at him, and laughed; a cold laugh, disdainful, yet not bitter.
      &ldquo;You wanted that before, my lord; yet you neglected the opportunity my
      folly gave you. I thank you&mdash;you, after God&mdash;for that same
      neglect.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, do not say that!&rdquo; he begged, a very suppliant again. &ldquo;Do not say
      that! Child, I love you. Do you understand?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who could fail to understand, after the abundant proof you have afforded
      me of your sincerity and your devotion?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you rally me?&rdquo; he demanded, letting through a flash of the anger that
      was mounting in him. &ldquo;Am I so poor a thing that you whet your little wit
      upon me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My lord, you are paining me. What can you look to gain by this? Suffer me
      to go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A moment yet he stood, holding her wrists and looking down into her eyes
      with a mixture of pleading and ferocity in his. Then he made a sound in
      his throat, and caught her bodily to him; his arms, laced about her, held
      her bound and crushed against him. His dark, flushed face hovered above
      her own.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fear took her at last. It mounted and grew to horror. &ldquo;Let me go, my
      lord,&rdquo; she besought him, her voice trembling. &ldquo;Oh, let me go!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I love you, Hortensia! I need you!&rdquo; he cried, as if wrung by pain, and
      then hot upon her brow and cheeks and lips his kisses fell, and shame
      turned her to fire from head to foot as she fought helplessly within his
      crushing grasp.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You dog!&rdquo; she panted, and writhing harder, wrenched free a hand and arm.
      Blindly she beat upwards into that evil satyr's face. &ldquo;You beast! You
      toad! You coward!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They fell apart, each panting; she leaning faint against the spinet, her
      bosom galloping; he muttering oaths decent and other&mdash;for in the
      upward thrusting of her little hand one of its fingers had prodded at an
      eye, and the pain of it&mdash;which had caused him to relax his hold of
      her&mdash;stripped what little veneer remained upon the man's true nature.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will you go?&rdquo; she asked him furiously, outraged by the vileness of his
      ravings. &ldquo;Will you go, or must I summon help?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He stood looking at her, straightening his wig, which had become
      disarranged in the struggle, and forcing himself to an outward calm. &ldquo;So,&rdquo;
       he said. &ldquo;You scorn me? You will not marry me? You realise the chance, eh?
      And why? Why?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suppose it is because I am blind to the honor of the alliance,&rdquo; she
      controlled herself to answer him. &ldquo;Will you go?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He did not move. &ldquo;Yet you loved me once&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis a lie!&rdquo; she blazed. &ldquo;I thought I did&mdash;to my undying shame. No
      more than that, my lord&mdash;as I've a soul to be saved.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You loved Me,&rdquo; he insisted. &ldquo;And you would love me still but for this
      damned Caryll&mdash;this French coxcomb, who has crawled into your regard
      like the slimy, creeping thing he is.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It sorts well with your ways, my lord, that you could say these things
      behind his back. You are practiced at stabbing men behind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The gibe, with all the hurtful, stinging quality that only truth
      possesses, struck his anger from him, leaving him limp and pale. Then he
      recovered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you know who he is&mdash;what he is?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;I will tell you. He's
      a spy&mdash;a damned Jacobite spy, whom a word from me will hang.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her eyes lashed him with her scorn. &ldquo;I were a fool did I believe you,&rdquo; was
      her contemptuous answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ask him,&rdquo; he said, and laughed. He turned and strode to the door. Paused
      there, sardonic, looking back. &ldquo;I shall be quits with you, ma'am. Quits!
      I'll hang this pretty turtle of yours at Tyburn. Tell him so from me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He wrenched the door open, and went out on that, leaving her cold and sick
      with dread.
    </p>
    <p>
      Was it but an idle threat to terrorize her? Was it but that? Her impulse
      was to seek Mr. Caryll upon the instant that she might ask him and allay
      her fears. But what right had she? Upon what grounds could she set a
      question upon so secret a matter? She conceived him raising his brows in
      that supercilious way of his, and looking her over from head to toe as
      though seeking a clue to the nature of this quaint thing that asked him
      questions. She pictured his smile and the jest with which he would set
      aside her inquiry. She imagined, indeed, just what she believed would
      happen did she ask him; which was precisely what would not have happened.
      Imagining thus, she held her peace, and nursed her secret dread. And on
      the following day, his weakness so far overcome as to leave him no excuse
      to linger at Stretton House, Mr. Caryll took his departure and returned to
      his lodging in Old Palace Yard.
    </p>
    <p>
      One more treasonable interview had he with Lord Ostermore in the library
      ere he departed. His lordship it was who reopened again the question, to
      repeat much of what he had said in the arbor on the previous day, and Mr.
      Caryll replied with much the same arguments in favor of procrastination
      that he had already employed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Wait, at least,&rdquo; he begged, &ldquo;until I have been abroad a day or two, and
      felt for myself how the wind Is setting.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis a prodigiously dangerous document,&rdquo; he declared. &ldquo;I scarce see the
      need for so much detail.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How can it set but one way?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis a question I shall be in better case to answer when I have had an
      opportunity of judging. Meanwhile, be assured I shall not sail for France
      without advising you. Time enough then to give me your letter should you
      still be of the same mind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Be it so,&rdquo; said the earl. &ldquo;When all is said, the letter will be safer
      here, meantime, than in your pocket.&rdquo; And he tapped the secretaire. &ldquo;But
      see what I have writ his majesty, and tell me should I alter aught.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He took out a drawer on the right&mdash;took it out bodily&mdash;then
      introduced his hand into the opening, running it along the inner side of
      the desk until, no doubt, he touched a spring; for suddenly a small trap
      was opened. From this cavity he fished out two documents&mdash;one the
      flimsy tissue on which King James' later was penned; the other on heavier
      material Lord Ostermore's reply. He spread the latter before him, and
      handed it to Mr. Caryll, who ran an eye over it.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was indited with stupid, characteristic incaution; concealment was
      never once resorted to; everywhere expressions of the frankest were
      employed, and every line breathed the full measure of his lordship's
      treason and betrays the existence of a plot.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll returned it. His countenance was grave.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I desire his majesty to know how whole-heartedly I belong to him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Twere best destroyed, I think. You can write another when the time comes
      to dispatch it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But Ostermore was never one to take sensible advice. &ldquo;Pooh! 'Twill be safe
      in here. 'Tis a secret known to none.&rdquo; He dropped it, together with King
      James' letter, back into the recess, snapped down the trap, and replaced
      the drawer. Whereupon Mr. Caryll took his leave, promising to advise his
      lordship of whatever he might glean, and so departed from Stretton House.
    </p>
    <p>
      My Lord Rotherby, meanwhile, was very diligent in the business upon which
      he was intent. He had received in his interview with Hortensia an added
      spur to such action as might be scatheful to Mr. Caryll. His lordship was
      lodged in Portugal Row, within a stone's throw of his father's house, and
      there, on that same evening of his moving thither, he had Mr. Green to see
      him, desiring news.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green had little to impart, but strong hope of much to be garnered
      presently. His little eyes twinkling, his chubby face suffused in smiles,
      as though it were an excellent jest to be hunting knowledge that should
      hang a man, the spy assured Lord Rotherby that there was little doubt Mr.
      Caryll could be implicated as soon as he was about again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And that's the reason&mdash;after your lordship's own express wishes&mdash;why
      so far I have let Sir Richard Everard be. It may come to trouble for me
      with my Lord Carteret should it be smoked that I have been silent on the
      matters within my knowledge. But&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, a plague on that!&rdquo; said his lordship. &ldquo;You'll be well paid for your
      services when you've rendered them. And, meanwhile, I understand that not
      another soul in London&mdash;that is, on the side of the government&mdash;is
      aware of Sir Richard's presence in town. So where is your danger?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;True,&rdquo; said Mr. Green, plump hand caressing plumper chin. &ldquo;Had it not
      been so, I should have been forced to apply to the secretary for a warrant
      before this.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then you'll wait,&rdquo; said his lordship, &ldquo;and you'll act as I may direct
      you. It will be to your credit in the end. Wait until Caryll has enmeshed
      himself by frequent visits to Sir Richard's. Then get your warrant&mdash;when
      I give the word&mdash;and execute it one fine night when Caryll happens to
      be closeted with Everard. Whether we can get further evidence against him
      or not, that circumstance of his being found with the Pretender's agent
      should go some way towards hanging him. The rest we must supply.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green smiled seraphically. &ldquo;Ecod! I'd give my ears to have the
      slippery fellow safe. Codso! I would. He bubbled me at Maidstone, and I
      limped a fortnight from the kick he gave me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He shall do a little more kicking&mdash;with both feet,&rdquo; said his
      lordship with unction.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVI. MR. GREEN EXECUTES HIS WARRANT
    </h2>
    <p>
      Five days later, Mr. Caryll&mdash;whose recovery had so far progressed
      that he might now be said to be his own man again&mdash;came briskly up
      from Charing Cross one evening at dusk, to the house at the corner of
      Maiden Lane where Sir Richard Everard was lodged. He observed three or
      four fellows lounging about the corner of Chandos street and Bedford
      street, but it did not occur to him that from that point they could
      command Sir Richard's door&mdash;nor that such could be their object&mdash;until,
      as he swung sharply round the corner, he hurtled violently into a man who
      was moving in the opposite direction without looking whither he was going.
      The man stepped quickly aside with a murmured word of apology, to give Mr.
      Caryll the wall that he might pass on. But Mr. Caryll paused.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, Mr. Green!&rdquo; said he very pleasantly. &ldquo;How d'ye? Have ye been
      searching folk of late?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green endeavored to dissemble his startled expression in a grin that
      revealed his white teeth. &ldquo;Ye can't forgive me that blunder, Mr. Caryll,&rdquo;
       said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll smiled fondly upon him. &ldquo;From your manner I take it that on
      your side you practice a more Christian virtue. It is plain that you
      forgive me the sequel.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green shrugged and spread his hands. &ldquo;You were in the right, sir; you
      were in the right,&rdquo; he explained. &ldquo;Those are the risks a man of my calling
      must run. I must suffer for my blunders.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll continued to smile. But that the light was failing, the spy
      might have observed a certain hardening in the lines of his mouth. &ldquo;Here
      is a very humble mood,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;It is like the crouch before the spring.
      In whom do you design to plant your claws?&mdash;yours and your friends
      yonder.&rdquo; And he pointed with his cane across the street towards the
      loungers he had observed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My friends?&rdquo; quoth Mr. Green, in a voice of disgust. &ldquo;Nay, your honor! No
      friends of mine, ecod! Indeed, no!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No? I am at fault, then. Yet they look as if they might be bumbailiffs.
      'Tis the kind ye herd with, is't not? Give you good-even, Mr. Green.&rdquo; And
      he went on, cool and unconcerned, and turned in through the narrow doorway
      by the glover's shop to mount the stairs to Sir Richard's lodging.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green stood still to watch him go. Then he swore through his teeth,
      and beckoned one of those whose acquaintance he had disclaimed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis like him, ecod! to have gone in in spite of seeing me and you! He's
      cool! Damned cool! But he'll be cooler yet, codso!&rdquo; Then, briskly
      questioning his satellite: &ldquo;Is Sir Richard within, Jerry?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; answered Jerry&mdash;a rough, heavily-built tatterdemalion. &ldquo;He's
      been there these two hours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis our chance to nab 'em both, then-our last chance, maybe. The game is
      up. That fine gentleman has smoked it.&rdquo; He was angry beyond measure. Their
      plans were far from ripe, and yet to delay longer now that their vigilance
      was detected was, perhaps, to allow Sir Richard to slip through their
      fingers, as well as the other. &ldquo;Have ye your barkers?&rdquo; he asked harshly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jerry tapped a heavily bulging pocket, and winked. Mr. Green thrust his
      three-cornered hat a-cock over one eye, and with his hands behind the
      tails of his coat, stood pondering. &ldquo;Ay, pox on't!&rdquo; he grumbled. &ldquo;It must
      be done to-night. I dursn't delay longer. We'll give the gentlemen time to
      settle comfortably; then up we go to make things merry for 'em.&rdquo; And he
      beckoned the others across.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile Mr. Caryll had gone up with considerable misgivings. The last
      letter he had received from Sir Richard&mdash;that day at Stretton House&mdash;had
      been to apprise him that his adoptive father was on the point of leaving
      town but that he would be returned within the week. The business that had
      taken him had been again concerned with Atterbury the obstinate. Upon
      another vain endeavor to dissuade the bishop from a scheme his king did
      not approve had Sir Richard journeyed to Rochester. He had had his pains
      for nothing. Atterbury had kept him there, entertaining him, and seeking
      in his turn to engulf the agent in the business that was toward&mdash;business
      which was ultimately to suck down Atterbury and his associates. Sir
      Richard, however, was very firm. And when at last he left Rochester to
      return to town and his adoptive son, a coolness marked the parting of
      those two adherents of the Stuart dynasty.
    </p>
    <p>
      Returned to London&mdash;whence his absence had been marked with alarm by
      Mr. Green&mdash;Sir Richard had sent a message to Mr. Caryll, and the
      latter made haste to answer it in person.
    </p>
    <p>
      His adoptive father received him with open arms, and such a joy in his
      face, such a light in his old eyes as should have gladdened his visitor,
      yet only served sadden him the more. He sighed as Sir Richard thrust him
      back that he might look at him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye're pale, boy,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and ye look thinner.&rdquo; And with that he fell
      to reviling the deed that was the cause of this, Rotherby and the whole
      brood of Ostermore.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let be,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, as he dropped into a chair. &ldquo;Rotherby is
      undergoing his punishment. The town looks on him as a cut-throat who has
      narrowly escaped the gallows. I marvel that he tarries here. An I were he,
      I think I'd travel for a year or two.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What weakness made you spare him when ye had him at the point of your
      sword?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That which made me regret that I had him there; the reflection that he is
      my brother.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard looked at him in some surprise. &ldquo;I thought you of sterner
      stuff, Justin,&rdquo; he said presently, and sighed, passing a long white hand
      across his bony brow. &ldquo;I thought I had reared you to a finer strength. But
      there! What of Ostermore himself?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What of him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you not talked again with him of the matter of going over to King
      James?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To what end, since the chance is lost? His betrayal now would involve the
      betrayal of Atterbury and the others&mdash;for he has been in touch with
      them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Has he though? The bishop said naught of this.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have it from my lord himself&mdash;and I know the man. Were he taken
      they'd wring out of him whatever happened to be in him. He has no
      discretion. Indeed, he's but a clod, too stupid even to be aware of his
      own stupidity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then what is to be done?&rdquo; inquired Sir Richard, frowning.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We'd best get home to France again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And leave matters thus?&rdquo; He considered a moment, and shook his head,
      smiling bitterly. &ldquo;Could that content you, Justin? Could you go as you
      have come&mdash;taking no more than you brought; leaving that man as you
      found him? Could you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll looked at the baronet, and wondered for a moment whether he
      should persevere in the rule of his life and deal quite frankly with him,
      telling him precisely what he felt. Then he realized that he would not be
      understood. He could not combat the fanaticism that was Sir Richard's in
      this matter. If he told him the truth; how he loathed the task; how he
      rejoiced that circumstances had now put it beyond his reach&mdash;all he
      would achieve would be to wound Sir Richard in his tenderest place and to
      no purpose.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is not a matter of what I would,&rdquo; he answered slowly, wearily almost.
      &ldquo;It is a matter of what I must. Here in England is no more to be done.
      Moreover, there's danger for you in lingering, or I'm much mistaken else.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Danger of what?&rdquo; asked Sir Richard, with indifference.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are being spied upon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pho! I am accustomed to it. I have been spied upon all my life.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Like enough. But this time the spies are messengers from the secretary of
      state. I caught a glimpse of them lurking about your doorway&mdash;three
      or four at least&mdash;and as I entered I all but fell over a Mr. Green&mdash;a
      most pertinacious gentleman with whom I have already some acquaintance. He
      is the very man who searched me at Maidstone; he has kept his eye upon me
      ever since, which has not troubled me. But that he should keep an eye on
      you means that your identity is suspected, and if that be so&mdash;well,
      the sooner we are out of England the better for your health.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard shook his head calmly. The fine-featured, lean old face showed
      no sign of uneasiness. &ldquo;A fig for all that!&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I go not thus&mdash;empty-handed
      as I came. After all these years of waiting.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A knock fell upon the door, and Sir Richard's man entered. His face was
      white, his eyes startled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir Richard,&rdquo; he announced, his voice lowered portentously, &ldquo;there are
      some men here who insist upon seeing you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll wheeled in his chair. &ldquo;Surely they did not ask for him by
      name?&rdquo; he inquired in the same low key employed by the valet.
    </p>
    <p>
      The man nodded in silence. Mr. Caryll swore through his teeth. Sir Richard
      rose.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am occupied at present,&rdquo; he said in a calm voice. &ldquo;I can receive
      nobody. Desire to know their business. If it imports, bid them come again
      to-morrow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is over-urgent for that, Sir Richard Everard,&rdquo; came the soft voice of
      Mr. Green, who thrust himself suddenly forward past the servant. Other
      figures were seen moving behind him in the ante-room.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; cried Sir Richard angrily. &ldquo;This is a most insolent intrusion.
      Bentley, show this fellow the door.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Bentley set a hand on Mr. Green's shoulder. Mr. Green nimbly twisted out
      of it, and produced a paper. &ldquo;I have here a warrant for your apprehension,
      Sir Richard, from my Lord Carteret, the secretary of state.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll advanced menacingly upon the tipstaff. Mr. Green stepped back,
      and fell into a defensive attitude, balancing a short but
      formidable-looking life-preserver.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Keep your distance, sir, or 'twill be the worse for you,&rdquo; he threatened.
      &ldquo;Hi!&rdquo; he called. &ldquo;Jerry! Beattie!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Jerry, Beattie, and two other ruffians crowded to the doorway, but
      advanced little beyond the threshold. Mr. Caryll turned to Sir Richard.
      But Mr. Green was the first to speak.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir Richard,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;you'll see that we are but instruments of the
      law. It grieves me profoundly to have you for our object. But ye'll see
      that 'tis no affair of ours, who have but to do the duty that we're
      ordered. Ye'll not give these poor fellows trouble, I trust. Ye'll
      surrender quietly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard's answer was to pull open a drawer in the writing-table, by
      which he was standing, and whip out a pistol.
    </p>
    <p>
      What exactly he may have intended, he was never allowed to announce. An
      explosion shook the room, coming from the doorway, upon which Mr. Caryll
      had turned his shoulder; there was a spurt of flame, and Sir Richard
      collapsed forward onto the table, and slithered thence to the ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jerry, taking fright at the sight of the pistol Sir Richard had produced,
      had forestalled what he supposed to be the baronet's intentions by firing
      instantly upon him, with this disastrous result.
    </p>
    <p>
      Confusion ensued. Mr. Caryll, with no more thought for the tipstaves than
      he had for the smoke in his eyes or the stench of powder in his nostrils,
      sped to Sir Richard. In a passion of grief and anxiety, he raised his
      adoptive father, aided by Bentley, what time Mr. Green was abusing Jerry,
      and Jerry was urging in exculpation how he had acted purely in Mr. Green's
      interest, fearing that Sir Richard might have been on the point of
      shooting him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The spy went forward to Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;I am most profoundly sorry&mdash;&rdquo; he
      began.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Take your sorrow to hell,&rdquo; snarled Mr. Caryll, his face livid, his eyes
      blazing uncannily. &ldquo;I believe ye've murdered him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ecod! the fool shall smart for't if Sir Richard dies,&rdquo; grumbled Mr.
      Green.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What's that to me? You may hang the muckworm, and what shall that profit
      any one? Will it restore me Sir Richard's life? Send one of your ruffians
      for a doctor, man. And bid him hasten.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green obeyed with alacrity. Apart from his regrets at this happening
      for its own sake, it would suit his interests not at all that Sir Richard
      should perish thus. Meanwhile, with the help of the valet, who was
      blubbering like a child&mdash;for he had been with Sir Richard for over
      ten years, and was attached to him as a dog to its master&mdash;they
      opened the wounded man's sodden waistcoat and shirt, and reached the hurt,
      which was on the right side of the breast.
    </p>
    <p>
      Between them they lifted him up gently. Mr. Green would have lent a hand,
      but a snarl from Mr. Caryll drove him back in sheer terror, and alone
      those two bore the baronet into the next room and laid him on his bed.
      Here they did the little that they could; propping him up and stemming the
      bleeding, what time they waited through what seemed a century for the
      doctor's coming, Mr. Caryll mad&mdash;stark mad for the time&mdash;with
      grief and rage.
    </p>
    <p>
      The physician arrived at last&mdash;a small, bird-like man under a great
      gray periwig, with pointed features and little eyes that beamed brightly
      behind horn-rimmed spectacles.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the ante-room he was met by Mr. Green, who in in a few words told him
      what had happened. Then the doctor entered the bedchamber alone, and
      deposing hat and cane, went forward to make his examination.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll and Bentley stood aside to give place to him. He stooped, felt
      the pulse, examined the lips of the wound, estimating the locality and
      direction of the bullet, and his mouth made a clucking sound as of
      deprecation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very deplorable, very deplorable!&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;So hale a man, too,
      despite his years. Very deplorable!&rdquo; He looked up. &ldquo;A Jacobite, ye say he
      is, sir?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will he live?&rdquo; inquired Mr. Caryll shortly, by way of recalling the man
      of medicine to the fact that politics was not the business on which he had
      been summoned.
    </p>
    <p>
      The doctor pursed his lips, and looked at Mr. Caryll over the top of his
      spectacles. &ldquo;He will live&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thank God!&rdquo; breathed Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&mdash;perhaps an hour,&rdquo; the doctor concluded, and never knew how near
      was Mr. Caryll to striking him. He turned again to his patient, producing
      a probe. &ldquo;Very deplorable!&rdquo; Mr. Caryll heard him muttering, parrot-like.
    </p>
    <p>
      A pause ensued, and a silence broken only by occasional cluckings from the
      little doctor, and Mr. Caryll stood by, a prey to an anguish more poignant
      than he had ever known. At last there was a groan from the wounded man.
      Mr. Caryll started forward.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard's eyes were open, and he was looking about him at the doctor,
      the valet, and, lastly, at his adopted son. He smiled faintly at the
      latter. Then the doctor touched Mr. Caryll's sleeve, and drew him aside.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot reach the bullet,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But 'tis no matter for that.&rdquo; He
      shook his head solemnly. &ldquo;The lung has been pierced. A little time now,
      and&mdash;I can do nothing more.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll nodded in silence, his face drawn with pain. With a gesture he
      dismissed the doctor, who went out with Bentley.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the valet returned, Mr. Caryll was on his knees beside the bed, Sir
      Richard's hand in his, and Sir Richard was speaking in a feeble, hoarse
      voice&mdash;gasping and coughing at intervals.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don't&mdash;don't grieve, Justin,&rdquo; he was saying. &ldquo;I am an old man. My
      time must have been very near. I&mdash;I am glad that it is thus. It is
      much better than if they had taken me. They'd ha' shown me no mercy. 'Tis
      swifter thus, and&mdash;and easier.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Silently Justin wrung the hand he held.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You'll miss me a little, Justin,&rdquo; the old man resumed presently. &ldquo;We have
      been good friends, lad&mdash;good friends for thirty years.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Father!&rdquo; Justin cried, a sob in his voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Richard smiled. &ldquo;I would I were your father in more than name, Justin.
      Hast been a good son to me&mdash;no son could have been more than you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Bentley drew nigh with a long glass containing a cordial the doctor had
      advised. Sir Richard drank avidly, and sighed content when he returned the
      glass. &ldquo;How long yet, Justin?&rdquo; he inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not long, father,&rdquo; was the gloomy answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is well. I am content. I am happy, Justin. Believe me, I am happy.
      What has my life been? Dissipated in the pursuit of a phantom.&rdquo; He spoke
      musingly, critically calm, as one who already upon the brink of
      dissolution takes already but an impersonal interest in the course he has
      run in life.
    </p>
    <p>
      Judging so, his judgment was clearer than it had yet been; it grew sane,
      and was freed at last from the hackles of fanaticism; and there was
      something that he saw in its true proportions. He sighed heavily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This is a judgment upon me,&rdquo; he said presently. He turned his great eyes
      full upon Justin, and their dance was infinitely wistful. &ldquo;Do you
      remember, Justin, that night at your lodging&mdash;that first night on
      which we talked here in London of the thing you were come to do&mdash;the
      thing to which I urged you? Do you recall how you upbraided me for having
      set you a task that was unworthy and revolting?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I remember,&rdquo; answered Justin, with an inward shudder, fearful of what
      might follow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, you were right, Justin; right, and I was entirely wrong&mdash;wickedly
      wrong. I should have left vengeance to God. He is wreaking it. Ostermore's
      whole life has been a punishment; his end will be a punishment. I
      understand it now. We do no wrong in life, Justin, for which in this same
      life payment is not exacted. Ostermore has been paying. I should have been
      content with that. After all, he is your father in the flesh, and it was
      not for you to raise your hand against him. 'Tis what you have felt, and I
      am glad you should have felt it, for it proves your worthiness. Can you
      forgive me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, nay, father! Speak not of forgiveness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have sore need of it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, but not from me; not from me! What is there I should forgive? There
      is a debt between us I had hoped to repay some day when you were grown
      truly old. I had looked to tend you in your old age, to be the comfort of
      it, and the support that you were to my infancy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It had been sweet, Justin,&rdquo; sighed Sir Richard, smiling upon his adopted
      son, and putting forth an unsteady hand to stroke the white, drawn face.
      &ldquo;It had been sweet. It is sweet to hear that you so proposed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A shudder convulsed him. He sank back coughing, and there was froth and
      blood on his lips. Reverently Justin wiped them, and signed for the
      cordial to Bentley, who stood, numbed, in the background.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is the end,&rdquo; said Sir Richard feebly. &ldquo;God has been good to me beyond
      my deserts, and this is a crowning mercy. Consider, Justin, it might have
      been the gibbet and a crowd&mdash;instead of this snug bed, and you and
      Bentley here&mdash;just two good friends.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Bentley, losing all self-control at this mention of himself, sank weeping
      to his knees. Sir Richard put out a hand, and touched his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will serve Mr. Caryll, Bentley. You'll find him a good master if you
      are as good a servant to him as you have been to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Then suddenly he made the quick movement of one who bethinks himself of
      something. He waved Bentley away.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is a case in the drawer yonder,&rdquo; he said, when the servant was
      beyond earshot. &ldquo;It contains papers that concern you&mdash;certificates of
      your birth and of your mothers death. I brought them with me as proofs of
      your identity, against the time when the hour of vengeance upon Ostermore
      should strike. They twill serve no purpose now. Burn them. They are best
      destroyed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll nodded understanding, and on Sir Richard's part there followed
      another fight for breath, another attack of coughing, during which Bentley
      instinctively approached again.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the paroxysm was past, Sir Richard turned once more to Justin, who
      was holding him in his arms, upright, to ease his breathing. &ldquo;Be good to
      Bentley,&rdquo; he murmured, his voice very faint and exhausted now. &ldquo;You are my
      heir, Justin. All that I have&mdash;I set all in order ere I left Paris.
      It&mdash;it is growing dark. You have not snuffed the candles, Bentley.
      They are burning very low.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly he started forward, held as he was in Justin's arms. He
      half-raised his arms, holding out his hands toward the foot of the bed.
      His eyes dilated; the expression of his livid face grew first surprised,
      then joyous&mdash;beatific. &ldquo;Antoinette!&rdquo; he cried in a loud voice. &ldquo;Antoi&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And thus, abruptly, but in great happiness, he passed.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVII. AMID THE GRAVES
    </h2>
    <p>
      What time Sir Richard had been dying in the inner room, Mr. Green and two
      of his acolytes had improved the occasion by making a thorough search in
      Sir Richard's writing-table and a thorough investigation of every scrap of
      paper found there. From which you will understand how much Mr. Green was a
      gentleman who set business above every other consideration.
    </p>
    <p>
      The man who had shot Sir Richard had been ordered by Mr. Green to take
      himself off, and had been urged to go down on his knees, for once in a
      way, and pray Heaven that his rashness might not bring him to the gallows
      as he so richly deserved.
    </p>
    <p>
      His fourth myrmidon Mr. Green had dispatched with a note to my Lord
      Rotherby, and it was entirely upon the answer he should receive that it
      must depend whether he proceeded or not, forthwith, to the apprehension of
      Mr. Caryll. Meanwhile the search went on amain, and was extended presently
      to the very bedroom where the dead Sir Richard lay. Every nook and cranny
      was ransacked; the very mattress under the dead man was removed, and
      investigated, and even Mr. Caryll and Bentley had to submit to being
      searched. But it all proved fruitless. Not a line of treasonable matter
      was to be found anywhere. To the certificates upon Mr. Caryll the searcher
      made the mistake of paying but little heed in view of their nature.
    </p>
    <p>
      But if there were no proofs of plots and treasonable dealings, there was,
      at least, abundant proof of Sir Richard's identity, and Mr. Green
      appropriated these against any awkward inquiries touching the manner in
      which the baronet had met his death.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of such inquiries, however, there were none. It was formally sworn to Lord
      Carteret by Green and his men that the secretary's messenger, Jerry&mdash;the
      fellow owned no surname&mdash;had shot Sir Richard in self-defence, when
      Sir Richard had produced firearms upon being arrested on a charge of high
      treason, for which they held the secretary's own warrant.
    </p>
    <p>
      At first Lord Carteret considered it a thousand pities that they should
      not have contrived matters better so as to take Sir Richard alive; but
      upon reflection he was careful not to exaggerate to himself the loss
      occasioned by his death, for Sir Richard, after all, was a notoriously
      stubborn man, not in the least likely to have made any avowals worth
      having. So that his trial, whilst probably resulting sterile of such
      results as the government could desire, would have given publicity to the
      matter of a plot that was hatching; and such publicity at a time of so
      much unrest was the last thing the government desired. Where Jacobitism
      was concerned, Lord Carteret had the wise discretion to proceed with the
      extremest caution. Publicity might serve to fan the smouldering embers
      into a blaze, whereas it was his cunning aim quietly to stifle them as he
      came upon them.
    </p>
    <p>
      So, upon the whole, he was by no means sure but that Jerry had done the
      state the best possible service in disposing thus summarily of that
      notorious Jacobite agent, Sir Richard Everard. And his lordship saw to it
      that there was no inquiry and that nothing further was heard of the
      matter.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for Lord Rotherby, had the affair transpired twenty-four hours earlier,
      he would certainly have returned Mr. Green a message to effect the arrest
      of Mr. Caryll upon suspicion. But as it chanced, he had that very
      afternoon received a visit from his mother, who came in great excitement
      to inform him that she had forced from Lord Ostermore an acknowledgment
      that he was plotting with Mr. Caryll to go over to King James.
    </p>
    <p>
      So, before they could move further against Mr. Caryll, it behooved them to
      ascertain precisely to what extent Lord Ostermore might not be
      incriminated, as otherwise the arrest of Caryll might lead to exposures
      that would ruin the earl more thoroughly than could any South Sea bubble
      revelations. Thus her ladyship to her son. He turned upon her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, madam,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;these be the very arguments I used t'other day
      when we talked of this; and all you answered me then was to call me a
      dull-witted clod, for not seeing how the thing might be done without
      involving my lord.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tcha!&rdquo; snapped her ladyship, beating her knuckles impatiently with her
      fan. &ldquo;A dull-witted clod did I call you? 'Twas flattery&mdash;sheer
      flattery; for I think ye're something worse. Fool, can ye not see the
      difference that lies betwixt your disclosing a plot to the secretary of
      state, and causing this Caryll to disclose it&mdash;as might happen if he
      were seized? First discover the plot&mdash;find out in what it may
      consist, and then go to Lord Carteret to make your terms.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He looked at her, out of temper by her rebuke. &ldquo;I may be as dull as your
      ladyship says&mdash;but I do not see in what the position now is different
      from what it was.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It isn't different&mdash;but we thought it was different,&rdquo; she explained
      impatiently. &ldquo;We assumed that your father would not have betrayed himself,
      counting upon his characteristic caution. But it seems we are mistook. He
      has betrayed himself to Caryll. And before we can move in this matter, we
      must have proofs of a plot to lay before the secretary of state.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Lord Rotherby understood, and accounted himself between Scylla and
      Charybdis, and when that evening Green's messenger found him, he gnashed
      his teeth in rage at having to allow this chance to pass, at being forced
      to temporize until he should be less parlously situated. He returned Mr.
      Green an urgent message to take no steps concerning Mr. Caryll until they
      should have concerted together.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green was relieved. Mr. Caryll arrested might stir up matters against
      the slayer of Sir Richard, and this was a business which Mr. Green had
      prevision enough to see his master, Lord Carteret, would prefer should not
      be stirred up. He had a notion, for the rest, that if Mr. Caryll were left
      to go his ways, he would not be likely to give trouble touching that same
      matter. And he was right in this. Before his overwhelming sense of loss,
      Mr. Caryll had few thoughts to bestow upon the manner in which that loss
      had been sustained. Moreover, if he had a quarrel with any one on that
      account, it was with the government whose representative had issued the
      warrant for Sir Richard's arrest, and no more with the wretched tipstaff
      who had fired the pistol than with the pistol itself. Both alike were but
      instruments, of slightly different degrees of insensibility.
    </p>
    <p>
      For twenty-four hours Mr. Caryll's grief was overwhelming in its
      poignancy. His sense of solitude was awful. Gone was the only living man
      who had stood to him for kith and kin. He was left alone in the world;
      utterly alone. That was the selfishness of his sorrow&mdash;the
      consideration of Sir Richard's death as it concerned himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Presently an alloy of consolation was supplied by the reflection of Sir
      Richard's own case&mdash;as Sir Richard himself had stated it upon his
      deathbed. His life had not been happy; it had been poisoned by a
      monomania, which, like a worm in the bud, had consumed the sweetness of
      his existence. Sir Richard was at rest. And since he had been discovered,
      that shot was, indeed, the most merciful end that could have been measured
      out to him. The alternative might have been the gibbet and the gaping
      crowd, and a moral torture to precede the end. Better&mdash;a thousand
      times better&mdash;as it was.
    </p>
    <p>
      So much did all this weigh with him that when on the following Monday he
      accompanied the body to its grave, he found his erstwhile passionate grief
      succeeded by an odd thankfulness that things were as they were, although
      it must be confessed that a pang of returning anguish smote him when he
      heard the earth clattering down upon the wooden box that held all that
      remained of the man who had been father, mother, brother and all else to
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      He turned away at last, and was leaving the graveyard, when some one
      touched him on the arm. It was a timid touch. He turned sharply, and found
      himself looking into the sweet face of Hortensia Winthrop, wondering how
      came she there. She wore a long, dark cloak and hood, but her veil was
      turned back. A chair was waiting not fifty paces from them along the
      churchyard wall.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I came but to tell you how much I feel for you in this great loss,&rdquo; she
      said.
    </p>
    <p>
      He looked at her in amazement. &ldquo;How did you know?&rdquo; he asked her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I guessed,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;I heard that you were with him at the end, and I
      caught stray words from her ladyship of what had passed. Lord Rotherby had
      the information from the tipstaff who went to arrest Sir Richard Everard.
      I guessed he was your&mdash;your foster-father, as you called him; and I
      came to tell you how deeply I sorrow for you in your sorrow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He caught her hands in his and bore them to his lips, reckless of who
      might see the act. &ldquo;Ah, this is sweet and kind in you,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      She drew him back into the churchyard again. Along the wall there was an
      avenue of limes&mdash;a cool and pleasant walk wherein idlers lounged on
      Sundays in summer after service. Thither she drew him. He went almost
      mechanically. Her sympathy stirred his sorrow again, as sympathy so often
      does.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have buried my heart yonder, I think,&rdquo; said he, with a wave of his hand
      towards that spot amid the graves where the men were toiling with their
      shovels. &ldquo;He was the only living being that loved me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, surely not,&rdquo; said she, sorrow rather than reproach in her gentle
      voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed, yes. Mine is a selfish grief. It is for myself that I sorrow, for
      myself and my own loneliness. It is thus with all of us. When we argue
      that we weep the dead, it would be more true to say that we bewail the
      living. For him&mdash;it is better as it is. No doubt it is better so for
      most men, when all is said, and we do wrong to weep their passing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not talk so,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;It hurts.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay&mdash;it is the way of truth to hurt, which is why, hating pain, we
      shun truth so often.&rdquo; He sighed. &ldquo;But, oh, it was good in you to seek me,
      to bring me word with your own lips of your sweet sympathy. If aught could
      lighten the gloom of my sorrow, surely it is that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They stepped along in silence until they came to the end of the avenue,
      and turned. It was no idle silence: the silence of two beings who have
      naught to say. It was a grave, portentous silence, occasioned by the
      unutterable much in the mind of one, and by the other's apprehension of
      it. At last she spoke, to ask him what he meant to do.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall return to France,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It had perhaps been better had I
      never crossed to England.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot think so,&rdquo; she said, simply, frankly and with no touch of a
      coquetry that had been harshly at discord with time and place.
    </p>
    <p>
      He shot her a swift, sidelong glance; then stopped, and turned. &ldquo;I am glad
      on't,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;'Twill make my going the easier.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I mean not that,&rdquo; she cried, and held out her hands to him. &ldquo;I meant not
      what you think&mdash;you know, you know what 'twas I meant. You know&mdash;you
      must&mdash;what impulse brought me to you in this hour, when I knew you
      must need comfort. And in return how cruel, were you not&mdash;to tell me
      that yonder lay buried the only living being that&mdash;that loved you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His fingers were clenched upon her arm. &ldquo;Don't&mdash;don't!&rdquo; he implored
      hoarsely, a strange fire in his eyes, a hectic flush on either cheek.
      &ldquo;Don't! Or I'll forget what I am, and take advantage of this midsummer
      folly that is upon you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is it no more than folly, Justin?&rdquo; she asked him, brown eyes looking up
      into gray-green.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, something more&mdash;stark madness. All great emotions are. It will
      pass, and you will be thankful that I was man enough&mdash;strong enough&mdash;to
      allow it the chance of passing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She hung her head, shaking it sorrowfully. Then very softly: &ldquo;Is it no
      more than the matter of&mdash;of that, that stands between us?&rdquo; she
      inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No more than that,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;and yet more than enough. I have no
      name to offer any woman.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A name?&rdquo; she echoed scornfully. &ldquo;What store do you think I lay by that?
      When you talk so, you obey some foolish prejudice; no more.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Obedience to prejudices is the whole art of living,&rdquo; he answered,
      sighing.
    </p>
    <p>
      She made a gesture of impatience, and went on. &ldquo;Justin, you said you loved
      me; and when you said so much, you gave me the right&mdash;or so I
      understood it&mdash;to speak to you as I am doing now. You are alone in
      the world, without kith or kin. The only one you had&mdash;the one who
      represented all for you&mdash;lies buried there. Would you return thus,
      lonely and alone, to France?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, now I understand!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Now I understand. Pity is the impulse
      that has urged you&mdash;pity for my loneliness, is't not, Hortensia?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll not deny that without the pity there might not have been the
      courage. Why should I&mdash;since it is a pity that gives you no offense,
      a pity that is rooted firmly in&mdash;in love for you, my Justin?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He set his hands upon her shoulders, and with glowing eyes regarded her.
      &ldquo;Ah, sweet!&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;you make me very, very proud.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And then his arms dropped again limply to his sides. He sighed, and shook
      his head drearily. &ldquo;And yet&mdash;reflect. When I come to beg your hand in
      marriage of your guardian, what shall I answer him of the questions he
      will ask me of myself&mdash;touching my family, my parentage and all the
      rest that he will crave to know?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She observed that he was very white again. &ldquo;Need you enter into that? A
      man is himself; not his father or his family.&rdquo; And then she checked. &ldquo;You
      make me plead too much,&rdquo; she said, a crimson flood in her fair cheeks.
      &ldquo;I'll say no more than I have said. Already have I said more than I
      intended. And you have wanted mercy that you could drive me to it. You
      know my mind&mdash;my&mdash;my inmost heart. You know that I care nothing
      for your namelessness. It is yours to decide what you will do. Come, now;
      my chair is staying for me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He bowed; he sought again to convey some sense of his appreciation of her
      great nobility; then led her through the gate and to her waiting chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Whatever I may decide, Hortensia&rdquo; was the last thing he said to her, &ldquo;and
      I shall decide as I account best for you, rather than for myself; and for
      myself there needs no thought or hesitation&mdash;whatever I may decide,
      believe me when I say from my soul that all my life shall be the sweeter
      for this hour.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVIII. THE GHOST OF THE PAST
    </h2>
    <p>
      Temptation had seized Mr. Caryll in a throttling grip, and for two whole
      days he kept the house, shunning all company and wrestling with that same
      Temptation. In the end he took a whimsical resolve, entirely worthy of
      himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      He would go to Lord Ostermore formally to ask in marriage the hand of
      Mistress Winthrop, and he would be entirely frank with the earl, stating
      his exact condition, but suppressing the names of his parents.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was greatly taken with the notion. It would create a situation ironical
      beyond any, grotesque beyond belief; and its development should be
      stupendously interesting. It attracted him irresistibly. That he should
      leave it to his own father to say whether a man born as he was born might
      aspire to marry his father's ward, had in it something that savored of
      tragi-comedy. It was a pretty problem, that once set could not be left
      unsolved by a man of Mr. Caryll's temperament. And, indeed, no sooner was
      the idea conceived than it quickened into a resolve upon which he set out
      to act.
    </p>
    <p>
      He bade Leduc call a chair, and, dressed in mourning, but with his
      habitual care, he had himself carried to Lincoln's Inn Fields.
    </p>
    <p>
      Engrossed as he was in his own thoughts, he paid little heed to the hum of
      excitement about the threshold of Stretton House. Within the railed
      enclosure that fronted the mansion two coaches were drawn up, and a little
      knot of idlers stood by one of these in busy gossip.
    </p>
    <p>
      Paying no attention to them, Mr. Caryll mounted the steps, nor noticed the
      gravity of the porter's countenance as he passed within.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the hall he found a little flock of servants gathered together, and
      muttering among themselves like conspirators in a tragedy; and so
      engrossed that they paid no heed to him as he advanced, nor until he had
      tapped one of them on the shoulder with his cane&mdash;and tapped him a
      thought peremptorily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How now?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Does no one wait here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They fell apart a little, and stood at attention, with something curious
      in their bearing, one and all.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My service to his lordship, and say that I desire to speak with him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They looked at one another in hesitation for a moment; then Humphries, the
      butler, came forward. &ldquo;Your honor'll not have heard the news?&rdquo; said he, a
      solemn gravity in face and tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;News?&rdquo; quoth Mr. Caryll sharply, intrigued by so much show of mystery.
      &ldquo;What news?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His lordship is very ill, sir. He had a seizure this morning when they
      came for him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A seizure?&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll. And then: &ldquo;When they came for him?&rdquo; he
      echoed, struck by something odd in the man's utterance of those five
      words. &ldquo;When who came for him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The messengers, sir,&rdquo; replied the butler dejectedly. &ldquo;Has your honor not
      heard?&rdquo; And seeing the blank look on Mr. Caryll's face, he proceeded
      without waiting for an answer: &ldquo;His lordship was impeached yesterday by
      his Grace of Wharton on a matter concerning the South Sea Company, and
      Lord Carteret&mdash;the secretary of state, your honor&mdash;sent this
      morning to arrest him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Sdeath!&rdquo; ejaculated Mr. Caryll in his surprise, a surprise that was
      tempered with some dismay. &ldquo;And he had a seizure, ye say?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;An apoplexy, your honor. The doctors are with him now; Sir James,
      himself, is here. They're cupping him&mdash;so I hear from Mr. Tom, his
      lordship's man. I'd ha' thought your honor would ha' heard. 'Tis town
      talk, they say.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll would have found it difficult to have said exactly what
      impression this news made upon him. In the main, however, he feared it
      left him cold.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis very regrettable,&rdquo; said he. He fell thoughtful a moment. Then: &ldquo;Will
      you send word to Mistress Winthrop that I am here, and would speak with
      her, Humphries?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Humphries conducted Mr. Caryll to the little white and gold
      withdrawing-room that was Hortensia's. There, in the little time that he
      waited, he revolved the situation as it now stood, and the temptation that
      had been with him for the past three days rose up now with a greater
      vigor. Should Lord Ostermore die, Temptation argued, he need no longer
      hesitate. Hortensia would be as much alone in the world as he was; worse,
      for life at Stretton House with her ladyship&mdash;from which even in the
      earl's lifetime she had been led to attempt to escape&mdash;must be a
      thing unbearable, and what alternative could he suggest but that she
      should become his wife?
    </p>
    <p>
      She came to him presently, white-faced and with startled eyes. As she took
      his outstretched hands, she attempted a smile. &ldquo;It is kind in you to come
      to me at such a time,&rdquo; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You mistake,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;as is but natural. I had not heard what had
      befallen. I came to ask your hand in marriage of his lordship.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Some faint color tinged her cheeks. &ldquo;You had decided, then?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I had decided that his lordship must decide,&rdquo; he answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now it seems we must decide for ourselves if his lordship dies.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her mind swung to the graver matter. &ldquo;Sir James has every hope,&rdquo; she said,
      and added miserably: &ldquo;I know not which to pray for, his recovery or his
      death.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because if he survive it may be for worse. The secretary's agent is even
      now seeking evidence against him among his own papers. He is in the
      library at this moment, going through his lordship's desk.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll started. That mention of Ostermore's desk brought vividly
      before his mind the recollection of the secret drawer wherein the earl had
      locked away the letter he had received from King James and his own reply,
      all packed as it was, with treason. If that drawer were discovered, and
      those papers found, then was Ostermore lost indeed, and did he survive
      this apoplexy, it would be to surrender his head upon the scaffold.
    </p>
    <p>
      A moment he considered this, dispassionately. Then it broke upon his mind
      that were this to happen, Ostermore's blood would indirectly be upon his
      own head, since for the purpose of betrayal had he sought him out with
      that letter from the exiled Stuart&mdash;which, be it remembered, King
      James himself had no longer wished delivered.
    </p>
    <p>
      It turned him cold with horror. He could not remain idle and let matters
      run their course. He must avert these discoveries if it lay within his
      power to do so, or else he must submit to a lifetime of remorse should
      Ostermore survive to be attainted of treason. He had made an end&mdash;a
      definite end&mdash;long since of his intention of working Ostermore's
      ruin; he could not stand by now and see that ruin wrought as a result of
      the little that already he had done towards encompassing it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His papers must be saved,&rdquo; he said shortly. &ldquo;I'll go to the library at
      once.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But the secretary's agent is there already,&rdquo; she repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis no matter for that,&rdquo; said he, moving towards the door. &ldquo;His desk
      contains that which will cost him his head if discovered. I know it,&rdquo; he
      assured her, and left her cold with fear.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, then, you&mdash;you?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Is it true that you are a
      Jacobite?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;True enough,&rdquo; he answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lord Rotherby knows it,&rdquo; she informed him. &ldquo;He told me it was so. If&mdash;if
      you interfere in this, it&mdash;it may mean your ruin.&rdquo; She came to him
      swiftly, a great fear written or her winsome face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sh,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I am not concerned to think of that at present. If Lord
      Ostermore perishes through his connection with the cause, it will mean
      worse than ruin for me&mdash;though not the ruin that you are thinking
      of.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But what can you do?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That I go to learn.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will come with you, then.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He hesitated a moment, looking at her; then he opened the door, and held
      it for her, following after. He led the way across the hall to the
      library, and they went in together.
    </p>
    <p>
      Lord Ostermore's secretaire stood open, and leaning over it, his back
      towards them was a short, stiffly-built man in a snuff-colored coat. He
      turned at the sound of the closing door, and revealed the pleasant, chubby
      face of Mr. Green.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;Mr. Green again. I declare, sir, ye've the gift of
      ubiquity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The spy stood up to regard him, and for all that his voice inclined to
      sharpness when he spoke, the habitual grin sat like a mask upon the mobile
      features. &ldquo;What d'ye seek here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tis what I was about to ask you&mdash;what you are seeking; for that you
      seek is plain. I thought perhaps I might assist you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I nothing doubt you could,&rdquo; answered Mr. Green with a fresh leer, that
      contained this time something ironic. &ldquo;I nothing doubt it! But by your
      leave, I'll pursue my quest without your assistance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll continued, nevertheless, to advance towards him, Mistress
      Hortensia remaining in the background, a quiet spectator, betraying
      nothing of the anxieties by which she was being racked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye're mighty curt this morning, Mr. Green,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, very airy.
      &ldquo;Ye're mighty curt, and ye're entirely wrong so to be. You might find me a
      very useful friend.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I've found you so before,&rdquo; said Mr. Green sourly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye've a nice sense of humor,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, head on one side,
      contemplating the spy with admiration in his glance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And a nicer sense of a Jacobite,&rdquo; answered Mr. Green.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He will have the last word, you perceive,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll to Hortensia.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Harkee, Mr. Caryll,&rdquo; quoth Mr. Green, quite grimly now. &ldquo;I'd ha' laid you
      by the heels a month or more ago, but for certain friends o' mine who have
      other ends to serve.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir, what you tell me shocks me. It shakes the very foundations of my
      faith in human nature. I have esteemed you an honest man, Mr. Green, and
      it seems&mdash;on your own confessing&mdash;that ye're no better than a
      damned rogue who neglects his duty to the state. I've a mind to see Lord
      Carteret, and tell him the truth of the matter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye shall have an opportunity before long, ecod!&rdquo; said Mr. Green.
      &ldquo;Good-morning to you! I've work to do.&rdquo; And he turned back to the desk.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis wasted labor,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, producing his snuff-box, and tapping
      it. &ldquo;You might seek from now till the crack of doom, and not find what ye
      seek&mdash;not though you hack the desk to pieces. It has a secret, Mr.
      Green. I'll make a bargain with you for that secret.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green turned again, and his shrewd, bright eyes scanned more closely
      that lean face, whose keenness was all dissembled now in an easy, languid
      smile. &ldquo;A bargain?&rdquo; grumbled the spy. &ldquo;I' faith, then, the secret's
      worthless.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye think that? Pho! 'Tis not like your usual wit, Mr. Green. The letter
      that I carried into England, and that you were at such splendid pains to
      find at Maidstone, is in here.&rdquo; And he tapped the veneered top of the
      secretaire with his forefinger. &ldquo;But ye'll not find it without my help. It
      is concealed as effectively&mdash;as effectively as it was upon my person
      when ye searched me. Now, sir, will ye treat with me? It'll save you a
      world of labor.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green still looked at him. He licked his lips thoughtfully, cat-like.
      &ldquo;What terms d'ye make?&rdquo; he inquired, but his tone was very cold. His busy
      brain was endeavoring to conjecture what exactly might be Mr. Caryll's
      object in this frankness which Mr. Green was not fool enough to believe
      sincere.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;That is more the man I know.&rdquo; He tapped his
      snuff-box, and in that moment memory rather than inspiration showed him
      the thing he needed. &ldquo;Did ye ever see 'The Constant Couple,' Mr. Green?&rdquo;
       he inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'The Constant Couple'?&rdquo; echoed Mr. Green, and though mystified, he must
      air his little jest. &ldquo;I never saw any couple that was constant&mdash;leastways,
      not for long.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha! Ye're a roguish wag! But 'The Constant Couple' I mean is a play.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, a play! Ay, I mind me I saw it some years ago, when 'twas first
      acted. But what has that to do with&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye'll understand in a moment,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, with a smile the spy did
      not relish. &ldquo;D'ye recall a ruse of Sir Harry Wildairs to rid himself of
      the company of an intrusive old fool who was not wanted? D'ye remember
      what 'twas he did?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green, his head slightly on one side, was watching Mr. Caryll very
      closely, and not without anxiety. &ldquo;I don't,&rdquo; said he, and dropped a hand
      to the pocket where a pistol lay, that he might be prepared for
      emergencies. &ldquo;What did he do?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll show you,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;He did this.&rdquo; And with a swift upward
      movement, he emptied his snuff-box full into the face of Mr. Green.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green leapt back, with a scream of pain, hands to his eyes, and quite
      unconsciously set himself to play to the life the part of the intrusive
      old fellow in the comedy. Dancing wildly about the room, his eyes smarting
      and burning so that he could not open them, he bellowed of hell-fire and
      other hot things of which he was being so intensely reminded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Twill pass,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll consoled him. &ldquo;A little water, and all will be
      well with you.&rdquo; He stepped to the door as he spoke, and flung it open.
      &ldquo;Ho, there! Who waits?&rdquo; he called.
    </p>
    <p>
      Two or three footmen sprang to answer him. He took Mr. Green, still blind
      and vociferous, by the shoulders, and thrust him into their care. &ldquo;This
      gentleman has had a most unfortunate accident. Get him water to wash his
      eyes&mdash;warm water. So! Take him. 'Twill pass, Mr. Green. 'Twill soon
      pass, I assure you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He shut the door upon them, locked it, and turned to Hortensia, smiling
      grimly. Then he crossed quickly to the desk, and Hortensia followed him.
      He sat down, and pulled out bodily the bottom drawer on the right inside
      of the upper part of the desk, as he had seen Lord Ostermore do that day,
      a little over a week ago. He thrust his hand into the opening, and felt
      along the sides for some moments in vain. He went over the ground again
      slowly, inch by inch, exerting constant pressure, until he was suddenly
      rewarded by a click. The small trap disclosed itself. He pulled it up, and
      took some papers from the recess. He spread them before him. They were the
      documents he sought&mdash;the king's letter to Ostermore, and Ostermore's
      reply, signed and ready for dispatch. &ldquo;These must be burnt,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and
      burnt at once, for that fellow Green may return, or he may send others.
      Call Humphries. Get a taper from him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She sped to the door, and did his bidding. Then she returned. She was
      plainly agitated. &ldquo;You must go at once,&rdquo; she said, imploringly. &ldquo;You must
      return to France without an instant's delay.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, indeed, it would mean my ruin to remain now,&rdquo; he admitted. &ldquo;And yet&mdash;&rdquo;
       He held out his hands to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will follow you,&rdquo; she promised him. &ldquo;I will follow you as soon as his
      lordship is recovered, or&mdash;or at peace.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have well considered, sweetheart?&rdquo; he asked her, holding her to him,
      and looking down into her gentle eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is no happiness for me apart from you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Again his scruples took him. &ldquo;Tell Lord Ostermore&mdash;tell him all,&rdquo; he
      begged her. &ldquo;Be guided by him. His decision for you will represent the
      decision of the world.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is the world to me? You are the world to me,&rdquo; she cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a rap upon the door. He put her from him, and went to open. It
      was Humphries with a lighted taper. He took it, thanked the man with a
      word, and shut the door in his face, ignoring the fact that the fellow was
      attempting to tell him something.
    </p>
    <p>
      He returned to the desk. &ldquo;Let us make quite sure that this is all,&rdquo; he
      said, and held the taper so that the light shone into the recess. It
      seemed empty at first; then, as the light penetrated farther, he saw
      something that showed white at the back of the cachette. He thrust in his
      hand, and drew out a small package bound with a ribbon that once might
      have been green but was faded now to yellow. He set it on the desk, and
      returned to his search. There was nothing else. The recess was empty. He
      closed the trap and replaced the drawer. Then he sat down again, the taper
      at his elbow, Mistress Winthrop looking on, facing him across the top of
      the secretaire, and he took up the package.
    </p>
    <p>
      The ribbon came away easily, and some half-dozen sheets fell out and
      scattered upon the desk. They gave out a curious perfume, half of age,
      half of some essence with which years ago they had been imbued. Something
      took Mr. Caryll in the throat, and he could never explain whether it was
      that perfume or some premonitory emotion, some prophetic apprehension of
      what he was about to see.
    </p>
    <p>
      He opened the first of those folded sheets, and found it to be a letter
      written in French and in an ink that had paled to yellow with the years
      that were gone since it had been penned. The fine, pointed writing was
      curiously familiar to Mr. Caryll. He looked at the signature at the bottom
      of the page. It swam before his eyes&mdash;ANTOINETTE-&ldquo;Celle qui l'adore,
      Antoinette,&rdquo; he read, and the whole world seemed blotted out for him; all
      consciousness, his whole being, his every sense, seemed concentrated into
      his eyes as they gazed upon that relic of a deluded woman's dream.
    </p>
    <p>
      He did not read. It was not for him to commit the sacrilege of reading
      what that girl who had been his mother had written thirty years ago to the
      man she loved&mdash;the man who had proved false as hell.
    </p>
    <p>
      He turned the other letters over; opened them one by one, to make sure
      that they were of the same nature as the first, and what time he did so he
      found himself speculating upon the strangeness of Ostermore's having so
      treasured them. Perhaps he had thrust them into that secret recess, and
      there forgotten them; 'twas an explanation that sorted better with what
      Mr. Caryll knew of his father, than the supposition that so dull and
      practical and self-centered a nature could have been irradiated by a gleam
      of such tenderness as the hoarding of those letters might have argued.
    </p>
    <p>
      He continued to turn them over, half-mechanically, forgetful of the urgent
      need to burn the treasonable documents he had secured, forgetful of
      everything, even Hortensia's presence. And meantime she watched him in
      silence, marvelling at this delay, and still more at the gray look that
      had crept into his face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What have you found?&rdquo; she asked at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A ghost,&rdquo; he answered, and his voice had a strained, metallic ring. He
      even vented an odd laugh. &ldquo;A bundle of old love-letters.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;From her ladyship?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Her ladyship?&rdquo; He looked up, an expression on his face which seemed to
      show that he could not at the moment think who her ladyship might be. Then
      as the picture of that bedaubed, bedizened and harsh-featured Jezebel
      arose in his mind to stand beside the sweet girl&mdash;image of his mother&mdash;as
      he knew her from the portrait that hung at Maligny&mdash;he laughed again.
      &ldquo;No, not from her ladyship,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;From a woman who loved him years
      ago.&rdquo; And he turned to the seventh and last of those poor ghosts-the
      seventh, a fateful number.
    </p>
    <p>
      He spread it before him; frowned down on it a moment with a sharp hiss of
      indrawn breath. Then he twisted oddly on his chair, and sat bolt upright,
      staring straight before him with unseeing eyes. Presently he passed a hand
      across his brow, and made a queer sound in his throat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; she asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      But he did not answer; he was staring at the paper again. A while he sat
      thus; then with swift fevered fingers he took up once more the other
      letters. He unfolded one, and began to read. A few lines he read, and then&mdash;&ldquo;O
      God!&rdquo; he cried, and flung out his arms under stress of 'his emotions. One
      of them caught the taper that stood upon the desk; and swept it,
      extinguished, to the floor. He never heeded it, never gave a thought to
      the purpose for which it had been fetched, a purpose not yet served. He
      rose. He was white as the dead are white, and she observed that he was
      trembling. He took up the bundle of old letters, and thrust them into an
      inside pocket of his coat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What are you doing?&rdquo; she cried, seeking at last to arouse him from the
      spell under which he appeared to have fallen. &ldquo;Those letters&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I must see Lord Ostermore,&rdquo; he answered wildly, and made for the door,
      reeling like a drunkard in his walk.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIX. THE END OF LORD OSTERMORE
    </h2>
    <p>
      In the ante-room communicating with Lord Ostermore's bedroom the countess
      was in consultation with Rotherby, who had been summoned by his mother
      when my lord was stricken.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship occupied the window-seat; Rotherby stood beside her, leaning
      slightly against the frame of the open window. Their conversation was
      earnest and conducted in a low key, and one would naturally have
      conjectured that it had for subject the dangerous condition of the earl.
      And so it had&mdash;the dangerous condition of the earl's political, if
      not physical, affairs. To her ladyship and her son, the matter of their
      own future was of greater gravity than the matter of whether his lordship
      lived or died&mdash;which, whatever it may be, is not unreasonable. Since
      the impeachment of my lord and the coming of the messengers to arrest him,
      the danger of ruin and beggary were become more imminent&mdash;indeed,
      they impended, and measures must be concerted to avert these evils. By
      comparison with that, the earl's succumbing or surviving was a trivial
      matter; and the concern they had manifested in Sir James' news&mdash;when
      the important, well-nourished physician who had bled his lordship came to
      inform them that there was hope&mdash;was outward only, and assumed for
      pure decorum's sake.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Whether he lives or dies,&rdquo; said the viscount pertinently, after the
      doctor had departed to return to his patient, &ldquo;the measures to be taken
      are the same.&rdquo; And he repeated the substance of their earlier discussions
      upon this same topic. &ldquo;If we can but secure the evidence of his treason
      with Caryll,&rdquo; he wound up, &ldquo;I shall be able to make terms with Lord
      Carteret to arrest the proceedings the government may intend, and thus
      avert the restitution it would otherwise enforce.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But if he were to die,&rdquo; said her ladyship, as coldly, horribly
      calculating as though he were none of hers, &ldquo;there would be an end to this
      danger. They could not demand restitution of the dead, nor impose fines
      upon him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby shook his head. &ldquo;Believe not that, madam,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;They can
      demand restitution of his heirs and impose their fines upon the estate.
      'Twas done in the case of Chancellor Craggs, though he shot himself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She raised a haggard face to his. &ldquo;And do you dream that Lord Carteret
      would make terms with you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I can show him&mdash;by actual proof&mdash;that a conspiracy does
      exist, that the Stuart supporters are plotting a rising. Proof of that
      should be of value to Lord Carteret, of sufficient value to the government
      to warrant the payment of the paltry price I ask&mdash;that the
      impeachment against my father for his dealings with the South Sea Company
      shall not be allowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But it might involve the worse betrayal of your father, Charles, and if
      he were to live&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Sdeath, mother, why must you harp on that? I a'n't the fool you think
      me,&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;I shall make it a further condition that my father have
      immunity. There will be no lack of victims once the plot is disclosed; and
      they may begin upon that coxcomb Caryll&mdash;the damned meddler who is at
      the bottom of all this garboil.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She sat bemused, her eyes upon the sunlit gardens below, where a faint
      breeze was stirring the shrub tops.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is,&rdquo; she said presently, &ldquo;a secret drawer somewhere in his desk. If
      he has papers they will, no doubt, be there. Had you not best be making
      search for them?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He smiled darkly. &ldquo;I have seen to that already,&rdquo; he replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How?&rdquo; excitedly. &ldquo;You have got the papers?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No; but I have set an experienced hand to find them, and one, moreover,
      who has the right by virtue of his warrant&mdash;the messenger of the
      secretary of state.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She sat up, rigid. &ldquo;'Sdeath! What is't ye mean?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No need for alarm,&rdquo; he reassured her. &ldquo;This fellow Green is in my pay, as
      well as in the secretary's, and it will profit him most to keep faith with
      me. He's a self-seeking dog, content to run with the hare and hunt with
      the hounds, so that there be profit in it, and he'd sacrifice his ears to
      bring Mr. Caryll to the gallows. I have promised him that and a thousand
      pounds if we save the estates from confiscation.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked at him, between wonder and fear. &ldquo;Can ye trust him?&rdquo; she asked
      breathlessly.
    </p>
    <p>
      He laughed softly and confidently. &ldquo;I can trust him to earn a thousand
      pounds,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;When he heard of the impeachment, he used such
      influence as he has to be entrusted with the arrest of his lordship; and
      having obtained his warrant, he came first to me to tell me of it. A
      thousand pounds is the price of him, body and soul. I bade him seek not
      only evidence of my lord's having received that plaguey stock, but also
      papers relating to this Jacobite plot into which his lordship has been
      drawn by our friend Caryll. He is at his work at present. And I shall hear
      from him when it is accomplished.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. &ldquo;You have very well disposed, Charles,&rdquo;
       she approved him. &ldquo;If your father lives, it should not be a difficult
      matter&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She checked suddenly and turned, while Rotherby, too, looked up and
      stepped quickly from the window-embrasure where he had stood.
    </p>
    <p>
      The door of the bedroom had been suddenly pulled open, and Sir James came
      out, very pale and discomposed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Madam&mdash;your ladyship&mdash;my lord!&rdquo; he gasped, his mouth working,
      his hands waving foolishly.
    </p>
    <p>
      The countess rose to confront him, tall, severe and harsh. The viscount
      scowled a question. Sir James quailed before them, evidently in
      affliction.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Madam&mdash;his lordship,&rdquo; he said, and by his eloquent gesture of
      dejection announced what he had some difficulty in putting into words.
    </p>
    <p>
      She stepped forward, and took him by the wrist. &ldquo;Is he dying?&rdquo; she
      inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have courage, madam,&rdquo; the doctor besought her.
    </p>
    <p>
      The apparent irrelevancy of the request at such a moment, angered her. Her
      mood was dangerously testy. And had the doctor but known it, sympathy was
      a thing she had not borne well these many years.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I asked you was he dying,&rdquo; she reminded him, with a cold sternness that
      beat aside all his attempts at subterfuge.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your ladyship&mdash;he is dead,&rdquo; he faltered, with lowered eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dead?&rdquo; she echoed dully, and her hand went to the region of her heart,
      her face turned livid under its rouge. &ldquo;Dead?&rdquo; she said again, and behind
      her, Rotherby echoed the dread word in a stupor almost equal to her own.
      Her lips moved to speak, but no words came. She staggered where she stood,
      and put her hand to her brow. Her son's arms were quickly about her. He
      supported her to a chair, where she sank as if all her joints were
      loosened.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir James flew for restoratives; bathed her brow with a dampened
      handkerchief; held strong salts to her nostrils, and murmured words of
      foolish, banal consolation, whilst Rotherby, in a half-dreaming condition,
      stunned by the suddenness of the blow, stood beside her, mechanically
      lending his assistance and supporting her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Gradually she mastered her agitation. It was odd that she should feel so
      much at losing what she valued so little. Leastways, it would have been
      odd, had it been that. It was not&mdash;it was something more. In the
      awful, august presence of death, stepped so suddenly into their midst, she
      felt herself appalled.
    </p>
    <p>
      For nigh upon thirty years she had been bound by legal and churchly ties
      in a loveless union with Lord Ostermore&mdash;married for the handsome
      portion that had been hers, a portion which he had gamed away and
      squandered until, for their station, their circumstances were now
      absolutely straitened. They had led a harsh, discordant life, and the
      coming of a son, which should have bridged the loveless gulf between them,
      seemed but to have served to dig it wider. And the son had been just the
      harsh, unfeeling offspring that might be looked for from such a union.
      Thirty years of slavery had been her ladyship's, and in those thirty years
      her nature had been soured and warped, and what inherent sweetness it may
      once have known had long since been smothered and destroyed. She had no
      cause to love that man who had never loved her, never loved aught of hers
      beyond her jointure. And yet, there was the habit of thirty years. For
      thirty years they had been yoke-fellows, however detestable the yoke. But
      yesterday he had been alive and strong, a stupid, querulous thing maybe,
      but a living. And now he was so much carrion that should be given to the
      earth. In some such channel ran her ladyship's reflections during those
      few seconds in which she was recovering. For an instant she was softened.
      The long-since dried-up springs of tenderness seemed like to push anew
      under the shock of this event. She put out a hand to take her son's.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Charles!&rdquo; she said, and surprised him by the tender note.
    </p>
    <p>
      A moment thus; then she was herself again. &ldquo;How did he die?&rdquo; she asked the
      doctor; and the abruptness of the resumption of her usual manner startled
      Sir James more than aught in his experience of such scenes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was most sudden, madam,&rdquo; answered he. &ldquo;I had the best grounds for
      hope. I was being persuaded we should save him. And then, quite suddenly,
      without an instant's warning, he succumbed. He just heaved a sigh, and was
      gone. I could scarcely believe my senses, madam.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He would have added more particulars of his feelings and emotions&mdash;for
      he was of those who believe that their own impressions of a phenomenon are
      that phenomenon's most interesting manifestations&mdash;but her ladyship
      waved him peremptorily into silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      He drew back, washing his hands in the air, an expression of polite
      concern upon his face. &ldquo;Is there aught else I can do to be of service to
      your ladyship?&rdquo; he inquired, solicitous.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What else?&rdquo; she asked, with a fuller return to her old self. &ldquo;Ye've
      killed him. What more is there you can do?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, madam&mdash;nay, madam! I am most deeply grieved that my&mdash;my&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His lordship will wait upon you to the door,&rdquo; said she, designating her
      son.
    </p>
    <p>
      The eminent physician effaced himself from her ladyship's attention. It
      was his boast that he could take a hint when one was given him; and so he
      could, provided it were broad enough, as in the present instance.
    </p>
    <p>
      He gathered up his hat and gold-headed cane&mdash;the unfailing insignia
      of his order&mdash;and was gone, swiftly and silently.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby closed the door after him, and returned slowly, head bowed, to
      the window where his mother was still seated. They looked at each other
      gravely for a long moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This makes matters easier for you,&rdquo; she said at length.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Much easier. It does not matter now how far his complicity may be
      betrayed by his papers. I am glad, madam, to see you so far recovered from
      your weakness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She shivered, as much perhaps at his tone as at the recollections he
      evoked. &ldquo;You are very indifferent, Charles,&rdquo; said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      He looked at her steadily, then slightly shrugged. &ldquo;What need to wear a
      mask? Bah! Did he ever give me cause to feel for him?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Mother,
      if one day I have a son of my own, I shall see to it that he loves me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will be hard put to it, with your nature, Charles,&rdquo; she told him
      critically. Then she rose. &ldquo;Will you go to him with me?&rdquo; she asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      He made as if to acquiesce, then halted. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said, and there was
      repugnance in his tone and face. &ldquo;Not&mdash;not now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There came a knocking at the door, rapid, insistent. Grateful for the
      interruption, Rotherby went to open.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green staggered forward with swollen eyes, his face inflamed with
      rage, and with something else that was not quite apparent to Rotherby.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My lord!&rdquo; he cried in a loud, angry voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby caught his wrist and checked him. &ldquo;Sh! sir,&rdquo; he said gravely.
      &ldquo;Not here.&rdquo; And he pushed him out again, her ladyship following them.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was in the gallery&mdash;above the hall, in which the servants still
      stood idly about&mdash;that Mr. Green spattered out his wrathful tale of
      what had befallen in the library.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby shook him as if he had been a rat. &ldquo;You cursed fool!&rdquo; he cried.
      &ldquo;You left him there&mdash;at the desk?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What help had I?&rdquo; demanded Green with spirit. &ldquo;My eyes were on fire. I
      couldn't see, and the pain of them made me helpless.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then why did ye not send word to me at once, you fool?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Because I was concerned only to stop my eyes from burning,&rdquo; answered Mr.
      Green, in a towering rage at finding reproof where he had come in quest of
      sympathy. &ldquo;I have come to you at the first moment, damn you!&rdquo; he burst
      out, in full rebellion. &ldquo;And you'll use me civilly now that I am come, or&mdash;ecod!&mdash;it'll
      be the worse for your lordship.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby considered him through a faint mist that rage had set before his
      eyes. To be so spoken to&mdash;damned indeed!&mdash;by a dirty spy! Had he
      been alone with the man, there can be little doubt but that he would have
      jeopardized his very precarious future by kicking Mr. Green downstairs.
      But his mother saved him from that rashness. It may be that she saw
      something of his anger in his kindling eye, and thought it well to
      intervene.
    </p>
    <p>
      She set a hand on his sleeve. &ldquo;Charles!&rdquo; she said to him in a voice that
      was dead cold with warning.
    </p>
    <p>
      He responded to it, and chose discretion. He looked Green over,
      nevertheless. &ldquo;I vow I'm very patient with you,&rdquo; said he, and Green had
      the discretion on his side to hold his tongue. &ldquo;Come, man, while we stand
      talking here that knave may be destroying precious evidence.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And his lordship went quickly down the stairs, Mr. Green following hard
      upon his heels, and her ladyship bringing up the rear.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the door of the library Rotherby came to a halt, and turned the handle.
      The door was locked. He beckoned a couple of footmen across the hall, and
      bade them break it open.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XX. Mr. CARYLL'S IDENTITY
    </h2>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I must see Lord Ostermore!&rdquo; had been Mr. Caryll's wild cry, as he strode
      to the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      From the other side of it there came a sound of steps and voices. Some one
      was turning the handle.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hortensia caught Mr. Caryll by the sleeve. &ldquo;But the letters!&rdquo; she cried
      frantically, and pointed to the incriminating papers which he had left,
      forgotten, upon the desk.
    </p>
    <p>
      He stared at her a moment, and memory swept upon him in a flood. He
      mastered the wild agitation that had been swaying him, thrust the paper
      that he was carrying into his pocket, and turned to go back for the
      treasonable letters.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The taper!&rdquo; he exclaimed, and pointed to the extinguished candle on the
      floor. &ldquo;What can we do?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A sharp blow fell upon the lock of the door. He stood still, looking over
      his shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Quick! Make haste!&rdquo; Hortensia admonished him in her excitement. &ldquo;Get
      them! Conceal them, at least! Do the best you can since we have not the
      means to burn them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A second blow was struck, succeeded instantly by a third, and something
      was heard to snap. The door swung open, and Green and Rotherby sprang into
      the room, a brace of footmen at their heels. They were followed more
      leisurely by the countess; whilst a little flock of servants brought up
      the rear, but checked upon the threshold, and hung there to witness events
      that held out such promise of being unusual.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll swore through set teeth, and made a dash for the desk. But he
      was too late to accomplish his object. His hand had scarcely closed upon
      the letters, when he was, himself, seized. Rotherby and Green, on either
      side of him, held him in their grasp, each with one hand upon his shoulder
      and the other at his wrist. Thus stood he, powerless between them, and,
      after the first shock of it, cool and making no effort to disengage
      himself. His right hand was tightly clenched upon the letters.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby called a servant forward. &ldquo;Take those papers from the thief's
      hand,&rdquo; he commanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stop!&rdquo; cried Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;Lord Rotherby, may I speak with you alone
      before you go further in a matter you will bitterly regret?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Take those papers from him,&rdquo; Rotherby repeated, swearing; and the servant
      bent to the task. But Mr. Caryll suddenly wrenched the hand away from the
      fellow and the wrist out of Lord Rotherby's grip.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A moment, my lord, as you value your honor and your possessions!&rdquo; he
      insisted. &ldquo;Let me speak with Lord Ostermore first. Take me before him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are before him now,&rdquo; said Rotherby. &ldquo;Say on!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I demand to see Lord Ostermore.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am Lord Ostermore,&rdquo; said Rotherby.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You? Since when?&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, not even beginning to understand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Since ten minutes ago,&rdquo; was the callous answer that first gave that
      household the news of my lord's passing.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a movement, a muttering among the servants. Old Humphries broke
      through the group by the door, his heavy chops white and trembling, and in
      that moment Hortensia turned, awe-stricken, to ask her ladyship was this
      true. Her ladyship nodded in silence. Hortensia cried out, and sank to a
      chair as if beaten down by the news, whilst the old servant, answered,
      too, withdrew, wringing his hands and making foolish laments; and the
      tears of those were the only tears that watered the grave of John Caryll,
      fifth Earl of Ostermore.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for Mr. Caryll, the shock of that announcement seemed to cast a spell
      upon him. He stood still, limp and almost numbed. Oh, the never-ceasing
      irony of things! That his father should have died at such a moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dead?&rdquo; quoth he. &ldquo;Dead? Is my lord dead? They told me he was recovering.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They told you false,&rdquo; answered Rotherby. &ldquo;So now&mdash;those papers!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll relinquished them. &ldquo;Take them,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Since that is so&mdash;take
      them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby received them himself. &ldquo;Remove his sword,&rdquo; he bade a footman.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll looked sharply round at him. &ldquo;My sword?&rdquo; quoth he. &ldquo;What do you
      mean by that? What right?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We mean to keep you by us, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Green on his other side, &ldquo;until
      you have explained what you were doing with those papers&mdash;what is
      your interest in them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile a servant had done his lordship's bidding, and Mr. Caryll stood
      weaponless amid his enemies. He mastered himself at once. Here it was
      plain that he must walk with caution, for the ground, he perceived, was of
      a sudden grown most insecure and treacherous. Rotherby and Green in
      league! It gave him matter for much thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There's not the need to hold me,&rdquo; said he quietly. &ldquo;I am not likely to
      tire myself by violence. There's scarcely necessity for so much.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby looked up sharply. The cool, self-possessed tone had an
      intimidating note. But Mr. Green laughed maliciously, as he continued to
      mop his still watering eyes. He was acquainted with Mr. Caryll's methods,
      and knew that, probably, the more at ease he seemed, the less at ease he
      was.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby spread the letters on the desk, and scanned them with a glowing
      eye, Mr. Green at his elbow reading with him. The countess swept forward
      that she, too, might inspect this find.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They'll serve their turn,&rdquo; said her son, and added to Caryll: &ldquo;And
      they'll help to hang you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No doubt you find me mentioned in them,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, sir,&rdquo; snapped Green, &ldquo;if not by name, at least as the messenger who
      is to explain that which the writers&mdash;the royal writer and the other&mdash;have
      out of prudence seen fit to exclude.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Hortensia looked up and across the room at that, a wild fear clutching at
      her heart. But Mr. Caryll laughed pleasantly, eyebrows raised as if in
      mild surprise. &ldquo;The most excellent relations appear to prevail between
      you,&rdquo; said he, looking from Rotherby to Green. &ldquo;Are you, too, my lord, in
      the secretary's pay.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His lordship flushed darkly. &ldquo;You'll clown it to the end,&rdquo; he sneered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And that's none so far off,&rdquo; snarled Mr. Green, who since the peppering
      of his eyes, had flung aside his usual cherubic air. &ldquo;Oh, you may sneer,
      sir,&rdquo; he mocked the prisoner. &ldquo;But we have you fast. This letter was
      brought hither by you, and this one was to have been carried hence by
      you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The latter, sir, was a matter for the future, and you can hardly prove
      what a man will do; so we'll let that pass. As for the former&mdash;the
      letter which you say I brought&mdash;you'll remember that you searched me
      at Maidstone&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And I have your admission that the letter was upon you at the time,&rdquo;
       roared the spy, interrupting him&mdash;&ldquo;your admission in the presence of
      that lady, as she can be made to witness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mistress Winthrop rose. &ldquo;'Tis a lie,&rdquo; she said firmly. &ldquo;I can not be made
      to witness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll smiled, and nodded across to her. &ldquo;'Tis vastly kind in you,
      Mistress Winthrop. But the gentleman is mistook.&rdquo; He turned to Green.
      &ldquo;Harkee, sirrah did I admit that I had carried that letter?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green shrugged. &ldquo;You admitted that you carried a letter. What other
      letter should it have been but that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; smiled Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;'Tis not for you to ask me. Rather is it for
      you to prove that the letter I admitted having carried and that letter are
      one and the same. 'Twill take a deal of proving, I dare swear.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye'll be forsworn, then,&rdquo; put in her ladyship sourly. &ldquo;For I can witness
      to the letter that you bore. Not only did I see it&mdash;a letter on that
      same fine paper&mdash;in my husband's hands on the day you came here and
      during your visit, but I have his lordship's own word for it that he was
      in the plot and that you were the go-between.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; chuckled Mr. Green. &ldquo;What now, sir? What now? By what fresh piece of
      acrobatics will you get out of that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye're a fool,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll with calm contempt, and fetched out his
      snuff-box. &ldquo;D'ye dream that one witness will suffice to establish so grave
      a charge? Pah!&rdquo; He opened his snuff-box to find it empty, and viciously
      snapped down the lid again. &ldquo;Pah!&rdquo; he said again, &ldquo;ye've cost me a whole
      boxfull of Burgamot.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why did ye throw it in my face?&rdquo; demanded Mr. Green. &ldquo;What purpose did ye
      look to serve but one of treason? Answer me that!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I didn't like the way ye looked at me. 'Twas wanting respect, and I
      bethought me I would lessen the impudence of your expression. Have ye any
      other foolish questions for me?&rdquo; And he looked again from Green to
      Rotherby, including both in his inquiry. &ldquo;No?&rdquo; He rose. &ldquo;In that case, if
      you'll give me leave, and&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You do not leave this house,&rdquo; Rotherby informed him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think you push hospitality too far. Will you desire your lackey to
      return me my sword? I have affairs elsewhere.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Caryll, I beg that you will understand,&rdquo; said his lordship, with a
      calm that he was at some pains to maintain, &ldquo;that you do not leave this
      house save in the care of the messengers from the secretary of state.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll looked at him, and yawned in his face. &ldquo;Ye're prodigiously
      tiresome,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;did ye but know how I detest disturbances. What shall
      the secretary of state require of me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He'll require you on a charge of high treason,&rdquo; said Mr. Green.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you a warrant to take me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have not, but&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then how do you dare detain me, sir?&rdquo; demanded Mr. Caryll sharply. &ldquo;D'ye
      think I don't know the law?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think you'll know a deal more of it shortly,&rdquo; countered Mr. Green.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Meanwhile, sirs, I depart. Offer me violence at your peril.&rdquo; He moved a
      step, and then, at a sign from Rotherby, the lackey's hands fell on him
      again, and forced him back and down into his chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Away with you for the warrant,&rdquo; said Rotherby to Green. &ldquo;We'll keep him
      here till you return.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green grinned at the prisoner, and was gone in great haste.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll lounged back in his chair, and threw one leg over the other. &ldquo;I
      have always endeavored,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;to suffer fools as gladly as a
      Christian should. So since you insist, I'll be patient until I have the
      ear of my Lord Carteret&mdash;who, I take it, is a man of sense. But if I
      were you, my lord, and you, my lady, I should not insist. Believe me,
      you'll cut poor figures. As for you, my lord, ye're in none such good
      odor, as it is.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let that be,&rdquo; snarled his lordship.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I mention it at all, I but do so in your lordship's own interests. It
      will be remembered that ye attempted to murder me once, and that will not
      be of any great help to such accusations as you may bring against me.
      Besides which, there is the unfortunate circumstance that it's widely
      known ye're not a man to be believed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will you be silent?&rdquo; roared his lordship, in a towering passion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I trouble myself to speak at all, it is out of concern for your
      lordship,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll insisted sweetly. &ldquo;And in your own interest, and
      your ladyship's, too, I'd counsel you to hear me a moment without
      witnesses.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His tone was calculatedly grave. Lord Rotherby looked at him, sneering;
      not so her ladyship. Less acquainted with his ways, the absolute
      confidence and unconcern of his demeanor was causing her uneasiness. A man
      who was perilously entrammelled would not bear himself so easily, she
      opined. She rose, and crossed to her son's side.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What have you to say?&rdquo; she asked Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, madam,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;not before these.&rdquo; And he indicated the
      servants.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;'Tis but a pretext to have them out of the room,&rdquo; said Rotherby.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll laughed the notion to scorn. &ldquo;If you think that&mdash;I give
      you my word of honor to attempt no violence, nor to depart until you shall
      give me leave,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby, judging Mr. Caryll by his knowledge of himself, still hesitated.
      But her ladyship realized, in spite of her detestation of the man, that he
      was not of the temper of those whose word is to be doubted. She signed to
      the footmen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go,&rdquo; she bade them. &ldquo;Wait within call.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They departed, and Mr. Caryll remained seated for all that her ladyship
      was standing; it was as if by that he wished to show how little he was
      minded to move.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship's eye fell upon Hortensia. &ldquo;Do you go, too, child,&rdquo; she bade
      her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Instead, Hortensia came forward. &ldquo;I wish to remain, madam,&rdquo; she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did I ask you what you wished?&rdquo; demanded the countess.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My place is here,&rdquo; Hortensia explained. &ldquo;Unless Mr. Caryll should,
      himself, desire me to depart.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, nay,&rdquo; he cried, and smiled upon her fondly&mdash;so fondly that the
      countess's eyes grew wider. &ldquo;With all my heart, I desire you to remain. It
      is most fitting you should hear that which I have to say.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What does it mean?&rdquo; demanded Rotherby, thrusting himself forward, and
      scowling from one to the other of them. &ldquo;What d'ye mean, Hortensia?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am Mr. Caryll's betrothed wife,&rdquo; she answered quietly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby's mouth fell open, but he made no sound. Not so her ladyship. A
      peal of shrill laughter broke from her. &ldquo;La! What did I tell you,
      Charles?&rdquo; Then to Hortensia: &ldquo;I'm sorry for you, ma'am,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;I
      think ye've been a thought too long in making up your mind.&rdquo; And she
      laughed again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lord Ostermore lies above stairs,&rdquo; Hortensia reminded her, and her
      ladyship went white at the reminder, the indecency of her laughter borne
      in upon her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Would ye lesson me, girl?&rdquo; she cried, as much to cover her confusion as
      to vent her anger at the cause of it. &ldquo;Ye've an odd daring, by God! Ye'll
      be well matched with his impudence, there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby, singularly self-contained, recalled her to the occasion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Caryll is waiting,&rdquo; said he, a sneer in his voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, yes,&rdquo; she said, and flashing a last malignant glance upon Hortensia,
      she sank to a chair beside her, but not too near her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll sat back, his legs crossed, his elbows on his chair-arms, his
      finger-tips together. &ldquo;The thing I have to tell you is of some gravity,&rdquo;
       he announced by way of preface.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby took a seat by the desk, his hand upon the treasonable letters.
      &ldquo;Proceed, sir,&rdquo; he said, importantly. Mr. Caryll nodded, as in
      acknowledgment of the invitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will admit, before going further, that in spite of the cheerful
      countenance I maintained before your lordship's friend, the bumbailiff,
      and your lackeys, I recognize that you have me in a very dangerous
      position.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; from his lordship in a breath of satisfaction, and
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; from Hortensia in a gasp of apprehension.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship retained a stony countenance, and a silence that sorted
      excellently with it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll proceeded, marking off the points on his fingers,
      &ldquo;the incident at Maidstone; there is your ladyship's evidence that I was
      the bearer of just such a letter on the day that first I came here; there
      is the dangerous circumstance&mdash;of which Mr. Green, I am sure, will
      not fail to make a deal&mdash;of my intimacy with Sir Richard Everard, and
      my constant visits to his lodging, where I was, in fact, on the occasion
      when he met his death; there is the fact that I committed upon Mr. Green
      an assault with my snuff box for motives that, after all, admit of but one
      acceptable explanation; and, lastly, there is the circumstance that,
      apparently, if interrogated, I can show no good reason why I should be in
      England at all, where no apparent interest has called me or keeps me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now, these matters are so trivial that taken separately they have no
      value whatever; taken conjointly, their value is not great; they do not
      contain evidence enough to justify the hanging of a dog. And yet, I
      realize that disturbed as the times are, fearful of sedition as the
      government finds itself in consequence of the mischief done to public
      credit by the South Sea disaster, and ready as the ministry is to see
      plots everywhere and to make examples, pour discourager les autres, if the
      accusation you intend is laid against me, backed by such evidence as this,
      it is not impossible&mdash;indeed, it is not improbable&mdash;that it may&mdash;ah&mdash;tend
      to shorten my life.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; sneered Rotherby, &ldquo;I declare you should have been a lawyer. We
      haven't a pleader of such parts and such lucidity at the whole bar.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll nodded his thanks. &ldquo;Your praise is very flattering, my lord,&rdquo;
       said he, with a wry smile, and then proceeded: &ldquo;It is because I see my
      case to be so very nearly desperate, that I venture to hope you will not
      persevere in the course you are proposing to adopt.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Lord Rotherby laughed noiselessly. &ldquo;Can you urge me any reasons why we
      should not?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you could urge me any reasons why you should,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, &ldquo;no
      doubt I should be able to show you under what misapprehensions you are
      laboring.&rdquo; He shot a keen glance at his lordship, whose face had suddenly
      gone blank. Mr. Caryll smiled quietly. &ldquo;There is in this something that I
      do not understand,&rdquo; he resumed. &ldquo;It does not satisfy me to suppose, as at
      first might seem, that you are acting out of sheer malice against me. You
      have scarcely cause to do that, my lord; and you, my lady, have none. That
      fool Green&mdash;patience&mdash;he conceives that he has suffered at my
      hands. But without your assistance Mr. Green would be powerless to hurt
      me. What, then, is it that is moving you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He paused, looking from one to the other of his declared enemies. They
      exchanged glances&mdash;Hortensia watching them, breathless, her own mind
      working, too, upon this question that Mr. Caryll had set, yet nowhere
      finding an answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I had thought,&rdquo; said her ladyship at last, &ldquo;that you promised to tell us
      something that it was in our interest to hear. Instead, you appear to be
      asking questions.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll shifted in his chair. One glance he gave the countess, then
      smiled. &ldquo;I have sought at your hands the reasons why you should desire my
      death,&rdquo; said he slowly. &ldquo;You withhold them. Be it so. I take it that you
      are ashamed of them; and so, their nature is not difficult to conjecture.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir&mdash;&rdquo; began Rotherby, hotly, half-starting from his seat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, let him trundle on, Charles,&rdquo; said his mother. &ldquo;He'll be the sooner
      done.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Instead,&rdquo; proceeded Mr. Caryll, as if there had been no interruption, &ldquo;I
      will now urge you my reasons why you should not so proceed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; snapped Rotherby. &ldquo;They will need to be valid.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll twisted farther round, to face his lordship more fully. &ldquo;They
      are as valid,&rdquo; said he very impressively&mdash;so impressively and sternly
      that his hearers felt themselves turning cold under his words, filled with
      some mysterious apprehension. &ldquo;They are as valid as were my reasons for
      holding my hand in the field out yonder, when I had you at the mercy of my
      sword, my lord. Neither more nor less. From that, you may judge them to be
      very valid.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But ye don't name them,&rdquo; said her ladyship, attempting to conquer her
      uneasiness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall do so,&rdquo; said he, and turned again to his lordship. &ldquo;I had no
      cause to love you that morning, nor at any time, my lord; I had no cause
      to think&mdash;as even you in your heart must realize, if so be that you
      have a heart, and the intelligence to examine it&mdash;I had no cause to
      think, my lord, that I should be doing other than a good deed by letting
      drive my blade. That such an opinion was well founded was proven by the
      thing you did when I turned my back upon you after sparing your useless
      life.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby broke in tempestuously, smiting the desk before him. &ldquo;If you
      think to move us to mercy by such&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, not to mercy would I move you,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, his hand raised to
      stay the other, &ldquo;not to mercy, but to horror of the thing you
      contemplate.&rdquo; And then, in an oddly impressive manner, he launched his
      thunderbolt. &ldquo;Know, then, that if that morning I would not spill your
      blood, it was because I should have been spilling the same blood that
      flows in my own veins; it was because you are my brother; because your
      father was my father. No less than that was the reason that withheld my
      hand.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He had announced his aim of moving them to horror; and it was plain that
      he had not missed it, for in frozen horror sat they all, their eyes upon
      him, their cheeks ashen, their mouths agape&mdash;even Hortensia, who from
      what already Mr. Caryll had told her, understood now more than any of
      them.
    </p>
    <p>
      After a spell Rotherby spoke. &ldquo;You are my brother?&rdquo; he said, his voice
      colorless. &ldquo;My brother? What are you saying?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And then her ladyship found her voice. &ldquo;Who was your mother?&rdquo; she
      inquired, and her very tone was an insult, not to the man who sat there so
      much as to the memory of poor Antoinette de Maligny. He flushed to the
      temples, then paled again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'll not name her to your ladyship,&rdquo; said he at, last, in a cold,
      imperious voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I'm glad ye've so much decency,&rdquo; she countered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You mistake, I think,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;'Tis respect for my mother that inspires
      me.&rdquo; And his green eyes flashed upon the painted hag. She rose up a very
      fury.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What are you saying?&rdquo; she shrilled. &ldquo;D'ye hear the filthy fellow,
      Rotherby? He'll not name the wanton in my presence out of respect for
      her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For shame, madam! You are speaking of his mother,&rdquo; cried Hortensia, hot
      with indignation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pshaw! 'Tis all an impudent lie&mdash;a pack of lies!&rdquo; cried Rotherby.
      &ldquo;He's crafty as all the imps of hell.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll rose. &ldquo;Here in the sight of God and by all that I hold most
      sacred, I swear that what I have said is true. I swear that Lord Ostermore&mdash;your
      father&mdash;was my father. I was born in France, in the year 1690, as I
      have papers upon me that will prove, which you may see, Rotherby.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His lordship rose. &ldquo;Produce them,&rdquo; said he shortly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll drew from an inner pocket of his coat the small leather case
      that Sir Richard Everard had given him. From this he took a paper which he
      unfolded. It was a certificate of baptism, copied from the register of the
      Church of St. Antoine in Paris.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby held out his hand for it. But Mr. Caryll shook his head. &ldquo;Stand
      here beside me, and read it,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      Obeying him, Rotherby went and read that authenticated copy, wherein it
      was declared that Sir Richard Everard had brought to the Church of St.
      Antoine for baptism a male child, which he had declared to be the son of
      John Caryll, Viscount Rotherby, and Antoinette de Maligny, and which had
      received in baptism the name of Justin.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby drew away again, his head sunk on his breast. Her ladyship was
      seated, her eyes upon her son, her fingers drumming absently at the arms
      of her chair. Then Rotherby swung round again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How do I know that you are the person designated there&mdash;this Justin
      Caryll?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You do not; but you may. Cast your mind back to that night at White's
      when you picked your quarrel with me, my lord. Do you remember how
      Stapleton and Collis spoke up for me, declared that they had known me from
      boyhood at Oxford, and had visited me at my chateau in France? What was
      the name of that chateau, my lord&mdash;do you remember?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby looked at him, searching his memory. But he did not need to
      search far. At first glance the name of Maligny had seemed familiar to
      him. &ldquo;It was Maligny,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;and yet&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If more is needed to convince you, I can bring a hundred witnesses from
      France, who have known me from infancy. You may take it that I can
      establish my identity beyond all doubt.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And what if you do?&rdquo; demanded her ladyship suddenly. &ldquo;What if you do
      establish your identity as my lord's bastard? What claim shall that be
      upon us?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That, ma'am,&rdquo; answered Mr. Caryll very gravely, &ldquo;I wait to learn from my
      brother here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXI. THE LION'S SKIN
    </h2>
    <p>
      For a spell there was utter silence in that spacious, pillared chamber.
      Mr. Caryll and her ladyship had both resumed their chairs: the former
      spuriously calm; the latter making no attempt to conceal her agitation.
      Hortensia leant forward, an eager spectator, watching the three actors in
      this tragicomedy.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for Rotherby, he stood with bent head and furrowed brow. It was for him
      to speak, and yet he was utterly at a loss for words. He was not moved at
      the news he had received, so much as dismayed. It dictated a course that
      would interfere with all his plans, and therefore a course unthinkable. So
      he remained puzzled how to act, how to deal with this unexpected
      situation.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was her ladyship who was the first to break the silence. She had been
      considering Mr. Caryll through narrowing eyes, the corners of her mouth
      drawn down. She had caught the name of Maligny when it was uttered, and
      out of the knowledge which happened to be hers&mdash;though Mr. Caryll was
      ignorant of this&mdash;it set her thinking.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not believe that you are the son of Mademoiselle de Maligny,&rdquo; she
      said at last. &ldquo;I never heard that my lord had a son; I cannot believe
      there was so much between them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll stared, startled out of his habitual calm. Rotherby turned to
      her with an exclamation of surprise. &ldquo;How?&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;You knew, then? My
      father was&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She laughed mirthlessly. &ldquo;Your father would have married her had he
      dared,&rdquo; she informed them. &ldquo;'Twas to beg his father's consent that he
      braved his banishment and came to England. But his father was as
      headstrong as himself; held just such views as he, himself, held later
      where you were concerned. He would not hear of the match. I was to be had
      for the asking. My father was a man who traded in his children, and he had
      offered me, with a jointure that was a fortune, to the Earl of Ostermore
      as a wife for his son.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll was listening, all ears. Some light was being shed upon much
      that had lain in darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And so,&rdquo; she proceeded, &ldquo;your grandfather constrained your father to
      forget the woman he had left in France, and to marry me. I know not what
      sins I had committed that I should have been visited with such a
      punishment. But so it befell. Your father resisted, dallying with the
      matter for a whole year. Then there was a duel fought. A cousin of
      Mademoiselle de Maligny's crossed to England, and forced a quarrel upon
      your father. They met, and M. de Maligny was killed. Then a change set in
      in my lord's bearing, and one day, a month or so later, he gave way to his
      father's insistence, and we were wed. But I do not believe that my lord
      had left a son in France&mdash;I do not believe that had he done so, I
      should not have known it; I do not believe that under such circumstances,
      unfeeling as he was, he would have abandoned Mademoiselle de Maligny.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You think, then,&rdquo; said Rotherby, &ldquo;that this man has raked up this story
      to&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Consider what you are saying,&rdquo; cut in Mr. Caryll, with a flash of scorn.
      &ldquo;Should I have come prepared with documents against such a happening as
      this?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, but the documents might have been intended for some other purpose
      had my lord lived&mdash;some purpose of extortion,&rdquo; suggested her
      ladyship.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But consider again, madam, that I am wealthy&mdash;far wealthier than was
      ever my Lord Ostermore, as my friends Collis, Stapleton and many another
      can be called to prove. What need, then, had I to extort?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How came you by your means, being what you say you are?&rdquo; she asked him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Briefly he told her how Sir Richard Everard had cared for him, for his
      mother's sake; endowed him richly upon adopting him, and since made him
      heir to all his wealth, which was considerable. &ldquo;And for the rest, madam,
      and you, Rotherby, set doubts on one side. Your ladyship says that had my
      lord had a son you must have heard of it. But my lord, madam, never knew
      he had a son. Tell me&mdash;can you recall the date, the month at least,
      in which my lord returned to England?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can, sir. It was at the end of April of '89. What then?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll produced the certificate again. He beckoned Rotherby, and held
      the paper under his eyes. &ldquo;What date is there&mdash;the date of birth?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby read: &ldquo;The third of January of 1690.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll folded the paper again. &ldquo;That will help your ladyship to
      understand how it might happen that my lord remained in ignorance of my
      birth.&rdquo; He sighed as he replaced the case in his pocket. &ldquo;I would he had
      known before he died,&rdquo; said he, almost as if speaking to himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      And now her ladyship lost her temper. She saw Rotherby wavering, and it
      angered her; and angered, she committed a grave error. Wisdom lay in
      maintaining the attitude of repudiation; it would at least have afforded
      some excuse for her and Rotherby. Instead, she now recklessly flung off
      that armor, and went naked down into the fray.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A fig for't all!&rdquo; she cried, and snapped her fingers. She had risen, and
      she towered there, a lean and malevolent figure, her head-dress nodding
      foolishly. &ldquo;What does it matter that you be what you claim to be? Is it to
      weigh with you, Rotherby?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby turned grave eyes upon her. He was, it seemed, not quite rotten
      through and through; there was still in him&mdash;in the depths of him&mdash;a
      core that was in a measure sound; and that core was reached. Most of all
      had the story weighed with him because it afforded the only explanation of
      why Mr. Caryll had spared his life that morning of the duel. It was a
      matter that had puzzled him, as it had puzzled all who had witnessed the
      affront that led to the encounter.
    </p>
    <p>
      Between that and the rest&mdash;to say nothing of the certificate he had
      seen, which he could not suppose a forgery&mdash;he was convinced that Mr.
      Caryll was the brother that he claimed to be. He gathered from his
      mother's sudden anger that she, too, was convinced, in spite of herself,
      by the answers Mr. Caryll had returned to all her arguments against the
      identity he claimed.
    </p>
    <p>
      He hated Mr. Caryll no whit less for what he had learnt; if anything, he
      hated him more. And yet a sense of decency forbade him from persecuting
      him now, as he had intended, and delivering to the hangman. From ordinary
      murder, once in the heat of passion&mdash;as we have seen&mdash;he had not
      shrunk. But fratricide appeared&mdash;such is the effect of education&mdash;a
      far, far graver thing, even though it should be indirect fratricide of the
      sort that he had contemplated before learning that this man was his
      brother.
    </p>
    <p>
      There seemed to be one of two only courses left him: to provide Mr. Caryll
      with the means of escape, or else to withhold such evidence as he intended
      to supply against him, and to persuade&mdash;to compel, if necessary&mdash;his
      mother to do the same. When all was said, his interests need not suffer
      very greatly. His position would not be quite so strong, perhaps, if he
      but betrayed a plot without delivering up any of the plotters; still, he
      thought, it should be strong enough. His father dead, out of consideration
      of the signal loyalty his act must manifest, he thought the government
      would prove grateful and forbear from prosecuting a claim for restitution
      against the Ostermore estates.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had, then, all but resolved upon the cleaner course, when, suddenly,
      something that in the stress of the moment he had gone near to
      overlooking, was urged upon his attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hortensia had risen and had started forward at her ladyship's last words.
      She stood before his lordship now with pleading eyes, and hands held out.
      &ldquo;My lord,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;you cannot do this thing! You cannot do it!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But instead of moving him to generosity, by those very words she steeled
      his heart against it, and proved to him that, after all, his
      potentialities for evil were strong enough to enable him to do the very
      thing she said he could not. His brow grew black as midnight; his dark
      eyes raked her face, and saw the agony of apprehension for her lover
      written there. He drew breath, hissing and audible, glanced once at
      Caryll; then: &ldquo;A moment!&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      He strode to the door and called the footmen, then turned again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Caryll,&rdquo; he said in a formal voice, &ldquo;will you give yourself the
      trouble of waiting in the ante-room? I need to consider upon this matter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll, conceiving that it was with his mother that Rotherby intended
      to consider, rose instantly. &ldquo;I would remind you, Rotherby, that time is
      pressing,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall not keep you long,&rdquo; was Rotherby's cold reply, and Mr. Caryll
      went out.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What now, Charles?&rdquo; asked his mother. &ldquo;Is this child to remain?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is the child that is to remain,&rdquo; said his lordship. &ldquo;Will your
      ladyship do me the honor, too, of waiting in the ante-room?&rdquo; and he held
      the door for her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What folly are you considering?&rdquo; she asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your ladyship is wasting time, and time, as Mr. Caryll has said, is
      pressing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She crossed to the door, controlled almost despite herself by the calm air
      of purpose that was investing him. &ldquo;You are not thinking of&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You shall learn very soon of what I am thinking, ma'am. I beg that you
      will give us leave.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She paused almost upon the threshold. &ldquo;If you do a rashness, here,
      remember that I can still act without you,&rdquo; she reminded him. &ldquo;You may
      choose to believe that that man is your brother, and so, out of that, and&rdquo;&mdash;she
      added with a cruel sneer at Hortensia&mdash;&ldquo;other considerations, you may
      elect to let him go. But remember that you still have me to reckon with.
      Whether he prove of your blood or not, he cannot prove himself of mine&mdash;thank
      God!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His lordship bowed in silence, preserving an unmoved countenance,
      whereupon she cursed him for a fool, and passed out. He closed the door,
      and turned the key, Hortensia watching him in a sort of horror. &ldquo;Let me
      go!&rdquo; she found voice to cry at last, and advanced towards the door
      herself. But Rotherby came to meet her, his face white, his eyes glowing.
      She fell away before his opening arms, and he stood still, mastering
      himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That man,&rdquo; he said, jerking a backward thumb at the closed door, &ldquo;lives
      or dies, goes free or hangs, as you shall decide, Hortensia.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She looked at him, her face haggard, her heart beating high in her throat
      as if to suffocate her. &ldquo;What do you mean?&rdquo; she asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You love him!&rdquo; he growled. &ldquo;Pah! I see it in your eyes&mdash;in your
      tremors&mdash;that you do. It is for him that you are afraid, is't not?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why do you mock me with it?&rdquo; she inquired with dignity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not mock you, Hortensia. Answer me! Is it true that you love him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is true,&rdquo; she answered steadily. &ldquo;What is't to you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Everything!&rdquo; he answered hotly. &ldquo;Everything! It is Heaven and Hell to me.
      Ten days ago, Hortensia, I asked you to marry me&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No more,&rdquo; she begged him, an arm thrown out to stay him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But there is more,&rdquo; he answered, advancing again. &ldquo;This time I can make
      the offer more attractive. Marry me, and Caryll is not only free to
      depart, but no evidence shall be laid against him. I swear it! Refuse me,
      and he hangs as surely&mdash;as surely as you and I talk together here
      this moment.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Cold eyes scathed him with contempt. &ldquo;God!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;What manner of
      monster are you, my lord? To speak so&mdash;to speak of marriage to me,
      and to speak of hanging a man who is son to that same father of yours who
      lies above stairs, not yet turned cold. Are you human at all?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay&mdash;and in nothing so human as in my love for you, Hortensia.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She put her hands to her face. &ldquo;Give me patience!&rdquo; she prayed. &ldquo;The insult
      of it after what has passed! Let me go, sir; open that door, and let me
      go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He stood regarding her a moment, with lowering brows. Then he turned, and
      went slowly to the door. &ldquo;He dies, remember!&rdquo; said he, and the words, the
      sinister tone and the sinister look that was stamped upon his face,
      shattered her spirit as at a blow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no!&rdquo; she faltered, and advanced a step or two. &ldquo;Oh, have pity!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When you show me pity,&rdquo; he answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was beaten. &ldquo;You&mdash;you swear to let him go&mdash;to see him safely
      out of England&mdash;if&mdash;if I consent?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His eyes blazed. He came back swiftly, and she stood, a frozen thing,
      passively awaiting him; a frozen thing, she let him take her in his arms,
      yielding herself in horrific surrender.
    </p>
    <p>
      He held her close a moment, the blood surging to his face, and glowing
      darkly through the swarthy skin. &ldquo;Have I conquered, then?&rdquo; he cried.
      &ldquo;You'll marry me, Hortensia?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At that price,&rdquo; she answered piteously, &ldquo;at that price.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shalt find me a gentle, loving husband, ever. I swear it before Heaven!&rdquo;
       he vowed, the ardor of his passion softening his nature, as steel is
      softened in the fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then be it so,&rdquo; she said, and her tone was less cold, for she began to
      glow, as it were, with the ardor of the sacrifice that she was making&mdash;began
      to experience the exalted ecstasy of martyrdom. &ldquo;Save him, and you shall
      find me ever a dutiful wife to you, my lord&mdash;a dutiful wife.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And loving?&rdquo; he demanded greedily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Even that. I promise it,&rdquo; she answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      With a hoarse cry, he stooped to kiss her; then, with an oath, he checked,
      and flung her from him so violently that she hurtled to a chair and sank
      to it, overbalanced. &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he roared, like a mad thing now. &ldquo;Hell and
      damnation&mdash;no!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A wild frenzy of jealousy had swept aside his tenderness. He was sick and
      faint with the passion of it of this proof of how deeply she must love
      that other man. He strove to control his violence. He snarled at her, in
      his endeavors to subdue the animal, the primitive creature that he was at
      heart. &ldquo;If you can love him so much as that, he had better hang, I think.&rdquo;
       He laughed on a high, fierce note. &ldquo;You have spoke his sentence, girl!
      D'ye think I'd take you so&mdash;at second hand? Oh, s'death! What d'ye
      deem me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He laughed again&mdash;in his throat now, a quivering; half-sobbing laugh
      of anger&mdash;and crossed to the door, her eyes following him, terrified;
      her mind understanding nothing of this savage. He turned the key, and
      flung wide the door with a violent gesture. &ldquo;Bring him in!&rdquo; he shouted.
    </p>
    <p>
      They entered&mdash;Mr. Caryll with the footmen at his heels, a frown
      between his brows, his eyes glancing quickly and searchingly from Rotherby
      to Hortensia. After him came her ladyship, no less inquisitive of look.
      Rotherby dismissed the lackeys, and closed the door again. He flung out an
      arm to indicate Hortensia.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This little fool,&rdquo; he said to Caryll, &ldquo;would have married me to save your
      life.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll raised his brows. The words relieved his fears. &ldquo;I am glad,
      sir, that you perceive she would have been a fool to do so. You, I take
      it, have been fool enough to refuse the offer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, you damned play-actor! Yes!&rdquo; he thundered. &ldquo;D'ye think I want
      another man's cast-offs?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is an overstatement,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;Mistress Winthrop is no
      cast-off of mine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Enough said!&rdquo; snapped Rotherby. He had intended to say much, to do some
      mighty ranting. But before Mr. Caryll's cold half-bantering reduction of
      facts to their true values, he felt himself robbed of words. &ldquo;You hang!&rdquo;
       he ended shortly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye're sure of that?&rdquo; questioned Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would I were as sure of Heaven.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think you may be&mdash;just about as sure,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll rejoined,
      entirely unperturbed, and he sauntered forward towards Hortensia. Rotherby
      and his mother watched him, exchanging glances.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then Rotherby shrugged and sneered. &ldquo;'Tis his bluster,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;He'll be
      a farceur to the end. I doubt he's half-witted.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll never heeded him. He was bending beside Hortensia. He took her
      hand, and bore it to his lips. &ldquo;Sweet,&rdquo; he murmured, &ldquo;'twas a treason that
      you intended. Have you, then, no faith in me? Courage, sweetheart, they
      cannot hurt me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She clutched his hands, and looked up into his eyes. &ldquo;You but say that to
      comfort me!&rdquo; she cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not so,&rdquo; he answered gravely. &ldquo;I tell you no more than what is true. They
      think they hold me. They will cheat, and lie and swear falsely to the end
      that they may destroy me. But they shall have their pains for nothing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay&mdash;depend upon that,&rdquo; Rotherby mocked him. &ldquo;Depend upon it&mdash;to
      the gallows.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr Caryll's curious eyes smiled upon his brother, but his lips were
      contemptuous. &ldquo;I am of your own blood, Rotherby&mdash;your brother,&rdquo; he
      said again, &ldquo;and once already out of that consideration I have spared your
      life&mdash;because I would not have a brother's blood upon my hands.&rdquo; He
      sighed, and continued: &ldquo;I had hoped that you had enough humanity to do the
      same. I deplore that you should lack it; but I deplore it for your own
      sake, because, after all, you are my brother. Apart from that, it matters
      nothing to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will it matter nothing when you are proved a Jacobite spy?&rdquo; cried her
      ladyship, enraged beyond endurance by this calm scorn of them. &ldquo;Will it
      matter nothing when it is proved that you carried that letter, and would
      have carried that other&mdash;that you were empowered to treat in your
      exiled master's name? Will that matter nothing?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He looked at her an instant, then, as if utterly disdaining to answer her,
      he turned again to Rotherby. &ldquo;I were a fool and blind, did I not see to
      the bottom of this turbid little puddle upon which you think to float your
      argosies. You are selling me. You are to make a bargain with the
      government to forbear the confiscations your father has incurred out of
      consideration of the service you can render by disclosing this plot, and
      you would throw me in as something tangible&mdash;in earnest of the others
      that may follow. Have I sounded the depths of your intent?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And if you have&mdash;what then?&rdquo; demanded sullen Rotherby.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This, my lord,&rdquo; answered Mr. Caryll, and he quoted: &ldquo;'The man that once
      did sell the lion's skin while the beast lived, was killed with hunting
      him. Remember that!&rdquo;'
    </p>
    <p>
      They looked at him, impressed by the ringing voice in which he had
      spoken-a voice in which the ring was of mingled mockery and exultation.
      Then her ladyship shook off the impression, and laughed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;With what d'ye threaten us?&rdquo; she asked contemptuously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I&mdash;threaten, ma'am? Nay, I am incapable of threatening. I do not
      threaten. I have reasoned with you, exhorted you, shown you cause why, had
      you one spark of decency left, you would allow me to depart and shield me
      from the law you have invoked to ruin me. I have hoped for your own sakes
      that you would be moved so to do. But since you will not&mdash;&rdquo; He paused
      and shrugged. &ldquo;On your own heads be it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On our own heads be what?&rdquo; demanded Rotherby.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Mr. Caryll smiled, and shook his head. &ldquo;Did you know all, it might
      indeed influence your decision; and I would not have that happen. You have
      chosen, have you not, Rotherby? You will sell me; you will hang me&mdash;me,
      your father's son. Poor Rotherby! From my soul I pity you!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pity me? Death! You impudent rogue! Keep your pity for those that need
      it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is why I offer it you, Rotherby,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, almost sadly. &ldquo;In
      all my life, I have not met a man who stood more sorely in need of it, nor
      am I ever like to meet another.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There was a movement without, a tap at the door; and Humphries entered to
      announce Mr. Green's return, accompanied by Mr. Second Secretary
      Templeton, and without waiting for more, he ushered them into the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXII. THE HUNTERS
    </h2>
    <p>
      To the amazement of them all, there entered a tall gentleman in a
      full-bottomed wig, with a long, pale face, a resolute mouth, and a pair of
      eyes that were keen, yet kindly. Close upon the heels of the second
      secretary came Mr. Green. Humphries withdrew, and closed the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton made her ladyship a low bow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Madam,&rdquo; said he very gravely, &ldquo;I offer your ladyship&mdash;and you, my
      lord&mdash;my profoundest condolence in the bereavement you have suffered,
      and my scarcely less profound excuses for this intrusion upon your grief.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton may or may not have reflected that the grief upon which he
      deplored his intrusion was none so apparent.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I had not ventured to do so,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;but that your lordship
      seemed to invite my presence.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Invited it, sir?&rdquo; questioned Rotherby with deference. &ldquo;I should scarcely
      have presumed so far as to invite it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not directly, perhaps,&rdquo; returned the second secretary. His was a deep,
      rich voice, and he spoke with great deliberateness, as if considering well
      each word before allowing it utterance. &ldquo;Not directly, perhaps; but in
      view of your message to Lord Carteret, his lordship has desired me to come
      in person to inquire into this matter for him, before proceeding farther.
      This fellow,&rdquo; indicating Green, &ldquo;brought information from you that a
      Jacobite&mdash;an agent of James Stuart&mdash;is being detained here, and
      that your lordship has a communication to make to the secretary of state.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby bowed his assent. &ldquo;All I desired that Mr. Green should do
      meanwhile,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;was to procure a warrant for this man's arrest. My
      revelations would have followed that. Has he the warrant?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your lordship may not be aware,&rdquo; said Mr. Templeton, with an increased
      precision of diction, &ldquo;that of late so many plots have been disclosed and
      have proved in the end to be no plots at all, that his lordship has
      resolved to proceed now with the extremest caution. For it is not held
      desirable by his majesty that publicity should be given to such matters
      until there can be no doubt that they are susceptible to proof. Talk of
      them is disturbing to the public quiet, and there is already disturbance
      enough, as it unfortunately happens. Therefore, it is deemed expedient
      that we should make quite sure of our ground before proceeding to
      arrests.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But this plot is no sham plot,&rdquo; cried Rotherby, with the faintest show of
      heat, out of patience with the other's deliberateness. &ldquo;It is a very real
      danger, as I can prove to his lordship.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is for the purpose of ascertaining that fact,&rdquo; resumed the second
      secretary, entirely unruffled, &ldquo;for the purpose of ascertaining it before
      taking any steps that would seem to acknowledge it, that my Lord Carteret
      has desired me to wait upon you&mdash;that you may place me in possession
      of the circumstances that have come to your knowledge.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby's countenance betrayed his growing impatience. &ldquo;Why, for that
      matter, it has come to my knowledge that a plot is being hatched by the
      friends of the Stuart, and that a rising is being prepared, the present
      moment being considered auspicious, while the people's confidence in the
      government is shaken by the late South Sea Company disaster.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton wagged his head gently. &ldquo;That, sir&mdash;if you will permit
      the observation&mdash;is the preface of all the disclosures that have
      lately been made to us. The consolation, sir, for his majesty's friends,
      has been that in no case did the subsequent matter make that preface
      good.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is in that particular, then, that my disclosures shall differ from
      those others,&rdquo; said Rotherby, in a tone that caused Mr. Templeton
      afterwards to describe him as &ldquo;a damned hot fellow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have evidence?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Documentary evidence. A letter from the Pretender himself amongst it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A becoming gravity overspread Mr. Templeton's clear-cut face. &ldquo;That would
      be indeed regrettable,&rdquo; said he. It was plain that whatever the second
      secretary might display when the plot was disclosed to him, he would
      display none of that satisfaction upon which Rotherby had counted. &ldquo;To
      whom, sir, let me ask, is this letter indited?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To my late father,&rdquo; answered his lordship.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton made an exclamation, whose significance was not quite clear.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have discovered it since his death,&rdquo; continued Rotherby. &ldquo;I was but in
      time to wrest it from the hands of that spy of the Pretender's, who was in
      the act of destroying it when I caught him. My devotion to his majesty
      made my course clear, sir&mdash;and I desired Mr. Green to procure a
      warrant for this traitor's arrest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Templeton, regarding him with an eye in which astonishment
      was blent with admiration, &ldquo;this is very loyal in you&mdash;very loyal
      under the&mdash;ah&mdash;peculiar circumstances of the affair. I do not
      think that his majesty's government, considering to whom this letter was
      addressed, could have censured you even had you suppressed it. You have
      conducted yourself, my lord&mdash;if I may venture upon a criticism of
      your lordship's conduct&mdash;with a patriotism worthy of the best models
      of ancient Rome. And I am assured that his majesty's government will not
      be remiss in signifying appreciation of this very lofty loyalty of yours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Lord Rotherby bowed low, in acknowledgment of the compliment. Her ladyship
      concealed a cynical smile under cover of her fan. Mr. Caryll&mdash;standing
      in the background beside Hortensia's chair&mdash;smiled, too, and poor
      Hortensia, detecting his smile, sought to take comfort in it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My son,&rdquo; interposed the countess, &ldquo;is, I am sure, gratified to hear you
      so commend his conduct.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton bowed to her with a great politeness. &ldquo;I should be a stone,
      ma'am, did I not signify my&mdash;ah&mdash;appreciation of it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is a little more to follow, sir,&rdquo; put in Mr. Caryll, in that quiet
      manner of his. &ldquo;I think you will find it blunt the edge of his lordship's
      lofty loyalty&mdash;cause it to savor less like the patriotism of Rome,
      and more like that of Israel.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton turned upon him a face of cold displeasure. He would have
      spoken, but that whilst he was seeking words of a becoming gravity,
      Rotherby forestalled him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;what I did, I did though my ruin must have followed.
      I know what this traitor has in mind. He imagines I have a bargain to
      make. But you must see, sir, that in no sense is it so, for, having
      already surrendered the facts, it is too late now to attempt to sell them.
      I am ready to yield up the letters that I have found. No consideration
      could induce me to do other; and yet, sir, I venture to hope that in
      return, the government will be pleased to see that I have some claim upon
      my country's recognition for the signal service I am rendering her&mdash;and
      in rendering which I make a holocaust of my father's honor.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Surely, surely, sir,&rdquo; murmured Mr. Templeton, but his countenance told of
      a lessening enthusiasm in his lordship's Roman patriotism. &ldquo;Lord Carteret,
      I am sure, would never permit so much&mdash;ah&mdash;devotion to his
      majesty to go unrewarded.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I only ask, sir&mdash;and I ask it for the sake of my father's name,
      which stands in unavoidable danger of being smirched&mdash;that no further
      shame be heaped upon it than that which must result from the horror with
      which the discovery of this plot will inspire all right-thinking
      subjects.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll smiled and nodded. He judged in a detached spirit&mdash;a mere
      spectator at a play&mdash;and he was forced to admit to himself that it
      was subtly done of his brother, and showed an astuteness in this thing, at
      least, of which he had never supposed him capable.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is, sir,&rdquo; Rotherby proceeded, &ldquo;the matter of my father's dealings
      with the South Sea Company. He is no longer alive to defend himself from
      the accusations&mdash;from the impeachment which has been levelled against
      him by our enemy, the Duke of Wharton. Therefore, it might be possible to
      make it appear as if his dealings were&mdash;ah&mdash;not&mdash;ah&mdash;quite
      such as should befit an upright gentleman. There is that, and there is
      this greater matter against him. Between the two, I should never again be
      able to look my fellow-countrymen in the face. Yet this is the more
      important since the safety of the kingdom is involved; whilst the other is
      but a personal affair, and trivial by comparison.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will beg, sir, that out of consideration for my disclosing this
      dastardly conspiracy&mdash;which I cannot do without disclosing my
      father's misguided share in it&mdash;I will implore, sir, that out of that
      consideration, Lord Carteret will see fit to dispose that the South Sea
      Company affair is allowed to be forgotten. It has already been paid for by
      my father with his life.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton looked at the young man before him with eyes of real
      commiseration. He was entirely duped, and in his heart he regretted that
      for a moment he could have doubted Rotherby's integrity of purpose.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I offer you my sympathy&mdash;my profoundest sympathy;
      and you, my lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As for this South Sea Company affair, well&mdash;I am empowered by Lord
      Carteret to treat only of the other matter, and to issue or not a warrant
      for the apprehension of the person you are detaining, after I have
      investigated the grounds upon which his arrest is urged. Nevertheless,
      sir, I think I can say&mdash;indeed, I think I can promise&mdash;that in
      consideration of your readiness to deliver up these letters, and provided
      their nature is as serious as you represent, and also in consideration of
      this, your most signal proof of loyalty, Lord Carteret will not wish to
      increase the load which already you have to bear.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, sir!&rdquo; cried Rotherby in the deepest emotion, &ldquo;I have no words in
      which to express my thanks.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nor I,&rdquo; put in Mr. Caryll, &ldquo;words in which to express my admiration. A
      most excellent performance, Rotherby. I had not credited you with so much
      ability.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton frowned upon him again. &ldquo;Ye betray a singular callousness,
      sir,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, sir; not callousness. Merely the ease that springs from a tranquil
      conscience.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her ladyship glanced across at him, and sneered audibly. &ldquo;You hear the
      poisonous traitor, sir. He glories in a tranquil conscience, in spite of
      this murderous matter to which he stood committed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby turned aside to take the letters from the desk. He thrust them
      into Mr. Templeton's hands. &ldquo;Here, sir, is a letter from King James to my
      father, and here is a letter from my father to King James. From their
      contents, you will gather how far advanced are matters, what devilries are
      being hatched here in his majesty's dominions.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton received them, and crossed to the window that he might
      examine them. His countenance lengthened. Rotherby took his stand beside
      his mother's chair, both observing Mr. Caryll, who, in his turn, was
      observing Mr. Templeton, a faint smile playing round the corners of his
      mouth. Once they saw him stoop and whisper something in Hortensia's ear,
      and they caught the upward glance of her eyes, half fear, half question.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Green, by the door, stood turning his hat in his hands, furtively
      watching everybody, whilst drawing no attention to himself&mdash;a matter
      in which much practice had made him perfect.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last Templeton turned, folding the letters. &ldquo;This is very grave, my
      lord,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;and my Lord Carteret will no doubt desire to express in
      person his gratitude and his deep sense of the service you have done him.
      I think you may confidently expect to find him as generous as you hope.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He pocketed the letters, and raised a hand to point at Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;This
      man?&rdquo; he inquired laconically.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is a spy of King James's. He is the messenger who bore my father that
      letter from the Pretender, and he would no doubt have carried back the
      answer had my father lived.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton drew a paper from his pocket, and crossed to the desk. He
      sat down, and took up a quill. &ldquo;You can prove this, of course?&rdquo; he said,
      testing the point of his quill upon his thumb-nail.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Abundantly,&rdquo; was the ready answer. &ldquo;My mother can bear witness to the
      fact that 'twas he brought the Pretender's letter, and there is no lack of
      corroboration. Enough, I think, would be afforded by the assault made by
      this rogue upon Mr. Green, of which, no doubt, you are already informed,
      sir. His object&mdash;this proved object&mdash;was to possess himself of
      those papers that he might destroy them. I but caught him in time, as my
      servants can bear witness, as they can also bear witness to the
      circumstance that we were compelled to force an entrance here, and to use
      force to him to obtain the letters from him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton nodded. &ldquo;'Tis a clear case, then,&rdquo; said he, and dipped his
      pen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And yet,&rdquo; put in Mr. Caryll, in an indolent, musing voice, &ldquo;it might be
      made to look as clear another way.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton scowled at him. &ldquo;The opportunity shall be afforded you,&rdquo;
       said he. &ldquo;Meanwhile&mdash;what is your name?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll looked whimsically at the secretary a moment; then flung his
      bomb. &ldquo;I am Justin Caryll, Sixth Earl of Ostermore, and your very humble
      servant, Mr. Secretary.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The effect was ludicrous&mdash;from Mr. Caryll's point of view&mdash;and
      yet it was disappointing. Five pairs of dilating eyes confronted him, five
      gaping mouths. Then her ladyship broke into a laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The creature's mad&mdash;I've long suspected it.&rdquo; And she meant to be
      taken literally; his many whimsicalities were explained to her at last. He
      was, indeed, half-witted, as he now proved.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton, recovering, smote the table angrily. He thought he had good
      reason to lose his self-control on this occasion, though it was a matter
      of pride with him that he could always preserve an unruffled calm under
      the most trying circumstances. &ldquo;What is your name, sir?&rdquo; he demanded
      again.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are hard of hearing, sir, I think. I am Lord Ostermore. Set down that
      name in the warrant if you are determined to be bubbled by that fellow
      there and made to look foolish afterwards with my Lord Carteret.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton sat back in his chair, frowning; but more from utter
      bewilderment now than anger.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Perhaps,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, &ldquo;if I were to explain, it would help you to
      see the imposture that is being practiced upon you. As for the allegations
      that have been made against me&mdash;that I am a Jacobite spy and an agent
      of the Pretender's&mdash;&rdquo; He shrugged, and waved an airy hand. &ldquo;I scarce
      think there will remain the need for me to deny them when you have heard
      the rest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby took a step forward, his face purple, his hands clenched. Her
      ladyship thrust out a bony claw, clutched at his sleeve, and drew him back
      and into the chair beside her. &ldquo;Pho! Charles,&rdquo; she said; &ldquo;give the fool
      rope, and he'll hang himself, never doubt it&mdash;the poor, witless
      creature.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll sauntered over to the secretaire, and leaned an elbow on the
      top of it, facing all in the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I admit, Mr. Secretary,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that I had occasion to assault Mr.
      Green, to the end that I might possess myself of the papers he was seeking
      in this desk.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, then&mdash;&rdquo; began Mr. Templeton.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Patience, sir! I admit so much, but I admit no more. I do not, for
      instance, admit that the object&mdash;the object itself&mdash;of my search
      was such as has been represented.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What then? What else?&rdquo; growled Rotherby.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, sir&mdash;what else?&rdquo; quoth Mr. Templeton.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, with a sorrowful shake of, the head, &ldquo;I have
      already startled you, it seems, by one statement. I beg that you will
      prepare yourself to be startled by another.&rdquo; Then he abruptly dropped his
      languor. &ldquo;I should think twice, sir,&rdquo; he advised, &ldquo;before signing that
      warrant, were I in your place, to do so would be to render yourself the
      tool of those who are plotting my ruin, and ready to bear false witness
      that they may accomplish it. I refer,&rdquo; and he waved a hand towards the
      countess and his brother, &ldquo;to the late Lord Ostermore's mistress and his
      natural son, there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      In their utter stupefaction at the unexpectedness and seeming wildness of
      the statement, neither mother nor son could find a word to say. No more
      could Mr. Templeton for a moment. Then, suddenly, wrathfully: &ldquo;What are
      you saying, sir?&rdquo; he roared.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The truth, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The truth?&rdquo; echoed the secretary.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, sir&mdash;the truth. Have ye never heard of it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton sat back again. &ldquo;I begin to think,&rdquo; said he, surveying
      through narrowing eyes the slender graceful figure before him, &ldquo;that her
      ladyship is right that you are mad; unless&mdash;unless you are mad of the
      same madness that beset Ulysses. You remember?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let us have done,&rdquo; cried Rotherby in a burst of anger, leaping to his
      feet. &ldquo;Let us have done, I say! Are we to waste the day upon this Tom o'
      Bedlam? Write him down as Caryll&mdash;Justin Caryll&mdash;'tis the name
      he's known by; and let Green see to the rest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton made an impatient sound, and poised his pen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ye are not to suppose, sir,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll stayed him, &ldquo;that I cannot
      support my statements. I have by me proofs&mdash;irrefragable proofs of
      what I say.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Proofs?&rdquo; The word seemed to come from, every member of that little
      assembly&mdash;if we except Mr. Green, whose face was beginning to betray
      his uneasiness. He was not so ready as the others to believe, that Mr.
      Caryll was mad. For him, the situation asked some other explanation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay&mdash;proofs,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll. He had drawn the case from his pocket
      again. From this he took the birth-certificate, and placed it before Mr.
      Templeton, &ldquo;Will you glance at that, sir&mdash;to begin, with?&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton complied. His face became more and more grave. He looked at
      Mr. Caryll; then at Rotherby, who was scowling, and at her ladyship, who
      was breathing hard. His glance returned to Mr. Caryll.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are the person designated here?&rdquo; he inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As I can abundantly prove,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;I have no lack of friends
      in London who will bear witness to that much.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yet,&rdquo; said Mr. Templeton, frowning, perplexed, &ldquo;this does not make you
      what you claim to be. Rather does it show you to be his late lordship's&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There's more to come,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, and placed another document
      before the secretary. It was an extract from the register of St. Etienne
      of Maligny, relating to his mother's death.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you know, sir, in what year this lady went through a ceremony of
      marriage with my father&mdash;the late Lord Ostermore? It was in 1690, I
      think, as the lady will no doubt confirm.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To what purpose, this?&rdquo; quoth Mr. Templeton.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The purpose will be presently apparent. Observe that date,&rdquo; said Mr.
      Caryll, and he pointed to the document in Mr. Templeton's hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton read the date aloud&mdash;&ldquo;1692&rdquo;&mdash;and then the name of
      the deceased&mdash;&ldquo;Antoinette de Beaulieu de Maligny. What of it?&rdquo; he
      demanded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will understand that when I show you the paper I took from this desk,
      the paper that I obtained as a consequence of my violence to Mr. Green. I
      think you will consider, sir, that if ever the end justified the means, it
      did so in this case. Here was something very different from the paltry
      matter of treason that is alleged against me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And he passed the secretary a third paper.
    </p>
    <p>
      Over Mr. Templeton's shoulder, Rotherby and his mother, who&mdash;drawn by
      the overpowering excitement that was mastering them&mdash;had approached
      in silence, were examining the document with wide-open, startled eyes,
      fearing by very instinct, without yet apprehending the true nature of the
      revelation that was to come.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;God!&rdquo; shrieked her ladyship, who took in the meaning of this thing before
      Rotherby had begun to suspect it. &ldquo;'Tis a forgery!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That were idle, when the original entry in the register is to be seen in,
      the Church of St. Antoine, madam,&rdquo; answered Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;I rescued that
      document, together with some letters which my mother wrote my father when
      first he returned to England&mdash;and which are superfluous now&mdash;from
      a secret drawer in that desk, an hour ago.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But what is it?&rdquo; inquired Rotherby huskily. &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is the certificate of the marriage of my father, the late Lord
      Ostermore, and my mother, Antoinette de Maligny, at the Church of St.
      Antoine in Paris, in the year 1689.&rdquo; He turned to Mr. Templeton. &ldquo;You
      apprehend the matter, sir?&rdquo; he demanded, and recapitulated. &ldquo;In 1689 they
      were married; in 1692 she died; yet in 1690 his lordship went through a
      form of marriage with Mistress Sylvia Etheridge, there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton nodded very gravely, his eyes upon the document before him,
      that they might avoid meeting at that moment the eyes of the woman whom
      the world had always known as the Countess of Ostermore.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fortunate is it for me,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, &ldquo;that I should have possessed
      myself of these proofs in time. Does it need more to show how urgent might
      be the need for my suppression&mdash;how little faith can be attached to
      an accusation levelled against me from such a quarter?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By God&mdash;&rdquo; began Rotherby, but his mother clutched his wrist.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Be still, fool!&rdquo; she hissed in his ear. She had need to keep her wits
      about her, to think, to weigh each word that she might utter. An abyss had
      opened in her path; a false step, and she and her son were irrevocably
      lost&mdash;sent headlong to destruction. Rotherby, already reduced to the
      last stage of fear, was obedient as he had never been, and fell silent
      instantly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton folded the papers, rose, and proffered them to their owner.
      &ldquo;Have you any means of proving that this was the document you sought?&rdquo; he
      inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can prove that it was the document he found.&rdquo; It was Hortensia who
      spoke; she had advanced to her lover's side, and she controlled her
      amazement to bear witness for him. &ldquo;I was present in this room when he
      went through that desk, as all in the house know; and I can swear to his
      having found that paper in it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton bowed. &ldquo;My lord,&rdquo; he said to Caryll, &ldquo;your contentions
      appear clear. It is a matter in which I fear I can go no further; nor do I
      now think that the secretary of state would approve of my issuing a
      warrant upon such testimony as we have received. The matter is one for
      Lord Carteret himself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall do myself the honor of waiting upon his lordship within the
      hour,&rdquo; said the new Lord Ostermore. &ldquo;As for the letter which it is alleged
      I brought from France&mdash;from the Pretender,&rdquo;&mdash;he was smiling now,
      a regretful, deprecatory smile, &ldquo;it is a fortunate circumstance that,
      being suspected by that very man Green, who stands yonder, I was
      subjected, upon my arrival in England, to a thorough search at Maidstone&mdash;a
      search, it goes without saying, that yielded nothing. I was angry at the
      time, at the indignity I was forced to endure. We little know what the
      future may hold. And to-day I am thankful to have that evidence to rebut
      this charge.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your lordship is indeed to be congratulated,&rdquo; Mr. Templeton agreed. &ldquo;You
      are thus in a position to clear yourself of even a shadow of suspicion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You fool!&rdquo; cried she who until that hour had been Countess of Ostermore,
      turning fiercely upon Mr. Templeton. &ldquo;You fool!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Madam, this is not seemly,&rdquo; cried the second secretary, with awkward
      dignity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Seemly, idiot?&rdquo; she stormed at him. &ldquo;I swear, as I've a soul to be saved,
      that in spite of all this, I know that man to be a traitor and a Jacobite&mdash;that
      it was the letter from the king he sought, whatever he may pretend to have
      found.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Templeton looked at her in sorrow, for all that in her overwrought
      condition she insulted him. &ldquo;Madam, you might swear and swear, and yet no
      one would believe you in the face of the facts that have come to light.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you believe me?&rdquo; she demanded angrily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My beliefs can matter nothing,&rdquo; he compromised, and made her a
      valedictory bow. &ldquo;Your servant, ma'am,&rdquo; said he, from force of habit. He
      nodded to Rotherby, took up his hat and cane, and strode to the door,
      which Mr. Green had made haste to open for him. From the threshold he
      bowed to Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;My lord,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I shall go straight to Lord
      Carteret. He will stay for you till you come.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall not keep his lordship waiting,&rdquo; answered Caryll, and bowed in his
      turn.
    </p>
    <p>
      The second secretary went out. Mr. Green hesitated a moment, then abruptly
      followed him. The game was ended here; it was played and lost, he saw, and
      what should such as Mr. Green be doing on the losing side?
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIII. THE LION
    </h2>
    <p>
      The game was played and lost. All realized it, and none so keenly as
      Hortensia, who found it in her gentle heart to pity the woman who had
      never shown her a kindness.
    </p>
    <p>
      She set a hand upon her lover's arm. &ldquo;What will you do, Justin?&rdquo; she
      inquired in tones that seemed to plead for mercy for those others; for she
      had not paused to think&mdash;as another might have thought&mdash;that
      there was no mercy he could show them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby and his mother stood hand in hand; it was the woman who had
      clutched at her son for comfort and support in this bitter hour of
      retribution, this hour of the recoil upon themselves of all the evil they
      had plotted.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll considered them a moment, his face a mask, his mind entirely
      detached. They interested him profoundly. This subjugation of two natures
      that in themselves were arrogant and cruel was a process very engrossing
      to observe. He tried to conjecture what they felt, what thoughts they
      might be harboring. And it seemed to him that a sort of paralysis had
      fallen on their wits. They were stunned under the shock of the blow he had
      dealt them. Anon there would be railings and to spare&mdash;against him,
      against themselves, against the dead man above stairs, against Fate, and
      more besides. For the present there was this horrid, almost vacuous calm.
    </p>
    <p>
      Presently the woman stirred. Instinct&mdash;the instinct of the stricken
      beast to creep to hiding&mdash;moved her, while reason was still bound in
      lethargy. She moved to step, drawing at her son's hand. &ldquo;Come, Charles,&rdquo;
       she said, in a low, hoarse voice. &ldquo;Come!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The touch and the speech awakened him to life. &ldquo;No!&rdquo; he cried harshly, and
      shook his hand free of hers. &ldquo;It ends not thus.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He looked almost as he would fling himself upon his brother, his figure
      erect now, defiant and menacing; his face ashen, his eyes wild. &ldquo;It ends
      not thus!&rdquo; he repeated, and his voice rang sinister.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll agreed quietly. &ldquo;It ends not thus.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He looked sadly from son to mother. &ldquo;It had not even begun thus, but that
      you would have it so. You would have it. I sought to move you to mercy. I
      reminded you, my brother, of the tie that bound us, and I would have
      turned you from fratricide, I would have saved you from the crime you
      meditated&mdash;for it was a crime.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fratricide!&rdquo; exclaimed Rotherby, and laughed angrily. &ldquo;Fratricide!&rdquo; It
      was as if he threatened it.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Mr. Caryll continued to regard him sorrowfully. From his soul he
      pitied him; pitied them both&mdash;not because of their condition, but
      because of the soullessness behind it all. To him it was truly tragic,
      tragic beyond anything that he had ever known.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You said some fine things, sir, to Mr. Templeton of your regard for your
      father's memory,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll. &ldquo;You expressed some lofty sentiments of
      filial piety, which almost sounded true&mdash;which sounded true, indeed,
      to Mr. Templeton. It was out of interest for your father that you pleaded
      for the suppression of his dealings with the South Sea Company; not for a
      moment did you consider yourself or the profit you should make from such
      suppression.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why this?&rdquo; demanded the mother fiercely. &ldquo;Do you rally us? Do you turn
      the sword in the wound now that you have us at your mercy&mdash;now that
      we are fallen?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;From what are you fallen?&rdquo; Mr. Caryll inquired. &ldquo;Ah, but let that pass. I
      do not rally, madam. Mockery is far indeed from my intention.&rdquo; He turned
      again to Rotherby. &ldquo;Lord Ostermore was a father to you, which he never was
      to me&mdash;knew not that he was. The sentiments you so beautifully
      expressed to Mr. Templeton are the sentiments that actuate me now, though
      I shall make no attempt to express them. It is not that my heart stirs
      much where my Lord Ostermore is concerned. And yet, for the sake of the
      name that is mine now, I shall leave England as I came&mdash;Mr. Justin
      Caryll, neither more nor less.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the eyes of the world there is no slur upon my mother's name, because
      her history&mdash;her supposed history&mdash;was unknown. See that none
      ever falls on it, else shall you find me pitiless indeed. See that none
      ever falls on it, or I shall return and drive home the lesson that, like
      Antinous, you've learnt&mdash;that 'twixt the cup and lip much ill may
      grow'&mdash;and turn you, naked upon a contemptuous world. Needs more be
      said? You understand, I think.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Rotherby understood nothing. But his mother's keener wits began to
      perceive a glimmer of the truth. &ldquo;Do you mean that&mdash;that we are to&mdash;to
      remain in the station that we believed our own?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What else?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She stared at him. Here was a generosity so weak, it seemed to her, as
      almost to provoke her scorn. &ldquo;You will leave your brother in possession of
      the title and what else there may be?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You think me generous, madam,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Do not misapprehend me. I am
      not. I covet neither the title nor estates of Ostermore. Their possession
      would be a thorn in my flesh, a thorn of bitter memory. That is one reason
      why you should not think me generous, though it is not the reason why I
      cede them. I would have you understand me on this, perhaps the last time,
      that we may meet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lord Ostermore, my father, married you, madam, in good faith.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She interrupted harshly. &ldquo;What is't you say?&rdquo; she almost screamed,
      quivering with rage at the very thought of what her dead lord had done.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He married you in good faith,&rdquo; Mr. Caryll repeated quietly, impressively.
      &ldquo;I will make it plain to you. He married you believing that the girl-wife
      he had left in France was dead. For fear it should come to his father's
      knowledge, he kept that marriage secret from all. He durst not own his
      marriage to his father.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He was not&mdash;as you may have appreciated in the years you lived with
      him&mdash;a man of any profound feeling for others. For himself he had a
      prodigiously profound feeling, as you may also have gathered. That
      marriage in France was troublesome. He had come to look upon it as one of
      his youth's follies&mdash;as he, himself, described it to me in this
      house, little knowing to whom he spoke. When he received the false news of
      her death&mdash;for he did receive such news from the very cousin who
      crossed from France to avenge her, believing her dead himself&mdash;he
      rejoiced at his near escape from the consequences of his folly. Nor was he
      ever disabused of his error. For she had ceased to write to him by then.
      And so he married you, madam, in good faith. That is the argument I shall
      use with my Lord Carteret to make him understand that respect for my
      father's memory urges me to depart in silence&mdash;save for what I must
      have said to escape the impeachment with which you threatened me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lord Carteret is a man of the world. He will understand the far-reaching
      disturbance that must result from the disclosure of the truth of this
      affair. He will pledge Mr. Templeton to silence, and the truth, madam,
      will never be disclosed. That, I think, is all, madam.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By God, sir,&rdquo; cried Rotherby, &ldquo;that's damned handsome of you!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You epitomize it beautifully,&rdquo; said Mr. Caryll, with a reversion to his
      habitual manner.
    </p>
    <p>
      His mother, however, had no words at all. She advanced a step towards Mr.
      Caryll, put out her hands, and then&mdash;portent of portents!&mdash;two
      tears were seen to trickle down her cheeks, playing havoc, ploughing
      furrows in the paint that overlaid them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll stepped forward quickly. The sight of those tears, springing
      from that dried-up heart&mdash;withered by God alone knew what blight&mdash;washing
      their way down those poor bedaubed cheeks, moved him to a keener pity than
      anything he had ever looked upon. He took her hands, and pressed them a
      moment, giving way for once to an impulse he could not master.
    </p>
    <p>
      She would have kissed his own in the abasement and gratitude of the
      moment. But he restrained her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No more, your ladyship,&rdquo; said he, and by thus giving her once more the
      title she had worn, he seemed to reinstate her in the station from which
      in self-defence he had pulled her down. &ldquo;Promise that you'll bear no
      witness against me should so much be needed, and I'll cry quits with you.
      Without your testimony, they cannot hurt me, even though they were
      disposed to do so, which is scarcely likely.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir&mdash;sir&mdash;&rdquo; she faltered brokenly. &ldquo;Could you&mdash;could you
      suppose&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed, no. So no more, ma'am. You do but harass yourself. Fare you well,
      my lady. If I may trespass for a few moments longer upon the hospitality
      of Stretton House, I'll be your debtor.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The house&mdash;and all&mdash;is yours, sir,&rdquo; she reminded him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There's but one thing in it that I'll carry off with me,&rdquo; said he. He
      held the door for her.
    </p>
    <p>
      She looked into his face a moment. &ldquo;God keep you!&rdquo; said she, with a
      surprising fervor in one not over-fluent at her prayers. &ldquo;God reward you
      for showing this mercy to an old woman&mdash;who does not deserve so
      much.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fare you well, madam,&rdquo; he said again, bowing gravely. &ldquo;And fare you well,
      Lord Ostermore,&rdquo; he added to her son.
    </p>
    <p>
      His brother looked at him a moment; seemed on the point of speaking, and
      then&mdash;taking his cue, no doubt, from his mother's attitude&mdash;he
      held out his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Caryll took it, shook it, and let it go. After all, he bethought him,
      the man was his brother. And if his bearing was not altogether cordial, it
      was, at least, a clement imitation of cordiality.
    </p>
    <p>
      He closed the door upon them, and sighed supreme relief. He turned to face
      Hortensia, and a smile broke like sunshine upon his face, and dispelled
      the serious gloom of his expression. She sprang towards him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come now, thou chattel, that I am resolved to carry with me from my
      father's house,&rdquo; said he.
    </p>
    <p>
      She checked in her approach. &ldquo;'Tis not in such words that I'll be wooed,&rdquo;
       said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A fig for words!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Art wooed and won. Confess it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You want nothing for self-esteem,&rdquo; she informed him gravely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One thing, Hortensia,&rdquo; he amended. &ldquo;One thing I want&mdash;I lack&mdash;to
      esteem myself greater than any king that rules.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I like that better,&rdquo; she laughed, and suddenly she was in tears. &ldquo;Oh, why
      do you mock, and make-believe that your heart is on your lips and nowhere
      else?&rdquo; she asked him. &ldquo;Is it your aim to be accounted trifling and shallow&mdash;you
      who can do such things as you have done but now? Oh, it was noble! You
      made me very proud.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Proud?&rdquo; he echoed. &ldquo;Ah! Then it must be that you are resolved to take
      this impudent, fleering coxcomb for a husband,&rdquo; he said, rallying her with
      the words she had flung at him that night in the moonlit Croydon garden.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How I was mistook in you!&rdquo; quoth she.
    </p>
    <p>
      He made philosophy. &ldquo;'Tis ever those in whom we are mistook that are best
      worth knowing,&rdquo; he informed her. &ldquo;The man or woman whom you can read at
      sight, is read and done with.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yet you were not mistook in me,&rdquo; said she.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was,&rdquo; he answered, &ldquo;for I deemed you woman.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What other have you found me?&rdquo; she inquired.
    </p>
    <p>
      He flung wide his arms, and bade her into them. &ldquo;Here to my heart,&rdquo; he
      cried, &ldquo;and in your ear I'll whisper it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">





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