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diff --git a/31106.txt b/31106.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..970b2a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/31106.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15233 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Brooke's Daughter, by Adeline Sergeant + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Brooke's Daughter + A Novel + +Author: Adeline Sergeant + +Release Date: January 28, 2010 [EBook #31106] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROOKE'S DAUGHTER *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Linda Hamilton and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by the Canadian Institute for Historical +Microreproductions (www.canadiana.org)) + + + + + + + + + + *Have you Teeth?* + --THEN PRESERVE THEM BY USING-- + *LYMAN'S + CHERRY + TOOTH PASTE.* + + Whitens the teeth, sweetens the breath, prevents decay. + + In handsome Engraved Pots,--25 cents each. + + [Illustration] + + * * * * * + + Trade Mark Secured. + [Illustration] + =Lyman's= + *Royal Canadian Perfumes.* + + The only CANADIAN PERFUMES on the + English Market. + + CERISE. + ENGLISH VIOLETS. + HELIOTROPE. + JOCKEY CLUB. + ETC. + + PRAIRIE FLOWERS. + POND LILY. + WHITE ROSE. + YLANG YLANG. + ETC. + + [Illustration] + + * * * * * + + *ESTABLISHED 1852. + LORGE & CO.* + HATTERS & FURRIERS. + + [Illustration] + + 21 ST. LAWRENCE MAIN ST. 21 + *MONTREAL.* + + * * * * * + + _Established 1866._ + *L. J. A. SURVEYER,* + 6 ST. LAWRENCE ST. + (near Craig Street.) + + HOUSE FURNISHING HARDWARE, + Brass, Vienna and Russian Coffee Machines, + *CARPET SWEEPERS, CURTAIN STRETCHERS,* + BEST ENGLISH CUTLERY, + FRENCH MOULDS, &c., + *BUILDERS' HARDWARE, TOOLS, ETC.* + + + + +JOHN LOVELL & SON'S PUBLICATIONS. + + +=The Haute Noblesse.= By GEO. MANVILLE FENN. + +A cleverly written book, with exceptional characters. 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All who +enjoy a first-class story cannot fail to be interested, and the many +admirers of Helen Mathers will find a new treasure in this work. + +PRICE 30 cents. + + +=Joshua.= By GEORG EBERS. + +A story of Egyptian-Israelitish life which will bear favorable +comparison with Ben-Hur and other high-class books of the same style. +The description of the flight of the children of Israel from Egypt, and +their subsequent wanderings in the desert, are placed before the reader +in a startlingly realistic manner. + +PRICE 30 cents. + + +=Hester Hepworth.= By KATE TANNATT WOODS. + +This work treats of the superstitious times of 1692, when witchcraft was +punished with death. It tends to arouse one's sympathy, and will be read +with much interest and profit. + +PRICE 30 cents. + + +=A Woman's Heart.= By MRS. ALEXANDER. + +An exciting and dramatically written story, full of woman's tenderness +and compassion under the most trying circumstances. A captivating +romance that is as interesting as it is elevating in tone. + +PRICE 30 cents. + + +=A True Friend.= By ADELINE SERGEANT. + +The portrayal not the exaggeration of a noble character, from whom the +reader can draw healthy inspiration. + +PRICE 30 cents. + + +=A Smuggler's Secret.= By FRANK BARRETT. + +An exciting story of the Cornish Coast, full of adventure, well put +together and of a pure tone. + +PRICE 30 cents. + + +=The Great Mill Street Mystery.= By ADELINE SERGEANT. + +The author is as usual true to life and true to her own noble instincts. +Added to a feminine perception, Miss Sergeant has a dispassionateness +and a sense of humor quite rare in her sex. + +PRICE 30 cents. + + +=The Moment After.= By ROBERT BUCHANAN. + +A thrilling story, giving the experience in the hereafter of a man who +was hanged. It is weird but not revolting. + +PRICE 30 cents. + + +=The Bondman.= By HALL CAINE. + +It is vigorous and faithful, portrays with the intimacy of entire +acquaintanceship, not only the physical features of island life in the +Northern Seas, but the insular habits of thought of the dwellers on +those secluded haunts of the old Sea Kings or Vikings of the past. + +PRICE 30 cents. + + +JOHN LOVELL & SON, PUBLISHERS, MONTREAL. + + + + + BROOKE'S DAUGHTER. + + *A NOVEL.* + + BY + + ADELINE SERGEANT, + _Author of "A True Friend" etc., etc._ + + + MONTREAL: + JOHN LOVELL & SON, + 23 ST. NICHOLAS STREET. + + + + +Entered according to Act of Parliament in the year 1891, by John Lovell +& Son, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture and Statistics at +Ottawa. + + + + +*SECOND EDITION.* + +"A DAUGHTER OF ST. PETER'S" + + BY JANET C. CONGER. + (MRS. WM. COX ALLEN.) + + *In Paper Cover, 30 Cents. + " Cloth " 50 "* + +Lovell's Canadian Authors' Series, No. 60. + + +The authoress is a Canadian, and her story is remarkably well +told.--_Advertiser_, London. + +In this work a new aspirant for literary honors in the field of fiction +makes her first appearance before the public. The story which she tells +is neither lengthy nor involved. It is a simple, prettily told story of +love at first sight, with a happy ending, and little to divert the mind +of the reader from the hero and heroine. Mrs. Conger's literary style is +pleasing, and her production evidences a well cultured mind and a +tolerable appreciation of character. Her book will be found very +pleasant reading.--"_Intelligencer_," Belleville. + +The plot is ingeniously constructed, and its working out furnishes the +opportunity for some dramatic situations. The heroine, of whose early +life the title gives us a hint, is a creature all grace and tenderness, +a true offspring of the sunny south. The hero is an American, a man of +wealth, and an artist _in posse_. The other _dramatis personae_, who play +their parts around these central figures, are mostly Italians or +Americans. The great question to be solved is: Who is Merlina? In +supplying the solution, the author takes occasion to introduce us to an +obscure but interesting class of people. The denouement of "A Daughter +of St. Peter's" is somewhat startling, but we must not impair the +reader's pleasure by anticipation. We see from the advanced sheets that +it is dedicated to the Canadian public, to whom we cordially commend +it.--_The Gazette_, Montreal. + +For a first effort, which the authoress in her preface modestly says the +novel is, "A Daughter of St. Peter's" must be pronounced a very +promising achievement. The plot is well constructed and the story +entertaining and well told. The style is light and agreeable, and with a +little more experience and facility in novel-writing we may expect Mrs. +Conger, if she essays a second trial, to produce a book that will +surpass the decided merits of "A Daughter of St. Peter's."--_Free +Press_, London. + + + + +COVERNTON'S SPECIALTIES. + + +*GOOD MORNING!* + +HAVE you used COVERNTON'S Celebrated + + +FRAGRANT CARBOLIC TOOTH WASH, + +For Cleansing and Preserving the Teeth, Hardening the Gums, etc. Highly +recommended by the leading Dentists of the City. Price, 25c., 50c. and +$1.00 a bottle. + + +COVERNTON'S SYRUP OF WILD CHERRY, + +For Coughs, Colds, Asthma, Bronchitis, etc. Price 25c. + + +COVERNTON'S AROMATIC BLACKBERRY CARMINATIVE, + +For Diarrhoea, Cholera Morbus, Dysentery, etc. Price 25c. + + +COVERNTON'S NIPPLE OIL, + +For Cracked or Sore Nipples. Price 25c. + + +*GOOD EVENING!* + +USE + +COVERNTON'S ALPINE CREAM + +for Chapped Hands, Sore Lips, Sunburn, Tan, Freckles, etc. A most +delightful preparation for the Toilet. Price 25c. + + * * * * * + + C. J. COVERNTON & CO., + *Dispensing Chemists, + CORNER OF BLEURY AND DORCHESTER STREETS,* + + _Branch, 469 St. Lawrence Street_, + *MONTREAL.* + + + + +BROOKE'S DAUGHTER. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE END OF HER CHILDHOOD. + + +The Convent of the Annonciades, situated in a secluded spot on the +outskirts of Paris, has long been well reputed as an educational +establishment for young ladies of good family. The sisters themselves +are women of refinement and cultivation, and the antecedents of every +pupil received by them are most carefully inquired into: so carefully, +indeed, that admission to the Convent School is looked on almost as a +certificate of noble birth and unimpeachable orthodoxy. The Ladies of +the Annonciades have indeed lately relaxed their rules, so far as to +receive as parlor-boarders some very rich American girls and the +children of a Protestant English marquis; but wealth in the first +instance, and birth in the second, counterbalance the objections that +might be raised to their origin or their faith. These exceptions to the +rule are, however, few and far between; and, in spite of the levelling +tendencies of our democratic days, Annonciades Convent is still one of +the most exclusive and aristocratic establishments of the kind in +Europe. + +Although we know too well that small-minded jealousy, strife, and +bickering must exist in a community of women cut off so entirely from +the outer world as in this Convent of the Annonciades, it must be +confessed that the very name and air of the place possess a certain +romantic charm. The house is old, turreted like a chateau, overgrown +with clematis and passion-flower. The grounds, enclosed by high mossy +walls, are of great extent, and beautifully laid out. The long chestnut +avenue, the sparkling fountains, the trim flower-beds, are the delight +of the sisters' hearts. The green beauty of the garden, and the grey +stones of the ancient building, form a charming background for the +white-veiled women who glide with noiseless footsteps along the +cloisters or the avenue: a background more becoming to them even than to +the bevy of girls in their everyday grey frocks, or their Sunday garb of +white and blue. For the sisters' quaint and graceful dress harmonizes +with the antique surroundings of building and ornament as anything +younger and more modern fails to do. + +These women--shut off from the world, and knowing little of its joys or +sorrows--have a strangely tranquil air. With some the tranquility verges +on childishness. One feels that they have not conquered the world, they +have but escaped it; and, as one pities the soldier who flies the +battle, so one mourns for the want of courage which has condemned these +women to an inglorious peace. But here and there another kind of face is +to be seen. Here and there we come across a countenance bearing the +tragic impress of toil and grief and passion; and we feel it possible +that in this haven alone perhaps could a nature which had striven and +suffered so greatly find in the end a lasting place. But such faces are +fortunately few and far between. + +From the wide low window of the great _salle d'etude_ a flight of steps +with carved stone balustrades led into the garden. The balustrades were +half-covered with clustering white roses and purple clematis on the day +of which I write; and a breath of perfume, almost overpowering in its +sweetness, was wafted every now and then from the beds of mignonette and +lilies on either side. The brilliant sunshine of an early September day +was not yet touched with the melancholy of autumn: the leaves of the +Virginia creeper had not yet changed to scarlet, nor had the chestnuts +yellowed as if winter was creeping on apace. Everything was still, warm +and bright. + +The stillness was partly accounted for by the fact that most of the +pupils had gone home for their summer holidays. The _salle d'etude_ was +empty and a little desolate: no hum of busy voices came from its open +window to the garden; and even the tranquil sisters seemed to miss the +sound, and to look wistfully at the bare desks and unused benches of +their schoolroom. For they loved their pupils and their work; both +came, perhaps, as a welcome break in the monotony of their barren lives; +and they were sorry when the day came for their scholars to leave them +for a time. Still more did they grieve when the inevitable day of a +final departure arrived. They knew--some by hearsay, some by experience, +and some by instinct alone--that the going away from school into the +world was the beginning of a new life, full, very often, of danger and +temptation, in which the good sisters and their teaching were likely to +be forgotten, and it was a sorrow to them to be henceforth dissociated +from the thoughts and lives of those who had often been under their +guardianship and tuition for many years. Such a parting--probably a +final one--was now imminent, and not a few of the sisters were troubled +by the prospect, although it was against their rule to let any sign of +such grief appear. + +It was not the hour of recreation, but the ordinary routine of the +establishment was for a little while suspended, partly because it was +holiday-time, and partly because an unusual event was coming to pass. +One of the parlor boarders, who had been with the sisters since her +childhood, first as a boarder and then as a guest, was about to leave +them. She was to be fetched away by her mother and her mother's father, +who was an English milord, of fabulous wealth and distinction, and, +although at present a heretic, exceedingly "well-disposed" towards the +Catholic church. It was not often that a gentleman set foot within the +precincts of the convent; and although he would not be allowed to +penetrate farther than the parlor, the very fact of his presence sent a +thrill of excitement through the house. An English milord, a heretic, +the grandfather of "cette chere Lisa," whom they were to lose so soon! +No wonder the most placid of the nuns, the most stolid of the +lay-sisters, tingled with excitement to the finger-tips! + +The girl whose departure from the convent school was thus regretted was +known amongst her English friends as Lesley Brooke. French lips, +unaccustomed to a name like Lesley, had changed it into Lisa; but Lesley +loved her own name, which was a heritage in her family, and had been +handed down to her from her grandmother. She was always glad to hear it +from friendly English lips. She was nineteen now, and had stayed with +the sisters an unusually long time without exactly knowing why. Family +circumstances, she was told, had hitherto prevented her mother from +taking her to an English home. But now the current of her life was to be +changed. She was to leave Paris: she was, she believed, even to leave +France. Her mother had written that she was to go to London, and that +she (Lady Alice Brooke) would come for her, in company with Lesley's +grandfather, Lord Courtleroy, with whom she had been traveling abroad +for some time past. + +Lesley was overjoyed by the news. She had lately come to suspect +something strange, something abnormal, in her own position. She had +remained at school when other girls went to their homes: she never had +been able to answer questions respecting her relations and their +belongings. Her mother, indeed, she knew; for she sometimes spent a +portion of the holidays with Lady Alice at a quiet watering-place in +France or Italy. And her mother was all that could be desired. Gentle, +refined, beautiful, with a slight shade of melancholy which only made +her delicate face more attractive--at least in Lesley's eyes--Lady Alice +Brooke gained love and admiration whithersoever she went. But she never +spoke of her husband. Lesley had gradually learned that she must not +mention his name. In her younger days she had been wont to ask questions +about her unknown father. Was he dead?--was he in another country?--why +had she never seen him? She soon found that these questions were gently +but decidedly checked. Her mother did not decline in so many words to +answer them, but she set them aside. Only once, when Lesley was fifteen, +and made some timid, wistful reference to the father whom she had never +known, did Lady Alice make her a formal answer. + +"I will tell you all about your father when you are old enough to hear," +she said. "Until then, Lesley, I had rather that you did not talk of +him." + +Lesley shrank into herself abashed, and never mentioned his name again. + +All the same, as she grew older, her fancy played about this unknown +father, as the fancy of young girls always plays about a mystery. Had he +committed some crime? Had he disgraced himself and his family that his +name might not be breathed in Lady Alice's ear? But she could not +believe that her good, beautiful mother would ever have loved and +married a wicked man!--such was the phrase that she, in her girlish +innocence and ignorance, used to herself. As to scandal and +tittle-tattle, none of it reached the seclusion of her convent-home, or +was allowed to sully her fair mind. And it was impossible for her to +connect the idea of folly, guilt, or shame with the pure, sweet face of +her mother, or the stately pride and dignity of her mother's father, the +Earl of Courtleroy. There was evidently a mystery; but she was sure of +one thing, that it was a mystery without disgrace. + +And now, as she stood waiting on the stone steps, her face flushed a +little, and her eyes filled at the thought that she would now, perhaps, +be allowed to hear the story of her parents' lives. For she knew that +she was going to leave the convent, and it had been vaguely hinted by +Lady Alice in a recent letter that on leaving the convent Lesley must be +prepared for a great surprise. + +Lesley looked over the silent, sweet-scented garden, and half-sighed, +half-smiled, to think that she should leave it so soon, and perhaps for +ever. But she was excited rather than sad, and when one of the sisters +appeared at the door of the study, or _salle d'etude_, Lesley turned +towards her with a quick, eager gesture, which not all the training to +which she had been subjected since her childhood would have availed to +suppress. + +"Oh, sister, tell me, has she come?" + +The sister was a tall, spare woman, with a thin face and great dark +eyes, with eyelids slightly reddened, as though by long weeping or +sleeplessness. It was an austere face, but its severity softened into +actual sweetness as she smiled at her pupil's eagerness. + +"Gently, my child: why so impetuous?" she said, taking the girl's hand +in her own. "Yes, madame has arrived: she is in the parlor, speaking to +the Reverend Mother; and in five minutes you are to go to her." + +"Not for five minutes?" said Lesley; and then, controlling herself, she +added, penitently. "I know I am impatient, Sister Rose." + +"Yes, dear child: you are impatient: it is in your nature, in your +blood," said the sister, looking at her with a sort of pity in her +eyes--a pity which Lesley resented, without quite knowing why. "And you +are going into a world where you will find many things sadly different +from your expectations. If you remember the lessons that we have tried +to read you here--lessons of patience, endurance, resignation to the +will of others, and especially to the will of God--you will be happy in +spite of sorrow and tribulation." + +The young girl trembled: it seemed as if the sister spoke with a +purpose, as if she knew of some difficulty, some danger that lay before +her. She had been trained to ask no questions, and therefore she kept +silence. But her lips trembled, and her beautiful brown eyes filled with +tears. + +"Come, my dear child," said Sister Rose, taking her by the hand, after a +short pause, "I will take you to your mother. She will be ready for you +now. May God protect you and guide you in your way through the world!" + +And Lesley lowered her head as if she had received a blessing. Sister +Rose was a woman whom Lesley honored and revered, and her words, +therefore, sank deep, and often recurred to the young girl's mind in +days to come. + +They went in silence to the door of the parlor. Here Sister Rose +relinquished her pupil's hand, tapped three times on one of the panels, +and signed to Lesley to open the door. With a trembling hand Lesley +obeyed the sign; and in another moment she was in her mother's arms. + +Lady Alice Brooke was a very attractive looking woman. She was tall, +slight, and graceful, and although she must have been close upon forty, +she certainly had not the appearance of a woman over four or five and +thirty. Her complexion was untouched by time: her cheeks were smooth and +fair, her blue eyes clear. Her pretty brown hair had perhaps lost a +little of the golden tinge of its youth, but it was still soft and +abundant. But the reason why people often turned to look at her did not +lie in any measure of grace and beauty that she possessed, so much as in +an indefinable air of distinction and refinement which seemed to pervade +her whole being, and marked her off from the rest of the world as one +made of finer clay than others. + +Many people resented this demeanor--which was quite unconscious on Lady +Alice's part--and thought that it signified pride, haughtiness, coldness +of heart; but in all this they were greatly, if not altogether, +mistaken. Lady Alice was not of a cold nature, and she was never +willingly haughty; but in some respects, she was what the world calls +proud. She was proud of her ancient lineage; of the repute of her +family, of the stainlessness of its name. And she had brought up Lesley, +as far as she could, in the same old tradition. + +Lesley was like her mother, and unlike, too. She had her mother's tall, +graceful figure; but there was much more vivacity in her face than there +had ever been in Lady Alice's; much more warmth and life and color. +There was more determination in the lines of her mouth and chin: her +brow was broader and fuller, and her eyes were dark brown instead of +blue. But the likeness was there, with a diversity of expression and of +coloring. + +"I thought you were never coming," said Lesley at length, as she clung +fondly to her mother. "I could hardly sleep last night for thinking how +delightful it would be to go away with you!" + +Lady Alice gave a little start, and looked at the girl as if there had +been some hidden meaning in her words. + +"Go away with me?" she repeated. + +"Yes, mother darling, and be with you always: to look after you and not +let grandpapa tire you with long walks and long games of backgammon. I +shall be his companion as well as yours, and I shall take care of you +both. I have planned ever so many things that I mean to do--especially +when we go to Scotland." + +"Lesley," said Lady Alice, faintly, "I am tired: let me sit down." And +then, as the girl made her seat herself in the one arm-chair that the +room contained, and hung over her with affectionate solicitude, she went +on, with paling lips: "You never said these things in your letter, +child! I did not know that you were so anxious to come away--with me." + +"Oh, mamma, dear, you surely knew it all the time?" said Lesley, +thinking the comment a reproach. "You surely knew how I longed to be +with you? But I would not _say_ much in my letters for fear of making +you think I was unhappy; and I have always been very happy here with the +dear sisters and the girls. But I thought you _understood_ me, +mamma--understood by instinct, as it were," said Lesley, kneeling by her +mother's side, and throwing an occasional shy glance into her mother's +face. + +"I understand perfectly, dear, and I see your unselfish motive. It makes +me all the more sorry to disappoint you as I am about to do." + +"Oh, mamma! Am I not to leave school, then?" + +"Yes, dear, you will leave school." + +"And--and--with you?" + +"You will come with me, certainly--until to-morrow, darling. But you +leave _me_ to-morrow, too." + +The color began to fade from Lesley's cheeks, as it had already faded +from Lady Alice's. The girl felt a great swelling in her throat, and a +film seemed to dim the clearness of her sight. But Sister Rose's words +came back to her mind with an inspiring thrill which restored her +strength. "Patience, endurance, resignation!" Was this the occasion on +which she was to show whether these virtues were hers or not? She would +not fail in the hour of trial: she would be patient and endure! + +"If you will explain, mamma dear," she said, entreatingly, "I will try +to do--as you would like." + +"My darling! My Lesley! What a help it is to me to see you so brave!" +said her mother, putting her arms round the girl's shoulders, and +resting her face on the bright young head. "If I could keep you with me! +but it will be only for a time, my child, and then--then you _will_ come +back to me?" + +"Come back to you, mamma? As if anything would keep me away! But what is +it? where am I to go? what am I to do? Why haven't you told me before?" + +She was trembling with excitement. Patience was not one of Lesley's +virtues. She felt, with sudden heat of passion, that she could bear any +pain rather than this suspense, which her mother's gentle reluctance to +give pain inflicted upon her. + +"I did not tell you before," said Lady Alice, slowly, "because I was +under a promise not to do so. I have been obliged to keep you in the +dark about your future for many a long year, Lesley, and the concealment +has always weighed upon my mind. You must forgive me, dearest, for this: +I did not see the consequence of my promise when I made it first." + +"What promise was it, mamma?" + +"To let you leave me for a time, my dear: to let you go from me--to let +you choose your own life--oh, it seems hard and cruel to me now." + +"Tell me," pleaded Lesley, whose heart was by this time beating with +painful rapidity, "tell me all--quickly, mamma, and I promise----" + +"Promise nothing until you have heard what I have to say," said her +mother, drawing back. "I want you to hear the story before you see your +grandfather again: that is the reason why I begged the Mother to let me +speak to you here, before you left the convent. I have been forced into +my present line of action, Lesley: I never took it wilfully. You shall +judge for yourself if it were likely that I----But I will not excuse +myself beforehand. I can tell you all that is necessary for you to know +in very few words; and the rest lies in your hands." + +Lady Alice's pale lips quivered as she spoke, but her eyes were dry and +filled with a light which was singularly cold and stern. Lesley, +kneeling still, looked up into her face, and, fascinated by what she saw +there, remained motionless and mute. + +"I have not let you speak to me of your father," Lady Alice began, +"because I did not know how to answer your questions truthfully. But now +I must speak of him. You have thought of him sometimes?" + +"Yes." + +"And you have thought him dead?" + +"I thought so--yes." + +"But he is not dead," said Lady Alice, bitterly. "To my exceeding +misfortune--and yours also--your father, Lesley, is alive." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +LADY ALICE'S STORY. + + +The girl shrank back a little, but she did not remove her eyes from her +mother's face. A great dread, however, had entered into them. A hot +color leaped into her cheeks. Scarcely did she yet know what she +dreaded; it was something intangible, too awful to be uttered--the +terror of disgrace. + +But Lady Alice saw the look and interpreted it aright. + +"No, my darling," she said, "it is not _that_. It is nothing to be +ashamed of--exactly. I do not accuse your father of any crime--unless it +be a crime to have married a woman that he did not love, and to whom he +was not suited, and to have been cruel--yes, cruel--to her and to her +child." + +And then she burst into tears. + +"Mamma, dear mamma!" said Lesley, clasping her and sobbing out of +sympathy, "it was a crime--worse than a crime--to be cruel to _you_." + +Lady Alice sobbed helplessly for a few minutes. Then she commanded +herself by a great and visible effort and dried her eyes. + +"It is weak to give way before you, child," she said, sadly. "But I +cannot tell you how much I have dreaded this moment--the moment when I +must tell you of the great error of my life." + +"Don't tell me, mamma. I would rather hear nothing that you did not want +me to know." + +"But I must tell you, Lesley. It is in my bargain with my husband that I +should tell you. If I say nothing he will tell you _his_ side--and +perhaps that would be worse." + +Lesley kissed her mother's delicate hand. "Then--if you _must_ tell +me--I should be glad to hear it all now," she said, in a shaking voice. +"Nothing seems so bad as to know half a story--or only to guess a +part----" + +"Ah, you have wondered why I told you nothing of your father?" + +"I could not help wondering, mamma." + +"Poor child! Well, whatever it costs me I will tell you all my story +now. Listen carefully, darling: I do not want to have to tell it twice." + +She pressed her handkerchief to her lips as if to prevent them from +trembling, and then turning her eyes to another part of the room so that +they need not rest upon her daughter's face Lady Alice began her story. + +"My tale is a tale of folly, not of crime," she said. "You must +remember, Lesley, that I was a motherless girl, brought up in a lonely +Scotch house in a very haphazard way. My dear father loved me tenderly, +but he was away from home for the greater part of the year; and he +understood little of a girl's nature or a girl's requirements. When I +was sixteen he allowed me to dismiss my governess, and to live as I +liked. I was romantic and dreamy; I spent a great deal of time in the +library, and he thought that there at least I was safe. He would have +been more careful of me, as he said afterwards, if I had wanted to roam +over the moors and fields, to fish or shoot as many modern women do. I +can only say that I think I should have been far safer on the hillside +or the moor than I was in the lonely recesses of that library, pouring +over musty volumes of chivalry and romance. + +"My only change was a few weeks in London with friends, during the +season. Here, young as I was, I was thrown into a whirl of gaiety; but +the society that I met was of the best sort, and I welcomed it as a +pleasant relaxation. I saw the pleasant side of everything. You see I +was very young. I went to the most charming parties; I was well +introduced: I think I may say that I was admired. My first season was +almost the happiest--certainly the most joyous--period of my life. But +it was still a time of unreality, Lesley: the glitter and glamour of +that glimpse of London society was as unreal as my dreams of love and +beauty and nobleness in the old library at home. I lacked a mother's +guiding hand, my child, and a mother's tender voice to tell me what was +false and what was true." + +Involuntarily Lesley drew closer than ever to her mother. + +The ring of pain in Lady Alice's voice saddened and even affrighted her. +It suggested a passionate yearning, an anxiety of love, which almost +overwhelmed her. It is always alarming to a young and simple nature to +be brought suddenly into contact with a very strong emotion, either of +anguish, love, or joy. + +"I suffered for my loss," Lady Alice went on, after a short pause. "But +at first without knowing that I suffered. There comes a time in every +woman's life, Lesley, when she is in need of help and counsel, when, in +fact, she is in danger. As soon as a woman loves, she stands on the +brink of a precipice." + +"I thought," murmured Lesley, "that love was the most beautiful thing in +the world?" + +"Is that what the nuns have taught you?" asked her mother, with a keen +glance at the girl's flushing cheek. "Well, in one sense it is true. +Love is a beautiful thing to look at--an angel to outward show--with the +heart, too often, of a fiend; and it is he who leads us to that +precipice of which I spoke--the precipice of disillusion and despair." + +To Lesley these words were as blasphemy, for they contradicted the whole +spirit of the teaching which she had received. But she did not dare to +contradict her mother's opinions. She looked down, and reflected dumbly +that her mother knew more about the subject than she could possibly do. +The good Sisters had talked to her about heavenly love; she had made no +fine distinctions in her mind as to the kind of love they +meant--possibly there were two kinds. And while she was considering this +knotty point, her mother began to speak again. + +"I was between eighteen and nineteen," said Lady Alice, "scarcely as old +as you are now, when a new interest came into my life. My father gave +permission to a young literary man to examine our archives, which +contained much of historical value. He never thought of cautioning me to +leave the library to Mr. Brooke's sole occupation. I was accustomed to +spend much of my time there: and the stranger--Mr. Brooke--must have +heard this fact from the servants, for he begged that he might not +disturb me, and that I would frequent the library as usual. After a +little hesitation, I began to do so. My father was in London, and my +only chaperon was an old lady who was too infirm to be of much use. +Before long, I began to help Mr. Brooke in his researches and inquiries. +He was writing a book on the great Scottish families of that part of the +country, and the subject interested me. Need I tell you what followed, +Lesley? Need I explain to you the heedless selfish folly of that time? I +forgot my duty to my father, my duty to myself. I fancied I loved this +man, and I promised to marry him." + +There was a light of interest in Lesley's eyes. She did not altogether +understand her mother's tone. It sounded as though Lady Alice condemned +lovers and all their ways, and such condemnation puzzled the girl, in +spite of her convent breeding. During the last few months she had been +allowed a much wider range of literature than was usual in the Sisters' +domain; her mother had requested that she should be supplied with +certain volumes of history, fiction, and poetry, that had considerably +enlarged Lesley's views of life; and yet Lady Alice's words seemed to +contradict all that the girl had previously heard or read of love. The +mother read the unspoken question in Lesley's eyes, and answered it in a +somewhat modified tone. + +"My dear, I do not mean that I think it wrong to love. So long as the +world lasts I suppose people will love--and be miserable. It is right +enough, if it is opposed by no other law. But in my case, I was wrong +from beginning to end. I knew that my father would never give his +permission to my marriage with Mr. Brooke; and, in my youthful folly, I +thought that my best plan was to take my own way. I married Mr. Brooke +in private, and then I went away with him to London. And it was not +long, Lesley, before I rued my disobedience and my deceit. It was a +great mistake." + +"But mamma, why were you so sure that grandpapa would not give his +consent?" + +Lady Alice opened her gentle eyes with a look of profound astonishment. + +"Darling, don't you see? Mr. Brooke was--nobody." + +"But if you loved him----" + +"No, Lesley, your grandfather would never have heard of such a +marriage. He had his own plans for me. My dear, I am not saying a word +against your father in saying this. I am only telling you the fact--that +he was what is often called a self-made, self-educated man, who could +not possibly be styled my equal in the eyes of society. His father +had been a small tradesman in Devonshire. The son being clever +and--and--handsome, made his way a little in the world. He became a +journalist: he wrote for magazines and newspapers and reviews: he was +what is called a literary hack. He had no certain prospects, no certain +income, when he married me. I think," said Lady Alice, with a sort of +cold scorn, which was intensified by the very softness of her tones, +"that he could not have done a more unjustifiable thing than persuade a +girl in my position to marry him." + +Lesley felt a slight diminution of sympathy with her mother. Perhaps +Lady Alice was conscious of some change in her face, for she added +hastily. + +"Don't misjudge me, Lesley. If there had been between us the strong and +tender love of which women too often dream, poverty might perhaps have +been forgotten. It sounds terribly worldly to draw attention to the fact +that poverty is apt to kill a love which was not very strong at the +beginning. But the fact was that neither Caspar Brooke nor I knew our +own minds. He was three-and-twenty and I was eighteen. We married in +haste, and we certainly repented very much at leisure." + +"Was he not--kind?" asked Lesley, timidly. + +"Kind?" said her mother, with a sigh. "Oh, yes, perhaps he was kind--at +first. Until he was tired of me, or I was tired of him. I don't know on +which side the disillusion was felt first. Think where I came from--from +the dear old Castle, the moors, the lochs, the free fresh air of +Scotland, to a dreary lodging of two little rooms in a dingy street, +where I had to cut and contrive and economize to make ends meet. I was +an ignorant girl, and I could not do it. I got into debt, and my husband +was angry with me. Why should I tell you the petty, sordid details of my +life? I soon found out that I was miserable and that he was miserable +too." + +Lesley listened breathlessly with hidden face. The story was full of +humiliation for her. It seemed like a desecration of all that she had +hitherto held dear. + +"My father and my friends would not forgive me," Lady Alice went on. "In +our direst straits of poverty, I am glad to say that I never appealed to +them. We struggled on together--your father and I--until you were four +years old. Then a change came--a change which made it impossible for me +to bear the misery of my life. Your father----" + +She came to a sudden stop, and sat with eyes fixed on the opposite wall, +a curious expression of mingled desolation and contempt upon her cold, +clear-cut face. For some reason or other Lesley felt afraid to hear what +her mother had to say. + +"Mamma, don't tell me! Don't look like that," she cried. "I can't bear +to hear it! Why need you tell me any more?" + +"Because," said her mother, slowly, "because your father exacts this +sacrifice from me: that I should tell you--_you_, my daughter--the +reason why I left him. I promised that I would do so, and I will keep my +promise. The thing that hurts me most, Lesley, is to think that I may be +injuring you--staining your innocence--darkening your youth--by telling +you what I have to tell. At your age, I would rather that you knew +nothing of life but its brighter side--nothing of love but what was fair +and sweet. But it is the punishment of my first false step that I should +bring sorrow upon my child. Lesley, in years to come remember that I +have warned you to be honest and true, unless you would make those +miserable whom you love best. If I had never deceived my father, my +husband would never perhaps have deceived me; and I should not have to +tell my child that the last person in the world whom she must trust is +her father." + +There was a little silence, and then she continued in a strained and +unnatural tone. + +"There was a woman--another woman--whom he loved. That is all." + +Lesley shivered and hid her face. To her mind, young and innocent as it +was, the fact which her mother stated seemed like an indelible stain. +She hardly dared as yet think what it meant. And, after a long pause, +Lady Alice went on quietly-- + +"I do not want to exaggerate. I do not believe that he meant to leave +me--even to be untrue to me. I could not speak to you of him if I +thought him so black-hearted, so treacherous. I mean simply this--take +the fact as I state it, and inquire no further; I found that my husband +cared for some one else more than he cared for me. My resolution was +taken at once: I packed up my things, left his house, and threw myself +at my father's feet. He was good to me and forgave me, and since +then ... I have never entered my husband's house again." + +"He must have been wicked--wicked!" said Lesley, in a strangled voice. + +"No, he was not wicked. Let me do him so much justice. He was upright +on the whole, I believe. He never meant to give me cause for complaint. +But I had reason to believe that another woman suited him better than +I did ... and it was only fair to leave him." + +"But did he--could he--marry her? I mean----" + +"My poor Lesley, you are very ignorant," said Lady Alice, smiling a wan +smile, and touching the girl's cheek lightly with her hand. "How could +he marry another woman when I was alive? Your father and I separated on +account of what is called incompatibility of temper. The question of the +person whom he apparently preferred to me never arose between us." + +"Then, is it not possible, mamma, that you may have been mistaken?" said +Lesley, impetuously. + +Lady Alice shook her head. "Quite impossible, Lesley. I accuse your +father of nothing. I only mean that another woman--one of his +friends--would have suited him better than I, and that he knew it. I +have no cause for complaint against him. And I would not have told you +_this_, had I not felt it a duty to put in the strongest possible light +my reasons for leaving him, so that a day may never come when you turn +round upon me and blame me--as others have done--for fickleness, for +ill-temper, for impatience with my husband; because now you know--as no +one else knows--the whole truth." + +"But I should never blame you, mamma." + +"I do not know. I know this--that your father is a man who can persuade +and argue and represent his conduct in any light that suits his purpose. +He is a very eloquent--a very plausible man. He will try to win you over +to his side." + +"But I shall never see him." + +"Yes, Lesley, you will. You are going to him to-morrow." + +"I will not--I will not"--said the girl, springing from her knees, and +involuntarily clenching her right hand. "I will not speak to him--if he +treated my darling mother so shamefully he must be bad, and I will not +acknowledge any relationship to him." + +A look of apprehension showed itself in Lady Alice's eyes. + +"Darling," she said, "you must not let your generous love for me run +away with your judgment. I am bound, and you must be bound with me. +Listen, when your father found that I had left him he was exceedingly +angry. He came to your grandfather's house, he clamored to see me, he +attempted to justify himself--oh, I cannot tell you the misery that I +went through. At last I consented to see him. He behaved like a madman. +He swore that he would have me back--tyrant that he was!" + +"Mamma--perhaps he cared?" + +"Cared! He cared for his reputation," said Lady Alice growing rather +white about the lips. "For nothing else! Not for me, Lesley! When his +violence had expended itself we came to terms. He agreed to let me live +where I liked on condition that when you were eight years old you were +sent to school, and saw me only during the holidays----" + +"But why?" + +"He said that he dreaded my influence on your mind," said Lady Alice. +"That you should be brought up at a good school was the first thing. +Secondly, that when you were nineteen you should spend a year with him, +and then a year with me; and that when you were twenty-one you should +choose for yourself with which of the two you preferred to cast in your +lot." + +"Oh, mamma, I cannot go to him now." + +"You must go, Lesley. I am bound, and you are bound by my promise. Only +for a year, my darling. Then you can come back to me for ever. I +stipulated that I should see you first, and say to you what I chose." + +"But cannot I wait a little while?" + +"Twenty-four hours, Lesley; that is all. You go to your father +to-morrow." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. + + +The conversation between Lesley and her mother occupied a considerable +time, and the sun was sinking westward when at last the two ladies left +the Convent. Lesley's adieux had been made before Lady Alice's arrival, +and the only persons whom she saw, therefore, after the long interview +with her mother, were the Mother Superior, and the Sister who had +summoned her to the parlor. + +While Lady Alice and the Reverend Mother exchanged a few last words, +Lesley drew close to Sister Rose's side, and laid her hand on the +serge-covered arm. + +"You were right," she said. "Sister, I see already that I shall need +patience and endurance where I am going." + +"Gentleness and love, also," said the Sister. Then, as if in answer to +an indefinable change in Lesley's lips and eyes, she added gently, "We +are told that peacemakers are blessed." + +"I could not make peace----" Lesley began, hastily, and then she stopped +short, confused, not knowing how much Sister Rose had heard of her +mother's story. But if Sister Rose were ignorant of it, her next words +were singularly appropriate. For she said, in a low tone-- + +"Peace is better than war: forgiveness better than hatred. Dear child, +it may be in your hands to reconcile those who have been long divided. +Do your best." + +Lesley had no time to reply. + +It was a long drive from the Convent of the Annonciades to the hotel +where Lord Courtleroy and Lady Alice were staying. The mother and +daughter spoke little; each seemed wrapped in her own reflections. There +were a hundred questions which Lesley was longing to ask; but she did +not like to disturb her mother's silence. Dusk had fallen before their +destination was reached; and Lesley's thoughts were diverted a little +from their sad bewilderment by what was to her the novel sight of Paris +by gaslight, and the ever-flowing, opposing currents of human beings +that filled the streets. Hitherto, when she had left the Sisters for her +holidays, her mother had wisely kept her within certain bounds: she had +not gone out of doors after dark, she had not seen anything but the +quieter sides of life. But now all seemed to be changed. Her mother +mentioned the name of the best hotel in Paris as their destination: she +said a few words about shopping, dresses, and jewellery, which made +Lesley's heart beat faster, in spite of a conviction that it was very +mean and base to feel any joy in such trivial matters. Especially under +present circumstances. But she was young and full of life; and there +certainly was some excitement in the prospect before her. + +"I shall not need much where I am going, shall I?" she hazarded timidly. + +"Perhaps not, but you must not be in any difficulty. There is not time +to do a great deal, but you can be fitted and have some dresses sent +after you, and I can choose your hats. And a fur-lined cloak for +travelling--you will want that. We must do what we can in the time. It +is not likely that your father sees much society." + +"It will be very lonely," said Lesley, with a little gasp. + +"My poor child! I am afraid it will. I can tell some friends of mine to +call on you; but I don't know whether they will be admitted." + +"Where is--the house?" Lesley asked. She did not like to say "my +father's house." + +"In Upper Woburn Place, Bloomsbury. I believe it is near Euston Square, +or some such neighborhood." + +"Then it is not where _you_ lived, mamma?" + +"No, dear. We lived further West, in a street near Portman Square. I +believe that Mr. Brooke finds Bloomsbury a convenient district for the +kind of work that he has to do." + +She spoke very formally of her husband; but Lesley began to notice an +under-current of resentment, of something like contempt, in her voice +when she spoke of him. Lady Alice tried in vain to simulate an +indifference which she did not feel, and the very effort roughened her +voice and sharpened her accent in a way of which she was unconscious. +The effect on a young girl, who had not seen much of human emotion, was +to induce a passing doubt of her mother's judgment, and a transient +wonder as to whether her father had always been so much in the wrong. +The sensation was but momentary, for Lesley was devotedly attached to +her mother, and could not believe her to be mistaken. And, while she was +repenting of her hasty injustice, the carriage stopped between the white +globes of electric light that fronted a great hotel, and Lesley was +obliged to give her attention to the things around her rather than to +her own thoughts and feelings. + +A waiter conducted the mother and daughter up one flight of stairs and +consigned them to the care of a chambermaid. The chambermaid led them to +the door of a suite of rooms, where they were met by Dayman, Lady +Alice's own woman, whose stolid face relaxed into a smile of pleasure at +the sight of Lesley. + +"Take Miss Brooke to her own room and see that she is made nice for +dinner," said her mistress. "His Lordship has ordered dinner in our own +rooms, I suppose?" + +"Yes, my lady. Covers for four--Captain Duchesne is here." + +"Oh," said Lady Alice, with an accent of faint surprise, +"oh--well--Lesley, dear, we must not be late." + +To Lesley it seemed hardly worth while to unpack her boxes and dress +herself for that one evening in the soft embroidered white muslin which +had hitherto served for her best Sunday frock. But Mrs. Dayman insisted +on a careful toilette, and was well satisfied with the result. + +"There, Miss Lesley," she said, "you have just your mamma's look--a sort +of finished look, as if you were perfect outside and in!" + +Lesley laughed. "That compliment might be taken in two ways, Dayman," +she said, as she turned to meet her mother at the door. And in a few +minutes she was standing in the gay little French _salon_, where the +earl was conversing with a much younger man in a glare of waxlights. + +Lord Courtleroy was a stately-looking man, with perfectly snow-white +hair and beard, an upright carriage, and bright, piercing, blue eyes. A +striking man in appearance, and of exceedingly well-marked +characteristics. The family pride for which he had long been noted +seemed to show itself in his bearing and in every feature as he greeted +his granddaughter, and yet it was softened by a touch of personal +affection with which family pride had nothing whatever to do. For Lord +Courtleroy's feelings towards Lesley were mixed. He saw in her the child +of a man whose very name he detested, who stood as a type to him of all +that was hateful in the bourgeois class. But he also saw in her his own +granddaughter, "poor Alice's girl," whom fate had used so unkindly in +giving her Caspar Brooke for a father. The earl had next to no personal +knowledge of Caspar Brooke. They had not met since the one sad and +stormy interview which they had held together when Lady Alice had left +her husband's house. And Lord Courtleroy was wont to declare that he did +not wish to know anything more of Mr. Brooke. That he was a Radical +journalist, and that he had treated a daughter of the Courtleroys with +shameful unkindness and neglect, was quite enough for the earl. And his +manner to Lesley varied a little according as his sense of her affinity +with his own family or his remembrance of her kinship with Mr. Brooke +was uppermost. + +Lesley was too simply filial in disposition to resent or even to remark +on his changes of mood. She admired her grandfather immensely, and was +pleased to hear him comment on her growth and development since she saw +him last. And then the visitor was introduced to her; and to Lesley's +interest and surprise she saw that he was young. + +Young men were an unknown quantity to Lesley. She could not remember +that she had ever spoken to a man so young and so good-looking before! +Captain Henry Duchesne was tall, well-made, well-dressed: he was very +dark in complexion, and had a rather heavy jaw; but his dark eyes were +pleasant and honest, and he had a very attractive smile. The length of +his moustache was almost the first thing that struck Lesley: it seemed +to her so abnormally lengthy, with such very stiffly waxed ends, that +she could scarcely avert her eyes from them. She was not able to tell, +save from instinct, whether a man were well or ill-dressed, but she felt +sure that Captain Duchesne's air of smartness was due to the perfection +of every detail of his attire. She liked his manner: it was easy, +well-bred, and unassuming; and she felt glad that he was present. For +after the communication made to her by her mother, the evening might +have proved an occasion of embarrassment. It was a relief to talk to +some one for a little while who did not know her present circumstances +and position. + +Lady Alice watched the two young people with a little dawning trouble in +her sad eyes. She had known and liked Harry Duchesne since his +childhood, and she had not been free from certain hopes and visions of +his future, which affected Lesley also, but she thought that her +father's invitation had been premature. Especially when she heard +Captain Duchesne say to the girl in the course of the evening-- + +"Are you going to London to-morrow?" + +"Yes, I believe so," said Lesley, looking down. + +"And you will be in town during the winter, I hope?" + +Lady Alice thought it well to interpose. + +"My daughter will not be staying with me. She goes to a relation's house +for a few months, and will lead a very quiet life indeed. When she comes +back to Courtleroy it will be time enough for her to commence a round of +gaieties." This with a smile; but, as Henry Duchesne knew well enough, +with Lady Alice a smile sometimes covered a very serious purpose. His +quick perceptions showed him that he was not wanted to call on Miss +Brooke during her stay in London, and he adroitly changed the subject. + +"Unfashionable relations, I suppose," he said to himself, reflecting on +the matter at a later hour of the evening. "Upon my word I shouldn't +have thought that Lady Alice was so worldly-minded! She certainly didn't +want me to know where Miss Brooke was going. To some relation of that +disreputable father of hers, I should fancy. Poor girt!" + +For, like many other persons in London society, Captain Duchesne knew +only the name and nothing of the character of the man whom Lady Alice +had married and left. It was vaguely supposed that he was not a very +respectable character, and that no woman of spirit would have submitted +to live with him any longer. Lady Alice's reputation stood so high that +it could not be supposed that any one except her husband was in fault. +Brooke is not an uncommon name. In certain circles the name of Caspar +Brooke was known well enough; but was not often identified with the man +who had run away with an earl's daughter. He had other claims to repute, +but in a world to which Lady Alice had not the right of entry. + +When Harry Duchesne had departed Lady Alice went with Lesley to her +bedroom. Mother and daughter sat down together, clasping each other's +hands, and looking wistfully from time to time into each other's faces, +but saying very little. The wish to ask questions faded out of Lesley's +mind. She could not ask more than her mother chose to tell her. + +But Lady Alice thought that she had already said too much, and she +restrained her tongue. It was after a long and pregnant silence that she +murmured-- + +"Lesley, my child, I want you to promise me something." + +"Oh, yes, mamma!" + +"I feel like one who is sending a lamb forth into the midst of wolves. +Not that Mr. Brooke is a wolf--exactly," said Lady Alice, with a forced +laugh, "but I mean that you are young and--and--unsophisticated, and +that there may be a mixture of people at his house." + +Lesley was silent; she did not quite know what "a mixture of people" +would be like. + +"I am so afraid for you, darling," said her mother, pleadingly. "Afraid +lest you should be drawn into relationships and connections that you +might afterwards regret: Do you understand me? Will you promise me to +make no vows of any sort while you are away from me? Only for one year, +my child--promise me for the year." + +"I don't think I quite understand you, mamma." + +"Must I put it so plainly? I mean this, Lesley. Don't engage yourself to +be married while you are in your father's house." + +"Oh, that is easily promised!" said Lesley, with a smile of frank +amusement and relief. + +"It may not be so easy to carry out as you think. Give me your word, +darling. You promise not to form any engagement of marriage for a year? +You promise me that?" + +"Oh, yes, mamma, I promise," said the girl, so lightly that Lady Alice +almost felt that she had done an unwarrantable thing in exacting a +promise only half understood. But she swallowed her rising qualms, and +went oh, as if exculpating herself-- + +"It is a safeguard. I do not ask you to marry only a man that I +approve--I simply ask you to wait until I can help you with my advice. +It will be no loss to you in any way. You are too young to think of +these things yet; but it is on the young that unscrupulous persons love +to prey--and therefore I give you a warning." + +"I am quite sure that I shall not need it," said Lesley, confidently; +"and if I did, I could write and ask your advice----" + +"No, no! Oh, how could I forget to tell you? You are not to write to me +while you are in your father's house." + +"Oh, mamma, that is cruel." + +"It is _his_ doing, not mine. Intercede with _him_, if you like. That +was one of the conditions--that for this one year you should have no +intercourse with me. And for the next year you will have no intercourse +with him. And after that, you may choose for yourself." + +But this deprivation of correspondence affected Lesley more powerfully +than even the prospect of separation--to which she was used already. She +threw herself into her mother's arms and wept bitterly for a few +moments. Then it occurred to her that she was acting neither +thoughtfully nor courageously, and that her grief would only grieve her +mother, and could remedy nothing. So she sat up and dried her eyes, and +tried to respond cheerfully when Lady Alice spoke a few soothing words. +But in the whole course of her short life poor Lesley had never been so +miserable as she was that night. + +The bustle of preparation which had to be gone through next day +prevented her, however, from thinking too much about her troubles. She +and Lady Alice, with the faithful Dayman, were to leave Paris late in +the afternoon; and the morning was spent in hurried excursions to shops, +interviews with milliners and dressmakers, eager discussions on color, +shape, and fitness. Lesley was glad to see that she was not to be sent +to London with anything over-fine in the way of clothes. The gowns +chosen were extremely simple, but in good taste; and the _modiste_ +promised that they should be sent after the young lady in the course of +a very few days. There was some argument as to whether Lesley would +require a ball dress, or dinner dresses. Lady Alice thought not. But, +although nothing that could actually be called a ball-dress was ordered, +there were one or two frocks of lovely shimmering hue and delightfully +soft texture which would serve for any such festivity. + +"Though in _my_ day," said Lady Alice, smiling, "we did not go to balls +in Bloomsbury. But, of course, I don't know what society Mr. Brooke sees +now." + +Lesley was conscious of the sarcasm. + +The earl remained in Paris, while Lady Alice went with her daughter from +Havre to Southampton, and thence to London. Dayman travelled with them; +and a supplementary escort appeared in the person of Captain Duchesne, +who "happened to be travelling that way." Lady Alice was not displeased +to see him, although she had a guilty sense of stealing a march upon her +husband in providing Lesley with a standard of youthful good-breeding +and good-looks. It might tend to preserve her from forming any silly +attachment in her father's circle, Lady Alice thought. As a matter of +fact, she was singularly ignorant of what that circle might comprise. +She had left him before his more prosperous days began to dawn, and she +continued therefore to picture him to herself as the struggling +journalist in murky lodgings--"the melancholy literary man" who smoked +strong tobacco far into the night, and talked of things in which she had +no interest at all. If matters were changed with Caspar Brooke since +then, Lady Alice did not know it. + +She had ascertained that Mr. Brooke's sister was living in his house, +and that she was capable of acting in some sort as Lesley's chaperon. +Then, a connection of the earl's was rector of a neighboring church +close to Upper Woburn Place--and he had promised to take Miss Brooke +under his especial pastoral care;--although, as he mildly insinuated, he +was not in the habit of visiting at Number Fifty. And with these +recommendations and assurances, Lady Alice was forced to be content. + +She parted from her daughter at Waterloo Station. It did not seem +possible to her to drive up to her husband's house in a cab, and drive +away again. She committed her, therefore, to the care of Dayman, and put +the girl and her maid into a four-wheeler, with Lesley's luggage on the +top. Then she established herself in the ladies' waiting-room, until +such time as Dayman should return. + +With beating heart and flushing cheek Lesley drove through the +rapidly-darkening streets to her father's house. She was terribly +nervous at the prospect of meeting him. And, even after the history +that she had learnt from her mother, she felt that she had not the +slightest notion as to what manner of man Caspar Brooke might turn +out to be. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE MANNER OF MAN. + + +On the day preceding Lesley Brooke's arrival in London, a tall, +broad-shouldered man was walking along Southampton Row. He was a big +man--a man whom people turned to look at--a distinctly noticeable man. +He was considerably taller and broader than the average of his fellows: +he was wide-chested and muscular, though without any inclination to +stoutness; and he had a handsome, sunburned face, with a short brown +beard and deep-set, dark-brown eyes. His hair was not cut quite to the +conventional shortness, perhaps: there was a lock that would fall in an +unruly manner across the broad brow with an obstinacy no hairdresser +could subvert. But, in all other respects, he was very much as other +men: he dressed well, if rather carelessly, and presented to the world a +somewhat imposing personality. He did not wear gloves, and he had no +flower at his button-hole; but the respectability of his silk hat and +well-made coat was unimpeachable, and he had all the air of easy command +which is so characteristic of the well-bred Englishman. The slight +roughness about him was as inseparable from his build and his character +as it is to the best-groomed and best-bred staghound or mastiff of the +highest race. + +Southampton Row, as is well known, leads into Russell Square. In fact +the straight line of the Row merges imperceptibly into one side of the +Square, whence it continues under the name of Woburn Place, the East +side of Tavistock Square, Upper Woburn Place, and Euston Square, losing +itself at last in the Northern wilderness of the crowded Euston Road. It +was at a house which he passed in his straight course from Holburn +towards St. Pancras that this very tall and strong-looking gentleman +stopped, at about five o'clock on a September afternoon. + +He stood on the steps for a moment, and looked up and down the house +doubtfully, as if seeking for signs of life from within. A great many +people were still out of town, and he was uncertain whether the +occupants of this house were at home or not. The place had evidently +been in the hands of painters and cleaners since he saw it last: the +stone-work was scrupulously white, the wood-work was painted a delicate +green. The visitor lifted his well-defined eyebrows at the lightness of +the color, as he turned to the door and rang the bell. It was easy to +see that he was an observant man, upon whose eyes very few things were +lost. + +"Mrs. Romaine in?" he asked the trim maid who appeared in answer to his +ring. He noticed that she was a new maid. + +"Yes, sir. What name shall I say, please, sir?" + +"Mr. Brooke." + +The girl looked intelligent, as if she had heard the name before. And +Mr. Brooke, following her upstairs to the drawing-room, reflected on the +quickness with which servants make themselves acquainted with their +masters' and mistresses' affairs, and the disadvantages of a +civilization in which you were at the mercy of your servants' tongues. + +These reflections had no bearing on his own circumstances: they +proceeded entirely from Mr. Brooke's habit of taking general views, and +making large applications of small things. + +The day was cloudy, and, although it was only five o'clock, the streets +were growing dark. The weather was chilly, moreover, and the wind blew +from the East. It was a pleasant change to enter Mrs. Romaine's +drawing-room, which was full of soft light from a glowing little fire, +full of the scent of roses and the lovely tints of Indian embroideries, +Italian tapestries, dead gold-leaf backgrounds, and china that was +beautiful as well as rare. Lady Alice Brooke, in her narrow isolation +from the world, would not have believed that so charming a room could be +found east of Great Portland Street. In which opinion she was very much +mistaken; for her belief that in "society" and society's haunts alone +could one find taste, culture, and beauty, led her to ignore the vast +number of intellectual and artistic folk who still sojourn in the dim +squares of Bloomsbury and Regent's Park. Sooth to say Lady Alice knew +absolutely nothing of the worlds of intellect and art, save by means of +an occasional article in the magazines, or a stroll through the large +picture galleries of London during the season. She was a good woman in +her way, and--also in her way--a clever one; but she had been brought up +in another atmosphere from that which her husband loved, elevated in a +totally different school, and she was not of a nature to adapt herself +to what she did not thoroughly understand. + +Mrs. Romaine knew well enough that she was quite as well able to hold +her own in the fashionable world if once she obtained an entrance to it +as any Lady Alice or Lady Anybody of her acquaintance. But then the +difficulty of entering if was very great. She had not sufficient fortune +to vie with women who every year spent hundreds on their dress and on +their dinner. She was handsome, but she was middle-aged. She had few +friends of sufficient distinction to push her forward. And she was a +wise woman. She thought it better to live where she enjoyed a good deal +of popularity and consideration; where she could entertain in a modest +way, where her husband had been well known, and she could glow with the +reflected light that came to her from his shining abilities. These +reasons were patent to the world: she really made no secret of them. But +there was another reason, not quite so patent to the world, for her +living quietly in Russell Square, and this reason she kept strictly to +herself. + +Mrs. Romaine had been a widow for three years. Her husband had been a +very learned man--Professor of numerous Oriental languages at University +College for some years, afterwards a Judge in Calcutta; and as he had +always lived in the West Central district during his Professorate, Mrs. +Romaine declared that she loved it and could live nowhere else. The +house in Russell Square was only partly hers. Her brother rented some of +the rooms (shared the house with her, as Mrs. Romaine vaguely phrased +it), and lightened the expense. But the two drawing-rooms, opening out +of one another, were entirely at Mrs. Romaine's disposal, and she was +generally to be found there between four and five o'clock in an +afternoon--a fact of which it is to be presumed that Mr. Brooke was +aware. + +"So you have come back to town?" she said, rising to meet him, and +extending both hands with a pretty air of appropriative friendship. + +"Yes; but I hardly expected to find you here so early." + +Mrs. Romaine shrugged her shoulders a little. + +"I found the country very dull," she said. "And you?" + +"Oh, I went to Norway. I was well enough off. I rather enjoyed myself. +Perhaps I required a little bracing up for the task that lies before +me." He laughed as he spoke. + +Mrs. Romaine paused for a moment in her task of pouring out the tea. + +"You are resolved, then, to assume that responsibility?" she said, in a +low voice. + +"My dear Rosalind! it's in the bond," answered Caspar Brooke, very +coolly. + +He took the cup from her hand, stirred its contents, and proceeded to +drink them in a leisurely manner, glancing at his hostess meanwhile, +with a quiet smile. + +Mrs. Romaine's dark eyes dropped before that glance. There was an +inscrutable look upon her face, but it was a look that would have told +another woman that Mrs. Romaine was disappointed by the news which she +had just heard. Caspar Brooke, being a man, saw nothing. + +"I am sorry," Mrs. Romaine said presently, with an assumption of great +candor. "I am afraid you will have an uncomfortable time." + +"Oh, no," he answered, with indifference. "I shall not be uncomfortable, +because it will not affect me in the least. When I spoke of bracing +myself for the task, I was in jest." Mrs. Romaine did not believe this +statement. "I shall go my own way whether the girl is in the house or +not." + +"Why, then, did you insist on this arrangement?" + +"It is only right to give the girl a chance," said Mr. Brooke. "If she +has any grit in her the next twelve months will bring it out. Besides, +it is simple justice. She ought to see and judge for herself. If she +decides--as her mother did--that I am an ogre, she can go back to her +aristocratic friends in the North. I shall not try to keep her." There +was the suspicion of a grim sneer on his face as he spoke. + +"Do you know what she is like?" + +"Yes: I saw her one day in Paris. She did not know, of course, that I +was watching her. She is like her mother." + +The tone was unpromising. But perhaps it would have been as well if +Rosalind Romaine had not murmured so pityingly-- + +"My poor friend! What you have suffered--and oh, what you _will_ +suffer!" + +Brooke looked at her in silence, and his eyes softened. Mrs. Romaine +seemed to him at that moment the incarnation of all that was sweet and +womanly. She was slender, pale, graceful: she had velvety dark eyes and +picturesque curling hair, cut short like a Florentine boy's. Her dress +was harmonious in color and design; her attitude was charming, her voice +most musical. It crossed Mr. Brooke's mind, as it had crossed his mind +before, that he might have been very happy if Providence had sent him a +wife like Rosalind Romaine. + +"I shall not suffer," he said, after a little silence, "because I will +not suffer. My daughter will live for a year in my house, but she will +not trouble my peace, I can assure you. She will go her own way, and I +shall go mine." + +"I am afraid that she will not be so passive as you think," said Mrs. +Romaine, with some hesitation. "She has been brought up in a very +different school from any that you would recommend. A girl fresh from a +French convent is not an easy person to deal with. Whatever may be the +advantages of these convents, there are certain virtues which are not +inculcated in them." + +"Such as----" + +"Truth and honesty, Caspar, my friend. Your daughter's accomplishments +will not include candor, I fear." + +Mr. Brooke was silent for a moment, his face expressing more concern +than he knew. Mrs. Romaine watched him furtively. + +"It may be so," he said at last in a rather heavy tone, "but it can't be +helped. I had no hand in choosing a school for her, Rosalind"--his voice +took a pleading tone "you will do your best for her? You will be her +friend in spite of defects in her training?" + +"I will do anything that I can. But you will forgive me for saying, +Caspar, that it is hard for me to forget that she is the daughter of the +woman who--practically--wrecked your life." + +Brooke's face grew hard again. He uttered a short laugh, which had not a +very agreeable sound. + +"Wrecked my life!" he repeated, disdainfully. "Excuse me, Rosalind. No +woman ever had the power of wrecking my life. Indeed, I have been far +more fortunate and prosperous since Lady Alice chose to leave me than +before." + +Mrs. Romaine said nothing. She was an adept in the art of insinuating by +a look, a turn of the head, a gesture, what she wished to convey. At +this moment she indicated very clearly, though without speaking a word, +that she sympathized deeply with her friend, Caspar Brooke, and was +exceedingly indignant at the way in which he had been treated. + +Perhaps Mr. Brooke found the atmosphere enervating, for with a half +smile and shake of the head, he rose up to go. Mrs. Romaine rose also. + +"She comes to-morrow evening," he said, before he took his leave. + +"To-morrow evening? You will be out!" + +"No, it is Wednesday: I can manage an evening at home. Perhaps you will +kindly look in on Thursday afternoon?" + +And this Mrs. Romaine undertook to do. + +Caspar Brooke continued his walk along the Eastern side of Russell +Square and Woburn Place. His quick observant eyes took note of every +incident in his way, of every man, woman, and child within their range +of vision. He stopped once to rate a cabman, not too mildly, for beating +an over-worked horse--took down his number, and threatened to prosecute +him for cruelty to animals. A ragged boy who asked him for money was +brought to a standstill by some keenly-worded questions respecting his +home, his name, his father's occupation, and the school which he +attended. Of these Mr. Brooke also made a note, much to the boy's +dismay; but consolation followed in the shape of a shilling, although +the donor muttered a malediction on his own folly as he turned away. His +last actions, before reaching his own house in Upper Woburn Place, +were--first to ring the area-bell for a dog that was waiting at another +man's gate (an office which the charitable are often called upon to +perform in the streets of London for dogs and cats alike), and then to +pick up a bony black kitten and take it on his arm to his own door, +where he delivered it to a servant, with injunctions to feed and +comfort the starveling. From which facts it may be seen that Mr. Caspar +Brooke, in spite of all his faults, was a lover of dumb animals, and of +children, and must therefore have possessed a certain amount of +kindliness of disposition. + +Mr. Brooke dined at six o'clock, then smoked a cigar and had a cup of +black coffee brought to him in the untidy little sanctum where he +generally did his work. With the coffee came the black kitten, which +sidled up to him on the table, purring, and rubbing her head against his +arm as if she knew him for a friend. He stroked it occasionally as he +read his evening papers, and stroked it in the caressing way which cats +love, from its forehead to the tip of its stumpy tail. It was while he +was thus engaged that a tap at the door was heard, and the tap was +followed by the entrance of a young man, who looked as if he were quite +at home. + +"Can I come in?" he said, in a perfunctory sort of way; and then, +without waiting for any reply, went on--"I've no engagement to-night, so +I thought I would look in here first, and see whether you had started." + +"All right. Where have you been?" + +"Special meeting--Church and State Union," said the young man with a +smile. "I went partly in a medical capacity, partly because I was +curious to know how they managed to unite the two professions." + +"Couldn't your sister tell you?" + +"Oh, I don't allow Ethel to attend such mixed gatherings," said the +visitor, seating himself on the edge of the library table, and beginning +to play with the cat. + +"You are unusually particular," said Mr. Brooke, with an amused look. +But Maurice Kenyon, as the visitor was named, continued to attract the +kitten's notice, without the answering protest which Caspar Brooke had +expected. + +Maurice Kenyon was nearly thirty, and had stepped by good fortune into +the shoes of a medical uncle who had left him a large and increasing +general practice in the West Central district. The young man's +popularity was not entirely owing to his skill, although he had an +exceedingly good repute among his brethren in medicine. Neither was it +attributable to good looks. He owed it rather to a sympathetic manner, +to the cheerful candor of his dark grey eyes, to the mixture of firmness +and delicate kindness by which his treatment of his patients was +characterized. He was especially successful in his dealings with +children; and he had therefore a good deal of adoration from grateful +mothers to put up with. But of his skill and intellectual power there +could be no doubt; and these qualities, coupled with his winning manner, +bade fair to raise him to a very high place in his profession. + +There was one little check, and one only, to the flow of Mr. Kenyon's +prosperity. Careful mothers occasionally objected that he was not +married, and that his sister was an actress. Why did he let his sister +go on the stage? And why, if she was an actress, did he allow her to +live in his house? It did not seem quite respectable in the eyes of some +worthy people that these things should be. But Mr. Kenyon only laughed +when reports of these sayings, reached him, and went on his way unmoved, +as his sister Ethel went on hers. And in London, the question of a +doctor's relations, his sisters, his cousins, his aunts, and what they +do for a living, is not so important as it is in the country. Maurice +Kenyon's care of his sister, and her devotion to him, were well known by +all their friends; and as he sometimes said, it mattered very little to +him what all the rest of the world might think. + +"Talking of your sister, Kenyon," said Mr. Brooke, somewhat abruptly, "I +suppose you know that my daughter comes to me to-morrow?" + +The connection of ideas was not, perhaps, very obvious, but Maurice +Kenyon nodded as if he understood. + +"I suppose she will want a companion. Would Ethel be so kind as to call +on her?" + +"Certainly. She will do all she can for Miss Brooke, I am sure." + +"I have been speaking to Mrs. Romaine, too." + +"_Have_ you?" Kenyon raised eyebrows a very little, but Mr. Brooke did +not seem to notice the change of expression. + +"--And she promises to do what she can; but a woman like Mrs. Romaine is +not likely to find many subjects in common with a girl fresh from a +convent." + +"I suppose not"--in the driest of tones. + +"Mrs. Romaine," said Brooke, in a more decided tone, "is a cultivated +woman who has made a mark in literature----" + +"In literature?" queried the doctor. + +"She has written a novel or two. She writes for various papers--well and +smartly, I believe. She is a thorough woman of the world. Naturally, a +girl brought up as Lesley has been will----" + +"--Will find her detestable," said Kenyon, briskly, "as I and Ethel do. +You'll excuse this expression of opinion; you've heard it before." + +For a moment Caspar Brooke's face was overcast; then he broke into +uneasy laughter, and rose from his chair, shaking himself a little as a +big dog sometimes does when it comes out of the water. + +"You are incorrigible," he said. "A veritable heretic on the matter of +my friend, Mrs. Romaine. By the by, I must remind you, Kenyon, that Mrs. +Romaine is a very old friend of mine." + +His manner changed slightly as he spoke. There was a little touch of +quiet hauteur in his look and tone, as if he wished to repel unsolicited +criticism. Maurice understood the man too well to be offended, and +merely changed the subject. + +But when, after half an hour's chat, the young doctor left the house, +his mind reverted to the topic which Mr. Brooke had broached. + +"Mrs. Romaine, indeed! Why, the man's mad--to introduce her as a friend +to his daughter! Does not all the world know that Mrs. Romaine caused +the separation between him and his wife? And will the poor girl know? or +has she been kept in the dark completely as to the state of affairs? +Upon my word I'm sorry for her. It strikes me that she will have a hard +row to hoe, if Mrs. Romaine is at her father's ear." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +OLIVER. + + +Mr. Brooke had not long quitted Mrs. Romaine's drawing-room when it was +entered by another man, whose personal resemblance to Mrs. Romaine +herself was so striking that there could be little doubt as to their +close relationship to one another. It was one of those curious +likenesses that exist and thrive upon difference. Rosalind was not tall, +and she was undeniably plump; while her younger brother, Oliver Trent, +was above middle height, and of a spare habit. The creamy white of Mrs. +Romaine's complexion had turned to deadly pallor in Oliver's thin, +hairless face: and her most striking features were accentuated, and even +exaggerated in his. Her arched and mobile eyebrows, her dark eyes, her +broad nostrils, curved mouth, and finely-shaped chin, were all to be +found, with a subtle unlikeness, in Oliver's face, and the jetty hair, +short as it was on the man's head, grew low down on the brow and the +nape of the neck exactly as hers did--although this resemblance was +obscured by the fact that Rosalind wore a fringe, and carefully curled +all the short hairs at the back of her head. + +The greatest difference of all lay in the expression of the two faces. +Mrs. Romaine had certainly no frankness in her countenance, but she had +plenty of smiling pleasantness and play of emotion. Oliver's face was +like a sullen mask: it was motionless, stolid even, and unamiable. There +were people who raved about his beauty, and nicknamed him Antinous and +Adonis. But these were not physiognomists.... + +Mrs. Romaine had two brothers, both some years younger than herself. +Oliver, the youngest and her favorite, was about thirty, and called +himself a barrister. As he had no briefs, however, it was currently +reported that he lived by means of light literature, play, and judicious +sponging upon his sister. The elder brother, Francis, was a +ne'er-do-weel, and seldom appeared upon the scene. When he did appear, +it was always a sign of trouble and want of cash. + +"So you have had Brooke here again?" Oliver inquired. + +"How did you know, Noll?" + +She turned her dark eyes upon him rather anxiously. Oliver's views and +opinions were of consequence to her. + +"I saw him come in. I was coming up, but I turned round again and went +away. Had a smoke in the Square till I saw him come out. Didn't want to +spoil your little game, whatever it was." + +He spoke with a kind of soft drawl, not unpleasing to the ear at first, +but irritating if too long continued. It seemed to irritate his sister +now. She tapped impatiently on the floor with her toe as she replied-- + +"How vulgar you are sometimes, Oliver! But all society is vulgar +now-a-days, and I suppose one ought not to complain. I have no 'little +game,' as you express it, and there was not the slightest need for you +to have stayed away." + +Oliver was sitting on a sofa, with his elbows on his knees and the tips +of his long white fingers meeting each other. When Mrs. Romaine ended +her petulant little speech he turned his dark eyes upon her and smiled. +He said nothing, however, and his silence offended his sister even more +than his speech. + +"It is easy to see that you do not believe me," she said, "and I think +it is very rude of you to be so sceptical. If you _have_ any remarks to +make on the subject pray make them at once." + +"My dear Rosy, I have no remarks to make at all," said Oliver, easily. +"Take your own way and I shall take mine. You are good enough to give me +plenty of rope, and I should be uncivil indeed if I commented on the +length of yours." + +Mrs. Romaine had been moving restlessly to and fro: she now stood still, +on the hearthrug, her hands clasped before her, her face turned +attentively towards her brother. Evidently she was struck by his words. + +"If you would speak out," she said at last, her smooth voice vibrating +as if he had touched some chord of passion which was usually hushed to +silence, "I should know better what you mean. You deal too much in hints +and insinuations. You have said things of this sort before. I must know +what you mean." + +"Come, Rosy," said Oliver, rising from his low seat and confronting her, +"don't be so tragic--so intense. Plump little women like you shouldn't +go in for tragedy. Smile, Rosy; it is your _metier_ to smile. You have +won a good many games by smiling. You must smile on now--to the bitter +end." + +He smiled himself as he looked at her--an unpleasant smile, with thin +lips drawn back from white sharp looking teeth, which gave him the air +of a snarling dog. Mrs. Romaine's face belied his words. It was tragic +enough, intense enough, for a woman who had known mortal agony; the +suggestion of placidity usually given by her smiling lips and rounded +unwrinkled cheeks had disappeared; she might have stood for an +impersonation of sorrow and despair. Oliver's mocking voice recalled her +to herself. + +"A very good pose, Rosalind. The Tragic Muse indeed. Are you going to +rival Ethel Kenyon? I am afraid it is rather late for you to go on the +stage, that's all. Let me see: you have touched forty, have you not? I +would acknowledge only thirty-nine if I were you. There is more than a +year's difference between thirty-nine and forty." + +The strained muscles of her face relaxed: she made a little impatient +gesture with her hands, then turned to the fireplace, and with one arm +upon the mantelpiece, looked down into the fire. + +"You drive me nearly mad sometimes, Oliver," she said, in a low, +passionate voice, "by your habit of saying only half a thing at a time. +I know well enough that you are remonstrating with me now: that you +disapprove of something--and will not tell me what. By and by, if I am +in trouble or perplexity, you will turn round upon me and say that you +warned me--told me that you disapproved--or something of that sort. You +always do it, and it is not fair. Innuendoes are not warnings." + +"My dear Rosalind," said her brother, coolly, "I hope I know my place. +I'm ten years younger than you are, and have been at various times much +indebted to your generosity. It does not become me to take exception at +anything that girls may like to do." + +He had the exasperating habit of treating kindness to himself with an +air of condescension, as if he conferred a favor by accepting benefits. +His smile of superiority hurt Mrs. Romaine. + +"When you adopt that tone, Oliver, I hate you!" she cried. + +"You are very impulsive, Rosy--in spite of your years," said Oliver, +with his usual quietness. "I assure you I do not wish to interfere; and +you must set it down to brotherly affection if I sometimes feel inclined +to wonder what you mean to do." + +"To do?" she queried, looking round at him. + +"Yes, to do. I don't understand you, that is all. Of course, it is not +necessary that I should understand." + +Mrs. Romaine did not often change color, but she flushed scarlet now, +and was glad for a moment that the room was almost dark. Yet, as her +brother stood close to her, and the fire was sending up fitful flashes +of ruddy light, she felt certain, on reflection, that he had seen that +blush. This certainly imparted some humility to her voice as she spoke +again. + +"You know, Oliver, that I always like you to approve of what I am doing. +I like you to understand. Of course, whatever I do, it is partly for +your sake." + +"Is it?" said Oliver, with a laugh. "I shouldn't have thought it. As far +as I can judge, you have been very careful to please yourself all +through." + +There was a little silence. Then she said, in a low tone, + +"_How_ have I pleased myself, I should like to know?" + +"Do you want a plain statement of facts? Well, my dear, you know them as +well as I do, though perhaps you do not know the light in which they +present themselves to me. We three, you and Francis and I, were left to +earn our own living at a somewhat early age. Francis became a banker's +clerk, and you took to literature and governessing and general +popularity. By a very clever stroke you managed to induce Professor +Romaine to marry you. He was fifty and you were twenty-four. You did +very well for yourself--twisted him round your little finger, and got +him to leave you all his money; but really I do not see how this could +be said to be for my sake." + +"Then you are very ungrateful, Oliver. You were a boy of fourteen when I +married, and what would you have done but for Mr. Romaine and myself?" + +"You forget, my dear," said Oliver, smoothly, "that I was never exactly +dependent on you for a livelihood. I took scholarships at school and +college, and there was a certain sum of money invested in the Funds for +my other expenses. It was perhaps not a large sum, but it was enough. I +have to thank you for some very pleasant weeks at your house during the +holidays; but there was really no necessity for you to marry Peter +Romaine in order to provide for my holidays." + +She winced under his tone of banter, but did not speak. She seemed +resolved to let him say what he liked. Rosalind Romaine might not be +perfect in all relations of life, but she was certainly a good sister. + +"When a few years had elapsed," her brother went on, in a light +narrative tone, "I'll grant that Romaine was of considerable service to +us. He got Francis out of several scrapes, and he shoved me into a +Government office, where the duties are not particularly onerous. Oh, +yes, I owe some thanks to Romaine." + +"And none to me for marrying him?" + +Oliver laughed. "My dear Rosy," he said, "I have mentioned before that I +consider you married him to please yourself." + +She shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing more. + +"Romaine became useful to me, of course," said Oliver, reflectively; +"and then came the first extraordinary hitch. We met the Brookes--how +many years ago--nearly twelve, I suppose; and you formed a gushing +friendship with Lady Alice Brooke and her husband, especially with her +husband." + +"Why do you rake up these old stories?" + +"Because I want to understand your position. You amazed me then, and you +seem more than ever disposed to amaze me now. You were attracted by +Caspar Brooke--heaven knows why! and you made no secret of the fact. You +liked the man, and he liked you. I don't know how far the friendship +went----" + +"There was nothing in it but the most ordinary, innocent +acquaintanceship!" + +"Lady Alice did not think so. Lady Alice made a devil of a row about it, +as far as I understand. Everyone who knows the story blames you, +Rosalind, for the quarrel and separation between husband and wife." + +"It was not my fault." + +"Oh, was it not? Well, perhaps not. At any rate, the husband and wife +separated quietly, twelve years ago. I don't know whether you hoped +that Brooke would give his wife any justification for her +suspicions----" + +"Oliver, you are brutal! You insult me! I have never given you reason to +think so ill of me." + +"I think of you," said Oliver, slowly, "only as I think of all women. I +don't suppose you are better or worse than the rest. As it happened the +whole thing seemed to die down after that separation. Romaine whisked +you off to Calcutta with him. Then he fell ill, and you had to nurse +him: you and your friend Brooke did not often meet. Then your husband +died, after a long illness, and you came here again three years ago--for +what object?" + +"I had no object but that of living in a part of London which was +familiar to me--and of being amongst friends. You have no right at all +to call me to account in this way." + +"So I said a few minutes ago. But you remarked that you wished me to +understand and approve of your proceedings. I am only trying to get at +your motives--if you have any." + +Mrs. Romaine was tempted to say that she had no motives. But she did not +think that Oliver would believe her. + +"Here you are," he went on, in his soft, slow voice, "in friendly--I +might say familiar--relations with this man again. His wife is still +living, and as bitter against him as ever, but not likely to give him +any pretext for a divorce. You cannot marry him. Why do you provoke +people to say ill-natured things about you by continuing so aimless a +friendship?" + +"I don't think that any one would take the trouble of saying ill-natured +things about me, Oliver," said Mrs. Romaine, forcing a smile. "We are +too conventional, too advanced, now-a-days, for that kind of thing. +Friendship between a man and woman is by no means the abnormal and +unheard-of thing that it used to be." + +"You are not so free as you think you are. You are still +good-looking--still young. You cannot afford to defy the world. And I +cannot afford to defy it either. I don't mind a reasonable amount of +laxity, but I do not want my sister to be the heroine of a scandal." + +"I think you might trust me to take care of myself." + +"I would not say a word if Brooke were a widower. Although I don't like +him, I acknowledge that he is the sort of big blundering brute that +suits some women. But there's no chance with him, so why should you make +a fool of yourself?" + +Mrs. Romaine turned round with a fierce little gesture of contradiction, +but restrained herself, and did not speak for a minute or two. + +"What do you want me to do?" she said at last, in rather a breathless +kind of way. + +"Well, my dear Rosy, since you ask me, I should say that it would be far +wiser to drop Brooke's acquaintance." + +"That is impossible." + +"And why impossible?" + +"His daughter is coming to him for a year: he has been here to-night to +ask me to call on her--to chaperone her sometimes." + +"Is the man a fool?" said Oliver. + +"I think," Mrs. Romaine answered, somewhat unsteadily, "that Mr. Brooke +never knew--exactly--that his wife was jealous of me." + +"Oh, that's too much to say. He must have known." + +"I am pretty sure that he did not. From things that he has said to me, I +feel certain that he attributed only a passing irritation to her on my +account. You do not believe me, Oliver; but I think that he is perfectly +ignorant of the real cause of her leaving him." + +"And _you_ know it?" + +"I know it, and Lady Alice knows it: no one else." + +"What was it, then? You mean more than simple jealousy, I see." + +"Yes, but--I am not obliged to tell you what it was." + +"Oh, no. Keep your own counsel, by all means. But you are placing +yourself in a very risky position. Lady Alice Brooke knows something +that would, I suppose, compromise you in the world's eyes, if it were +generally known. Her daughter is coming to Brooke's house. You mean--you +seriously mean--to go to his house and visit this girl? thereby +offending her mother (who is sure to hear of the visit) and bringing +down the ill-will of all the Courtleroys upon your head? Have you no +regard for your character and your position in the world? You are +risking both, and you have nothing to gain." + +"Yes, I have." + +"What is it?" + +"I cannot tell you." + +"You mean you will not tell me?" + +"Perhaps so." + +Oliver Trent deliberately took a match-box from the mantelpiece, struck +a match, and lighted a wax candle. "I should like to see your face," he +said. + +Rosalind looked at him fully and steadily for a few seconds; then her +eyelids fell, and for the second time that evening the color mounted in +her pale cheeks. + +"I think that I know the truth," said her brother, composedly, after a +careful study of her face. "You are mad, Rosalind, and you will live to +rue that madness." + +"I don't know what you mean," she said, turning away from the light of +the candle. "You speak in riddles." + +"I will speak in riddles, then, no longer. I will be very plain with +you. Rosalind, you are in love with Caspar Brooke." + +She sank down on a low chair as if her limbs would support her no longer +and rested her face upon her hands. + +"No," she said, in a low voice, "you are wrong: I do not love Caspar +Brooke." + +"What other motive can you have?" + +She waited for a moment, and then said, still softly-- + +"I suppose I may as well tell you. I loved him once. In those first days +of our acquaintance--when he was disappointed in his wife and seeking +for sympathy elsewhere--I thought that he cared for me. I was mistaken. +Oliver, can you keep my secret? No other soul in the world knows of this +from me but you. I told him my love. I wrote to him--a wild, mad +letter--offering to fly to the ends of the earth with him if he would +go." + +Oliver stared at her as if he could not believe his ears. + +"And what answer did he make?" + +"He made none--because he never saw it. That letter fell into Lady +Alice's hands. She did not know that it was the first that had been +written: she took it to be one of a series. She wrote a short note to me +about it; and the next thing I heard was that she had gone. But I know +that he never saw that letter of mine." + +"All this," said Oliver, in a hard contemptuous voice, "does not explain +your present line of conduct." + +She lifted her face from her hands. "Yes, it does," she said quickly. +"If you were a woman you would understand! Do you think I want her to +come back to him? No, if he cannot make me happy, he shall not be happy +at _her_ side. I shall never forgive her for the words she wrote to me! +If her daughter comes, Oliver, it is all the more reason why I should be +here, ready to nip any notion of reconciliation in the bud. It is hate, +not love, that dominates me: it is in my hatred for Caspar Brooke's wife +that you must seek the explanation of my actions. _Now_, do you +understand?" + +"I understand enough," said Oliver, drily. + +"And you will not interfere?" + +"For the present I will not interfere. But I will not bind myself. I +must see more of what you are doing before I make any promises. Whatever +you do, you must not compromise yourself or me." + +"Hate!" he repeated to himself scornfully as he left the house at a +somewhat later hour in the evening. "It is all very well to put it down +to her hate for Lady Alice. She is still in love with Brooke; and that +is the beginning and the end of it." + +And Oliver was not far wrong. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +LESLEY COMES HOME. + + +Caspar Brooke was a busy man, and he was quite determined that his +daughter's arrival should make no difference in his habits. In this +determination he was less selfish than stern: he had reason to believe +that his wife's treatment of him proceeded from folly and fickleness, +and that his daughter had inherited her foibles. It was not worth while, +he said to himself, to make any radical change in his way of life: +Lesley must accommodate herself, if she could, to his habits; and if she +could not, she must go back to her mother. He was not prepared, he told +himself, to alter his hours, or his friendships, or his peculiarities +one whit for Lesley's sake. + +Lesley arrived an hour later than the time at which she had been +expected. It was nearly eight o'clock when her cab stopped at the door +of the house in Upper Woburn Place, and the evening was foggy and cold. +To Lesley, fresh from the clear skies and air of a French city, street, +house, and atmosphere alike seemed depressing. The chimes of St. +Pancras' church, woefully out of tune, fell on her ear, and made her +shiver as she mounted the steps that led to the front door. How dear +they were to grow to her in time she did not then suspect, nor would +have easily believed! At present their discordance was part of the +general discordance of all things, and increased the weight of dejection +which lay upon her. Her mother's maid had orders to deliver her over to +Mr. Brooke and then to come away: she was not to spend an hour in the +house, nor to partake of food within its walls. She had strict orders +from Lady Alice on this point. + +The house was a very good house, as London dwellings go; but to Lesley's +eyes it looked strangely mean and narrow. It was very tall, and the +front was painted a chocolate brown. The double front doors, which +opened to admit Lesley's boxes, showed an ordinary London hall, narrow, +crowded with an oaken chest, an umbrella and hat stand, and lighted by a +flaring gas lamp. At these doors two persons showed themselves; a neat +but hard-featured maid-servant, and a lady of uncertain age, whom Lesley +correctly guessed to be his sister and housekeeper, Miss Brooke. There +was no sign of her father. + +"Is this Mr. Brooke's house?" inquired Dayman, formally. She used to +know Mr. Brooke by sight, for she had lived with Lady Alice for many +years. + +"Yes, this is the house, and this is his daughter, I suppose?" said Miss +Brooke, coming forward, and taking Lesley's limp hand in hers. Miss +Brooke had a keen, clever, honest face, but she was undeniably plain, +and Lesley was not in a condition to appreciate the kindness of her +glance. + +"I must see Mr. Brooke himself before I leave my young lady," Dayman +announced. + +"Run and fetch your master, Sarah," said Miss Brooke, quickly. "He +cannot have heard the cab." + +The white-aproned servant disappeared into the back premises, and +thence, in a moment or two, issued Mr. Caspar Brooke himself, at the +sight of whom Miss Brooke involuntarily frowned and bit her lip. She saw +at one glance that Caspar was in his "study-coat," that his hair was +dishevelled, and that he had just laid down his pipe. These were small +details in themselves, but they meant a good deal. They meant that +Caspar Brooke would not do a single thing, would not go a single step +out of his way, to conciliate the affections of Lady Alice's daughter. +He had never in his life looked more of a Bohemian than he did just +then. And Miss Brooke suspected him of wilful perversity. + +The lights swam before Lesley's eyes. The vision of a big, brown-bearded +man, bigger and broader, it seemed to her, than any man she had ever +spoken to before, took away her senses. As he came up to her she +involuntarily shrank back; and when he stooped to kiss her, the novel +sensation of his bristly beard against her face, the strong scent of +tobacco, and the sense that she was unwelcome, all contributed towards +complete self-betrayal. Dizzy from her voyage; faint, sick, and +unhinged, she almost pushed him away from her and sank down on a +hall-chair with a burst of sobbing which she could not control. She was +terribly ashamed of herself next moment; but the next moment was too +late. She had made as bad a beginning as she had it in her power to +make, and no after-apology could alter what was done. + +For a moment a dead silence fell on the little group. Miss Brooke heard +her brother mutter something beneath his breath in a very angry tone. +She wondered whether his daughter heard it too. The faithful and +officious Dayman immediately pressed forward with soothing words and +offers of help. + +"There, there, my dear young lady, don't take on so. It won't be for +long, remember; and I'll come for you again to take you back to your +mamma----" + +"You had better leave her alone, Dayman," said Mr. Brooke, coldly. "She +will probably be more reasonable by and bye." + +Lesley was on her feet again in a moment. "I am not unreasonable," she +said distinctly, but with a little catch in her voice; "it is only that +I am tired and upset with the journey--and the sudden light was too much +for me. Give mamma my love, Dayman, and say that I am very well." + +"Are the boxes all in?" asked Mr. Brooke. "We need not detain you, Mrs. +Dayman." + +Dayman turned and dropped him a mocking curtsey. "I have my orders from +my mistress, sir. Having seen the young lady safe into your hands, I +will go back to my lady at the railway station, where she now is, and +tell her how she was received." + +Miss Brooke, glancing anxiously at her brother, saw him bite his lip and +frown. He did not speak, but he pointed to the door in a manner which +Dayman did not see fit to disobey. + +"Good-bye, Miss Lesley--and I'll look forward to the day when I see you +back again," said the maid, in a tone of profound commiseration. + +"Good-bye, Dayman, give my love to mamma," said Lesley. She would dearly +have liked to add, "Don't tell her that I cried;" but with that circle +of unsympathetic faces round her, she did not dare. She pressed her lips +together, dashed the tears from her eyes, and managed to smile, however, +as Dayman took her departure. + +Meanwhile, Miss Brooke had quietly sent the maid for a glass of wine, +which she administered to the girl without further ado. Lesley drank it +obediently, and felt reinvigorated: but although her courage rose, her +spirit remained sadly low as she looked at her father's face, and saw +that it wore an uncompromising frown. + +"You had better have these boxes carried upstairs as soon as possible," +he remarked to his sister. "I will say good-night now: I have to go +out." + +He turned away rather brusquely, and went back into his study, which was +situated behind the dining-room, on the ground-floor. Lesley looked +after him helplessly, with a mingled feeling of offence and relief. She +did not see him again, but was conveyed to her room by Miss Brooke, who +spoke to her kindly indeed, but with a matter-of-fact directness which +seemed hard and cold to the convent-bred girl, whose teachers and +guardians had vied with one another in sugared sweetness and a tutored +amiability of demeanor. + +Lesley was taken up two flights of stairs to a room which seemed close +and stuffy to her, although in English eyes it might be deemed +comfortable and even luxurious. But padded arm-chairs and couch, +eider-down silken-covered quilts, cushions, curtains, and carpets, were +things of which she had as yet no great appreciation. The room seemed to +her altogether too full of furniture, and she longed to run to the +window for a breath of fresh air. Miss Brooke, observing how white she +looked, asked her if she felt faint. + +"No, thank, you; I am only tired," said Lesley. + +"You would like some tea, perhaps?" + +"Thank you," said the girl, rather hesitatingly. Nobody drank tea at the +convent, and in her visits to Lady Alice she had not cultivated a taste +for it. "I think I would rather go to bed." + +"You must have something to eat before you go," said Miss Brooke, drily. +"Here, let me feel your pulse. Yes, you need food, and I'll send you up +a soothing draught as well. You need not look so astonished, my dear: +don't you know that I'm a doctor?" + +"A doctor! _You!_" Lesley looked round the room as if seeking for some +place in which to hide from such a monstrosity. + +"Yes, a doctor--a lady doctor," said Miss Brooke, with grim but not +unmirthful emphasis. "You never saw me before, did you? Well, I'm not +in general practice just now; my health would not stand it, so I am +keeping my brother's house instead; but I am fully qualified, my dear, I +assure you, and can prescribe for you if you are ill as well as any +physician in the land." + +She laughed as she spoke, and there was a humorous twinkle in her +shrewd, kindly eyes, which Lesley did not understand. As a matter of +fact, her innocent horror and amaze tickled Miss Brooke immensely. It +was evident that this girl, with her foreign, aristocratic, and Catholic +training knew nothing at all of the strides that have of late been made +in the direction of female emancipation; and her ignorance was amusing +to Miss Brooke, who was one of the foremost champions of the woman's +cause. Miss Sophia Brooke, whose name was on every committee under the +sun, who spoke at meetings and wrote half a dozen letters after her +name, to have a niece who had never met a lady doctor in her life +before, and probably did not know anything at all about women's +franchise! It was quite too funny, and Miss Brooke--or Doctor Brooke, as +she liked better to be called--was genuinely amused. But it was not an +amusing matter to Lesley, who felt as if the foundations of the solid +world were shaking underneath her. + +If she had heard of women doctors at all it was in terms of bitterest +reprobation: she had been told that they were not persons of +respectability, that they were "without the pale," and she had believed +all she was told. And here she was, shut up for a year with a woman of +the very class that she had been taught to reprobate--a woman, too, who, +although no longer young, had a face which was pleasant to look upon, +because it expressed refinement and kindliness as well as intellectual +power, and whose dress, though plain, was severely neat, well-fitting, +and of rich material. In fact, Miss Brooke was so unlike anything in the +shape of womankind that Lesley had ever encountered, that the girl could +only gaze at her in speechless amazement, and wonder whether _she_ was +expected to develop into something of the same sort! + +She could not deny, however, that her aunt was very good-natured. Miss +Brooke helped her to undress, put her to bed, unpacked her boxes in +about half the time that a maid would have taken to do the work; then +she brought her something to eat and drink, and waited on her with the +care of a woman with a truly kindly heart. Lesley began to take courage +and to ask questions. + +"I suppose I shall see my father again to-morrow morning," she said. + +"About mid-day you may see him," Miss Brooke answered, cheerfully. "He +will be out till two or three in the morning, you know; and of course he +can't be disturbed very early. You must remember that we keep the house +very quiet until eleven or twelve, when he generally comes down. He +breakfasts then, and goes out." + +Lesley was mystified. Why did her father keep such extraordinary hours? +She had not the slightest notion that these were the usual arrangements +of a journalist's life. She thought that he must be very thoughtless, +very self-indulgent, even very wicked. Surely her mother had been more +than justified in leaving him. She laid her head upon the pillow, +feeling rather inclined to cry. + +Miss Brooke had not much of a clue to her emotions; but she was trying +hard to fathom what was passing in the girl's mind, and she came very +near the mark. She stooped down and kissed her affectionately. + +"I daresay you feel lonely and strange, my dear," she said; "but you +must remember that you have come to your own home, and that we belong to +you, and you to us. So you must put up with us for a time, and you +may--eventually--come to like us, you know. Stranger things than that +have happened before now." + +Lesley put one arm round her aunt's neck, undeterred by Miss Brooke's +laugh and the little struggle she made to get away. + +"Thank you," she said, "for being so kind. I am sorry I cried when I +came in." + +"You were hysterical and overwrought. I shall tell your father so." + +"You think he was vexed?" + +"I suppose," said Miss Brooke, "that a man hardly likes to see his +daughter burst out crying and shrink away when she first looks at him." + +"Oh, I was very stupid!" cried Lesley, remorsefully. "It must have +looked so bad, and I did not mean anything--at least, I meant only----" + +"I understand all about it," said her aunt, "and I shall tell your +father what I think if he alludes to the matter. In the meantime you +had better go to sleep, and wake up fresh and bright in the morning. +Good-night, my dear." + +And Lesley was left to her own reflections. + +Although she went early to bed she did not sleep soon or soundly. There +was not much traffic along the street in which her father lived, but the +bells of St. Pancras rang out the hours and the quarters with painful +tunelessness, and an occasional rumble of wheels would startle her into +wakeful terror. At half-past two in the morning she heard the opening +and shutting of the front door, and her father's footsteps on the stairs +as he came up to bed. There seemed to her something uncanny in these +nocturnal habits. The life of a journalist, of a literary man, of +anybody who did any definite work in the world at all, was quite unknown +to her. + +She came down to breakfast at nine o'clock, feeling weary and depressed. +Miss Brooke was kind but preoccupied; she had a committee at twelve, she +said, and another at four, so she would be obliged to leave Lesley for +the greater part of the day. "But you will have your own little +arrangements to make you know," she said, "and Sarah will show you or +tell you anything you want. You might as well fall into our ways as soon +as you can." + +"Oh, yes," said Lesley. "I only want to be no trouble." + +"You'll be no trouble to anybody," said Miss Brooke, cheerfully, "so +long as you find something to do, and do it. There's a good library of +books in the house, and a piano in the drawing-room; and you ought to go +out for an hour or two every day. I daresay you will be able to occupy +yourself." + +"Is there any one to go out with me?" queried Lesley, timidly. She had +never been out alone in the whole course of her life. + +"Go out with you?" repeated Miss Brooke, rather rudely, though with kind +intent. "An able-bodied young woman of eighteen or nineteen surely can +take care of herself! You are not in Paris now, my dear, you are in +London; and girls in London have to be independent and courageous." + +Lesley felt that she was being somewhat unjustly judged, but she did not +like to reply. And her aunt, conscious of having spoken sharply, became +immediately more gentle in manner, and told her certain details about +the arrangements of the house, which it behoved Lesley to know, with +considerable thoughtfulness and kind feeling. + +Mr. Brooke usually rang for his coffee about half-past ten, and came +down at half-past eleven. He then had breakfast served to him in the +dining-room, and did not join his sister at luncheon at all. In the +afternoon he walked out, or wrote, or saw friends; dined at six, and +went down to the office of his paper at eight. From the office he did +not usually return until the small hours of the morning; and then, as +Miss Brooke explained, he often sat up writing or reading for an hour or +two longer. + +"Why does he work so late?" asked Lesley, innocently. "I should have +thought the day-time was pleasanter." + +Miss Brooke gave a short, explosive laugh, fixed a pair of eyeglasses on +the bridge of her nose, and looked at Lesley as if she were a natural +curiosity. + +"Have you yet to learn," she said, "that we don't do what is pleasant in +this life, but what we _must_?" + +Then she got up and went away from the breakfast-table, leaving Lesley +ashamed and confounded. The girl leaned her elbows upon the white cloth, +and furtively wiped a tear away from her eyes. She found herself in a +new atmosphere, and it did not seem to her a very congenial one. She was +bewildered; it did not appear possible that she could live for a year in +a home of this very peculiar kind. To her uncultivated imagination, Mr. +Brooke and his sister looked to her like barbarians. She did not +understand their ways at all. + +She spent the morning in unpacking her things, and arranging them, with +rather a sad heart, in her room. She did not like to go downstairs until +the luncheon-bell rang; and then she found that she was to lunch alone. +Miss Brooke was out; Mr. Brooke was in his study. + +The white-capped and severe-visaged middle-aged servant, who was known +as Sarah, came to Lesley after the meal with a message. + +"Mr. Brooke says, Miss, that he would like to see you in his study, if +you can spare him a few minutes." + +Lesley flushed hotly as she was shown into the smoky, little den. It was +a scene of confusion, such as she had never beheld before. The table was +heaped high with papers: books and maps strewed every chair: even the +floor was littered with bulky tomes and piles of manuscript. At a +knee-hole table Caspar Brooke was sitting, writing hard, as if for dear +life, his loose hair falling heavily over his big forehead, his left +hand grasping his thick brown beard. He looked up as Lesley entered, and +gave her a nod. + +"Good-morning," he said. "Wait a minute: I must finish this and send it +off by the quarter to three post. I have just done." + +He went on writing, and Lesley stood motionless beside the table, with a +feeling of dire offence in her proud young heart. Why had he sent for +her if he did not want her? She was half inclined to walk away without +another word. Only a sense of filial duty restrained her. She thought to +herself that she had never been treated so unceremoniously--even in her +earliest days at school. And she was surprised to find that so small a +thing could ruffle her so much. She had hardly known at the convent, or +while visiting her mother, that she had such a thing as a "temper." It +suddenly occurred to her now that her temper was very bad indeed. + +And in truth she had a hot, strong temper--very like her father's, if +she had but known it--and a will that was prone to dominate, not to +submit itself to others. These were facts that she had yet to learn. + +"Well, Lesley," said Caspar Brooke, laying down his pen, "I have +finished my work at last. Now we can talk." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +FRIENDS AND FOES. + + +Something in the slightly mutinous expression of Lesley's face seemed to +strike her father. He looked at her fixedly for a minute or two, then +smiled a little, and began to busy himself amongst his papers. + +"You are very like your mother," he said. + +Lesley felt a thrill of strong indignation. How dared he speak of her +mother to her without shame and grief and repentance? She flushed to her +temples and cast down her eyes, for she was resolved to say nothing that +she might afterwards regret. + +"Won't you sit down?" said Mr. Brooke, indifferently. "You must make +yourself at home, you know. If you don't, I'm afraid you will be +uncomfortable. You will have to look after yourself." + +Lesley made no answer. She was thinking that it would be very +disagreeable to look after herself. She did not know how clearly her +face expressed her sentiments. + +"You don't much like the prospect, apparently?" said her father. +"Well"--for he was becoming a little provoked by her silence--"what +_would_ you like? Do you want a maid?" + +"Oh, no, thank you," said Lesley, startled into speech. + +"You can have one if you like, you know. Speak to your aunt about it. I +suppose you have not been accustomed to wait upon yourself. Can you do +your own hair?" + +He spoke with a smile, half-indulgent, half-contemptuous. Lesley +remembered, with intuitive comprehension of his mood, that her mother +was singularly helpless, and never dressed without Dayman's help, or +brushed the soft tresses that were still so luxuriant and so fair. She +rebelled at once against the unspoken criticism. + +"I can do everything for myself," she said; "I can do my own hair and +mend my dresses and everything, because I am a schoolgirl; but of +course when I am older I expect to have my own maid, as every lady +does." + +Mr. Brooke's short, hard laugh was distinctly unpleasing to her ear. + +"I think you will find, when you are older," he said, with an emphasis +on the words, "that a great many ladies have to do without maids--and +very much better for them that they should--but as I do not wish to +stint you in anything, nor to oppose any fairly reasonable desire of +yours, I will tell your aunt to get you a maid as soon as possible." + +"Oh, no, please!" cried Lesley, more alarmed than pleased by the +prospect. "I really do not wish for one; I do not wish you to have the +trouble--the ex----" + +She stopped short: she did not quite like to speak of the "expense." + +"It will not be much trouble to me if Sophia finds you a maid," said her +father drily; "and as to the expense, which is what I suppose you were +going to allude to, I am quite well able to afford it. Otherwise I +should not have proposed such a thing." + +Lesley felt herself snubbed, and did not like it, but again kept +silence. + +"I cannot promise you much amusement while you stay here," Mr. Brooke +went on, "but anything that you like to see or hear when you are in town +can be easily provided for. I mean in the way of picture galleries, +concerts, theatres--things of that kind. Your Aunt Sophia will probably +be too much occupied to take you to such places; but if you have a maid +you will be pretty independent. I wonder she did not think of it +herself. Of course a maid can go about with you, and so relieve her +mind." + +"I am sorry to be troublesome," said Lesley, stiffly. + +He cast an amused glance at her. "You won't trouble _me_, my dear. And +Mrs. Romaine says that she will call and make your acquaintance. I dare +say you will find her a help to you." + +"Is she--a friend of yours?" + +"A very old friend," said Caspar Brooke, with decision. "Then there are +the Kenyons, who live opposite. Ethel Kenyon is a clever girl--a great +favorite of mine. Her brother is a doctor." + +"And she lives with him and keeps his house?" said Lesley, growing +interested. + +"Well, she lives with him. I don't know that she does much in the way of +keeping his house. I hope I shall not shock your prejudices"--how did he +know that she had any prejudices?--"if I tell you that she is an +actress." + +"An actress!"--Lesley flushed with surprise, even with a little horror, +though at the same moment she was conscious of a movement of pleasant +curiosity and a desire to know what an actress was like in private life. + +"I thought you would be horrified," said her father, looking at her with +something very like satisfaction. "How could you be anything else? How +long have you lived in a French convent? Eight or ten years, is it not? +Ah, well, I can't be surprised if you have imbibed the conventional idea +of what you would call, I suppose, your class." He gave a little shrug +to his broad shoulders. "It can't be helped now. You must make yourself +as happy as you can, my poor child, as long as you are here, and console +yourself with visions of your happy future at the Courtleroys'." + +It was exactly what Lesley intended to do, and yet she felt hurt by the +slightly contemptuous pity of his tone. + +"I have no doubt that I shall be very happy," she said, steadying her +voice as well as she could; "and I hope that you will not concern +yourself about me." + +"I should not have time to do so if I wished," he answered coolly. "I +never concern myself about anything but my proper business, which is +_not_ to look after girls of eighteen----" + +"Then why did you send for me here?" she asked, with lightning rapidity. + +The question seemed to surprise him. He raised his eyebrows as he looked +at her. + +"That was a family arrangement made many years ago," he answered at last +deliberately. "And I think it was a wise one. There is no reason why you +should grow up in utter ignorance of your father. And I prefer you to +come when you have arrived at something like a reasonable age, rather +than when you were quite a child. As you _are_ at a reasonable age, +Lesley," with a lightening of his tones, "I suppose you have some +tastes, some inclinations, of your own? What are they?" + +It must have been obstinacy that prompted Lesley's answer. "I have no +taste," she said, looking down. "No inclinations." + +"Are you not fond of music?" + +"I play a little--a very little." + +"Oh." The tone was one of disappointment. "Art? +Drawing--carving--modelling--any of the fads young ladies are so fond of +now-a-days?" + +"No." + +"Do you read much?" + +"No." + +"What do you do, then?" + +"I can embroider a little," said Lesley, calmly. "The nuns taught me. +And I can dance." + +She raised her eyes and studied the stormy expressions that flitted one +after another across her father's face. She knew that she had taken a +delight in provoking him, and she wondered whether he was not going to +retaliate by an angry word. But after a few moments' pause he only +said-- + +"Would you like any lessons in singing or drawing now that you are in +town?" + +The offer was a temptation to Lesley. Yes, she would dearly have liked +some good singing lessons; her mother even had suggested that she should +take them while she was in London. She was the fortunate possessor of a +voice that was worth cultivating, and she longed to make the best of her +time. But she had come with the notion that her father was poor, and +that she must not be an unnecessary expense to him; and this idea had +not been counteracted by any appearance of luxury or lavish expenditure +in her London home. The furniture, except in her own room, was heavy, +old-fashioned, and decidedly shabby. Her father seemed to work very +hard. He had already promised her a maid; and Lesley could not bear to +ask him for anything else. So she answered-- + +"No, I think not, thank you." + +There might be generosity, but there was also some resentment and hot +temper at the bottom of Lesley's reply. This was a fact, however, that +her father did not discern. He merely paused for a moment, nodded his +head once or twice, and seemed slightly disconcerted. Then he said-- + +"Very well; do just as you like. Your aunt has a Mudie subscription, I +believe"--what this meant Lesley had not the faintest idea--"and you +will find books in the library, and a piano in the drawing-room. You +must ask for anything you want." As if that was likely, Lesley thought! +"I hope you will make friends and be comfortable. And--a--" he paused, +and hesitated in his speech as he went on--"a--I hope--your mother--Lady +Alice--was well when you left her?" + +"Pretty well," Lesley answered, dropping her eyes. + +"Was she going to Scotland for the winter?" + +"I think so." + +"Oh." He seemed satisfied with the answer. "By the way, Lesley, are you +Catholic or Protestant?" + +"Protestant. Mamma would not allow the Sisters to talk to me about +religion. I always drove to the English Church on Sundays." + +"Oh, very well. Do as you please. There are plenty of churches near us. +But you need not bring more clergy than you can help to the house," said +Brooke, with a peculiar smile. "I am not very fond of the Blacks. I am +more of a Red myself, you know." + +"A Red?" Lesley asked, helplessly. + +"A Red Republican--Radical--Socialist--anything you like," said Brooke, +laughing outright. "You didn't read the papers in your convent, I +suppose. You had better begin to study them straight away. It will be a +pleasant change from the Lives of the Saints. And now, if we have +finished all that we have to say--I am rather busy, and----" + +"Oh, I beg your pardon: I will go," said Lesley, rising at once. "I had +no wish to intrude upon you," she added, with an attempt to be dignified +and womanly, which she felt to be a miserable failure. Her father simply +nodded in reply, took up his pen, and allowed her to leave the room. + +But when she had gone, he put the pen down and sat back in his chair, +musing. Lesley had surprised him a little. She had more force and fire +in her composition than he had expected to find. She was, as he had +said, very like her mother in face and figure; and the minute +differences of line and contour that showed Lesley to be strong where +Lady Alice had been weak, original where Lady Alice had been most +conventional, intellectual where Lady Alice had been only intelligent, +were not perceptible at first sight even to a practised observer of men +and women like Caspar Brooke. But the flash of her brown eyes, so like +his own, and an occasional intonation in her voice, had told him +something. She was in arms against him, so much he felt; and she had +more individuality than her mother, in spite of her ignorance. It was a +pity that her education had been so much neglected! Manlike, Caspar +Brooke took literally every word that she had uttered; and reproached +himself for having allowed his foolish, frivolous wife to bring up his +daughter in a place where she had been taught nothing but embroidery and +dancing. + +"It is a pity," he reflected; "but we cannot alter the matter now. The +poor girl will feel herself sadly out of place in this house, I fear; +but perhaps it won't do her any harm. She may be a better woman all her +life--the idle, selfish, self-indulgent life that she is bound by all +her traditions and her upbringing to lead--for having seen for a few +months what honest work is like. She is too handsome not to marry well: +let us only hope that Alice won't secure a duke for her. She will if she +can; and I--well, I haven't much opinion of dukes." And so with a laugh +and a shrug, Caspar Brooke returned to his work. + +Lesley went upstairs to the drawing-room with burning cheeks and a lump +in her throat. She was offended by her father's manner towards her, +although she could not but acknowledge that in essentials he had seemed +wishful to be kind. And she knew that she had seemed ungracious and had +felt resentful. But the resentment, she assured herself, was all on her +mother's account. If he had treated Lady Alice as he had treated Lady +Alice's daughter--with hardly concealed contempt, with the scornful +indifference of one looking down from a superior height--Lesley did not +wonder that her mother had left him. It was a manner which had never +been displayed to her before, and she said to herself that it was +horribly discourteous. And the worst of it was that it did not seem to +be directed to herself alone: it included her friends the nuns, her +mother, her mother's family, and all the circle of aristocratic +relations to which she belonged. She was despised as part of the class +which he despised; and it was difficult for her to understand the +situation. + +It would have been easier if she could have set her father down as a +mere boor, without refinement or intelligence; but there was one item in +her impression of him which she could not reconcile with a want of +culture. She was keenly sensitive to sound; and voices were important to +her in her judgment of acquaintances. Now, Caspar Brooke had a +delightful voice. It was low, musical, and finely modulated: his accent, +moreover, was particularly delicate and refined. Lesley had, without +knowing it, the same charmingly modulated intonation; and her father's +voice was instinctively familiar to her. People had often said that it +was hard to dislike a man with a voice like Caspar Brooke's; and Lesley +was not insensible to its fascination. No, he could not be a mere +insensate clod, with that pleasant and cultivated voice, she decided to +herself; but he might be something worse--a heartless man of the world, +who cared for nothing but himself and his own low ambitions: not a man +who was worthy to be the husband of a gentle, loving, highly-organized +woman like the daughter of Lord Courtleroy. + +With a deep sigh, Lesley ceased at last to meditate, and began to look +about her. The room was large and lofty, and had three windows, opening +upon a balcony. There were more books than Lesley had usually seen in +drawing-rooms, and there was a very handsome Broadwood grand piano. The +furniture was mostly of the solid type, handsome enough, but very heavy. +Lesley, noticed, however, that the prints and paintings on the walls +were really good, and that there was some valuable china on the +mantlepiece. It was not an ugly room after all, and it displayed signs +of culture on the part of its occupants; but Lesley turned from it with +an impatient little shake of her head, expressive of deep disgust. And, +indeed, it was sufficiently unlike the rooms to which she was accustomed +to cause her considerable disappointment. + +She drew aside the curtains which hung from the archway between the back +room and the front; and here her brow cleared. The one wide window +looked out on a space of green grass and trees, inexpressibly refreshing +to Lesley's eye. The walls were lined with rows of books, from floor to +ceiling; and some easy chairs and small tables gave a look of comfort +and purpose to the room. It was Mr. Brooke's library, though not the +room in which he did his work. That was chiefly done in his little den +downstairs, or at his office in the city. + +Lesley looked at the books with great and increasing pleasure. Here, +indeed, was a joy of which her father could not rob her. No one would +take any notice of what she read. She could "browse undisturbed" over +the whole field of English literature if she were so minded. And the +prospect was a delight. + +She sauntered back into the front room, and stood at one of the windows +for a minute or two. Her attention was speedily attracted by a little +pantomime at a window opposite her own--a drawing-room window, too, with +a balcony before it, like the window at which she stood. A young lady in +a white dress was talking to a black poodle, who was standing on his +hind-legs, and a young man was balancing a bit of biscuit on the dog's +nose. That was all. But the young lady was so extremely pretty, and the +young man looked so cheerful and bright, and the poodle was such an +extremely fascinating dog, that Lesley sighed in very envy of the +felicity of all three. And it never crossed her mind that the pretty +girl in the white costume, who had such a simple and natural look, could +possibly be Ethel Kenyon, the actress, of whom her father had been +speaking half an hour before. Yet such was the case. + +She was still observing the figures at the window when the door opened, +and Sarah announced a visitor. + +"Mrs. Romaine, please, ma'am." + +Whereupon Lesley remembered the "very old friend" whom Mr. Brooke had +mentioned. But was this the very old friend? This young and +fashionably-dressed woman, with short, dark, curling hair, and a white +veil to enhance the whiteness of her complexion. Mrs. Romaine was very +handsome, without a doubt, but Lesley did not like her. + +"Miss Brooke?" said the visitor, in a silvery, flute-like voice, which +the girl could not but admire. "You will forgive me for calling so soon? +My old friendship with Mr. Brooke--whom I have known for years--made me +anxious to see you, dear, as soon as possible. You will receive me also +as a friend, I hope----" + +There could be but one answer. Lesley was delighted. + +"I have heard so much of you," murmured Mrs. Romaine, sitting down with +the girl's hand in hers and gazing into her face with liquid, dreamy +eyes; "and I wanted to know if I could not be of use to you. Dear Miss +Brooke is so much occupied. I may call you Lesley, may I not? Dear +Lesley, it will be the greatest possible pleasure to me to assist you in +any way." + +"Thank you very much," said Lesley, rather lamely. + +"Dear," said Mrs. Romaine, "may I speak to you frankly? I knew your dear +mother many years ago----" + +Lesley turned upon her with suddenly kindled eyes. + +"You knew mamma?" + +"I did, indeed, and I cannot express to you what my feeling was for her. +Love, admiration--these seem cold words: worship, Lesley, expresses more +nearly what I felt! Can you wonder that I hasten to welcome her daughter +to her home?" + +Lesley's innocent heart warmed to the new-comer at once. How unjust she +had been, she thought, to shrink for a moment from the visitor because +of her youthful and ultra-fashionable appearance. Had she not found a +friend?--a woman who loved her mother? + +Mrs. Romaine saw the impression that she had made, and did not try to +deepen it just then. She went on more lightly: + +"I am a widow, you know, and I live in Russell Square. I hope that you +will come and see me sometimes. Drop in whenever you like, and if there +is anything that I can do for you count on me. You will want to go +shopping or making calls sometimes when Miss Brooke is too busy to take +you; then you must come to me. And how was dear Lady Alice when you saw +her last?" + +Lesley did not like these effusive expressions of affection. But she +answered, gently-- + +"Mamma was quite well, thank you." Which answer did not give Mrs. +Romaine all the information that she desired. + +"I have been looking at a pretty poodle dog over the way," she went on, +conscious of some desire to change the subject. "Its mistress has been +putting it through all sorts of tricks--ah, there it is again!" + +"The Kenyons' dog?" said Mrs. Romaine, smiling, as she looked at the +little group which had once more formed itself upon the balcony. "Oh, I +see. That is young Mr. Kenyon, the doctor, a great friend of your +father's; and that is his sister, Ethel Kenyon, the actress." + +"My father spoke about her," said Lesley. + +"Oh, yes, he admires her very much. He wrote a long article about her in +the _Tribune_ once. Do you see the _Tribune_ regularly? Your dear father +writes a great deal for it, and I am sure you must appreciate his +exquisite writing." + +"Do you know Miss Kenyon too?" + +"Oh, yes, I know her very well. And I expect to know her better very +soon, because I suppose we shall be connections before long." + +Lesley looked a smiling inquiry. + +"I have a younger brother--my brother Oliver," said Mrs. Romaine, with a +little laugh; "and younger brothers, dear, have a knack of falling in +love. He has fallen in love with Ethel, who is really a nice girl, as +well as a pretty and a clever girl, and I believe they will be married +by and by." + +Lesley could not have said why, but somehow at that moment she was +distinctly glad of the fact. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +OLIVER'S INTENTIONS. + + +"Well, what is she like?" Oliver Trent asked, lightly, of his sister +Rosalind, when they met that evening at dinner. + +"Lesley Brooke? She is a handsome girl," said Mrs. Romaine, with some +reserve of manner. + +"Nothing more?" + +His sister waited until the servant had left the room before she +replied. + +"I wish you would be discreet, Oliver. My servants are often at the +Brookes' with messages. I should not like them to repeat what you were +saying." + +Oliver shrugged his shoulders with the air of a man to whom women's +caprices are incomprehensible. But he was silent until dessert was +placed upon the table, and Mrs. Romaine's neat parlor-maid had +disappeared. + +"Now," he said, "you can disburthen your mind in peace." + +"Oliver," said Mrs. Romaine, abruptly. "I want you to make Miss Brooke's +acquaintance as soon as you can. I don't understand her, and I think +that you can help me." + +"As how!" + +"Oh, don't be silly. You always get on with girls, and you can tell me +what you think of her." + +Oliver raised his eyebrows, took a peach from the dish before him, and +began to peel it with great deliberation. + +"Handsome, you say?" + +"Very." + +"Like Lady Alice? I remember her; a willowy, shadowy creature, with a +sort of ethereal loveliness which appealed very strongly to my +imagination when I was a boy." + +Mrs. Romaine flushed a little. It occurred to her that _she_ had never +been called shadowy or ethereal-looking. + +"She is much more substantial than Lady Alice," she said, drily. "I +should say that she had more individuality about her. She looks to me +like a girl of character and intellect." + +"In which case your task will be the more difficult, you mean?" + +"I don't know what you mean by a task. I have not set myself to do +anything definite." + +"No? Then you are very unlike your sex, Rosalind. I generally find women +much too definite--damnably so." + +"Well, then, I must be an exception. You are always trying to entrap me +into damaging admissions, Oliver, and I won't put up with it. All that I +want is to be sure that Lady Alice shall not return to her husband. But +there is nothing definite in that." + +"Oh, nothing at all," said Oliver, satirically. "All that you have got +to do is to prejudice father and daughter against each other as much as +possible, make Brooke believe that the girl has been set against him by +her mother, and persuade Miss Brooke that her father is not the sort of +man that Lady Alice can return to. Nothing definite in that, is there?" + +"Oliver, you are quite too bad. I never made any plans of the kind." But +there was a distinctly guilty look in Mrs. Romaine's soft eyes. +"Besides, that is a piece of work which hardly needs doing. Father and +daughter are too much alike to get on." + +"Alike, are they?" + +"Yes, in a sense. The girl is very like her mother, too--she has Lady +Alice's features and figure, but the expression of her face is her +father's. And her eyes and her brow are her father's. And she is like +her father--I think--in disposition." + +"You have found out so much that I think you scarcely need me to +interview her in order to tell you more. What do you want me to do?" + +"I want to find out more about Lady Alice. Could you not get Ethel +Kenyon to ask her about her mother, and then persuade Ethel to tell +you?" + +"Can't take _Ethel_ into our confidence," said Oliver with a disparaging +emphasis upon the name. "She is such a little fool." And then he began +to roll a cigarette for himself. + +Mrs. Romaine watched him thoughtfully for a minute or two. "Noll," she +said at length, "I thought you were really fond of Ethel?" + +Oliver's eyes were fixed upon the cigarette that he was now lighting, +and, perhaps, that was the reason why he did not answer for a minute or +two. At last, he said, in his soft, drawling way-- + +"I am very fond of Ethel. And especially of the twenty thousand pounds +that her uncle left her." + +"Ethel Kenyon is handsome enough to be loved for something beside her +money." + +"Handsome? Oh, she's good-looking enough: but she's not exactly to my +taste. A little too showy, too abrupt for me. Personally I like a +softer, quieter woman; but as a rule the women that I really admire +haven't got twenty thousand pounds." + +"I know who would suit you," said Mrs. Romaine, leaning forward and +speaking in a very low voice--"Lesley Brooke." + +"What is her fortune? If it's a case of her face is her fortune, she +really won't do for me, Rosy, however suitable she might be in other +respects." + +"But," said Mrs. Romaine, eagerly, "she is sure to have plenty of money. +Her father is well off--better off than people know--and would probably +settle a considerable sum upon her; then think of the Courtleroys--there +is a fair amount of wealth in that family, surely----" + +"Which they would be so very likely to give her if she married me," said +her brother, with irony. "Moonshine, my dear. Do you think that Lady +Alice would allow her daughter to marry your brother?--knowing what she +does, and hating you as she does, would she like to be connected with +you by marriage?" + +"That is exactly why I wish that you would marry her," said Mrs. +Romaine, almost below her breath. "Think of the triumph for me!" + +Her eyes glowed, and she breathed more quickly as she spoke. "That woman +scorned me--gloated over my sorrow and my love," she said; "she dared to +reproach me for what she called my want of modesty--my want of womanly +feeling, and--oh, I cannot tell you what she said! But this I know, that +if I could reach her through her daughter or her husband, and stab her +to the heart as she once stabbed me, the dearest wish of my life would +be fulfilled!" + +"Women are always vindictive," said Oliver, philosophically. "The fact +is, you want to revenge yourself on Lady Alice through me, and yet you +don't consider _me_ in the very least. If I married this Lesley Brooke, +Lady Alice and all the Courtleroys would no doubt get into an awful rage +with her and you and me and everybody; and what would be the upshot? +Why, they would cut her off with a shilling and we should be next door +to penniless. Then Brooke--well, he may be fairly prosperous, but he has +only what he makes, you know; and I doubt if he could settle very much +upon his daughter, even if he wanted to. And he does not like me. I +doubt whether even _you_, my dear Rosy, could dispose him to look +favorably on my advances." + +Mrs. Romaine was perhaps convinced, but she did not like to own herself +mistaken. She was silent for a minute or two, and then said with a sigh +and a smile-- + +"You may be right. But it would have been splendid if you could have +married Lesley Brooke. We should have been thorns in Lady Alice's side +ever afterwards." + +"You are one already, aren't you?" asked Oliver. He got up from the +table and approached the mantelpiece as if to show that the discussion +was ended. "No, my dear Rosalind," he said, "I'm booked. I am going to +woo and wed Miss Ethel Kenyon and her twenty thousand pounds. She will +be sick of her fad for the stage in twelve months. And then we shall +live very comfortably. But I'll tell you what I will do to please you. +I'll _flirt_ with this Lesley girl, nineteen to the dozen. I'll make +love to her: I'll win her young affections, and do my best to break her +heart, if you like. How would that suit you?" + +He spoke with a smile, but Rosalind knew that there was a ring of +serious earnest in his voice. + +"It sounds a very cold-blooded sort of thing to do," she said. + +"Please yourself. I won't do it, then." + +"Oh, Oliver----" + +"Yes, I know you would like to see Lady Alice's daughter pining away for +love of me," said Oliver, with a little laugh. "It is not a bad idea. +The difficulty will be to manage both girls--seriously, Rosalind, Ethel +Kenyon is the girl I mean to marry." + +"You are clever enough for anything if you like." + +"Thank you. Well, I'll see how far I can go." + +"I must tell you, first, however," said Mrs. Romaine, with some +hesitation, "that I told Lesley Brooke this afternoon that you were in +love with Ethel. I had not thought of this plan, you see, Oliver." + +"Ah, that complicates matters. Still, I think that we can manage--after +a little reflection," said her brother, quietly. "Leave me to think it +over, and I'll let you know what to do. And now I'm going out." + +"Where?" + +"Why should you ask? Do I generally tell you where I am going? Well, if +you particularly want to know, I am going to the Novelty Theatre." + +"To see Ethel act?" + +"No--her part will be over by the time I get there. I shall probably see +her home." + +Mrs. Romaine made no remonstrance. If she thought her brother's conduct +a trifle heartless, she did not venture to say so. She was sometimes +considerably in awe of Oliver, although he was only a younger brother. + +She went into the drawing-room rather slowly, watching him as he put on +his hat and overcoat in the hall. + +"There is one thing I meant to tell you to-night, but I forgot it until +now," she said, pausing at the drawing-room door. "I am nearly sure that +I saw Francis in the Square to-day." + +Oliver turned round quickly. "The deuce you did! Did he see _you_?--did +he try to speak to you?" + +"No, but I think that he is lying in wait. You made me promise to tell +you when I saw him next." + +"Yes, indeed. I won't have him bothering you for money. If he wants +money he had better come to me." + +"Have you so much, Noll?" + +He frowned and turned away. "At any rate he is not to annoy you," he +said. "And I shall tell him so." + +Mrs. Romaine made no objection. This ne'er-do-weel brother of +hers--Francis by name--had always been a trouble and perplexity to her. +He had been in the habit of appealing periodically to her for help, and +she had seldom failed to respond to the appeal, although she believed +that all the money she gave him went for gambling debt or drink; but +lately Oliver had interfered. He had said that Francis must henceforth +apply to him and not to Rosalind if he wanted help, which sounded kind +and brotherly enough; but Rosalind had a vague suspicion that there was +more than met the ear in this declaration. She fancied somehow, that +Oliver had secret and special reasons for preventing Francis' +applications to her. But she knew very well that it was useless to ask +questions or to make surmises respecting Oliver's motives and actions, +unless he chose to show a readiness to make them clear to her. So she +let him go out of the house without further remark. + +As Oliver crossed the road, he noticed that a man was leaning against +the iron railings of the green enclosure in the middle of the Square. +The man's form was in shadow, but his face seemed to be turned to Mrs. +Romaine's house. Oliver sedulously averted his eyes and hailed a passing +hansom cab. He had no mind to be delayed just then, and he was almost +certain that he recognized in that gaunt and shabby figure his +disreputable brother. No, by-and-bye he would talk to Francis, he said +to himself, but not to-night. He had other game in view on this +particular evening in September. + +The Novelty Theatre was just then occupied by a company that claimed to +be the interpreters of a Scandinavian play-writer whose dramatic poems +were just then the talk of London. Ethel Kenyon was playing a very minor +part--a smaller _role_, indeed, than she was generally supposed to take, +but one which she had accepted simply as an expression of her +enthusiastic admiration for the author. Oliver knew the state of mind in +which she generally came away from the representation of this play, and +counted on her bright and elevated mood as a help to him in the course +he meant to pursue. + +He knew her habits as well as he knew her moods. For the last three +years, ever since Rosalind had settled in London, and he had been able +to cultivate Miss Kenyon's acquaintance, he had watched her blossom from +a saucy, laughing girl into a very attractive woman. It was only during +the past few months, however, that he had thought of her as his future +wife--only since she had succeeded to that enticing legacy of twenty +thousand pounds. Since then he had studied her more carefully than ever. + +The Scandinavian writer's play was always over by a quarter to ten +o'clock, and was succeeded by another in which Ethel had no share. She +never stayed longer than was necessary on these nights. She was +generally ready to leave the theatre soon after ten o'clock with her +companion, Mrs. Durant, who had the right of entry to her dressing-room, +and generally acted as her dresser. Maurice Kenyon had refused to let +his sister go upon the stage unless she was always most carefully +chaperoned. Mrs. Durant was always at hand whenever Ethel went to the +Novelty Theatre. And Oliver knew exactly what to expect when he took up +his position--not for the first time--at the narrow little stage-door. + +It was after ten o'clock, and the moon had risen in an almost cloudless +sky. Even London looked beautiful beneath its light. Oliver cast a +glance towards it and nodded as if in satisfaction. He did not care for +the moon one jot; but he held a theory that women, being more romantic, +were more likely to say "yes" to a wooer than "no," where they were +wooed beneath a moonlit sky. The chances were all in his favor, he said +to himself. + +A cab was already waiting. Presently the door opened and a young lady in +hood and cloak came out. The light fell on a delicate, piquante face, +with a complexion of ivory fairness which cosmetics had not had time to +destroy, with charming scarlet lips, long-lashed dark eyes, a dimpled +chin, and a great quantity of curling dark hair--the kind of hair which +will not lie straight, but twists itself into tight rings, and gets into +apparently inextricable tangles, and looks pretty all the time. And this +was Ethel Kenyon. Her companion, a woman of forty-five, staid and +demure, followed close behind her, giving no sign of surprise when +Oliver raised his hat and gently accosted the two ladies. + +"Good-evening, Miss Kenyon. Good-evening, Mrs. Durant: I hope you notice +what a lovely evening it is!" + +"Indeed I do!" said Ethel, fervently. "Oh, how I wish I were in the +country! I should like a long country walk." + +"Would not a town walk do as well, for once?" asked Oliver, in his most +persuasive tones. "I was wondering whether you would consent to let me +see you home, as it is such a lovely night. But I see you have a +cab----" + +"I would rather drive, I must say," remarked Mrs. Durant. It was what +she knew she was expected to say, and she was not sorry for it, "I am +tired of being on my feet so long. But if you would like to walk, +Ethel, I daresay Mr. Trent would escort you." + +"I should be only too pleased," said Oliver. + +Ethel laughed happily. "All right, Mrs. Durant. You drive, and I'll walk +home with Mr. Trent." + +She scarcely waited for Oliver to offer his arm. She laid her hand in it +so naturally, so securely, that even Oliver felt an impulse of pleasure. +He looked down at the lovely, smiling creature at his side with +admiration, even with tenderness. + +At first they did not speak much, for they had to pass through some +crowded and ill-smelling thoroughfares, where conversation was almost +impossible. By-and-bye they emerged from these into Holborn, and thence +they made their way into the wider streets and airier squares which +abound in the West Central district. When they came in sight of the +white pillars and paved yard of the British Museum, they were deep in +talk on all sorts of matters--"Shakespeare and the musical glasses," as +Oliver afterwards laughingly remarked. But he did not choose that she +should altogether guide the course of conversation. Now and then he took +the reins into his own hands. And it amused him to see how readily she +allowed him to direct matters. She responded to the slightest hint, was +attentive to the least check. Such quickness of apprehension, he argued, +meant only one thing in a woman: not intellectual faculty, but love. + +"And you still like the stage?" he said to her, after a time. + +"I like it immensely. I can express myself there as I could in no other +sphere of life. People used to advise me to take to recitations: how +glad I am that I stood out for what I liked best." + +"What one likes best is not always the safest path." + +"You might as well say it is not always the easiest path! Mine is a very +hard life, so far as work is concerned, you know. I toil early and late. +But how can you be so awfully trite, Mr. Trent? I did not expect it of +you." + +"A good deal of life is rather trite," said Oliver. "I know only one +thing that can preserve it from commonplaceness and dullness and +dreariness." + +"And that is----" + +"Love." + +A little silence fell on both of them. Oliver's voice had sunk almost to +a whisper: Ethel's cheeks had grown suddenly very hot. + +"Love makes everything easy and beautiful. Does not your poet say +so--the man whose play you have acted in to-night? Ethel, why don't you +try the experiment?--the experiment of loving?" + +"I do try it," she said, laughing, and trying to regain her lost +lightness of tone. "I love Maurice and Mrs. Durant and hosts of people." + +"Add one more to the list," said Oliver. "Love _me_." + +"You?" she said, doubtingly. "I am not sure whether you are a person to +be loved." + +"Oh, yes, I am. Seriously, Ethel, may I speak to your brother? May I +hope that you can love me a little, and that you will some day be my +wife?" + +"Oh, that is _very_ serious!" she said, mockingly. And she withdrew her +fingers from his arm. "I did not bargain for so much solemnity when I +set out with you from the theatre to-night." + +"But I set out, Ethel, with the intention of asking you to be my wife. +Come, my darling, won't you give me an answer? Don't send me away +disconsolate! Let me teach you what love means--love and happiness!" + +His voice sank once more to its lowest murmur. Ethel listened, +hesitated, smiled. Her little fingers found their way back to his arm +again, and were instantly caught and pressed, and even kissed, when they +came to a dark and shady place. And before he parted with her at the +door of her brother's house, he had put his arms round her and kissed +her on the lips. + +Was it all pretence--all for the sake of those twenty thousand pounds of +hers? Oliver swore to himself that it was not. She was such a pretty +little thing--such a dear, loving little girl, in spite of her fun and +merriment and spirit--one could not help feeling fond of her. Not that +he was going to acknowledge himself capable of such a weakness when he +next talked to Rosalind. + +He was strolling idly along the east side of Russell Square as these +thoughts passed through his mind. He had completely forgotten the +stroller whom he had seen leaning against the railings of the Square +gardens; but he was unpleasantly reminded of that gentleman's existence +when a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a voice said in his ear-- + +"I've been waiting here six hours, Oliver, and I must have a word or two +with you." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +THE ELDER BROTHER. + + +Oliver turned round sharply, with an air of visible impatience. He knew +the voice well enough, and the moon-light left him no doubt as to the +lineaments of a face with which he was quite familiar. Francis Trent was +not unlike either Rosalind or Oliver; but of the two he resembled his +sister rather than his younger brother. True, he did not possess her +beauty, but he had her sleepy eyes, her type of feature, her colorless +skin, and jetty hair. The colorlessness had degenerated, however, into +an unhealthy pallor, and the stubbly beard which covered his cheeks and +chin did not improve his appearance. Besides he was terribly out at +elbows; his coat was green with age, his boots were broken, and his +cuffs frayed and soiled. His hat was unnaturally shiny, and dented in +two or three places. Altogether he looked as unlike a brother of the +immaculate Oliver and the exquisitely-dressed Rosalind as could possibly +have been found for either in the world of London. + +Oliver surveyed him with polite disgust, and waved him back a little. + +"You have been drinking coarse brandy, Francis," he said, coolly; "and +you have been smoking bad tobacco. I wish you would consult my +susceptibilities on those points when you come to interview me. You +would really find it pleasanter in the end." + +"Where am I to find the money to consult your susceptibilities with?" +asked the man, with a burst of what seemed like very genuine feeling. +"Will you provide me with it? If you don't, what remains for me but to +drink British brandy and smoke strong shag? I must drink something--I +must smoke something. Will you pay the piper if I go to more expense?" + +"Not if you talk so loudly as to attract the attention of every passing +policeman," said Oliver, dryly. "If you want to talk to me, as you say +you do, keep quiet please." + +Francis Trent growled something like an imprecation on his brother below +his breath, and then went on in a lowered tone. + +"It's easy for you to talk. You are not saddled by a wife and a lot of +debts. _You_ haven't to keep out of the way for fear you should be +wanted by the police--although you have not been very particular about +keeping your hands clean after all. But you've been the lucky dog and I +the unlucky one, and this is the result." + +"If you are going to be abusive, my good friend," said Oliver, calmly, +"I shall turn round and go home again. If you will keep a civil tongue +in your head I don't mind listening to you for five minutes. What have +you got to say?" + +The man was evidently in a state of only half-repressed irritation. His +brows twitched, he gnawed savagely at his beard, he looked at Oliver +with furtive hate from under his heavy dark brows. But the younger man's +cool tones seemed to possess the power of keeping him in check. He made +a visible effort to calm himself as he replied, + +"You needn't be so down on me, Oliver. You must allow for a fellow's +feeling a little out of sorts when he's kept waiting about here for +hours. I am convinced that Rosalind saw me this afternoon; I'm certain +that you saw me to-night. If I had not caught you now I would have gone +to the front door and hammered at it till one of you came out." + +"And you think that you would have advanced your cause thereby?" + +"Why, hang it all, Oliver, one would think that I was not your own flesh +and blood! Have you no natural affection left?" + +"Not much. Natural affection is a mistake. You need not count on that +with me." + +"You always were a cold-blooded, half-hearted sort of a fellow. Not one +to help a friend, or even a brother," said Francis, sullenly. + +"Suppose you come to the point," remarked Oliver. "It is getting on to +eleven o'clock. I really can't stand here all night." + +"It is nothing to you that I have stood here for hours already." + +"No, it is not." There was a touch of sharpness in his tone. "I am in no +mood for sentiment. Say what you have to say and get done with it, or I +shall leave you." + +"Well," said Francis, after a pause, in which he was perhaps estimating +his own powers of persuasion against his brother's powers of resistance, +and coming to the conclusion that it was not worth his while to contend +with him any longer, "I have come to say this. I am hard up--devilish +hard up. But that's not all. It is not enough to offer me a five-pound +note or a ten-pound note and tell me to spend it as I please. I want +something definite. You seem to have plenty of money: I have none. I +want an allowance, or else a sum of money down, sufficient to take Mary +and myself to the Colonies. I don't think that is much to ask." + +"Don't you?" + +The icy tone which Oliver assumed exasperated his brother. + +"No, be hanged if I think it is!" he said vehemently, though still in +lowered tones. "I want two hundred a year--it's little enough: or two or +three thousand on the nail. Give me that, and I'll not trouble you or +Rosy any more." + +"And where do you suppose that I'm to get two or three thousand pounds, +or two hundred a year?" + +"I don't care where you get it, so long as you hand it over to me." + +"Very sorry I can't oblige you," said Oliver, nonchalantly "but as your +proposition is a perfect impossibility, I don't see my way to saying +anything else." + +"You think I don't mean it, do you?" growled his brother. "I tell you +that I will have it. And if I don't have it I'll not hold my tongue any +longer. I'll ruin you." + +"Don't talk in that melodramatic way," said Oliver, quietly. But his lip +twitched a little as if something had touched him unpleasantly. "You +know very well that you have no more power of ruining me than you have +of flying to yonder moon. You can't substantiate any of your stories. +You can blacken me in the eyes of a few persons who know me, perhaps; +but really I doubt your power of doing that. People wouldn't believe +you, you know; and they would believe me. There is so much moral power +in a good hat and patent leather boots." + +"Do you dare to trifle with me----" the man was beginning, furiously, +but Oliver checked him with a slight pressure on his arm, and went on +suavely. + +"All this threatening sort of business is out of date, as you ought to +know. One would think that you had been to the Surrey-side Theatres, +lately, or the Porte St. Martin, and taken lessons of a stage villain. +'Beware! I will be revenged,' and all that sort of thing. It doesn't go +down now, you know. The fact is this--you can't do me any harm, you can +only harm yourself; and I think you had better be advised by me and hold +your tongue." + +Francis was silent for a minute or two. He was evidently impressed by +Oliver's manner. + +"You're right in one way," he said, in a much more subdued tone. "People +wouldn't listen to me because I am so badly dressed--I look so poor. But +that could be remedied. A new suit of clothes might make all the +difference, Oliver. And then we could see whether _some_ people would +believe me or not!" + +"And what difference will it make to me if people did believe you?" said +Oliver, slowly. + +The man stared at him open-mouthed. Oliver was taking a view of things +which was unknown to Francis. + +"Well," he answered, "considering that you and most of my relations and +friends have cut me for the last ten years because I got into trouble +over a few accounts at the bank--and considering the sorry figure I cut +now in consequence--I don't know why you should be so careless of the +possibility of partaking my downfall! I should say that it would be +rather worse for you than it has been for me; and it hasn't been very +nice for _me_, I can assure you!" + +Oliver's face grew a trifle paler, but his voice was as smooth as ever +when he began to speak. + +"Now, look here, Francis," he said, "I'll be open and plain with you. Of +course, I know what you are alluding to; it would be weakness to pretend +that I did not. But I assure you that you are on the wrong track. In +your case you were found to have embezzled money, falsified accounts, +and played the devil with old Lawson's affairs generally. You were +prosecuted for it, and the whole case was in the papers. You got off on +some technical point, but everybody knew that you were guilty, and +everybody cut you dead--except, you will remember, your brother and +sister, who continued to give you money, and were exceedingly kind to +you. You were publicly disgraced, and there was no way of hushing the +matter up at all. I am sorry to be obliged to put things so +disagreeably----" + +"Go on! You needn't apologize," said Francis, with a rather husky laugh. +"I know it all as well as you do. Go on." + +"I wish to point out the difference between our positions," said Oliver, +calmly. "I did something a little shady myself, when I was a lad of +twenty--at your instigation, mind; I signed old Romaine's name in the +wrong place, didn't I? Old Romaine found it out, kept the thing quiet, +and said that he had given me the money. I expressed my regret, and the +matter blew over. What can you make out of that story?" + +He spoke very quietly, but there was a watchfulness in his eye, a slight +twitching of his nostril, which proved him to be not entirely at his +ease. His elder brother laughed aloud. + +"If that were all!" he said. "But you forget how base the action would +seem if all the circumstances were known! how black the treachery and +ingratitude to a man who was, after all, your benefactor. Rosalind never +knew of that little episode, I believe? And she has a good deal of +respect for her husband's memory. I should like to see what she would +say about it." + +"She would not believe you, my dear boy." + +"But if I could prove it? If I had in my possession a full confession +signed by yourself--the confession that Romaine insisted on, you will +remember? What effect would that have upon her mind? And there was that +other business, you know, about Mary's sister, whom you lured away from +her home and ruined. _She_ is dead, but Mary is alive and can bear +witness against you. How would you like these facts blazoned abroad and +brought home to the mind of the pretty girl whom I saw you kissing a +little while ago on the steps of a house in Upper Woburn Place? She is a +Miss Kenyon, I know: an actress; I have heard all about her. Her brother +is a doctor; and she has twenty thousand pounds in her own right." + +"You do seem, indeed, to know everything," said Oliver, with a sneer. + +"I make it my business to know everything about you. You've been so +confoundedly mean of late that I had begun to understand that I must put +the screw on you. And I warn you, if you don't give me what I ask, or +promise to do so within a reasonable time, I shall first go to Rosalind, +and then to these Kenyon people, and Caspar Brooke, and all these other +friends of yours, and see what they will give me for your secrets." + +"They'll kick you out of the house, and you'll be called a fool for your +pains," said the younger man, furiously. + +"No, I don't think so. Not if I play my game properly. You are engaged +to Miss Kenyon, are you not?" Oliver stood silent. + +"I tell you that she shall never marry you in ignorance of your past +unless you shut my mouth first. And you are the best judge of whether +she will marry you at all or not, when she knows what we know." + +Then the two brothers were both silent for a little while. Oliver stood +frowning, tracing a pattern on the pavement with the toe of his polished +boot, and gazing at it. He was evidently considering the situation. +Francis stood with his back to the railings, his eyes fixed, with a +somewhat crafty look, upon his brother's face. He was not yet sure that +his long-cherished scheme for extracting money from Oliver would +succeed. He believed that it would; but there was never any counting +upon Oliver. Astute as Francis considered himself (in spite of his +failure in the world), Oliver was astuter still. + +Presently Oliver looked up and met Francis' fixed gaze. He started a +little, and made an odd grimace, intended to conceal a nervous twitch of +the muscles of his face. Then he spoke. + +"You think yourself very clever, no doubt. Well, perhaps you are. I'll +acknowledge that, in a certain sense, you might spoil my game for me. +Not quite in the way you think, you know; but up to a certain point. As +I don't want to have my game spoilt, I am willing to make a bargain with +you--is that plain?" + +"Fair sailing, so far," said Francis, doggedly. "Go on. What will you +give?" + +"Nothing just now. The sum you named on the day when I marry Ethel +Kenyon, on condition that you give me back that confession you talk +about, swear not to mention your wife's sister, and take yourself off to +Australia." + +"Hm!" said Francis considering. "So I have brought you to terms, have I? +So much the better for you--and perhaps for me. Are you engaged to Miss +Kenyon?" + +"I asked her to-night to marry me, and she consented." + +"You always were a lucky dog, Oliver," said Francis, with almost a +wistful expression on his crafty face. "I never could see how you +managed it, for my part. If that pretty girl"--with a laugh--"knew all +that I knew----" + +"Exactly. I don't want her to know all you do. Are you going to agree to +my terms or not?" + +"I should have said they were _my_ terms," said the elder brother, "but +we won't haggle about names. Say two thousand five hundred pounds down?" + +"No, two thousand," said Oliver, boldly. "That will suit me better than +two hundred a year." + +"Ah, you want to get rid of me, don't you? How soon is it likely to be?" + +"Oh, that I can't tell you. As soon as she fixes the day." + +"I swear by all that I hold sacred," said Francis, with sudden energy, +"that I won't wait more than six months, and then I'll take two +thousand." + +"Six? Make it twelve. The girl may want a year's freedom." + +"I won't wait twelve. I swear I won't. I'm tired of this life. I can't +get any work to do, though I've tried over and over again. And I'm +always unlucky at play. There's Mary threatening to go out to work +again. If we were in another country, with a clear start, she should not +have to do that." + +Oliver meditated. It did not seem to him likely that Ethel would refuse +to marry him in six months' time, but of course it was possible. Still +he was pretty sure that he could get the money advanced as soon as his +engagement was noised abroad. It was rather a pity that he would have to +publish it so soon--especially when his projects respecting Lesley +Brooke had not been carried out--but it could not be helped. The +prospect of ridding himself of his brother Francis was most welcome to +him. And--if he could quiet him by promises, it might perhaps not be +necessary to pay him the money after all. + +"Well," he said, at last, "I promise it within six months, Francis. On +the conditions I named, of course." + +"And you will keep your word?" said Francis, looking suspiciously into +his brother's smooth, pale face. + +"If not," answered Oliver, airily, "you have the remedy in your own +hands, you know. You can easily bring me to book. And now that this +interesting conversation is ended, perhaps you will kindly allow me to +go home? The night is fine, but I am a good deal chilled with +standing----" + +"And what am I, then? I've been waiting for you, off and on, for hours. +And I haven't got a shilling in my pocket, either. Haven't you got a +pound or two to spare, Oliver? For the sake of old times, you know." + +Some men would have found it pitiful to hear poor Francis Trent, with +his broken-down, cringing, crafty look, thus sueing for a sovereign. For +he had the air of a ruined gentleman, not of an ordinary beggar, and the +signs of refinement in his face and bearing made his state of abasement +and destitution more apparent. But Oliver was not touched by any such +sentimental considerations. He looked at first as if he were about to +refuse his brother's request; but policy dictated another course. He +must not drive to desperation the man in whose hands lay his character +and perhaps his future fortune. He put his hand into his pocket, brought +out a couple of sovereigns, and dropped them into Francis' greedily +outstretched palm. Then he crossed the road towards his sister's house, +while the elder brother slunk away with an air of anything but triumph. +It was sad to see him so depressed, so broken-spirited, so hopeless. For +he had been meant for better things. But his will was weak, his +principles had never been settled, and with his first lapse from honesty +all self-respect seemed to leave him. Thenceforth he went down hill, and +would long ago have reached the bottom but for the one helping hand that +had been held out to stay him in his mad career. That hand belonged to +none of his kith and kin, however. It was seamed and roughened and +reddened by honest toil; but the toil had at least been honest and the +toiler's love for the fine gentleman for whom she worked was loving and +sincere. To cut a long story short, Francis Trent had married a +dressmaker of the lower grade, and a dressmaker, moreover, who had once +been a ladies'-maid. + +While he slouched away to his poverty-stricken home, and Oliver solaced +himself with a novel and a cigar, and Miss Ethel Kenyon sank to sleep +in spite of a tumult of innocent delight which would have kept a person +of less healthy mind and body wide awake for hours, Lesley Brooke, who +was to influence the fate of all these three, lay upon her bed bemoaning +her loneliness of heart, and saying to herself that she should never be +happy in her father's house. It was not that she had met with any +positive unkindness: she could accuse nobody of wishing to be rude or +cold, but the atmosphere was not one to which she was accustomed, and it +gave her considerable discomfort. Even the Mrs. Romaine of whom her +father spoke as if she would be a friend, was not very congenial to her. +Rosalind's eyes remained cold, despite their softness, and Lesley was +vaguely conscious of a repulsion--such as we sometimes feel on touching +a toad or a snake--when Mrs. Romaine put her hand on the girl's listless +fingers. No, what it was Lesley could not tell, but she was sure of +this, that she could never like Mrs. Romaine. + +And she cried herself to sleep, and dreamed of the convent and the sunny +skies of France. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +KNIGHT-ERRANTRY. + + +Lesley found that she had unintentionally given great offence to Sarah, +who was a supreme authority in her father's house, and possibly to her +aunt as well, by the arrangement with her father that she would have a +maid of her own. In vain she protested that she did not need one, and +had not really asked for one; the impression remained upon Miss Brooke's +mind and Sarah's mind that she had in some way complained of the +treatment which she had received, and they were a little prejudiced +against her in consequence. + +Miss Brooke was a good woman, and, to some extent, a just woman; but it +was scarcely possible for her to judge Lesley correctly. All Miss +Brooke's traditions favored the cult of the woman who worked: and +Lesley, like her mother before her, had the look of a tall, fair +lily--one of those who toil not, neither do they spin. Miss Brooke was +quite too liberal-minded to have any great prejudice against a girl +because she had been educated in a French convent, though naturally she +thought it the worst place of training that could have been secured for +her; and she had made up her mind at once, when she saw Lesley, that +although there might be "no great harm" in the poor child, she was +probably as frivolous, as shallow-hearted, and as ignorant as the +ordinary French school-girl was supposed to be. + +With Sarah the case was different. Sarah was an ardent Protestant, of a +strict Calvinist type, and she had taken up the impression that Miss +Lesley must needs be a Romanist. Now this was not the case, for Lesley +had always been allowed to go to her own church, see her own clergyman, +and hold aloof from the devotional exercises prescribed for the other +girls. But Sarah believed firmly that she belonged to the Church of +Rome, and she did not feel at all easy in her mind at staying under the +same roof with her. She made this remark to Miss Brooke on the third +day after Lesley's arrival, and was offended at the burst of laughter +with which Miss Brooke received it. + +"Do you think the house will fall in, Sarah? or that you will be +corrupted?" + +"I think I may hold myself safe, ma'am," said Sarah, with dignity. "But +I'm not so sure about the house." + +She stood with her arms folded, grimly surveying her mistress, who, if +the truth must be told, was lying on a sofa in her bedroom, smoking a +cigarette. Sarah knew her mistress' tastes, and had grown generally +tolerant of them, but she still looked on the cigarettes with +disapproval. Miss Brooke was discreet enough to smoke only in her own +room or in her brother's study--a fact which had mollified Sarah a +little when her mistress first began the practice. + +"The minute you smoke one o' them nasty things in the street, ma'am, I +shall give notice," she had said. + +And Miss Brooke had quietly answered: "Very well, Sarah, we'll wait till +then." + +It must be added, for the benefit of all who are shocked by Miss +Brooke's practice, that she had begun it by order of a doctor as a cure +for neuralgia. She continued it because she liked it. Lesley was only +just beginning to suspect her aunt of the habit, and was inexpressibly +startled and alarmed at the thought of such a thing. That her aunt, who +was indisputably kind, clever, benevolent, respectable in every way, +should smoke cigarettes, seemed to Lesley to justify all that she had +heard against her father's Bohemian household. She could not get over +it. Sarah _had_ got over this outrage on conventionality, but she was +not yet prepared to forgive Lesley for having lived in a French convent. + +"Oh, you're not sure about the house," said Miss Brooke. "Well, I'm +sorry for you, Sarah. I'll send in a plumber if you think that would be +any good." + +"No, ma'am, don't; but if it will not ill-convenience you I should like +to put a few tracts in Miss Lesley's room, so that she may look at them +sometimes instead of the little book of Popish prayers that she has +brought with her." + +Miss Brooke wondered for a moment what the book of Popish prayers could +be; and then remembered a little Russia-bound book--the well-known +"Imitation of Christ" which she had noticed in Lesley's room, and which +Sarah had doubtless mistaken for a book of prayer. It would not have +been at all like Miss Brooke to clear up the mistake. She generally let +mistakes clear themselves. She only gave one of her short, clear, rather +hard laughs, and told Sarah to put as many tracts as she pleased in +Lesley's room. Whereon, Lesley shortly afterwards found a bundle of +these publications in her room, and, as she rather disliked their tone +and tendency, she requested Sarah to take them away. + +"They were put there for you to read," said Sarah, with stolid +displeasure. + +"By my aunt?" + +"Your aunt knew that I was going to put them there. And it would be +better for you to sit and read them rather than them rubbishy books you +gets out of master's libery. Your poor, perishing soul ought to be +looked after as well as your body." + +"Take them away, please," said Lesley, wearily. "I do not want to read +them: I am not accustomed to that sort of book." Then, the innate +sweetness of her nature gaining the day, she added, "Please do not be +angry with me, Sarah. I would read them if I thought that they would do +me any good, but I am afraid they will not." + +"Just like your mother," Sarah said, sharply. "She wouldn't touch 'em +with the tips of her fingers, neither. And a maid, and all that +nonsense. And dresses from France. Deary me, this is a sad upsetting for +poor master." + +"I don't interfere with your master," said Lesley, somewhat bitterly. +"He does not trouble about me--and I don't see why I should trouble +about him." + +She said it almost below her breath, not thinking that Sarah would hear +or understand; but Sarah--after flouncing out of the room with an +indignant "Well, I'm sure!"--went straight to Miss Brooke and repeated +every word, with a few embellishments of her own. Miss Brooke came to +the conclusion that Lesley was, first of all, very indiscreet to take +servants so much into her confidence, and, secondly, that she was +inclined to rebel against her father's authority. And it seemed good to +her to take counsel with Mrs. Romaine in this emergency; and Mrs. +Romaine soon found an opportunity of pouring a sugared, poisoned version +of what she had heard into Caspar Brooke's too credulous ears. So that +he became colder than ever in his manner to Lesley, and Lesley wondered +vainly how she could have offended him. + +The sole comfort that she gleaned at this time came from the Kenyons. +Ethel called on her, and won her heart at once by a peculiarly caressing +winsomeness that reminded one of some tropical bird--all dainty +coquetries and shy, sweet playfulness. Not that Ethel was in the least +bit shy, in reality; but she had a very tiny touch of the stage habit of +_posing_, and with strangers she invariably posed as being a little shy. +But in spite of this innocent little affectation, and in spite of a very +fashionable style of dress and demeanor, Ethel was true-hearted and +affectionate, and Lesley's own heart warmed to the tenderness of Ethel's +nature before she had been in her company half an hour. + +"You know you are not a bit like what I expected you to be," Ethel said +sagely, when the two girls had talked together for some little time. + +"What did you expect?" said Lesley, her face aglow. + +"I hardly know--something more French, I think--a girl with airs and +graces," said Ethel, who had herself more airs and graces than Lesley +had ever donned in all her life; "nothing so Puritan as you are!" + +"Puritan, after so many years of a French convent?" + +"Yes, Puritan: no word suits you half so well! There is a sort of +restrained life and gladness about you, and it is the restraint that +gives it its attraction! Oh, forgive me for speaking so frankly; but +when I see you I forget that I have not known you for years and years! I +feel somehow as if we had been friends all our life!" + +"And so do I," said Lesley, surrendering herself to the spell, and +letting Ethel take both her hands and look into her face. "But you are +not at all like the English girls I expected to meet! I thought they +were all cold and stiff!" + +"Have you never seen an English girl before, dear?" + +"Yes, but I have had no English girl friend. I never talked to an +English girl before as I am talking to you." + +"Oh, how charming!" said Ethel. "And I never before talked to a girl who +had lived in a convent! We are each a new experience to the other! What +a basis for friendship!" + +"Do you think so?" said Lesley. "I should have thought the +opposite--that what is old and well-tried and established is the best to +found a friendship upon." + +She spoke half sadly, with a memory of her parents and her own relations +with her father in her mind. Ethel gave her a shrewd glance, but made no +direct reply. She was a young woman of marvellously quick intuitions, +and she saw at once that Lesley's training had not fitted her to take up +her position in the Brooke household very easily. + +When she went home she turned this matter over in her mind a good many +times; and was so absorbed in her reflections that her brother had to +ask her twice what she was thinking about before she answered him. + +"I was thinking about Lesley Brooke," she answered promptly. + +"A lively subject. I never saw a girl with a more melancholy +expression." + +"Well, of course, as yet she hates everything," said Ethel, +comprehensively. + +"Hates everything! That's a large order," said the young doctor. + +They were at dinner--they dined at six every day on account of Ethel's +professional engagements; and it was not often that Maurice was at home. +When he was at home Ethel knew that he liked to talk to her, so she +abandoned her brown studies. + +"Well, she hates the fog and the darkness, and the ugly buildings and +the solid furniture of Mr. Brooke's house, which dates back to the +Georgian era at the very least. I'm sure she hates Sarah. And I +shouldn't like to say that she hates Doctor Sophy"--Ethel always called +Miss Brooke Doctor Sophy--"but she doesn't like her very much. She is +awfully shocked because Doctor Sophy smokes cigarettes." + +"Quite right of Miss Lesley Brooke to be shocked," said Maurice, +laughing. "However, she need not despair, there is always old Caspar to +fall back upon." + +Ethel pursed up her lips, looked at her brother very hard, and shook her +curly head significantly. + +"Do you mean to say," cried the doctor, "that she doesn't appreciate her +father?" + +"I don't think she understands him. And how can she appreciate him if +she doesn't understand?" + +Maurice laid down his knife and fork, and simply glared at his sister. +He was an excitable young man, and had a way of expressing himself +sometimes in reprehensibly strong language. On this occasion, he said-- + +"Do you mean to tell me that that girl is such a born idiot and fool +that she can't see what a grand man her father is?" + +Ethel nodded. But her eyes brimmed over with mirth. + +"Then she deserves to be shut up for life in the convent she came from!" +said the doctor. "I wouldn't have believed it! Is she blind? Doesn't she +_see_ what an intellect that man has? Can't she understand that his +abilities are equal to those of any man in Europe?" + +"We all know your admiration for Mr. Brooke, dear," said Ethel, saucily. +"You had better go and expound your views to Lesley. Perhaps she and her +father would get on better then." + +Maurice was silent. He sat and looked aghast at the notion thus +presented to him. That Caspar Brooke--his friend, his mentor, almost his +hero--should not have been able to live with his wife was bad enough! +That his daughter should not admire him seemed to Maurice a sort of +profanation! Heavens, what did the girl mean? The mother might have been +an aristocratic fool; but the girl?--she looked intelligent enough! +There must be a misapprehension somewhere; and it occurred to Maurice +that it might be his duty to remove it. + +Maurice Kenyon was a born knight-errant. When he said that a thing +wanted doing, his heart ached until he could do it. A Celtic strain of +blood in him showed itself in the heat of his belief, the impetuosity of +his actions. In Ethel this strain had taken an artistic turn; but the +same nature that urged her to dramatic representation urged her brother +to set to work vehemently on righting anything that he thought was +wrong. There never was a man who hated more than he to leave a matter +_in statu quo_. + +Although Ethel said no more concerning Lesley's misunderstanding of her +father, Maurice was haunted by the echo of her remarks. He could not +conceive how a girl possessed of ordinary faculties could possibly +misprize her father's gifts. Either she was a girl of extraordinary +stupidity, or she was wilfully blind. Perhaps there was no one to point +out to her Caspar Brooke's many virtues. But they (thought Maurice) lay +on the surface, and could not possibly be overlooked. The girl must have +been spoiled by her residence in a French convent: she must be either +stupid, frivolous, or base. Then how could Ethel care for her? Surely +she could not be stupid: she could not be base--she might be frivolous: +Maurice could not go so far as to think that his sister Ethel would like +her the worse for being a little frivolous. Yes, that must be it: she +was frivolous--a soulless butterfly, who pined for the gaieties of +Paris. How awfully hard for a man like Caspar Brooke to have a daughter +who was merely frivolous. + +The more he thought of it--and he thought a good deal of it--the more +Mr. Kenyon was concerned. No doubt it was no business of his, he said to +himself, and he was a fool to worry himself. But then Brooke was his +friend, in spite of the disparity of their years; and he did not like to +think that his friend had such a heavy burden to bear. For, of course, +it was a heavy burden to a man like Brooke. No doubt Brooke did not show +that it was a burden: strong men did not cry out when their strength was +tried. But a man with his power of affection, his tenderness, his depth +of feeling (as Maurice thought), must be troubled when he found that his +daughter neither loved nor comprehended him! + +Maurice reflected that he had seen this extraordinary girl once. She had +been standing at the window one day when he and Ethel were feeding that +pampered poodle of Ethel's, Scaramouch, and he had been struck by the +grace of her figure, the queenly pose of her head. He had not observed +her face particularly, but he believed that it was rather pretty. Her +dress--for his practised memory began to furnish him with details--her +dress was grey, and if he could judge aright, fashionably made. Yes, a +little French fashion-plate--a doll, powdered, perhaps, and painted, +laced up, and perfumed and clothed in dainty raiment, to come and make +discord in her father's home! It was intolerable. Why did not Brooke +leave this pestilent creature in her own abode, with the insolent, +aristocratic friends who had done their best already to spoil his life! + +Thus he worked himself up to a high pitch of passionate excitement on +his friend's behalf. It never occurred to him that Caspar Brooke might +not at all be in need of it. It did not seem possible to him that a +father could feel indifferent to the opinion of his child. And perhaps +he was right, and Caspar Brooke not quite so indifferent as he seemed. + +It must be the girl's fault, Maurice thought to himself. Could nothing +be done? Could he set Ethel to talk to her? But no: Ethel was not +serious enough in her appreciation of Caspar Brooke. Mrs. Romaine? She +would praise Mr. Brooke, no doubt; but Kenyon had a troubled doubt of +Mrs. Romaine's motives. + +Doctor Sophy? Well, he liked Doctor Sophy immensely, especially since +she had given up her practice: he liked her because she was so frank, so +sensible, so practical in her dealings. But she was not a very +sympathetic sort of person: not the kind of person, he acknowledged to +himself, who would be likely to inspire a young girl with enthusiasm for +another. + +If there was nobody else to perform a needed office, it was your plain +duty to perform it yourself. That had been Maurice Kenyon's motto for +many years. It recurred to him now with rather disagreeable force. + +Why, of course, _he_ could not go and tell Brooke's daughter that she +was a frivolous fool! What was his conscience driving at, he wondered. +How could he, who did not know her in the least, commit such an act of +impertinence as tell her how much he disapproved of her? It would be the +act of a prig, not of a gentleman. + +Of course he could not do it. And then he began at the beginning again, +and condoled with Brooke in his own heart, and vituperated Brooke's +daughter, and wondered whether she was really incapable of being +reclaimed to the paths of filial reverence, and whether he ought not to +make an attempt in his friend's favor. All of which proves that if any +man deserved the name of a Don Quixote, that man was Maurice Kenyon, +M.R.C.S. + +Ethel unconsciously gave him the chance he secretly desired. He wanted +above all things to make Lesley's acquaintance, and to talk to her--for +her good--about her father. And one afternoon his sister begged him, as +a great favor to her; to go over to Mr. Brooke's house with a message +and a parcel for Lesley. He had been introduced to her one day in the +street, therefore there could be nothing strange in his going in and +asking for her, Ethel said. And would he please go about four o'clock, +so as to catch Miss Lesley Brooke at afternoon tea. + +Maurice told himself that it would be an impertinent thing to speak to +her about her family affairs, and that he would only stay three minutes. +At four o'clock he knocked at the door of Mr. Brooke's chocolate-brown +house, and inquired solemnly for Miss Brooke. + +Miss Brooke was not at home. + +"Miss Lesley Brooke then?" + +Miss Lesley Brooke was in the drawing-room. Maurice went upstairs. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +BROOKE'S DISCIPLE. + + +Lesley was sitting in a low chair near a small wood fire, which the +chillness of the October day made fully acceptable. She had a book on +her lap, but she did not look as if she were reading: her chin was +supported by her hand, and her brown eyes were gazing out of the window, +with, as Maurice Kenyon could not fail to see, a slightly blank and +saddened look. The girl had been now a fortnight in London, and her face +had paled and thinned since her arrival; there was an anxious fold +between her brows, and her mouth drooped at the corners. If her old +friends--Sister Rose of the convent, for instance--had seen her, they +could hardly have recognized this spiritless, brooding maiden for the +joyous "Lisa" of their thoughts. + +Mr. Kenyon had only one moment in which to note the significance of her +attitude, for Lesley changed it as soon as she heard his name. He gave +her Ethel's message at once and Ethel's parcel, and then stood, a little +confused and unready for she had risen and was looking as if, when his +errand was accomplished, he ought to go. Fortunately, Doctor Sophy came +in and invited him cordially to sit down; rang for tea and scolded him +roundly for not coming oftener; then suddenly remembered that one of her +everlasting committees was at that moment sitting in a neighboring +house, and started off at once to join her fellows, calling out to +Lesley as she went to give Mr. Kenyon some tea, and tell her father, who +was in the library. + +"My father is out: Aunt Sophy does not know that," said Lesley to her +visitor. + +"Then I ought to go?" said Maurice, smiling. + +"Oh, no!"--Lesley looked disturbed. "I did not mean to be so +inhospitable. The tea is just coming up." + +"Thank you," said Maurice, accepting the unspoken invitation and seating +himself. "I shall be very glad of a cup." + +She sat down too, veiling the real embarrassment of a school-girl by an +assumption of great dignity. Maurice looked at her and felt perplexed. +Somehow he could not believe that Brooke's daughter was such a very +frivolous girl when he came to look at her. She had a fine brow, +expressive eyes, a very eloquent mouth. He wondered what she was +reading. Glancing at the title of the book, his heart sank within him. +She had a yellow-backed novel in her hand, of a profoundly light and +frivolous type. Maurice was fond of certain kinds of novels, but there +were others that he disliked and despised, and, as it happened, Lesley +had got hold of one of these. + +"You are reading?" he said. "Am I interrupting you very much?" + +"Oh, no," Lesley answered, smiling and shutting the book. "Tea is coming +up, you see. I am falling into English habits, and beginning to love the +hour of tea." + +Sarah brought in the tea-tray as she spoke; and even Sarah's sour visage +relaxed a little at the sight of the young doctor. She went downstairs, +and presently returned with a plate of small, sweet cakes, which she +placed rather ostentatiously upon the table. + +"Sarah must have brought those cakes especially for me," said Mr. Kenyon +lightly, when she had left the room. "She knows they are my especial +favorites. And your father's too. I don't know how many dozen your +father and I have not eaten, with our coffee sometimes in an evening! I +suppose you are learning to like them for his sake!" + +He was talking against time for the sake of giving her back the +confidence that she seemed to have lost, for her face had flushed and +paled again more than once since his entry. But perhaps he was wrong, +for she answered him with a quietness of tone which showed no +perturbation. + +"These little macaroon things, you mean? I like them very much already. +I did not know that my father cared about them. I have been away so +long"--smilingly--"that I know but little of his tastes." + +"I could envy you the pleasure you will have, then?" said Maurice, +quickly. + +Lesley opened her brown eyes. "The--the pleasure?" she faltered in an +inquiring tone. + +"Yes, the pleasure of discovering what are the tastes and feelings of a +man like your father," said Maurice. + +Then, as she looked disconcerted still, and as if she did not know quite +what he meant, he went on, ardently: + +"You have the privilege, you know, of being the only daughter of a man +who is not only very widely known, but very much respected and admired. +That doesn't seem much to you perhaps?"--for he thought he saw Lesley's +lip curl, and his tone became a little sharp. "I assure you it means a +great deal in a world like ours--in the world of London. It means that +your father is a man of great ability and of unimpeachable honesty--I +mean honesty of thought, honesty of purpose--intellectual honesty. You +have no idea how rare that quality is amongst public men--or literary +men--or journalists. Indeed it is a wonder that Brooke is so successful +as he is, considering that he never wrote or said a word that he did not +mean. No doubt that seems a small thing to you: it is not a small thing +to say of a journalist now-a-days." + +"I don't know much about journalists," said Lesley. "But all that you +are saying would be taken as a matter of course amongst _gentlemen_." + +There was a snub for Maurice, and a sly hit at her father, too. Maurice +began to wax warm. + +"Miss Brooke," he said, "you entirely fail to understand me; and I can +imagine that you, perhaps, fail to understand your father also." + +"If I do," said Lesley, proudly, "I hardly need to be set right by a +stranger." + +The young doctor sprang to his feet. "I a stranger!" he said. "I, who +have known and appreciated and worked with Caspar Brooke for the last +half dozen years--I to be called a stranger by his daughter? I don't +think that's fair: I don't indeed." + +He paused and put his tea-cup down upon the table. "If you'll only think +for a minute, Miss Brooke," he said, entreatingly, with such a sudden +softening of voice and manner that Lesley sat amazed, "I cannot believe +but that you'll pardon me. I owe so much to your father--he has been a +guide, a helper, almost a prophet to me, ever since I came across him +when I was a medical student at King's College Hospital, and I only want +everybody to see him with my eyes--loving and reverent eyes, I can tell +you, though I wouldn't say so to everybody, seeing that love and +reverence seem to have gone out of fashion! But to his daughter----" + +"His daughter surely does not need to be taught how to think of him by +another, whether he be an old friend or a comparative stranger," said +Lesley. "She can learn to know him for herself." + +"But _can_ she?"--Maurice Kenyon's Irish strain, which always led him to +be more eager and explicit in speech than if he had been entirely of +Anglo-Saxon nationality, was running away with him. "Are you sure that +she can? Look here, Miss Brooke: you come to your father's house +straight from a French convent, I believe. What _can_ you know of +English life? of the strife of political parties, of literary parties, +of faiths and theories and passions? You are plunged into the midst of a +new world--it can't help but be strange to you at first, and you must +feel a trifle forlorn and miserable--at least I should think so----" + +Lesley was in a dilemma. Kenyon's words were so true, so apt, that they +brought involuntary tears to her eyes. She could get rid of the lump in +her throat only by working herself up into a rage: she could dissipate +the tears only by making her eyes flash with anger. The melting mood was +not to her taste. She chose the more hostile tone. + +"Mr. Kenyon, excuse me, but you have no right at all to talk about my +being miserable. You may know my father: you do not know me." + +"But knowing your father so well----" + +"That has nothing to do with it. Am I not a separate human being? What +have you to do with me and my feelings? You say that I do not know +English ways--is it an English way," cried Lesley, indignantly, "to try +to thrust yourself into a girl's confidence, and intrude where you have +not been asked to enter? Then English ways are not those that I +approve." + +Maurice Kenyon felt that his cause was lost. He had gone rather white +about the lips as he listened to Lesley's protest. Of course, he had +offended her by his abominable want of tact, he told himself--his +intrusive proffer of unneeded sympathy and help. But it was not in his +nature to acknowledge himself beaten, and to take his leave without a +word. His ardor impelled him to speak. + +"Miss Brooke, I most sincerely beg your pardon," he said, in tones of +deep humility. "I see that I have made a mistake--but I assure you that +it was from the purest motives. I don't"--forgetting his apologetic +attitude for a moment--"I _don't_ think that you realize what a truly +great man your father is--how good, as well as great. I _don't_ think +you understand him. But I beg your pardon for seeming to think that I +could enlighten you. Of course, it must seem like impertinent +interference to you. But if you knew"--with a tremor of disappointment +in his voice--"what your father has been to me, you would not perhaps be +so surprised at my wanting his daughter to sympathize with me in my +feelings. I had no idea"--this was intended to be a Parthian shot--"that +my admiration would be thought insulting." + +He bowed very low, and turned to depart, vowing to himself that nothing +would induce him ever to enter that drawing-room again; but Lesley, pale +and wide-eyed, called him back. + +"Stay, Mr. Kenyon," she said, rising from her seat. + +He halted, his hat in one hand, his fingers still on the knob of the +door. + +"I never meant to say," said Lesley, confronting him, "that I was +incapable of sympathy with you in admiration for my father. With my +feeling towards him you have nothing to do--that is all. I am not angry +because you express your own sentiments, but because----" + +She stopped and bit her lip. + +"----Because I dared divine what yours might be?" asked Maurice, boldly, +and with an accent of reproach. "Is it possible that yours _can_ be like +mine? and am I to blame for saying so? How can you estimate the worth of +his work? You, a girl fresh from school! I know it is very rude to say +so, but I cannot help it. If you were more of a woman, Miss Brooke, if +you had had a wider experience of life and mankind, you would +acknowledge that you could not possibly know very much of what your +father had done, and you would be glad of the opportunity of learning!" + +This was just the speech calculated to make Lesley furiously angry, and +it was with great difficulty that she restrained the words that rose +impetuously to her lips. She stood motionless and silent, and Maurice +mistook her silence for that of stupid obstinacy, when it was the +silence of wounded feeling and passionate resentment. He went on hotly, +for he began to feel himself once more in the right. + +"Of course you _may_ know all about him: you may know as much as I who +have lived and worked at his side, so to speak, for the last six years! +You may be familiar with his writings: you may have seen the _Tribune_ +every week, and you may know that wonderful book of his--'The +Unexplored' I mean, not the essays--by heart; there may be nothing that +I can tell you, even about his gallant fight for one of the hospitals +last year, or the splendid work he has set going at the Macclesfield +Buildings in North London, or the way in which his name is blessed by +hundreds--yes hundreds--of men and women and children whom he has helped +to lead a better life! You may know all about these things, and plenty +more, but you _can't_ know--coming here without having seen him since +you were a baby--you _can't_ know the beauty of his character, or the +depths of his sympathy for the erring, or the tremendous efforts that he +has made, and is still making, for the laboring poor. You can't know +this, or else I'd tell you, Miss Brooke, what you would be doing! You +would be working heart and soul to lighten his burdens and relieve him +of the incessant drudgery that interferes with his higher work, instead +of sitting here day after day reading yellow-backed novels in a +drawing-room." + +And then, in a white heat of indignation, Mr. Maurice Kenyon took his +leave. But he did not know the consternation that he had created in +Lesley's mind. She was positively frightened by his vehemence. But she +had never seen an angry man before--never been spoken to in strong +masculine tones of reprobation and disgust, such as it seemed to her +that Maurice Kenyon had used. And for what? She did not know. She was +not aware that she had behaved in an unfilial manner to her father. She +did not realize that her cold demeanor, her puzzled and bewildered +looks, had told Mr. Kenyon far more than she would have cared to confess +about the state of her feelings. For the rest, Ethel's words and +Maurice's vivid imagination were to blame. And, angry as Lesley was, she +felt with a thrill of dismay that Mr. Kenyon's discourteous words were +perfectly true. She did not appreciate her father; she did not know +anything about him. All that she had hitherto surmised was bad. And here +came a young man, apparently sane, certainly handsome and clever, +although disagreeable--to tell her that Caspar Brooke was a hero, a man +among ten thousand, an intellectual giant, an uncrowned king. It was too +ridiculous; and Lesley laughed aloud--although as she laughed she found +that her eyes were wet with tears. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +"THE UNEXPLORED." + + +Lesley retained for some time a feeling of distinct anger against +Maurice Kenyon, even while she came to acknowledge the truth of divers +of his words. But their truth, she told herself indignantly, was no +justification of his brutality. He was horribly rude and meddlesome and +intrusive. What business was it of his whether she gave her father or +not the meed of praise that he deserved? Why should she be lectured for +it by a stranger? Maurice Kenyon's conduct--Maurice Kenyon himself--was +intolerable, and she should hate him all the days of her life. + +And in good sooth, Maurice's behavior is somewhat hard to excuse. He +certainly had no business at all to attack Lesley on the subject of her +feelings about her father, and his mode of attack was almost ludicrously +wanting in judgment and discrimination. But that which tact and judgment +might perhaps have failed to effect, Maurice's sledge-hammer blows +brought home to Lesley's understanding. He was to blame; but he did some +good, nevertheless. When the first shock was over, Lesley began to +reflect that her own world had been a narrow one, and that possibly +there were others equally good. And this was a great step to a girl who +had been educated in a French convent school. + +Part of Lesley's inheritance from her father, and a part of which she +was quite unconscious, was a singularly fair mind. She could judge and +balance and discriminate with an impartiality which was far beyond the +power of the ordinary woman. Being young her impartiality was now and +then disturbed by little gusts of passion and prejudice; but the faculty +was there to be strengthened by every opportunity of exercising it. This +faculty had been stirred within her when Lady Alice first told her of +her father's existence; but she had tried to stifle it as an accursed +thing. She held it wicked to be anything but a partizan. And now it had +revived within her, and was urging her to form no rash conclusions, to +be careful in her thoughts about her new acquaintances, to weigh her +opinions before expressing them. And all this in spite of a native fire +and vivacity of temperament which might have led her into difficulties +but for the counterbalancing power of judgment which she had inherited +from the father whom she had been taught to despise. + +So although she raged with all her young heart and strength against Mr. +Kenyon's construction of her feelings and motives, she had the good +sense to ask herself whether there had not been some truth in what he +said. After all, what did she know of this strange father of hers, whose +every action she judged so harshly? She had heard her mother's story, +which certainly placed him in a very unamiable light. But many years had +gone by since Lady Alice left her husband, and a man's character might +be modified in a dozen years or so. Lesley was willing to go so far. He +might even be repentant for the past. Then Sister Rose's words came back +to her. She, Lesley, might become the instrument of reconciliation +between two who had been long divided! + +The color flashed into her face and slowly faded away. What chance had +she of gaining her father's ear? True, she could descant by the hour +together, if she had the opportunity, on Lady Alice's sweetness and +goodness; but when could she get the opportunity of speaking about them +to him? He looked on her with an eye of mistrust, almost of contempt. +She had been brought up in a school of thought which he despised. How +far away from her now, by the by, seemed the old life with which she had +been familiar for so many years! the life of simple duties, of easy +routine, of praise and tenderness and placid contentment. She was out in +the world now, as other girls were who had once shared with her the +convent life near Paris. Where were they now--Aglae and Marthe and +Lucile and Anastasie? Did they all find life in the world as difficult +as Lesley found it? + +No, there was little chance, she decided, of acting as a mediatrix +between her parents. Her father would not listen to any word she might +say. And she was quite sure that she could never speak of his private +affairs to him. They had been divided so many years; they were strangers +now, not father and daughter, as they ought to be. + +Curious to relate, a feeling of resentment against the decree that had +so long severed her from him rose up in Lesley's heart. It was not exactly +a feeling of resentment against her mother. Rather it was a protest against +fate--the fate that had made that father a sealed book to her, although +known and read of all the world beside. If there _were_ admirable things in +his nature, why had she been kept in ignorance of them?--why told the one +ugly fact of his life which seemed to throw all the rest into shadow? It +was not fair, Lesley very characteristically remarked to herself: it +certainly was not fair. + +If he was so distinguished a man in literature as Maurice Kenyon +represented him to be, why had she never been allowed to read his books? +She wanted, for the first time, to read something that he had written. +She supposed she might; for there was no one now to choose her books for +her. Only a day or two before she had dutifully asked her Aunt Sophia if +she might read a book that Ethel had lent her (it was the yellow-backed +novel, the sight of which had made Maurice so angry), and she had said, +with her horrid little laugh--oh, how Lesley hated Aunt Sophy's +laugh!---- + +"Good heavens, child, read what you like! You're old enough!" + +And Lesley had felt crushed, but resolved to avail herself of the +permission. But where should she find her father's works? She would cut +out her tongue before she asked Aunt Sophy for them, or her father, or +the Kenyons, or Mrs. Romaine. + +She set to work to search the library shelves, and was soon rewarded by +the discovery of a set of _Tribunes_, a weekly paper in which she knew +that her father wrote. She turned over the leaves, with a dazed feeling +of bewilderment. None of the articles were signed. And she had no clue +to those that were written by her father or anybody else. + +She returned the volumes to their places with a heavy sigh, and +continued to look through the shelves--especially through the rows of +ponderous quartos and octavos, where she thought that her father's works +would probably be found. Simple Lesley! It was quite a shock to her when +at last--after she had relinquished her search in heartsick +disappointment--she suddenly came across a little paper volume bearing +this legend:-- + +"The Unexplored. By Caspar Brooke. Price One Shilling. Tenth Edition." + +She took the book in her hand and gazed at it curiously. This was the +"wonderful book" of which Maurice Kenyon had spoken. This little +shilling pamphlet--really it was little more than a pamphlet! It seemed +an extraordinary thing to her that her father should write _shilling +books_. "A shilling shocker" was a name that Lesley happened to know, +and a thing that she heartily despised. Her taste had been formed on the +best models, and Lady Alice had encouraged her in a critical +disparagement of cheap literature. Still--if Caspar Brooke had written +it, and Maurice Kenyon had recommended it, Lesley felt, with flushing +cheek and suspicious eyes, that it was a thing which she ought to read. + +Holding it gingerly, as if it were a dangerous combustible which might +explode at any moment, she hurried away with it to her own room, turned +the key in the lock, and sat down to read. + +At the risk of fatiguing my readers, I must say a word or two about +Caspar Brooke's romance "The Unexplored." It had obtained a wonderful +popularity in all English-speaking countries, and was well known in +every quarter of the globe. Even Lady Alice must have seen it advertised +and reviewed and quoted a hundred times. Possibly she had refused to +read it, or closed her eyes to its merits. Possibly what a man wrote +seemed to her of little importance compared to that which a man showed +himself in his daily life. At any rate, she had never mentioned the book +to her daughter Lesley. She certainly moved in a circle which was +slightly deaf to the echoes of literary fame. + +"The Unexplored" was one of those powerful romances of an ideal society +with which recent days have made us all familiar. But Caspar's book was +the forerunner of the shoal which the last ten years have cast upon our +shores. He was one of the first to follow in the steps of Sir Thomas +More and Sir Philip Sidney, and picture life as it should be rather than +as it is. His hero, an Englishman of our own time, puzzled and +distressed at the social misery and discord surrounding him, leaves +England and joins an exploring expedition. In the unexplored recesses of +the new world he comes across a colony founded in ancient days by a +people who have preserved an idyllic purity of heart and manners, +together with a fuller artistic life and truer civilization than our +own. To these people he brings his stories of London as it is to-day, +and fills their gentle hearts with amazement and dismay. A slender +thread of love-making gives the book its romantic charm. He gains the +affections of the king's daughter, a beautiful maiden, who has been +attracted to him from the very first; and with her he hopes to realize +all that has been unknown to him of noble life in his own country. But +the book does not end with its hero and heroine lapped in slothful +content. For the heart of the maiden burns with sorrow for the toiling +poor of the great European cities of which he has told her: to her this +region has also the charm of "The Unexplored," and the book ends with a +hint that she and her husband are about to wend their way, with a new +gospel in their hand, to the very city of which he had shaken the dust +from his shoes in disgust before he found an unexplored Arcadia. + +There was not much novelty in the plot--the charm of the book lay in the +way the story was told, in the beauty of the language; and also--last +but not least--the burning earnestness of the author's tone as he +contrasted the hopeless, heartless misery of the poor in our great +cities with the ideal life of man. His pictures of London life, drawn +from the street, the hospital, the workhouse, were touched in with +merciless fidelity: his satire on the modern benevolence and modern +civilization which allows such evils to flourish side by side with +lecture-rooms, churches, intellectual culture, and refined luxury was +keen and scathing. It was a book which had startled people, but had also +brought many new truths to their minds. And although no one could be +more startled, yet no one could be more avid for the truth than the +author's own daughter, of whom he had never thought in the very least +when he wrote the book. + +Lesley rose from her perusal of it with burning cheeks and humid eyes. +She herself, without knowing it, was in much the same position as the +heroine of her father's book. Like the girl Ione, in "The Unexplored," +she had lived in a charmed seclusion, far from the roar of modern +civilization, far from the great cities which are the abomination of +desolation in our time. Knowledge had come to her filtered through the +minds of those who closed their eyes to evil and their ears to tales of +sin. She did not know how the poor lived: she had only the vaguest and +haziest possible notions concerning misery and want and disease. She was +not only pure and innocent, but she was ignorant. She had scarcely ever +seen a newspaper. She had read very few novels. She had lived almost all +her life with women, and she had imbibed the notion that her marriage +was a matter which her mother would arrange without particularly +consulting her (Lesley's) inclinations. + +To a girl brought up in this way there was much to shock and repel in +Caspar Brooke's romance. More than once, indeed, she put it down +indignantly: more than once she cried out, in the silence of her room, +"Oh, but it can't be true!" Nevertheless, she knew in her heart of +hearts that the strong and burning words which she was reading could not +have been written were they not sincerely felt. And as for facts, she +could easily put them to the test. She could ask other people to tell +her whether they were true. Were there really so many criminals in +London; so many people "without visible means of subsistence?" so many +children going out in a morning to their Board Schools without +breakfast? But surely something ought to be done! How could people sit +down and allow these things to be? How could her father himself, who +wrote about such things, live in comfort, even (compared with the +wretchedly poor) in modest luxury, without lifting a finger to help +them? + +But there Lesley caught herself up. What had Mr. Kenyon said? Had he not +spoken of the things that Caspar Brooke had done? For almost the first +time Lesley began to wonder what made her father so busy. She had never +heard a word concerning the pursuits that Mr. Kenyon had mentioned as so +engrossing. "The splendid work at Macclesfield Buildings:" what was +that? The people whom he had helped: what people? Whom could she ask? +Not her father himself--that was out of the question. He never spoke to +her except on trivial subjects. She remembered with a sudden and painful +flash of insight, that conversations between him and his sister were +sometimes broken off when she came into the room, or carried on in +half-phrases and under-tones. Of course she _had_ heard of Macclesfield +Buildings; and of a club and an institute and a hospital, and what not; +but the words had gone over her head, being destitute of meaning and of +interest for her. She had been blind and deaf, it seemed to her now, +ever since she came into the house; but Maurice Kenyon and her father's +book had opened her eyes to the reality of things. + +Later on in the day her maid came to help her to dress for dinner. +Lesley looked at her with new interest. For was she not one of the +great, poor, struggling mass of human beings whom her father called "the +People?" Not the happy peasant-class, as depicted in sentimental +storybooks: whether that existed or not, Lesley was not learned enough +to say: it certainly did not exist in London. She looked at the woman +who waited on her with keenly observant eyes. Her name was Mary +Kingston, and Lesley knew that she was not one of the prosperous, +self-satisfied, over-dressed type, so common amongst ladies' maids; for +she had been "out of a situation" for some time, and had fallen into +dire straits of poverty. It would not have been like Miss Brooke to hire +a common-place, conventional ladies' maid; she really preferred a +servant "with a history." Lesley remembered that she had heard of Mary +Kingston's past difficulties without noting them. + +"Kingston," she said, gently, "do you know much about the poor?" + +Kingston started and colored. She was a woman of more than thirty years +of age--pale, thin, flat-chested, not very tall; she had fairly good +features and dark, expressive eyes; but she was not attractive-looking. +Her lips were too pale and her dark eyes too sunken for beauty. There +was a gentleness in her manner, however, a patience in her low voice, +which Lesley had always liked. It reminded her, in some undefined way, +of her old friend, Sister Rose. + +"I've lived among the poor all my life, ma'am," Kingston said. + +"Do they suffer very much?" Lesley asked. + +Kingston looked slightly puzzled. "Suffer, ma'am?" + +"Yes--from hunger and cold, I mean: I have been reading about poor +people in this book--and----" + +Kingston cast a rapid glance at the volume. Her face kindled at once. + +"Oh," she said, "I've read that book, ma'am, and what a beautiful book +it is!" + +"Do you know it?" Lesley asked, amazed. Then, moved by a sudden impulse, +"And you know it was written by my father?" + +Who would have thought that she could say the last two words with such +an accent of tender pride? + +"No, ma'am, I did not know. Is it really _this_ Mr. Brooke? The name, +you see, is not so uncommon as some, and I did not think----" + +"I know, I know," said Lesley, hurriedly. "But just tell me this--is it +true? Do the poor people suffer as much in England as he says they do?" + +"Oh yes, ma'am, I'm afraid so, at least. I've seen a good deal of +suffering in my day." + +Lesley was quiet for a little while, and the woman brushed out her +shining hair. "Tell me," she said, "what is the worst suffering of +all--will you? I mean, a suffering caused by being poor--nothing to do +with your own life, of course. Is it the being hungry, or cold--or +what?" + +Kingston considered for a moment. "I think," she said at last, "it isn't +the being cold or hungry yourself that matters so much as seeing those +that belong to you cold and hungry. That's the worst. If you have +children, it does go to your heart to hear them ask you for something to +eat, and you have nothing to give them." + +"Yes," said Lesley, softly, "I should think that is the worst." + +"But I don't know," said Kingston, in a perfectly unmoved and stolid +tone, "whether it's worse than having no candles." + +Lesley looked up in astonishment. + +"It's when any one's ill that you feel that," the woman went on, in the +same level tones. "In winter it's dark, maybe, at four o'clock, and not +light again till nearly nine in the morning. It doesn't matter so much +if you can go out. But if you have to sit by some one who's ill, and you +can't see their faces, and if they leave off moaning you think they're +dead--and perhaps when the early morning light comes it's only a dead +face you have to look upon, and you never saw them draw their last +breath--why, then, you feel mad-like to think of the candles that are +wasted in big houses and of the bread that's thrown away." + +Lesley listened, appalled. A homely detail of this kind impressed her +more than any appeal to her higher imagination. The woes of the poor +had suddenly become real. + +"I hope you never had to go through all that, Kingston," she said, very +gently. + +"Yes, ma'am, twice," said Kingston. "Once with my mother, and once with +my little boy. They were both dead in the morning, but I didn't see 'em +die." + +"But where was your husband? Was he dead?" said Lesley, quickly. + +"Oh, no, ma'am. But he was amusing himself. He was a gentleman, you +see--more shame to me, perhaps you'll say. I couldn't expect him to +think of things like candles." + +"Oh!--And is he--is he dead?" + +"No ma'am, he isn't dead," said Kingston. And from the shortness of her +tone and the steadiness with which she averted her face Lesley came to +the conclusion that she did not want to be questioned any more. + +Lesley went down to dinner feeling that she had made some new and +extraordinary discoveries. She noticed that her father and her aunt made +several allusions which would have seemed mysterious and repellant to +her the day before, but which now possessed an almost tragic interest. +When before had she heard her aunt speak casually of a Mothers' Meeting +and a Lending Library? These were common-place matters to the ordinary +English girl; but to Lesley they possessed the elements of a romance. +For was it not by means of hackneyed, common-place machinery of this +kind that cultured men and women put themselves into relation with the +great, suffering, coarse, uncultured, human-hearted poor? + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +LESLEY SEEKS ADVICE. + + +Added to Lesley's new views of life, there was also a new feeling for +her father. In the first rush of enthusiastic admiration for his book, +she forgot all that she had heard against him, and believed--for the +moment--that he was all Maurice Kenyon represented him to be. But +naturally this state of mind could not last. The long years of her +mother's influence told against any claim to love or respect on the +father's part. Lesley remembered how bitterly Lady Alice spoke of him. +She could not think that her mother had been wrong. + +It is a terrible position for a son or daughter--to have to judge +between father and mother. It is a wrong position, and one in which +Lesley felt instinctively that she ought never to have been placed. Of +course it was impossible for her to help it. Father and mother had +virtually made her their judge. They said to her, "Live for a year with +each of us, and choose which you prefer. You cannot have us both." And +as the only true and natural position for a child is that in which he or +she can have both, Lesley Brooke was in a very trying situation. She had +begun life in her father's house as her mother's ardent partisan; and +she was her mother's partisan still. Only she was not quite sure whether +she was not going to find that she could love her father too. And in +that case, Lesley was tremulously certain that Lady Alice would accuse +her of unfaithfulness to _her_. + +She turned with a sigh from the contemplation of her position to her new +views of London and modern life. The poverty and ignorance of which she +read had seemed hateful to her. But her impulse--always the impulse of +generous souls--was not to shrink away from this newly-discovered +misery, but to go down into the midst of it and help to cure the evil. + +Still blindly ignorant of what was already done, or doing, she hardly +knew in which way to begin a work that was so new to her. Indeed, she +hardly estimated its difficulties. All the poor that she had ever seen +were the blue-bloused peasants, or brown-faced crones, and quaint little +maidens with pigtails, who had visited the convent at Fontainebleau. She +was quite sure that English poor people were not like these. Her father +knew a great deal about them, but she could not ask him. The very way in +which he spoke to her--lightly always, and jestingly--made serious +questioning impossible. To whom then should she apply? The answer +presented itself almost immediately, and with extraordinary +readiness--to Mr. Oliver Trent. + +This decision was not so remarkable as it at first may seem. Lesley +had run over in her mind a list of the persons whom she could not +or would not ask. Her father and Miss Brooke?--impossible. Mrs. +Romaine?--certainly not. Ethel?--Lesley did not believe that she knew +anything about the poor. Maurice Kenyon?--not for worlds. The +neighboring clergy?--Mr. Brooke had said that he did not want "the +Blacks" about his house. The other men and women whom Lesley had seen +were mere casual acquaintances; not friends of the family, like Oliver +Trent. + +At least, she _supposed_ that Oliver was a friend of the family. He was +Mrs. Romaine's brother; and Mrs. Romaine was a good deal at the house. +In her own mind Lesley put him on the same footing as Mr. Kenyon--which +estimate would have made Caspar Brooke exceedingly indignant, could he +have known it. For though he did not exactly dislike Oliver Trent, he +would never have thought of classing him with his friend, Maurice +Kenyon. + +But Oliver had already called twice on some pretext or other, since +Lesley had come home: and on the latter of these occasions he had sat +for a full hour with her in the drawing-room, talking chiefly of France +and Italy--in low and softly modulated tones. Lesley was losing all her +horror of interviews with young men. If the nuns had seen her now they +would indeed have thought her lost to all sense of propriety. For one of +Miss Brooke's chief theories was that no self-respecting young woman +needs a chaperon. And she had flatly refused to chaperone Lesley except +on inevitable or really desirable occasions. "The girl must learn to go +about the world by herself," she had said. "And I will say this for +Lesley, she is not naturally timid or helpless--it is only training that +makes her so." And under this tuition Lesley soon acquired the +self-possession in which she had been somewhat wanting when she came, +newly-fledged, from her convent. + +So when Oliver called again--it was on a message from his sister, and it +had not yet recurred to Lesley to wonder at the readiness shown by +English brothers to run on messages to their sisters' friends--he found +Lesley alone, as usual, in the drawing-room, and she welcomed him with +considerable warmth--a warmth that took him by surprise. + +"I am so glad to see you, Mr. Trent: I wanted to ask you something," she +said, at once. + +"Ask me anything--command me in anything," he replied. + +He sank into a low chair at her right hand, and looked quite +devotionally into her face. Lesley felt a trifle disturbed. She could +not forget that Oliver was Ethel's lover, and she did not think that he +ought to look at her so--_eagerly_--she did not know what else to call +it. It was a look that made her uncomfortable. Nobody had ever looked at +her in that way before. They did not look like that in the convent. + +"It is nothing very particular," she said, shrinking back a little. +"Only I have nobody to ask." + +"I know--I understand," said Oliver, in his softest tones. Somehow his +sympathy did not offend her, as Mr. Kenyon's had done. + +"It is very stupid of me," Lesley went on, trying to smile, "not to ask +my father or Aunt Sophy; but I am afraid they would only laugh at me." + +"I shall not laugh at you," said Oliver, marvelling inwardly. + +"Won't you? You are sure? It is only a little, stupid, ordinary +question. Do you know anything about Macclesfield Buildings?" + +Oliver drew himself up in his chair. Was _that_ the question? He did not +believe it. But he answered her unsmilingly. + +"Yes, Miss Brooke. They are the blocks of workmen's dwellings where your +father has founded a Club." + +"Has he?" said Lesley, her eyes dilating. "That is--very good of him, +isn't it?" + +"Oh, I suppose so," Oliver answered, with a little laugh. "Of +course--but I must not insinuate worldly motives into his daughter's +ears!" + +"Oh, please, go on: I want to hear!" + +"It is nothing wrong. Only if a man wants to stand well with the +working-people--if he wants votes, for instance--it isn't at all a bad +move to begin with a Working-Men's Club." + +"Votes, Mr. Trent? What for?" + +"School Board, or County Council, or Parliament," said Oliver, coolly. +"Or even Board of Guardians. I don't know what your father's ambitions +are, exactly. But popularity is always a good thing." + +Lesley pondered a little, the color rising in her cheeks. "Then," she +said, "you think my father does good things from--from what people call +'interested motives?'" + +"Good heavens, no, Miss Brooke, I never said anything of the kind," +declared Oliver, somewhat alarmed by her straightforwardness. "I was +only thinking of the general actions of man, not of your father in +particular." + +Lesley nodded. "I don't quite understand," she said. "But that doesn't +matter for the present. I have another question to ask you, Mr. Trent. +Do you know anything about the poor?" + +"I'm very poor myself," said Oliver, laughing. "Horribly poor. 'Pon my +word, I don't know any one poorer." + +"Oh, you are laughing at me now," said Lesley, almost petulantly. "And +you said that you would not laugh." + +She leaned back in her chair, with heightened color and brightening +eyes: her breath came a little more quickly than usual, as if her pulses +were quickened. There is nothing so catching as emotion. Oliver's +sluggish pulses began to stir at the sight of her. That soft and tender +face seemed more beautiful to him than the sparkle and vivacity of Ethel +Kenyon's. If it had not been for Ethel's twenty thousand pounds, he did +not know but what he would have preferred Lesley. Rosy had said that +Lesley would suit him best. + +"I am not laughing; I swear I am not," he said earnestly. "I know what +you mean--you are thinking of the London poor. Your tender heart has +been stirred by the sight of them in the streets--they are dreadful to +look at, are they not? It is like you to feel their woes so acutely." + +"I want to know," said Lesley, rather plaintively, "whether I cannot do +anything for them?" + +"You--do anything--for the poor?" repeated Oliver. Then he scanned her +narrowly--scanned her shining hair, delicate features, Paris-made gown, +and dainty shoe--and laughed a little. "You can let them look at +you--that ought to be enough," he said. + +Lesley frowned. "Nonsense, Mr. Trent. What does my father do for his +Club?" + +"Smokes with the men, sometimes, I believe. You couldn't do that, you +know----" + +"Although----" and then Lesley stopped short and laughed. + +"Although Aunt Sophy does. It's no secret, my dear Miss Brooke. Half the +women in London smoke now-a-days, I believe. Even my sister indulges now +and then." + +Lesley gave her head a little toss. "What else does my father do?" she +asked. + +"Sings to them. Sunday afternoon, that is, you know. The wives are +allowed to come to the Club-room then, and he has a sort of little +concert for them--good music, sacred music, even, I believe. He gets +professionals to come now and then; they will do anything to oblige your +father, you know--and when they don't come, he sings himself. He really +has a very good bass voice." + +"Ladies don't sing, I suppose," said Lesley, after a little pause. + +"Oh, yes, they do. He nearly always has a lady to sing. Why don't you go +down on a Sunday afternoon? The club is open to friends of the founder, +if not of the members, on Sunday afternoons. Don't Mr. Brooke and Miss +Brooke always go?" + +"I suppose they do--I never asked where they went," said Lesley, with +burning cheeks. She remembered that they always did disappear on Sunday +afternoons. No, she had not asked; she had not hitherto felt any +curiosity as to their doings; and they had not asked her to accompany +them. She began to resent their lack of readiness to invite her to the +club. + +"You might go down on Sunday afternoon," said Oliver, lazily. "I'm +going: they have asked me to sing. Though you mayn't know it, Miss +Brooke, I have a very decent tenor voice. Ethel is going with me. Won't +you come?" + +"I don't know," said Lesley, nervously. She bethought herself that she +could not easily propose to accompany her father, and that Ethel and +Oliver Trent would not want her. She would be one too many in either +party. She could not go. + +But Oliver read the reason of her scruples. "If you will allow me," he +said, "I will ask my sister to come too. Then we shall be a compact +little party of four, and we can start off without telling Mr. Brooke +anything about it." + +Lesley hesitated a little, but finally consented. She had a great desire +to see what was going on in Macclesfield Buildings. But Oliver, it may +be feared, believed in his heart that she went because he was going. And +he resolved to bestow his society on her rather than on Ethel and Mrs. +Romaine on Sunday. It was decidedly more amusing to waken that still +sweet face to animation than to engage in a war of wit with Ethel. + +Lesley thought of Oliver very little. Once or twice he had startled her +by an assumption of intimacy, a softening of his voice, and a look of +tenderness in his eyes, which made her shrink into herself with an +instinctive emotion of dislike. But she had then proceeded to scold +herself for foolish shyness and prudery--the prudery of a French-school +girl, who was not accustomed to the ways of men. She had begun to feel +herself very ignorant of the world since she came to her father's house. +It would never do to offend one of her father's friends by seeming +afraid of him. So she tried to smile and looked pleased when Oliver drew +near, and she was all the more gracious to him because she had already +quarrelled with Maurice Kenyon, who was even more her father's friend +than Oliver himself. But what could she do? Mr. Kenyon had insulted +her--the hot blood rose to her cheeks as she thought of some of the +things that he had said. Insulted her by assuming that she could not +appreciate her father because she was too careless, too frivolous, too +foolish to do so. That she was ignorant, Lesley was ready to +acknowledge; but not that she was incapable of learning. + +Oliver had no difficulty in persuading his sister to make one of the +party on Sunday afternoon. Indeed, Mrs. Romaine made the expedition +easier by inviting Lesley to lunch with her beforehand. + +"I asked Maurice and Ethel Kenyon, too," she said to Lesley, "but they +would not come. Mr. Kenyon had his patients to attend to; and Ethel +would not leave him to lunch alone." + +Lesley did not answer, but privately reflected that if the Kenyons had +accepted the invitation she would have lunched at home. + +She went to church by herself on Sunday morning, for Mr. Brooke was not +up, and Doctor Sophy frequented some assembly of eclectic souls, of +which Lesley had never heard before. So she went demurely to that +ugliest of all Protestant temples, St. Pancras' Church, and was not very +much surprised when she perceived that Oliver Trent was in the seat +behind her, and that he sat so that he could see her face. + +"I did not know that you went to St. Pancras'," she said, innocently, as +they stood on the steps together outside when the service was over. + +"Nor do I," he answered her. "It is the most hideous church I ever saw. +But there was an attraction this morning." + +Lesley looked as if she did not understand. And indeed she did not. + +"You are coming to lunch with us, are you not? Will you let me escort +you?" + +"Thank you, Mr. Trent. But--do you mind?--I shall have to call at my +father's house on my way. Just to leave my prayer-book. It will not take +me a minute." + +Oliver could not object, although he was not altogether pleased. For Mr. +Brooke's house was immediately opposite the Kenyons', and Miss Ethel was +as likely as not to be sitting at the drawing-room window. Her sharp +eyes would espy him from afar, and she might ask Lesley if he had been +to church with her. Not a very great difficulty, but Oliver had a +far-seeing mind, and one question might lead to others of a more serious +kind. + +However, there was no help for it. He paused on the steps of number +fifty, while Lesley rang the bell. She had been formally presented with +a latch-key, but the use of it was so new to her, and the fear of losing +it so great, that she usually left it on her dressing-table. + +A maid opened the door and said something to Lesley in an under tone. +Oliver was looking across the street and neither heard the words nor +saw the woman's face. But Lesley turned to him hastily. + +"Oh, Mr. Trent, I am so sorry to keep you waiting, but I must run up to +my aunt for a moment." + +She disappeared into the house, and then Oliver turned and met the eyes +of Lesley's waiting-maid. And at the same moment he was aware--as one is +sometimes aware of what goes on behind one's back--that Ethel, in her +pretty autumn dress of fawn-color and deep brown, had come out upon the +balcony of her house and was observing him. + +"_You_, Mary?" said Oliver, in a stifled whisper. + +The woman looked at him with hard, defiant eyes. "Yes, me," she said. +"You ought to know that I couldn't do anything else." + +He stood looking at her with a frown. + +"This is the last place where you ought to have come," he said. + +"Because they are friends of yours?" she asked. "I can't help that. I +didn't know it when I came, but I know it now." + +"Then leave," said Oliver, still in the lowest possible tone, but also +with all possible intensity. "Leave as soon as you can. I'll find you +another place. It is the worst thing you can do for your own interest to +remain here, where you may be recognized." + +"I can take care of that," said Mary Kingston, icily. "I'll think over +it." + +Oliver put his hand into his pocket as if in search of a coin. But +Kingston suddenly shook her head. "No," she said, quickly, "I don't want +it. Not from you." + +And then Lesley's foot was heard upon the stairs. Oliver looked up to +Ethel's balcony. Yes, she was there, her hand upon the railing, her eyes +fixed on him with what was evidently a puzzled stare. Oliver smiled and +raised his hat. Ethel nodded and smiled in return. But he +fancied--though, of course, at that distance he could not be sure--that +she still looked puzzled as she returned his bow and smile. + +He walked on with Lesley. But his good-humor was gone: the usual suavity +of his manner was a little ruffled. His recognition of Mary Kingston had +evidently been displeasing as well as embarrassing to him. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +"HOME, SWEET HOME." + + +Mrs. Romaine and Oliver Trent attributed Lesley's desire to see +Macclesfield Buildings to a young girl's curiosity, and, perhaps, to a +desire for Oliver's company. They had no conception of the new fancies +and feelings, aims and interests, which were developing in her soul. +Only so much of these were visible as to lead Oliver to say to his +sister before they sallied forth that afternoon-- + +"I fancy she is getting up an enthusiasm for her father. Won't that be +awkward for you?" + +Mrs. Romaine was silent for a moment. Then she answered, with perfect +quietness-- + +"I think it will be more awkward for Lady Alice. It may be rather +convenient for us." + +And Oliver noticed that for the rest of the afternoon she took every +opportunity of indirectly and directly praising Mr. Brooke, his works +and ways. But he could not see that Lesley looked pleased--perhaps Mrs. +Romaine's words had rather an artificial ring. + +Somehow, it seemed to Lesley as if she hated the expedition on which she +came. Was it not a little too like spying upon her father's work? He had +never invited her to Macclesfield Buildings. And he would never know the +spirit in which she came: it would seem to him as though she had been +brought in Mrs. Romaine's train, perhaps against her will, to laugh, to +stare, to criticize. She would rather have crept in humbly, and tried to +understand, by herself, what he was trying to do. What would he think of +her when he saw her there that afternoon? + +She was morbidly afraid of him and of his opinion. Caspar Brooke would +have been as much hurt as astonished if he knew in what ogre-like light +she regarded him. + +Ethel joined them before they started for Macclesfield Buildings, and as +rain was beginning to fall, Oliver insisted that they should take a +cab. It was for his own sake, as Rosalind reminded him, rather than for +theirs. He had a profound dislike of dirty streets, dirty people, +unpleasant sights and sounds. And there were plenty of these to be +encountered in the North London district to which they were bound that +afternoon. + +The three Londoners--for such they virtually were--could hardly refrain +from laughing when they saw Lesley's horrified face as the cab drove up +to the block of buildings in which the club was situated. "But this is a +prison--a workhouse--a lunatic asylum!" she exclaimed. "People do not +live here--do they--in this dreary place?" + +Ah, me, and a dreary place it was! Three lofty blocks of building, all +of the same drab hue, with iron-railed balconies outside the narrow +windows, and a great court-yard in which a number of children romped and +howled and shrieked in play: it was perhaps the most depressingly ugly +bit of architecture that Lesley had ever seen. In vain her friends told +her of the superior sanitary arrangements, the ventilation, the +drainage, the pure water "laid on;" all she could do was to clasp her +hand, and say, with positive tears in her bright eyes, "But _why_ could +it not all have been made more beautiful?" And indeed it is hard to say +why not. + +"Now we are going down into a coal hole," said Oliver, as he helped the +ladies to alight. "At least it was once a coal hole. Yes, it was. These +four rooms were used as storehouses for coals and vegetables until your +father rented them: you will see what they look like now." + +"Lesley is horrified," said Ethel, with a little laugh. "Not at the +coal-hole," Lesley answered, trying also to be merry, "but at the +ugliness of it all. Don't you think this kind of ugliness almost +wicked?" + +"Oliver thinks all ugliness wicked," said Mrs. Romaine, maliciously. + +"Then _we_ ought to be very good," said Ethel. But Oliver did not +answer: he was looking at Lesley, whose face had grown pale. + +"Are you tired?--are you ill?" he asked her, in the gentlest undertones. +They were still picking their way over the muddy stones of the +court-yards, and rough children ran up to them now and then, and +clamored for a penny. "Is the sight of this place too much for you?" + +"Oh, no," said Lesley, with a sudden, inexplicable flush of color: "It +is not that--it is ugly, of course; but I do not mind it at all." + +Oliver glanced round suspiciously, as if to discover why she had +blushed. All that he could see was the tall figure of Maurice Kenyon, +who was standing in a doorway talking to somebody on the stairs. Even if +Lesley had seen him, she surely would not blush for that! What chance +had Kenyon had of becoming acquainted with her? Oliver forgot that other +sisters besides his own might send their brothers on messages. + +Down a flight of stone steps, through a low doorway, and into a dark +little corridor, was Lesley conducted. She noticed that Mrs. Romaine and +Ethel were quite accustomed to the place. "We have often been before, +you know," Ethel explained. "It's your father's hobby, you know; his +doll's house, or Noah's Ark, or whatever you like to call it--his pet +toy. I always call it his Noah's Ark myself. The animals walk in two by +two. The men may bring their wives on Sundays. Oh, by the bye, Lesley, I +hope you don't mind smoke. The men have their pipes, you know." + +And then Lesley, dazzled and confounded by her surroundings, found +herself in a brilliantly lighted room of considerable size--really two +ordinary rooms thrown into one. Immediately the squalor and ugliness of +the outer world were thrown into the background. The walls of the room +were distempered--Indian red below, warm grey above; and on the grey +walls were hung fine photographs of well-known foreign buildings or of +celebrated paintings. In one part of the room stood a magnificent +billiard-table, now neatly covered with a cloth. A neat little piano was +placed at the other end of the room, near a large table covered with a +scarlet cloth, strewn with magazines, papers, and books, and decorated +with flowers. The chairs were of solid make, seated with red leather +ornamented with brass nails. In fact, the whole place was not only +comfortable, but cheery and pleasant to the eye. Lesley was told that +there was also a library, beside a kitchen and pantry, whence visitors +could get tea or coffee, "temperance drinks," and rolls or cakes. + +A few women in their "Sunday best" were looking at the books and +periodicals, or gossiping together, but they were not so numerous as +the men--respectable working-men for the most part; some of them +smoking, some reading or talking, without their pipes. In one little +group Lesley recognized, with a start, that her father was the centre of +attraction. He was sitting, as the other men were, and he was talking: +the musical notes of his cultivated voice rose clearly above the hum of +rougher and huskier voices. Lesley gathered that some proposition had +been made which he was combating. + +"No," he said, "I won't have it. Look here--did you open this club, or +did I?" + +"You did, guv'nor," said one of the men. + +"Then I'll have my say in the management. Some of you want the women +turned out, do you? It's the curse of modern life, the curse of English +and all other society, that you do want the women turned out, you men, +where-ever you go. And the reason is that women are better than you are. +They are purer, nobler, more conscientious than you, and therefore you +don't want them with you when you take your pleasures. Eh?" + +There was a melodious geniality about the last monosyllable which made +the men smile in spite of themselves. + +"'T'ain't that," said one of them, awkwardly. "It's because they're apt +to neglect their 'omes if they come out of an afternoon or an evening +like we do." + +"Not they!" said Mr. Brooke. "To come out now and then is to make them +love their homes, man. They'll put more heart in to their work, if they +have a little rest and enjoyment now and then, as you do. +Besides--you've got hold of a wrong principle. The women are not your +slaves and servants; they ought not to be. They are your companions, +your helpers. The more they are in sympathy with you, the better they +will help you. Don't keep your wives out of the brighter moments of your +lives, else they will forget how to feel with you, and help you when +darker moments come!" + +There was a pause; and then a man, with rather a sullen face--evidently +one of the malcontents--said, with a growl, + +"Fine talk, gov'nor. It'll end in our wives leaving us, like they say +yours done." + +There was an instant hiss and groan of disapproval. So marked, indeed, +that the man rose to shoulder his way to the door. Evidently he was not +a popular character. + +"We'll pay him out, if you like, sir," said a youth; and some of the +older men half rose as if to execute the threat. + +"Sit down: let him alone," said Mr. Brooke, sharply. "He's a poor fool, +and he knows it. Every man's a fool that does not reverence women. And +if women would try to be worthy of that reverence, the world would be +better than it is." + +He rose as he spoke, with apparent carelessness, but those who knew him +best saw that the taunt had stung him. And as he moved, he caught +Lesley's eye. He had not known that she was to be there; and by +something in her expression--by her heightened color, perhaps, or her +startled eye--he saw at once that she had heard the man's rude speech +and his reply. + +He stopped short, grasped at his beard as his manner was, especially +when he was perplexed or embarrassed; then crossed over towards her, +laid his hand on her arm, and spoke in a tone of unusual tenderness. + +"_You_ here, my child?" + +Lesley thrilled all over with the novel pleasure of what seemed to her +like commendation. But she could not answer suitably. + +"Mrs. Romaine brought me," she said. + +"Ah! Mrs. Romaine?"--in quite a different tone. "Very kind of Mrs. +Romaine. By the bye, Maurice"--to Mr. Kenyon, who had just appeared upon +the scene, and was looking with curiously anxious eyes at Lesley--"the +music ought to begin now. Is Trent ready? And will Ethel recite +something? That's all right--I suppose Miss Bellot will be here +presently." + +And leaving Lesley without another glance, he went to the piano and +opened it. The audience settled itself in its place, and gave a little +sigh of expectation. Mr. Brooke's Sunday afternoon "recitals," from four +to five, always gave great satisfaction. + +Oliver sang first, then Ethel recited something; then Mr. Brooke sang, +and then Oliver played--he was a very useful young man in his way--and +then there came a little pause. + +"A certain Miss Bellot promised to come and sing, but she has not +appeared," Ethel explained to her friend. "Lesley, you can sing: I know +you can, for I saw a lot of songs in your portfolio the other day. Won't +you give them something?" + +"Oh, no, I couldn't!" + +"It's not a critical audience," said Oliver, on her other side. "You +might try. The people are growing impatient, and your father will be +disappointed if things do not go well----" + +Lesley flushed deeply. A week ago she would have thought--What is it to +me if my father is disappointed? But she could not think so to-night. + +"I have no music here. And I cannot sing properly when I play my own +accompaniments." + +"Tell me something you know and let me see whether I can play it," said +Oliver. + +She paused for a moment, then, with a smile in her eyes, she mentioned a +name which made him laugh and elevate his eyebrows. "Do you know +_that_?" she said. + +"Rather! Is it not a trifle hackneyed? Ah, well, not for this audience, +perhaps. Yes, I will play." And then, just as Caspar Brooke, with a +slight gesture of annoyance, turned to explain to the people that a +singer whom he expected had not come, Oliver touched him on the arm. + +"Miss Brooke is going to sing, please," he said. "Will you announce +her?" + +Mr. Brooke stared hard for a moment, then bowed his head. + +"My daughter will now sing to you," he said, curtly, and sat down again, +grasping his brown beard with one hand. + +"_Can_ she sing?" Mrs. Romaine said in his ear, with an accent of veiled +surprise. + +"I do not know in the least. I hope it will be English, at any rate. +These good people don't care for French and Italian things." + +Mrs. Romaine saw that he looked undoubtedly nervous, and just then +Oliver began the prelude to Lesley's song. It was certainly English +enough. It was "Home, Sweet Home." + +Every one looked up at the sound of the familiar air. "Hackneyed" as +Oliver had declared it to be, it is a song which every audience loves to +hear. And Lesley made a pretty picture for the eyes to rest upon while +she sang. She was dressed from top to toe in a delicate shade of grey, +which suited her fair skin admirably: the grey was relieved by some +broad white ribbons and a vest of soft white silk folds, according to +the prevailing fashion. A wide-brimmed grey hat, trimmed with drooping +grey ostrich feathers, also became her extremely well. Mrs. Romaine +noticed that Caspar Brooke looked at her hard for a minute or two, and +then sat with his eyes fixed on the ground, his right hand forming a +pillow for his left elbow, and his left hand engaged in stroking his big +brown beard. What she did not notice was, that Maurice Kenyon had +withdrawn himself to a post behind Mr. Brooke's chair, where he could +see and not be seen; and that his eyes were riveted upon the fair singer +with an expression which betokened more perplexity than admiration. + +As Lesley's pure, sweet notes floated out upon the air, there was an +instant stir of approbation and interest among the listeners. If the +girl had been less intent upon her singing, the unmoved and unmoving +stare of these men and women might have made her a little nervous. It +was their way of showing attention. The men had even put down their +pipes. But Lesley did not see them. She had chosen her song at +haphazard, as one which these people were likely to understand; but its +painful appropriateness to her own case, perhaps to her mother's case as +well, only came home to her as she continued it. + + "'Mid pleasures and palaces--though I may roam-- + Be it never so humble, there's no place like home. + A charm from the heart seems to hallow it there, + Which, seek through the world, is not met with elsewhere." + +If Lesley's voice faltered a little while singing words with which she +herself felt forced to disagree, and to which her mother had given the +lie by running away from the home Caspar Brooke had provided for her, +the hesitation and tremulousness were set down by the hearers as a very +pretty bit of artistic skill, which they were not at all slow to +appreciate. Mrs. Romaine put up her eye-glass and looked narrowly at the +girl during the last few notes. + +"How well she sings!" she murmured in Mr. Brooke's ear. "Positively, as +if she felt it!" + +Caspar Brooke gave a little start, left off handling his beard, and sat +up shrugging his shoulders. "A good deal of dramatic talent, I fancy," +he observed. But he could say no more, for the people were clapping +their hands and stamping with their feet, in their eagerness for +another song; and he was obliged to be silent until the tumult abated. + +"You must sing again?" said Oliver. + +"Must I? Really? But--shall I sing what English people call a sacred +piece? A Sunday piece, you know? 'Angels ever bright and fair'--can you +play that?" + +Oliver could play that. And Lesley sang it with great applause. + +But, being a keenly observant young person, and also in a very sensitive +state, she noticed that her father held aloof and did not look quite +well pleased. And she, remembering her refusal to take singing lessons, +felt, naturally, a little guilty. + +She had not time, however, to dwell upon her own feelings. The assembly +began to disperse, for Mr. Brooke did not let the hours of his "meeting" +encroach on church hours, and it was time to go. But almost every man, +and certainly every woman, insisted on shaking hands with Lesley, most +of them saying, with a friendly nod, that they hoped she'd come again. + +"You're Mr. Brooke's daughter, ain't you, miss?" said a tall, +broad-shouldered fellow, with honest eyes and a pleasant smile, which +Lesley liked. + +"Yes, I am." + +"I hope you'll give us a bit of your singing another Sunday. 'Tis a +treat to hear you, it is." + +"Yes, I shall be glad to come again," said Lesley. + +"That's like your father's daughter," said the man, heartily. "Meaning +no disrespect to you, miss. But Mr. Brooke's the life and soul of this +place: he's splendid--just splendid; and we can't think too high of him. +So it's right and fitting that his daughter should take after him." + +Lesley stood confused, but pleased. And then the man lowered his voice +and spoke confidentially. + +"There was a bit of a breeze this afternoon, just after you came in, I +think; but you mustn't suppose that we have trouble o' that sort every +Sunday, or week-day either. It was just one low, blackguardly fellow +that got in and wanted to make a disturbance. But he won't do it again, +for we'll have a meeting, and turn him out to-morrow. I would just like +you to understand, miss, that a good few of us in this here club would +pretty nigh lay down our lives for Mr. Brooke if he wanted them--for +myself I wouldn't even say 'pretty nigh,' for I'd do it in a jiffy. +He's helped to save some of us from worse than death, miss, and that's +why." + +"Come, Jim Gregson," said a cheery voice behind him, "you get along home +to your tea. Time for shutting up just now. Good-bye." + +And Caspar Brooke held out his hand for the workman to shake. He had +only just come up, and could not therefore have heard what Gregson was +saying; but Lesley preferred to turn away without meeting his eye. For +in truth her own were full of tears. + +She broke away from the little group, and went into the library, as if +she wanted to inspect the books. But in reality she wanted a moment's +silence and loneliness in which to get rid of the swelling in her +throat, the tears in her eyes. These were caused partly by excitement, +partly by an expression of feeling brought to her by the earnestness of +Gregson's words, partly by penitence. And it was before she had well got +rid of them that Maurice Kenyon put his head into the room and found her +there. + +"We are going now, Miss Brooke," he said. "Will you come? I--I hope I'm +not disturbing you--I----" + +"I am just coming," said Lesley, dashing the tears from her face. "I am +quite ready." + +"There is no hurry. You can let them go on first, if you like," said +Maurice, partly closing the door. Then, in the short pause that +followed, he advanced a little way into the room. + +"Miss Brooke," he said, "I hope you will not mind my speaking to you +again; but I want to say that I wish--most humbly and with all my +heart--to beg your pardon. Will you forgive me?" + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +MAURICE KENYON'S APOLOGY. + + +Lesley stood irresolute. In the other room she heard the sound of voices +calling her own name. "We are just going, Lesley," she heard Mrs. +Romaine say. She made a hurried step towards the door. + +"I can't stop," she said. "They will go without me." + +"What if they do?" asked Mr. Kenyon. "I'll see you home." + +Lesley looked amazed, as well she might, at this masterful way of +settling the question. And while she hesitated Maurice acted, as he +usually did. + +He strode to the door and spoke to Miss Brooke. "I am just showing your +niece some of the books: I'll follow in a minute or two with her if +you'll kindly walk on. It won't take me more than a minute." + +"Then we may as well wait," said Oliver's voice. + +Lesley would have been very angry if she had known what happened then. +Mr. Kenyon, by means of energetic pantomime, conveyed to the quick +perceptions of Doctor Sophy a knowledge of the fact that Lesley was a +little agitated and overcome, and that he was soothing her. And that the +departure of the rest of the party would be a blessed relief. + +Aunt Sophy was good-natured, and she had complete trust in Maurice +Kenyon. + +"Don't stay more than a minute or two," she said. "We'll just walk on +then--Caspar and I. Mr. Trent is, of course, escorting your sister. Mrs. +Romaine will come with us, and you'll follow?" + +"I am quite ready," said Lesley. + +"All right," answered Maurice, easily, "I must first show you this +book." Then he returned to the library, and she heard the sounds of +retreating steps and voices as her father and his party left the +building. + +"You have no book to show me--you had better come at once," Lesley said, +severely. But Mr. Kenyon arrested her. + +"I assure you I have. Look here: the men clubbed together a little while +ago and presented your father's works to the library, all bound, you +see, in vellum. I need not mention that _he_ had not thought it worth +while to give his own books to the club." + +He showed her the volumes with pride, as if the presentation had been +made to a member of his own family. Lesley touched the books with gentle +fingers and reverent eyes. "I have been reading 'The Unexplored,'" she +said. + +"I knew you would! And I knew you would like it!--I am not wrong?" + +"I like it very much. But it is all new to me--so new--I feel like Ione +when she first heard of the miseries of England--I have lived in an +enchanted world, where everything of that sort was kept from me; +so--_how_ could I understand?" + +"I know! I know!--You make me doubly ashamed of myself. I have lived, +metaphorically, in dust and ashes ever since we had that talk together. +Miss Brooke, I must have seemed to you the most intolerable prig! Can +you ever forgive me for what I said?" + +"But," said Lesley, looking straight into his face with her clear brown +eyes, "if what you said was true?----" + +"I had no right to say it." + +"That is true," Lesley answered, coldly; and she turned about as though +she did not wish to pursue the subject. + +"But can you not forgive me for it? I was unjustifiably angry I confess; +but since I confess it----" + +"Mr. Kenyon, we ought to be going home. I see the woman is waiting to +put the lights out." + +"We will go home if you like--certainly," said Maurice, in a tone of +vexed disappointment. "Take care of the step--yes, here is the door. I +am afraid we cannot get a cab in this neighborhood; but as soon as we +reach a more civilized locality, I will do my best to find one for you." + +By this time they were in the yard. Night had already fallen on the +city, whether it had done so in the country or not. The lamps were +lighted in the streets; a murky fog had settled like a pall upon the +roads; and in the Sunday silence the church bells rang out with a +mournful cadence which affected Lesley's spirits. + +"London is a terrible place," she said, with a little shiver. + +"Can you say that," he asked, looking at her curiously, "after seeing +the good work that is being done here? If it is a terrible place, it is +also a very noble and inspiring one." + +"I know I am ignorant," said Lesley, heavily. "It seems terrible to me." + +They were silent for a minute or two, for they were passing out of the +yard belonging to the "model dwellings," as Macclesfield Buildings were +called, into the squalid street beyond; and in avoiding the group of +loafers smoking the pipe of idleness, and enjoying the comfortable +repose of sloth, Lesley and Mr. Kenyon were so far separated that +conversation became impossible. + +"You had better take my arm," said Maurice, shortly, almost sternly. +"You must, indeed: the place is not fit for you. I ought to have gone +out and got a cab." + +"Indeed, I do not need it. I can walk quite well. What other people do, +I suppose I can do as well." + +"Miss Brooke, you have not forgiven me." + +Lesley was silent. + +"What can I say? I have no justification. I simply let my tongue and my +temper run away with me. I am cursed with a hot temper: I do not think +before I speak; but I never intended to hurt you, Miss Brooke, I am sure +of that." + +"No," said Lesley, very quietly, "I understand you. If you had not +thought me so stupid as not to see your meaning, or so callous as not to +care if I did, you would not have spoken in that way. I don't know that +your excuse makes matters much better, Mr. Kenyon. But I am not +offended: you need not concern yourself." + +"Then you ought to be offended," said Kenyon, doggedly. "And I don't +believe you." + +"You don't believe me." + +"No, indeed I don't." + +Lesley's offence was so great now, whatever it had been before, that it +deprived her of the power of speech. Her stately head went up: her mouth +set itself in straight, hard lines. Maurice saw these tokens, and +interpreted them aright. + +"Don't be angry with me again. I mean that you could not fail to despise +me, to look down on me, for my want of tact and sense. I thought that +you did not understand your father--I was vexed at that, because I have +such a respect, such an admiration for him--but I know now that I was +mistaken. You ought to be angry with me, for I acknowledge that I spoke +impertinently; but having been angry, you can now be merciful and +forgive. I apologize from the bottom of my heart." + +"How do you know that I understand my father? Why have you changed your +opinion?" said Lesley, coldly. "You have nothing to go upon--just as in +the other case you had nothing to go upon. You rushed to one conclusion, +if you will excuse me for saying so, and now you rush to another--with +no better reason." + +"You are very severe, Miss Brooke," said Maurice. "But you are +perfectly right, and I must not complain. Only--if I may make a +representation----" + +"Oh, certainly!" + +"----I might point out that when I spoke to you first you had not read +your father's book, you had not, I believe, even heard of it; that you +knew nothing about the Macclesfield Club, and that when I spoke to you +about his work amongst the poor you were very much inclined to murmur, +'Can any good come out of Nazareth?'" + +"Mr. Kenyon----" + +"I beg your pardon, Miss Brooke, but isn't that substantially true? If +you can honestly say that it is a misapprehension on my part, I won't +say another word. But isn't it all true?" + +He turned his eager face and bright blue eyes towards her, and read in +her pale, troubled face a little of the conflict that was going on +between her candor and her pride. "Now, what will she say?" he thought, +with what would have seemed to Lesley incomprehensible anxiety. "On her +answer depends my opinion of her, now and for ever." + +And this appeared to Maurice quite an important matter, though possibly +Lesley might not have thought it so. + +She turned to him at last with a frank, decisive gesture. + +"It _is_ true," she said. "I knew nothing about his books or his works, +and so how could I appreciate them? I had never heard of 'The +Unexplored' before. You are right, and I had no business to be so angry. +But how do you know that I am different now?" + +"Oh, I know you are," said Maurice, confidently. "You have come to the +club for one thing, you see; and you sang to the people and looked at +them--well, as if you cared. And you have read 'The Unexplored' _now_?" + +"Yes. I have," said Lesley, hesitatingly. + +"And you like it?" + +"Yes--I like it." The girl looked away, and went on nervously, +hesitatingly. "It is very well done," she said, "It is very clever." + +"Oh, if that is all you can find to say about it!" + +"But isn't it a great deal?--Mr. Kenyon, I don't know what to say about +it. You see I can't be sure whether it is all--true." + +"True? The story? But, of course----" + +"Of course the _story_ is not true. I am not such a goose as that. But +is the meaning of it true? the moral, so to speak? Is there so much +wickedness in the world as my father says? So much vice and wealth and +selfishness on the one side: so much misery and poverty and crime on the +other? You are a doctor, and you must have seen a great deal of London +life: you ought to know. Is it an exaggeration, or is it true?" + +There was such intensity and such pathos in her tones that Kenyon was +silent for a minute or two, startled by the vivid reality which she had +attached to her father's views and ideas. He could not have answered her +lightly, even if it had been in his nature to do so. + +"Before God," he said, solemnly, "it is all true--every word of it." + +"Then what can we do," said Lesley, gently, "but go down into the midst +of it and help?" + +Mr. Maurice Kenyon, being a man of ardent temperament, always vows that +he lost his heart to Lesley there and then. It is possible that if she +had not been a very pretty girl, the most noble of sentiments might have +fallen unheeded from her lips; but as she was "so young, so sweet, so +delicately fair," Kenyon could not hear his own opinions reciprocated +without an answering thrill. How delightful would it be to walk through +life with a woman of this kind by one's side! a woman, whose face was a +picture, whose every movement a poem, whose soul was as finely touched +to fine issues as that of an angel or a saint! All these reflections +rushed through his mind in an instant, and it was almost a wonder that +he did not blurt some of them out at once. But Lesley went on speaking +in a quiet, pensive way. + +"I wonder whether I can do anything--while I am here. I shall not have +so very long a time, but I might try." + +"Not so long a time, Miss Brooke? I thought you had come home for good." + +"Only for a year," said Lesley, coloring hotly. "Then I go back to +mamma." + +Maurice said nothing at first. He felt the hand that rested on his arm +tremble slightly, and he knew that he ought to make no more inquiries. +But he could not refrain from adding, almost jealously-- + +"You will be glad of that?" + +"Oh, yes! You do not know my mother?" said Lesley, half shyly, half +boldly. + +"No, I never saw her." + +"It is very hard to be so long away from her. She is so sweet and good." + +"But you have your father? You are learning to know _him_ now." + +"Oh, yes, but I want them _both_," said Lesley, with an indescribably +gentle and tender intonation. And as they reached Euston Road and were +obliged to leave off talking while they threaded their way through the +intricacies of vehicular traffic, Mr. Kenyon was revolving in his mind a +new idea, namely, the possibility of a reconciliation between Brooke and +his wife. He had never thought much about Lady Alice before: she seemed +to him to have passed out of Caspar Brooke's life entirely; and if it +were not for this link between the two--this sweet and noble-spirited +and lovely girl--she would not have been likely to come back into it. +But Lesley might perhaps reunite the two, and Maurice's heart began to +burn within him with fear for his hero's happiness. Why should any Lady +Alice trouble the peace of a worker for mankind like Caspar Brooke? + +They did not talk very much more on their way to Upper Woburn Place. +They found Ethel and Oliver standing on the steps of Mr. Brooke's house, +evidently waiting for the truants. It struck Lesley as she came up that +Oliver Trent's brow was ominously dark, and that Ethel's pretty, saucy +face wore an expression of something like anxiety or distress. + +"We are almost tired of waiting for you, good people," she began +merrily. "Fortunately it is fine and warm, or we should have gone and +left you to your own devices, as Mr. Brooke and Rosalind have done." + +"Where have they gone?" asked Maurice. + +"Walked off to her house. Miss Brooke is at home. Lesley, you _are_ an +imposition! Think of having a voice like that, and keeping it dark all +this time." + +"We shall requisition Miss Brooke for the club very often, I know that," +said Maurice. + +"You'll come in with us, Lesley?" Ethel asked. + +"No, thank you, Ethel. Not to-day. Thanks." + +She wondered a little nervously why Oliver was looking so vexed +and--yes, so miserable, too! He seemed terribly out of spirits. Had he +and Ethel quarrelled? The thought gave a look of tender inquiry to her +eyes as she held out her hand to him. And on meeting that sweet glance, +Oliver's face brightened. He had been feeling an unreasonable annoyance +with her for walking home with Maurice Kenyon, and had even in his heart +called her "a little French flirt." Though why it should matter to him +that she was a flirt, did not exactly appear. + +They said good-bye to each other, and separated. Maurice went off to see +a patient; Oliver accompanied Ethel to her own house; Lesley entered her +own home. + +She was alone for an hour or two, and, to tell the truth, she felt +rather dull. Miss Brooke went away to her circle of select souls, and +her father, as she knew, had gone to Mrs. Romaine's. She took out her +much-prized volume of "The Unexplored," and began to read it again; +wishing that she could talk to her mother about it, and explain to her +how really great and good a man her father was. For--she had got as far +as this--she was sure that her mother did not understand him. It would +have been impossible for him to do a mean, a cruel, a dishonorable +action. There had been a misunderstanding somewhere; and Lesley wished, +with her whole soul, that she could clear it up. + +The sound of the opening and closing of the front door did not arouse +her from her dreams. She read on, holding the little paper-covered +volume on her lap, deep in deepest thought, until the door of the +drawing-room opened rather suddenly, and her father walked in. + +It was an unusual hour at which to see him in the drawing-room, and +Lesley looked up in surprise. Then, half unconsciously, half timidly, +she drew her filmy embroidered handkerchief over the book in her lap. +She had a shy dislike to letting her father see what she was reading. + +He did not seem, however, to take any notice of her occupation. He +walked straight to an arm-chair on the opposite side of the hearth, sat +down, stretching out his long legs, and placing his elbows on the arms +of the chair. The unruly lock of hair, which no hairdresser could tame, +had fallen right across his broad brow, and heightened the effect of a +very undeniable frown. Mr. Caspar Brooke was in anything but an amiable +temper. + +It was with a laudable attempt, however, to keep the displeasure out of +his voice that he said at length-- + +"I thought I understood you to say, Lesley, that you were not musical!" + +The color flushed Lesley's face to the very roots of her hair. + +"I do not think I am--very musical," she said, trying to answer bravely. +"I play the piano very little." + +"Of course you must know that that is a quibble," said Mr. Brooke, +dryly. "A talent for music does not confine itself solely to the piano. +I presume that you have been told that you have a good voice?" + +"Yes, I have been told so." + +"And you have had lessons?" + +"Yes, a few." + +"Then may I ask what was your motive for declining to take lessons in +London when I asked to do so? You even went so far as to make use of a +subterfuge: you gave me to understand that you had no musical power at +all, and that you knew nothing and could do nothing?" + +He paused as if he expected a reply; but Lesley did not say a word. + +"I cannot understand it," Mr. Brooke went on; "but,"--after a pause--"I +suppose there is no reason why I should. I did not come to say anything +much about that part of the business. I came rather to suggest that as +you have a good voice, it is wrong not to cultivate it. And your lessons +will give you something to do. It seems to me rather a pity, my dear, +that you should do nothing but sit round and read novels--which, your +aunt tells me, is your principal occupation. Suppose you try to find +something more useful to do?" + +He spoke with a smile now and in a softer voice; but Lesley was much too +hurt and depressed to say a word. He looked at her steadfastly for a +minute or two, and decided that she was sullen. + +"I will see about the lessons for you," he said, getting up and speaking +decidedly, "and I hope you will make the most of your opportunities. How +much time have you been in the habit of devoting to your singing every +day?" + +"An hour and a half," said Lesley, in a very low voice. + +"And you left off practising as soon as you came here? That was a great +pity; and you must allow me to say, Lesley, very silly into the bargain. +Surely your own conscience tells you that it was wrong? A voice like +yours is not meant to be hidden." + +Lesley wished that at that moment she could find any voice at all. She +sat like a statue, conscious only of an effort to repress her tears. And +Mr. Brooke, having said all that he wanted to say, took up a book, and +thought how difficult it was to manage women who met remonstrances in +silence. + +Lesley got up in a few moments and walked quietly out of the room. But +she forgot her book. It fell noiselessly on the soft fur rug, and lay +there, with leaves flattened and back bent outwards. Caspar Brooke was +one of the people who cannot bear to see a book treated with anything +less than reverence. He picked it up, straightened the leaves, and +looked casually at the title. It was "The Unexplored." + +He held it for a minute, gazing before him with wide eyes as if he were +troubled or perplexed. Then he shook his head, sighed, smiled, and put +it down upon the nearest table. "Poor little girl!" he said. "I wonder +if I frightened her at all!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +AT MRS. ROMAINE'S. + + +The reason why Caspar Brooke spoke somewhat sharply to Lesley was not +far to seek. He had been to Mrs. Romaine's house to tea. The sequence of +cause and effect can easily be conjectured. + +"How charmingly your daughter sang!" Mrs. Romaine began, when she had +got Mr. Brooke into his favorite corner, and given him a cup of her best +China tea. + +"Yes, she sang very well," said Brooke, carelessly. + +"I had no idea that she _could_ sing! Why, by the bye--did you not tell +me that she said she was not musical?--declined singing lessons, and so +on?" + +"Yes, I think I said so. Yes, she did." + +"She must be very modest!" said Mrs. Romaine, lifting her eyebrows. + +"I don't know--I fancy she did not want to be indebted to me for more +than she could help." + +Mrs. Romaine looked pained, and kept for a few moments a pained silence. + +"My poor friend!" she said at last. "This is very sad! Could she"--and +Brooke knew that the pronoun referred to Lady Alice, not to +Lesley--"could she not be content with abandoning you, without poisoning +your daughter's mind against you?" + +Caspar said nothing. He leaned forward, tea-cup in hand, and studied the +carpet. It was, perhaps, hard for him to find a suitable reply. + +"It is too much," Rosalind continued, with increasing energy. "You have +taken not a daughter, but an enemy into your house. She sits and +criticizes all you do--sends accounts to her mother, doubtless, of all +your comings and goings. She looks upon you as a tyrant, and a +disreputable person, too. She has been taught to hate you, and she +carries out the teaching--oh, I can see it in every line of her face, +every inflection of her voice: she has been taught to loathe you, my +poor, misjudged friend, and she does not disguise her loathing!" + +It is not quite pleasant for a man to hear that his daughter hates him, +and makes no secret of the hatred. Caspar immediately concluded that +Lesley had made some outspoken remarks upon the subject to Mrs. Romaine. +Secretly he felt hurt and angry: outwardly he smiled. + +"What would you have?" he said, lightly but bitterly. "Lady Alice has no +doubt indoctrinated her daughter, as you say; all that I can expect from +Lesley is civility. And I generally get that." + +"Civility? Between father and daughter? When she ought to be proud of +such a father--proud of all that you are, and all that you have done! +She should be adoring you, slaving for you, ready to sacrifice herself +at your smallest word--and see what she is! A machine, silent, useless, +unwilling--from whom all that you can claim is--civility! Oh, women are +capable sometimes of taking a terrible revenge!" + +She threw her hands out with a gesture of despair and deprecation, which +was really fine in its way; then she rose from her chair, went to the +mantelpiece, and stood with her face bent upon her clasped hands. Caspar +rose too, and stood on the hearthrug beside her, looking down at the +pretty ruffled head, with something very like affection in his eye. + +He did not quite understand this emotion of hers, but its sincerity +touched as well as puzzled him. For she was sincere as far as he was +concerned, and this sincerity gave her a certain amount of power, such +as sincerity always gives. The ring of true feeling in her voice could +not be counterfeited, and Caspar was flattered by it, as any man would +have been flattered at having excited so much sympathy in the heart of a +talented and beautiful woman. + +He knew that Alice had been jealous of Rosalind Romaine, but, he +thought, quite unreasonably so. Poor Rosalind, tied to a dry old stick +of a husband, to whom she did her duty most thoroughly, was naturally +glad to talk now and then to a man who knew something of Art and Life. +That was simple enough, and he had been glad of her interest and +sympathy, especially as these were denied to him by his wife. There was +nothing for Lady Alice to be jealous about. And he had dismissed the +matter impatiently from his thoughts. Alice had left him because she +hated his opinions, his manner of life, his profession--not because she +was jealous of Rosalind Romaine. But Rosalind knew better. + +The woman's sympathy affected him so far, however, that, after standing +silent for a minute or two, he laid his hand softly upon her arm. It was +a foolish thing to do, but then Caspar Brooke was never a particularly +wise man, in spite of his goodness of heart and fertility of brain. And +Rosalind felt, by the thrill that ran through her at his touch, that she +had gained more from him than she had ever gained before. What would he +say next? + +Well, he did not say very much. "Your sympathy, Rosalind," he said, "is +very pleasant--very dear to me. But you must not give me too much of it. +Sympathy is enervating, as other men have found before me!" + +"May I not offer you mine?" she said, plaintively. "It is so hard to be +silent! If only I could make Lesley understand what you are--how +noble--how good----" + +Caspar laughed, and took away his hand. "Don't talk to her about me; it +would do no good," he said. + +He stood in the firelight, looking so massive, so stern, so resolved, +that Mrs. Romaine lost herself for a moment in admiration of his great +frame and leonine head. And as she paused he spoke again. + +"I have not lately observed much hostility to myself in Lesley's +demeanor," he said. "At first, of course--but lately--well, I have been +more struck by a sort of languor, a want of interest and comprehension, +than anything else. No doubt she feels that she is in a new world----" + +"Ah yes, a world of intellect and activity to which she has not been +accustomed," said Mrs. Romaine, briskly. Since Caspar had removed his +hand she had been standing erect, watchfully observant of him. It was by +his moods that she intended to regulate her own. "I suppose she has been +accustomed to nothing but softness and self-indulgence; and she does not +understand this larger life to which she now has access." + +"Poor child!" said Mr. Brooke. + +But this was not at all the remark that Mrs. Romaine wanted him to make. +She tried to beat back the tide of paternal affection that was evidently +setting in. + +"She wants rousing I am afraid. She ought not to be allowed to sink into +a dreamy, listless state. It must be very trying for you to see it; you +must be pained by the selfishness and waywardness from which it +proceeds----" + +"Do you think it does?" said Mr. Brooke, almost wistfully. "I should be +sorry to think Lesley selfish. Sophy says that she is more ignorant than +selfish." + +"But what is ignorance save a form of selfishness?" cried Rosalind, +indignantly. "She might know if she chose! She does know the common +duties of humanity, the duty of every man or woman to labor for others, +to gain knowledge, to make broad the borders of light! Oh, I cannot bear +to hear ignorance alleged as an excuse for self-love! It is impossible +that any one with Lesley's faculties should not see her duty, even if +she is idle and indifferent enough to let it pass when she does see it." + +Mr. Brooke sat down, regardless of the fact that Mrs. Romaine was +standing, and looked at the carpet again with a sigh. + +"You may be right," he said, in a pained tone; "but if so, what am I to +do?" + +"You must speak to her," said Rosalind, energetically. "You must tell +her not to be idle and obstinate and wayward: you must show her her +duty, so that she may have no excuse for neglecting it." + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +"That's not a man's duty, it seems to me. Woman to woman, man to man. I +wish you would do it, Rosalind!" + +"Oh, no; I have not a _mother's_ right," said she, softly. + +But the remark had an effect which she had not anticipated. + +"That is true. It is a mother who should tell a girl her duty. Poor +Lesley's mother has not done all that she might do in that respect. Our +unhappy quarrel has caused her to represent me to the girl in very dark +colors, I believe. But I have lately been wondering whether that might +not be amended. Did you hear that man's taunt this afternoon--about the +wife that had left me? I can't endure that sort of thing. Think of the +harm it does. And then the child must needs go and sing 'Home, Sweet +Home.' To me, whose home was broken up by _her_ mother. I had the +greatest possible difficulty in sitting through that song, Rosalind. And +I said to myself that I was a great fool to put up with this state of +things." + +His sentences were unusually short, his tones abrupt; both covered an +amount of agitation which Mrs. Romaine had not expected to see. She sat +down and remained silent and motionless: she even held her breath, not +well knowing what to expect. Presently he resumed, in a lower tone-- + +"I know that if I alter existing arrangements I shall give myself some +pain and discomfort, and inflict more, perhaps, upon others; but I think +this is inevitable. I am determined, if possible, to end my solitary +life, and the solitary life also of a woman who is--I may say it +now--dear to me." He spoke with deliberate gravity. Mrs. Romaine's +pulses beat faster: the hot color began to steal into her cheeks. "I +never wished to inflict pain upon her. I have always regretted the years +of separation and loneliness that we have both spent. So I have +resolved--perhaps that is too strong a word--I am thinking of asking her +to share my home with me again." + +"Again?" The word escaped Rosalind's lips before she knew that she had +spoken. + +"Yes, once again," said Caspar, quite unconscious of her emotion. "We +did not get on very well when we lived together, but we are older now, +and I think that if we made a fresh start it _might_ be possible--I +wonder if Alice would consent?" + +There was a moment's pause. Then--"You think of asking Lady Alice to +come back to you?" said Mrs. Romaine, in a hard, measured voice, which +made Caspar look at her with some transient feeling of surprise. But he +put down the change of tone to her astonishment at his proposition, and +went on unmoved. + +"I thought of it--yes. It would be much better for Lesley." + +"Are you so devoted to Lesley that you want to sacrifice your whole life +for her?" asked Rosalind, in the same hard, strained voice. + +"My whole life? Well, no--but you exaggerate, Rosalind. I do not +sacrifice my whole life by having my wife and daughter in my house." + +"That is plausibly said. But one has to consider what sort of wife and +daughter yours are, and what part of your life will have to be devoted +to them." + +Brooke sat and stroked his beard. He began to wish that he had not +mentioned his project to Mrs. Romaine. But he could not easily tell her +to hold her tongue. + +"I am not going to presume," said Rosalind, "to say anything +unkind--anything harsh of your wife: I know I have not the right, and I +know that you would--very properly--resent it. So don't be afraid. But I +only want to remind you that Lady Alice is not even where she was when, +as an over-sensitive, easily-offended girl, she fled from you. She has +had twelve years of life under conditions differing most entirely from +yours. She has lived in the fashionable world--a world which of all +others you dislike. What sympathy can there be between you? She may be +perfect in her own line, but it is not your line: you are different; and +you will never be happy together." + +"That is a hard thing to say, Rosalind." + +"It will be a harder thing for you if you try it. Believe me, +Caspar"--her voice trembled as she used his Christian name, which she +very seldom did--"believe me that if it would be for your happiness I +would welcome the change! But when I remember the discord, the +incompatibility, the want of sympathy, which used to grieve me in those +old days, I cannot think----" + +She stopped short, and put her handkerchief to her eyes. + +"Lady Alice could not understand you--could not appreciate you," she +said. "And it was hard--hard for your friends to look on and +say--_nothing_!" + +Brooke rose abruptly from his chair. "No one ever had a truer friend +than I have in you," he said, huskily. "But it seems to me that Alice +may have changed with the lapse of years; she may have become easier to +satisfy, better able to sympathize----" + +"Does she show that spirit in the way she has spoken of you to your +daughter? What do you gather from Lesley as to her state of mind?" said +Mrs. Romaine, keenly. + +He paused. She knew very well that the question was a hard one for him +to answer. + +"Ah," he said, with a heavy sigh, "you know as well as I do." + +Then he turned aside, and for an instant or two there was a silence. + +"I suppose it would not be wise," he continued, at last. "But I wish +that it could have been done. It would be better in many ways. A man +and wife ought to live together. A girl ought to live with her parents. +We are all in false positions. And, perhaps, if any one is to be +sacrificed, it ought to be myself," he said, with a curious smile. + +"You forget," said Mrs. Romaine with emotion, "that you sacrifice others +in sacrificing yourself." + +"Others? No, I don't think so. You allude to my sister?" + +"No--not your sister." + +"Sophy could go on living with us and managing the household affairs," +said Brooke, who had no conception of what poor Mrs. Romaine meant; "and +she is not a person who would willingly interfere with other people's +views or opinions. Indeed, she carries the _laisser-faire_ principle +almost to an extreme. Sophy is no proselytizer, thank God!" + +"I did not mean Sophy: I meant your friends--old friends like myself," +said Rosalind, desperately. "You will cast us all off--you will forget +us--forget--_me_!" + +There was unusual passion in her voice. Then she hid her face in her +hands and burst into tears. Brooke made two steps towards her, and +stopped short. + +"Rosalind!" he exclaimed. "You cannot think that! you cannot think that +I shall ever forget old friends!" + +Then he halted, and stood looking down at her, and biting his beard, +which he was crushing up to his lips with one hand, after his fashion +when he was embarrassed or perplexed. Some glimmer of the truth had +begun to manifest itself to him. A hot, red flush crossed his brow. + +"Rosalind," he said, in a softer but also a colder tone, "you must not +take this matter so much to heart. Rest assured that I--and my wife, if +she comes back, and my daughter also--will always look upon you as a +very dear and valued friend." + +"I am so alone in the world," she said, wiping away her tears and +slightly lifting her head. "I cannot bear to think that the day will +come when I----" + +She paused--perhaps purposely. But Caspar was resolved to treat the +subject more lightly now. + +"When you are without friends? Oh, that will never be. You are too kind +and sympathetic to be without as many friends as you choose to have." + +"And you--yourself----" + +"Oh, I am of a very constant disposition," he said, cheerfully. "I +suppose it is for that reason that I want Alice back. You know that in +spite of all our disagreements, I have always held to it that I never +saw a woman half as charming, half as attractive, as Alice." + +This was a speech not calculated to soothe Mrs. Romaine's wounded +feelings, or to implant in her a liking for Lady Alice. For Mrs. Romaine +was not very generous, and she was irritated by the thought that she had +betrayed her own secret. She rose to her feet at once, with a quick and +rather haughty gesture. + +"You are indeed a model of constancy," she said. "Some men would resent +insults, even if offered to them by wives. You are capable, it seems, of +much forgetfulness and much forgiveness." + +"Do you think that a fault?" asked Brooke, calmly. Her mood changed at +once. She burst into a shrill little laugh. + +"Oh, not at all. Most convenient--for the wife. There is one danger--you +may incur the censure of more worldly men; but then you are too +high-minded to care for that!" + +Caspar shrugged his broad shoulders. + +"I think I can take care of myself," he said, good-humoredly. "And now I +must go. Pray don't distress yourself on my account. I will not do +anything rash." + +They stood facing each other, she with her eyes down, he looking +straight into her face. Some instinct told her not to break the spell by +looking up. There was a conflict going on in Caspar Brooke's mind--a +conflict between pity (not love) and duty. He was a tender-hearted man, +and it would have been very easy to him just then to have given her some +friendly, comforting words, or even---- + +Yes, he acknowledged to himself, he would have liked to kiss those soft +lips of hers, those downcast eyelids, slightly reddened by recent tears! +And he did not think that she would resent the caress. + +But how could he ask his wife to return to him if he did this thing? As +he had indicated by his words, he still loved Lady Alice. He had the +courage to be faithful to her, too. For Caspar Brooke was a man of +strong convictions, steadfast will, and stainless honor. However great +the temptation might be, he was not going to do a thing that he knew he +should afterwards regret. + +"Good-bye, Mrs. Romaine." + +"Good-bye, Mr. Brooke." + +So they took leave of each other; and Rosalind went to bed with a bad +headache, while Caspar Brooke returned home to find fault with his +daughter Lesley. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +THE WIFE OF FRANCIS TRENT. + + +Far away from the eminently respectable quarter of London, adorned by +the habitation of families like the Brookes, the Kenyons, and the +Romaines, you may find an unsavory district in Whitechapel which is +known as Truefit Row. It is a street of tall and mean-looking houses, +which seem to be toppling to their fall; and the pavement is strewn with +garbage which is seldom cleared away. Many of the windows of the houses +are broken; many of the doors hang ajar, for the floors are let out in +flats, and there is a common stair for at least five and twenty +families. It is a dreary-looking place, and the dwellers therein look as +dreary as their own abode. + +In one of these houses Mr. Francis Trent had found a resting-place for +the sole of his foot. It was not a fashionable lodging, not even a +particularly clean one; but he had come down in the world, and did not +very much care where he lived, so long as he had plenty to drink, and a +little money in his pockets. But these commodities were not as plentiful +as he wanted them to be. Therefore he passed a good deal of his time in +a state of chronic brooding and discontent. + +He had one room on the third storey. The woodwork of this apartment was +so engrained with grime that scarcely any amount of washing would have +made it look clean; but it had certainly been washed within a +comparatively recent date. The wall paper, which had peeled off in +certain places, had also been repaired by a careful hand; and the +curtains which shaded the unbroken window were almost spotlessly clean. +By several other indications it was quite plain that a woman's hand had +lately been busy in the room; and compared with many other rooms in the +same building, it was quite a palace of cleanliness and comfort. + +But Francis Trent did not think so. He sat over his small and +smouldering fire one dark November afternoon, and shivered, partly from +cold and partly from disgust. He had no coals left, and no money +wherewith to buy them: a few sticks and some coke and cinders were the +materials out of which he was trying to make a fire, and naturally the +result was not very inspiriting. The kettle, which was standing on the +dull embers, showed not the slightest inclination to "sing." Francis +Trent, outstretched on a basket-chair (the only comfortable article of +furniture that the room contained), gave the fire an occasional stir +with his foot, and bestowed upon it a deal of invective. + +"It will be out directly," he said at last, sitting up and looking +dismally about him; "and it's nearly five o'clock. She said she would be +here at four. Ugh! how cold it is! If she doesn't come in five minutes I +shall go to the Spotted Dog. There's always a fire there, thank +goodness, and they'll stand me a glass of something hot, I daresay." + +He rose and walked about the room by way of relieving the monotony of +existence, and causing his blood to circulate a little faster. But this +mode of activity did not long please him, and he threw himself back in +his chair at last, and uttered an exclamation of disgust. + +"Confound it! I shall go out," he said to himself. + +But just at that moment a hand fumbled at the latch. He called out "Come +in," an unnecessary call, because the door was half open before he +spoke, and a woman entered the room, shutting the door behind her. + +She was slight, trim, not very tall: she had a pale face and dark eyes, +dark, glossy hair, and delicate features. If Lesley had been there, she +would have recognized in this woman the ladies' maid who called herself +Mary Kingston. But in this part of the world she was known as Mrs. +Trent. + +Francis did not give her a warm welcome, and yet his weak, worn face +lighted up a little at the sight of her. "I thought you were never +coming," he said, grumblingly, and his eyes fell greedily to the basket +that she carried on her arm. "What have you got there?" + +"Just a few little things for your tea," said Mary, depositing the +basket on the table. "And, oh--what a wretched fire! Have you no coals?" + +"Neither coals nor food nor drink," he answered, sullenly, "nor money in +my pocket either." + +The woman stood and looked at him. "You had two pounds the day before +yesterday," she said. + +"Billiards," he answered, laconically. But he turned away so as not to +see her face. + +She gave a short, sharp exclamation. "You promised to be careful!" + +"The luck was against me," he said. "I thought I should win, but my +hand's taken to shaking so much that I couldn't play. I don't see why +you should blame me--I've precious few amusements." + +She did not answer, but began to take the parcels, one by one, from her +basket, and place them on the table. Her own hands shook a little as she +did so. Francis turned again to watch her operations. She took out some +tea, bread, butter, eggs, and bacon. There was a bottle of brandy and a +bundle of cigars. Francis Trent's eyes glistened at the sight. He stole +closer to his wife, and put his arm around her. + +"You're a good soul, Mary. You'll forgive me, won't you? Upon my honor, +I never meant to lose the money." + +"I have to work hard enough for it," she said dryly. + +"I know you have! It's a shame--a d----d shame! If I had my way, you +should be dressed in satin, and sit all day with your hands before you, +and ride in your own carriage--you know you should!" + +"I don't know that I should particularly care about that kind of life," +said Mary, still coldly, but with a perceptible softening of her eye and +relaxation of the stiff upper lip. "I would rather live on a farm in the +country, and do farm-work. It's healthier, yes, and it's happier--to my +thinking." + +"So it is; and that's the life we'll lead by and by, when Oliver pays us +what he has promised," said Francis, eagerly. "We will have some land of +our own, and get far away from the temptation of the city. Then you will +see what a different fellow I'll be, Mary. You shan't have reason to +complain of me then." + +"Well, I hope so, Francis," she said, but not too hopefully. Perhaps she +noticed that his hand and eye both strayed, as if involuntarily, towards +the bottle of spirits on the table. And at that moment, the last flicker +of light from the fire went out. + +"Have you no candles?" she asked, abruptly. + +"Not one." + +"I'll go out and fetch them, and some coal too. Sit down quietly, and +wait. I won't be long. And as I haven't a corkscrew, I'll take the +bottle with me, and get it opened downstairs." + +Francis dared not object, but his wife's course of action made him +sulky. He did not see why she should not have left him the bottle during +her absence: he could have broken its neck on the fender. But he knew +very well that she could not trust him to drink only in moderation if he +were left alone with the bottle; and, like a wise woman, she therefore +took it with her. + +She was back again in a few minutes, bringing with her fuel and lights. +Francis was lying in his bed, his face turned sullenly to the wall. Mary +poured a little brandy into a glass, and brought it to him to drink. + +"You will feel better when you have had that," she said, "and you shall +have some more in your tea if you want it. Now, I'm going to light up +the fire." + +So well did she perform her task that in a very short time the flames +were leaping up the chimney, the shadows dancing cheerfully over the +ceiling, the kettle hissing and puffing on the fire. The sight and sound +drew Francis once more from his bed to the basket chair, where he sat +and lazily watched his wife as she cut bread, made tea, fried bacon and +eggs, with the ease and celerity of a woman to whom domestic offices are +familiar. When at last the tea-table was arranged, he drew up his chair +to it with a sigh of positive pleasure. + +"How homelike and comfortable it looks: Why don't you always stay with +me, Mary, and keep me straight?" + +"You want so much keeping straight, Francis," she said, but a slight +smile flickered about the comers of her lips. + +It was characteristic of the pair that he allowed her to wait on him, +hand and foot: he let her cut the bread, pour out the tea, carry his +plate backwards and forwards, and pour the brandy into his cup, without +a word of remonstrance. Only when he had been well supplied and was not +likely to want anything more just then, did he say to her---- + +"Sit down, Mary, and get yourself a cup of tea." + +Mary did not seem to resent the condescending nature of this invitation. +She thanked him simply, and sat down; pouring out for herself the dregs +of the tea, and eating a piece of dry bread with it. Francis had the +grace to remonstrate with her on the poverty of her fare. + +"It doesn't matter what I eat now," she said. "I have the best of +everything where I'm living, and I don't feel hungry." + +"I hope you're comfortable where you are," said Mr. Trent, politely. + +"Yes, I'm very comfortable, thank you, Francis. Though," said Mrs. +Trent, deliberately, "I think I should be more comfortable if I wasn't +in a house where Mr. Oliver visited." + +"Oliver! Do you mean my brother Oliver? Why do you call him _Mr._ +Oliver? It is so absurd to keep up these class-distinctions." + +"So I think," said Mary, "but when other people keep them up it's not +much use for me to be the first to cast them over board. Your brother +Oliver comes to the house where I'm living much oftener than I think he +ought." + +"What house is it? You never told me." + +"It's Mr. Brooke's. Mr. Caspar Brooke--him as wrote 'The Unexplored.' I +brought it to you to read, I remember--a good long time ago." + +"Awful rot it was too!" said Francis, contemptuously. "However, I +suppose it paid. What are you doing there? Wasn't it his wife who ran +away from him? I remember the row some years ago--before I went under. +Is she dead?" + +"No, she's living with her father, Lord Courtleroy. It's her daughter +I've come to wait on: Miss Lesley Brooke." + +"Brooke's daughter!" said Francis, thoughtfully. "I remember Brooke. Not +half a bad fellow. Lent me ten pounds once, and never asked for it +again. So it's _Brooke's_ daughter you--hm--live with. Sort of +companion, you are, eh, Mary?" + +"Maid," said Mary, stolidly. "Ladies' maid. And Miss Lesley's the +sweetest young lady I ever come across." + +Francis shrugged his shoulders. "Your employment is causing you to +relapse into the manner--and grammar--of your original station, Mary. +May I suggest 'came' instead of 'come'?" + +Mrs. Trent looked at him with a still disdain. "Suggest what you like," +she said, "and think what you like of me. I never took myself to be your +equal in education and all that. I may be your equal in sense and heart +and morals; but of course that goes for nothing with such as you." + +"Don't be savage, Mary," said Francis, in a conciliatory tone. "I only +want you to improve yourself a little, when you can. You're the best +woman in the world--nobody knows it better than I do--and you should not +take offense at a trifle. So you like Brooke's daughter, eh?" + +"Yes, I like her. But I don't like your brother Oliver." + +"I know that. What is he doing at Brooke's house? Let me see--he isn't +engaged to _that_ girl? It's the actress he's going to marry, isn't it?" + +He had finished his meal by this time, and was smoking one of the cigars +that his wife had brought him. She, meanwhile, turned up her sleeves, +and made ready to wash the cups and plates. + +"Tell me all about it," said Francis, who was now in high good humor. +"It sounds quite like the beginning of a romance." + +"There's no romance about it that I can see," said Mrs. Trent, grimly. +"Your brother is engaged to Miss Kenyon--a nice, pretty young lady: +rich, too, I hear." + +"Yes, indeed! As you and I are going to find out by and by, old lady," +and he chuckled to himself at the thought of his prospective wealth. + +"And he ought to be content with that. Instead of which, he's never out +of our place; and when he's there he never seems to take his eyes off +Miss Lesley. Playing the piano while she sings, reading to her, +whispering, sitting into her pocket, so to speak. I can't think what +he's about, nor other people neither." + +"What does Miss Kenyon say?" asked Francis, with sudden sharpness. For +it occurred to him that if that match were broken off he would not get +his two thousand pounds on Oliver's wedding-day. + +"She doesn't seem to notice much. Once or twice lately I've seen her +look at them in a thoughtful, puzzled kind of way, as if something had +set her thinking. She looks at Miss Lesley as if she could not quite +make her out--though the two have been friends ever since Miss Lesley +came home from school." + +"And the girl herself?" said Francis, with considerable and increasing +interest. "What does she do?" + +"She looks troubled and puzzled, but I don't think she understands. +She's as innocent as a baby," said Mrs. Trent, with compassion in her +tone. + +"I wonder what he's doing it for," soliloquized Francis. "He can't marry +her." + +Mary Trent paused for a moment in her housewifely occupations. "Why +_can_ he not?" + +"Because----well, I may as well tell you as not I've never mentioned +it--I don't know why exactly--but I'll tell you now, Mary. A few weeks +ago, when we were so down on our luck, you know--just before you began +to work again--I met Oliver in Russell Square, and told him what I +wanted and what I thought of him. I brought him to terms, I can tell +you! He had just got himself engaged to Miss Kenyon; and she has twenty +thousand pounds besides her profession; and he promised me two thousand +down on his wedding-day. What do you say to that? And within six months, +too! And if he doesn't keep his word, I shall not hold my tongue about +the one or two little secrets of his that I possess--do you see?" + +"Perhaps," said Mrs. Trent, slowly, "he thinks he could manage to pay +you the money even if he married Miss Brooke? So long as you get the two +thousand, I suppose you don't mind which girl it is?" + +"Not a bit," answered her husband frankly. "All I want is the money. +Then we'll go off to America, old girl, and have the farm you talk +about. But Brooke's daughter won't have two thousand pounds, so if he +marries her instead of Miss Kenyon, he'll have to look out." + +Mrs. Trent had finished her work by this time. As she stood by the table +drying her hands there was a look of fixed determination on her features +which Francis recognized with some uneasiness. + +"What do you think about it? What are you going to do?" he asked, almost +timidly. + +"I am not going to see Miss Lesley badly treated, at any rate." + +"How can you prevent it?" + +"I don't know, but I _shall_ prevent it, please God, if necessary. Your +brother Oliver is engaged to one girl, and making love to another, +that's the plain English of it; and sooner than see him break Miss +Lesley's heart, I'd up and tell everybody what I know of him, and get +him turned out of the house." + +"And spoil my game?" cried Francis, rising to his feet. His faced had +turned white with anger, and his eyes were aflame. She looked at him +consideringly, as if she were measuring his strength against her own. + +"Well--no," she said at length, "I won't spoil your game if I can help +it--and I think I can get my own way without doing that. I want you to +win your game, Francis. For you know"--with a weary smile--"that if you +win, I win too." + +Her husband's face relaxed. "You're not a bad sort, Polly: I always said +so," he remarked. "Come and give me a kiss. You wouldn't do anything +rash, would you? Choke Oliver off at Brooke's as much as you like; but +don't endanger his relations with Ethel Kenyon. His marriage with her is +our only chance of getting out of this accursed bog we seem to have +stuck fast in." + +"I'll be careful," said Mrs. Trent, drily. + +Francis still eyed her with apprehension. "You won't try to stop that +marriage, will you?" + +"No, why should I? Miss Kenyon's nothing to me." + +Francis laughed. "I didn't know where your sympathies might be carrying +you," he said. "Brooke's daughter is no more to you than the other +girl." + +"I suppose not. But I feel different to her. You can't explain these +things," said Mrs. Trent, philosophically, "but it's certain sure that +you take a liking to one person and a hate to another, without knowing +why. I liked Miss Lesley ever since I entered that house. She's kind, +and talks to me as if I was a woman--not a machine. And I wouldn't like +to see any harm happen to her." + +"Oh, you may indulge your romantic fondness for Miss Brooke as long as +you like, if you don't let it interfere with Oliver's marriage," said +Francis, with a rather disagreeable laugh. "It's lucky that you did not +go to live with Miss Kenyon instead of the fair Lesley. You might have +felt tempted to tell _her_ your little story." + +"Ay, so I might," said the woman, slowly. "For she's a woman, after all. +And a nice life she'll have of it with Oliver Trent. I'm not sure----" + +She stopped, and a sombre light came into her deep-set eyes. + +"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't get on that old grievance," said Francis, +hastily, almost rudely. "Don't think about it--don't mention it to me. +It's all very well, Polly, for you to take on so much about your sister; +and, indeed, I'm very sorry for her, and I think that Oliver behaved +abominably--I do, indeed; but, my dear girl, it's no good crying over +spilt milk, and Oliver's my brother, after all----" + +"And he's going to pay you two thousand pounds on his wedding-day," said +Mrs. Trent, with cruel curtness. "I know all about it. And I understand. +Why should I be above making my profit out of him like other people? All +right, Francis: I won't spoil your little game at present. And now I +must be getting back." + +She took up her bonnet and shawl and began to readjust them. Francis +watched her hands: he saw that they trembled, and he knew that this was +an ominous sign. It sometimes betokened anger, and when she was angry he +did not care to ask her to give him money. And he wanted money now. + +But she was not angry in the way that he thought. For after a moment's +silence her hands grew steady again, and her face recovered its usual +calm. + +"I've got three pounds here for you, Francis," she said. "And I hope +you'll make it last as long as you can--you will, won't you? For I +shan't have any more for some little time to come." + +He nodded and took the sovereigns from her hand. A touch of compunction +visited him as he did so. + +"Keep one, Polly," he said. "I don't want them all." + +"Oh, yes, you do. And I have no need of money where I am. You'll not +spend it all at billiards, or on brandy, will you?" + +"No, Polly, I won't. I promise you." + +And he meant to keep his promise. But as matters fell out, he was +blindly, madly drunk before the same night was out, and he had lost +every penny that he possessed over a game at cards. And plunging +recklessly across the street, in the darkness of the foggy night, he was +knocked down by passing cab, and was carried insensible to the nearest +hospital. Where let us leave him for a time in good and kindly hands. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +"HER EYES WILL SEND ME MAD." + + +It was true, as Mrs. Trent had said, that Lesley's face often now wore a +look of perplexity and trouble. This look had many differing causes; but +amongst them, not the least was the behavior of Oliver Trent. + +Oliver was betrothed to her friend, and she had so much faith in the +honor and constancy of men, that it never occurred to her that he could +prefer herself to Ethel, or that he should think of behaving as though +Ethel were not the first person in the world to him. But as a matter of +fact, he did not conduct himself to Ethel at all as a lover should have +done. Assured of her love, he neglected her: he failed to appear at the +Theatre in time to escort her home, he forgot his promises to visit her; +he let her notes lie unanswered in his pocket. And when she pouted and +remonstrated, he frowned her into silence, which was not at all the way +in which her lover ought to behave. + +Of course Lesley did not know this, for Ethel had not taken her into her +confidence on the subject. But she knew very well where Oliver spent his +time. Early and late, on small excuse or on no excuse at all, he +presented himself at Mr. Brooke's house, and made himself Lesley's +companion. At first Lesley did not dislike it. She supposed that Ethel +must be busy with her theatrical studies, or at rehearsal, and that +Oliver was in want of something to do. It was pleasant to have the +companionship of some one younger and more congenial, perhaps, than her +father or Miss Brooke; and she gained a great deal of interesting +information from Oliver during the long hours that he spent with her in +the drawing-room or library. He told her a great deal about London +society, about modern literature, and the fashions of the day; and all +this was as fascinating to Lesley as it was novel. He talked to her +about plays and music and pictures; and he read poetry to her. Modern +poetry, of course: a little Browning, and a good deal of Rossetti and +Swinburne. For amorous and passionate poetry pleased him best; and he +knew that it was likelier to serve his ends than verse of the more +masculine and intellectual kind. Lesley rather preferred Browning and +Arnold to Oliver's favorites, but she was never certain of her own +taste, and was always humbly afraid that she might be making some +terrible mistake in her preferences. + +She certainly found Mr. Trent's aid very valuable in the matter of her +singing. The best singing-mistress in London had been found for her, and +she practised diligently every day; but it was delightful to find +somebody who could always play her accompaniments, and was ready with +discriminating praise or almost more flattering criticism. Oliver had +considerable musical knowledge, and he placed it at Lesley's service. +She made a much quicker and more marked advance in her singing than she +could possibly have done without his assistance. And for this she was +grateful. + +At the same time she was uneasy. It was contrary to all her previous +experience that a young man should be allowed to spend so much time with +her. She did not think that her mother would approve of it. But she +could not ask Lady Alice, because she had now no communication with her: +a purely formal letter respecting her health and general welfare was +all, she had been told, that she would be permitted to write. And sooner +than write a letter of that kind Lesley had proudly resolved not to +write at all. But she pined for womanly counsel and assistance in the +matter. + +Miss Brooke was certainly not proving herself an efficient chaperon. +Aunt Sophy had never risen to a clear view of her duty in the matter. +She herself had never been chaperoned in her life; but had gone about to +lectures and dissecting rooms and hospitals with a fine indifference to +sex. But then Doctor Sophy had never been a pretty woman; and no young +man had shown a wish to spend his spare hours in her drawing-room. She +had a strong belief in the wisdom and goodness of women--young and +old--and declared that they could always take care of themselves when +they chose. And nothing would induce her to believe that her niece, +Lesley Brooke, required protection or guardianship. She would have +thought it an insult to her own family to suggest such a thing. + +So she treated Lesley's rather timidly worded suggestions on the subject +with cheerful contempt, as the conventional notions of a convent-bred +young woman who had not yet realized the strides made in the progress of +mankind--and especially of womankind. And Lesley soon felt quite sure +that any complaint or protest of hers would be dealt with simply as a +sign of weak-mindedness--a stigma which she could not endure. So she +said nothing, and submitted to Oliver Trent's frequent visits with +resignation. + +It must be said, however, that Aunt Sophy had not the least notion of +the frequency of Oliver's visits. She was a busy woman, and a somewhat +absent-minded one; and Mr. Trent often contrived to call when she was +out or engaged. And when she asked, as she sometimes did ask of +Sarah--"Any one called to-day?"--and received the grim answer "Only Mr. +Trent, as usual"--she simply laughed at Sarah's sour visage, and did not +calculate the number of these visits in the week. Mr. Brooke himself +grew uncomfortable about the matter, sooner than did Miss Brooke. + +"Sophy," he said, one day, when he happened to find her alone in the +library, sitting at the very top of the library steps, with an immense +volume of German science on her knees. "Sophy, have you noticed that +young Trent has taken to coming here very often of late?" + +"No," said Doctor Sophy, absently, "I haven't noticed." Then she went on +reading. + +"My dear Sophy," said her brother, "will you do me the kindness to +listen to me for a moment?" + +"Why, Caspar, I _am_ listening as hard as I can!" exclaimed Miss Brooke, +with an injured air. "What do you want?" + +"I wish to speak about Lesley." + +"Oh, I thought it was Mr. Trent." + +"Does it not strike you that he comes here to see Lesley a great deal +too often?" + +"Rubbish," cried Miss Brooke, pushing up her eyeglasses. "Why, he's +engaged to Ethel Kenyon." + +"For all that," said Mr. Brooke, and then he paused for a moment. "Did +it never strike _you_ that he was here very often?" + +"No," said Aunt Sophy, stolidly. "Haven't noticed. I suppose he comes to +help Lesley with her singing. Good gracious, Caspar, the girl can take +care of herself." + +"I dare say she can, but I don't want any trifling--or--or +flirtation--to go on," said Brooke, rather sharply. "We are responsible +for her, you know: we have to hand her over in good condition, mind and +body, at the end of the twelve months. And if you can't look after her, +I must get her a companion or something. I've been inclined to come up +and play sheep-dog myself, sometimes, when I have heard them practising +for an hour together just above my head." + +"If they disturb you, Caspar," began Miss Brooke, with real solicitude; +but her brother did not allow her to finish her sentence. + +"No, no, they don't disturb me--in the way you mean. I confess I should +feel more comfortable if I thought that somebody was with the two young +people, to play propriety, and all that sort of thing." + +"I thought you were above such conventionalism," said Miss Brooke, +glaring at him through her glasses from her lofty height upon the steps. + +"Not at all. Not where my daughter is concerned. Children teach their +father very new and unexpected lessons, I find; and I don't look with +equanimity on the prospect of Lesley's being made love to by Oliver +Trent, or of her going back to her mother and telling her that she was +left so much to her own devices. I am sure of one thing--that Lady Alice +would not like it." + +"And am I to give up all my engagements for the sake of sitting with two +silly young people?" said Miss Brooke, the very hair of her head seeming +to bristle with horror at the idea. + +"By no means. I don't see that you need be always there; but be there +sometimes; don't give occasion to the enemy," said Mr. Brooke; turning +to go. + +"Who is the enemy?" said Doctor Sophy--a spiteful question, as she well +knew. + +"The world," said Caspar Brooke, quite quietly: he did not choose to see +the spitefulness. + +"Oh," said Miss Brooke. "I thought you meant your wife." But she did not +dare to say this until he was well out of the room, and the door firmly +closed behind him. + +But Miss Brooke was neither malicious nor unreasonable. On consideration +she came to the conclusion that her brother was substantially right--as +a matter of fact she always came to that conclusion--and prepared to +carry out his views of the matter. Only she carried them out in her own +way. She made a point of being present on the occasion of Mr. Trent's +next two calls, and although she read a book all the time, she was +virtuously conscious of the fact that her mere presence "made all the +difference." But on the third occasion she wanted to go out. What was to +be done? Miss Brooke's mind was fertile of resource, and she +triumphantly surmounted the difficulty. + +"Kingston," she said to Lesley's maid, "I am obliged to go out, and I +don't like leaving Miss Lesley so much alone. You may take your work +down to the library and sit there, and don't go away if visitors come +in. You can just draw the curtains, you know." + +"Am I to stay all the afternoon, ma'am?" Kingston inquired, with +surprise. + +"Yes. I'll speak to Miss Lesley about it. I think she ought to have some +one at hand when I am out so much." So Kingston--_alias_ Mary +Trent--took her needlework, and seated herself by the library window, +whence the half-drawn curtains between library and drawing-room afforded +her a complete view of all visitors to Miss Lesley. + +Oliver Trent was distinctly annoyed by this proceeding, but Lesley, +although puzzled, was equally well pleased. It was an arrangement all +the more displeasing to Oliver because the waiting-woman who sat so +demurely in the library, within earshot of all that he chose to say, was +his brother's wife. He felt sure that she had contrived it all; that she +was there simply to act as a spy upon his actions. Francis wanted that +money, and would not get it until he married Miss Kenyon; and was +evidently afraid--from information conveyed to him by Kingston--that he +was going to break off his engagement. Oliver flew into a silent rage at +the thought of this combination, which he was nevertheless powerless to +prevent. He went away early that afternoon, and came again next day. +Kingston was there also with her work. And though he sang and played the +piano as usual with Lesley, although he chatted and laughed and had tea +with her as usual, he felt Kingston's presence a restraint And for the +first time he asked himself, seriously, why this should be. + +"Why, of course," he said to himself, "I promised Rosalind to make love +to her. And I can't make love to her when that woman's there. Curse her! +she spoils my plans." + +He had shut himself up in the luxurious little smoking-room which Mrs. +Romaine had arranged for him. She knew the value of a room in which a +man feels himself at liberty to do what he likes. She never came there +without especial invitation: she always said that she preferred seeing +her brother in her own drawing-room--that she was not like Miss Brooke, +and did _not_ smoke cigarettes. But that was one of the little ways in +which Rosalind used to emphasize the difference between herself and the +women whom she did not love. + +At any rate, Oliver was alone. The curtains were drawn, the lamp was +lighted, a bright fire burned in the grate. He had drawn up a +softly-cushioned lounging chair to the fire, and was peacefully smoking +a remarkably good cigar. + +But his frame of mind was anything but peaceful. He had been troubled +for some days, and he did not know what troubled him. He was now +beginning to find out. + +"What are my plans, I wonder?" he reflected. "To make Lesley fall in +love with me?--I wish I could! She is as cold as ice; as innocent as a +child: and yet I think there is a tremendous capacity for passion in +those dark eyes of hers, those mobile, sensitive lips! What lips to +kiss! what eyes to flash back fire and feeling! what a splendid woman to +win and show the world! It would be like loving a goddess--as if Diana +herself had stooped from Olympus to grace Endymion!" + +And then he laughed aloud. + +"What a fool I am! Poetizing like a boy; and all about a girl who never +can be my wife at all. That's the worst part of it. I am +engaged--engaged! unutterably ridiculous word!--to marry little Ethel +Kenyon, the pretty actress at the Novelty. The respectable, wealthy, +well-connected actress, moreover--the product of modern civilization: +the young woman of our day who aspires to purify the drama and vindicate +the claims of histrionic art--what rubbish it all is! If Ethel were a +ballet-dancer, or had taken to opera bouffe, she would be much more +entertaining! But her enthusiasms, and her belief in herself and her +mission, along with that _mignonne_, provoking, pretty, little face of +hers, are altogether too incongruous! No, Ethel bores me, it must be +confessed; and I have got to marry her--all for a paltry twenty thousand +pounds! What a fool I was to propose before I had seen Brooke's +daughter. + +"If it weren't for Francis, I would break it off. But how else am I to +pay that two thousand? And what won't he do if I fail to pay it? No, +that would be ruin--unless I choke him off in some other way, and I +don't see how I can do that. No, I must marry Ethel, I suppose, or go to +the devil. And unless I could take bonny Lesley with me, that would not +mend matters." + +He threw his cigar into the fire, and stood for some minutes looking +down at it, with gloom imprinted upon his brow. + +"I must do something," he said at last. "It's getting too much for me: I +shall have to stop going to Brooke's house. I suppose this is what +people call falling in love! Well, I can honestly say I have never done +it in this fashion before! I have flirted, I have made love scores of +times, but I never wanted a woman for my own as I want _her_! And I +think I had better keep out of her way--for her eyes will send me mad!" + +So he soliloquized: so he resolved; but inclination was stronger than +will or judgment. Day after day saw him at the Brookes' house; and day +after day saw the shadows deepen on Ethel's face, and the fold of +perplexity grow more distinct between Lesley's tender brows. + +Kingston had been looking ill and uneasy for some days past, and one +afternoon she begged leave to go out for an hour or two to see a friend. +Miss Brooke let her go, and went out to a meeting with a perfectly +contented mind. Even if Oliver Trent came to the house that afternoon it +would not matter: it would be only "once in a way." And Lesley secretly +hoped that he would not come. + +But he came. A little later than usual--about four o'clock in the +afternoon, when there was no light in the drawing-room but that of the +ruddy blaze, and the tea-tray had not yet been brought up. When Lesley +saw him she wished that she had sent down word that she was engaged, +that she had a headache, or even that she was--conventionally--not at +home. Anything rather than a tete-a-tete with Oliver Trent! And yet she +would have been puzzled to say why. + +His quick eye told him almost at once that she was alone. It told him +also that she was decidedly nervous and ill-at-ease. + +"We must have lights," she said. "Then you can see my new song. I had a +fresh one this morning." + +"Never mind the lights: never mind your song," he said, his voice +vibrating strangely. "If you are like me, you love this delightful +twilight." + +"I don't like it," said Lesley, with decision. "I will ring for the +lamps, please." + +She moved a step, but by a dexterous movement he interposed himself +between her and the mantelpiece, beside which hung the bell-handle. + +"Shall I ring?" he asked, coolly. It seemed to him that he wanted to +gain time. And yet--time for what? He had nothing to get by gaining +time. + +"Yes, if you please," Lesley said. She could not get past him without +seeming rude. A slight tremor shook her frame; she shrank away from him, +towards the open piano and leaned against it as if for support. The +flickering firelight showed her that his face was very pale, the lips +were tightly closed, the brows knitted above his fiercely flaming eye. +He did not look like himself. + +"Lesley," he said, hoarsely, and stretching forward, he put one hand +upon her arm. But the touch gave the girl strength. She drew her arm +away, as sharply as if a noxious animal had touched her. + +"Mr. Trent, you forget yourself." + +"Rather say that I remember myself--that I found myself when I found +you! Lesley, I love you!" + +"This is shameful--intolerable! You are pledged to my friend--you have +said all this to her before," cried Lesley, in bitter wrath and +indignation. + +"I have said it, but I never knew the meaning of love till I knew you. +Lesley, you love me in return! Let us leave the world together--you and +I. Nothing can give me the happiness that your love would bring. Lesley, +Lesley, my darling!" + +He threw his arm round her, and tried to kiss her cold cheek, her +averted, half-open lips. She would have pushed him from her if she had +had the strength; but it seemed as if her strength was failing her. +Suddenly, with a half-smothered oath, he let her go--so suddenly, +indeed, that she almost fell against the piano near which she had been +standing. For the door had opened, and the tall figure of Caspar Brooke +stood on the threshold of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +MAURICE KENYON'S VIEWS. + + +Mr. Brooke advanced quite quietly into the room. Perhaps he had not seen +or heard so very much. Certainly he glanced very keenly--first at +Lesley, who leaned half-fainting against the piano, and then at Oliver +Trent, who had slunk backwards to the rug before the fire; but he said +nothing, and for a minute or two an embarrassed silence prevailed in the +room. Lesley then raised herself up a little, and Oliver began to speak. + +"I was just going," he said, with a nervous attempt at a laugh. "I +haven't much time to-night, and was just hurrying away. I must come in +another time." + +Mr. Brooke took up a commanding position on the rug, put his hands in +his pockets, and surveyed the room in silence. Perhaps Oliver felt the +silence to be ominous, for he did not try to shake hands or to utter any +commonplaces, but took his leave with a hurried "Good-afternoon" that +neither father nor daughter returned. The door shut behind him: they +heard the sound of his footsteps on the stairs and the closing of the +hall door. Then Lesley bestirred herself with the sensation of a wounded +animal that wishes to hide its hurt: she wanted to get away and seek the +darkness and solitude of her room upstairs. But before she reached the +door Mr. Brooke's voice arrested her. + +"Lesley." + +She stopped short, and looked at him. Her heart beat so suffocatingly +loud and fast that she could not speak. + +"I don't trust that young man, Lesley," was what her father said quite +quietly. + +Then there was a pause. Lesley was still tongue-tied, and Mr. Brooke did +not seem to know what to do or say. He walked away from the fire and +began to finger some papers on a table, although it was quite too dark +to see any of these. Inwardly he was wondering how much or how little he +ought to say. + +"I wish he would not come quite so often," he remarked. + +"Oh, so do I!" said Lesley, with heartfelt warmth. + +"Do you? Why, child, I thought you liked him!" + +"I never liked him much," said Lesley, faltering. + +"And yet you have allowed him to come here day after day and practise +with you? The ways of women are inscrutable," said Mr. Brooke, grimly, +"and I can't profess to understand them. If you did not wish him to +come, there was nothing to do but to close your doors against him." + +"I shall be only too glad," said Lesley, eagerly. + +"Oh--_now_? That is unnecessary: I shall do it myself," said her father, +with the same dryness of tone that always made Lesley feel as if she +were withering up to nothingness. + +"I don't think he is very likely to come," she said, in a very low tone. +Then, with a quick impulse to clear herself, and an effort which brought +the blood in a burning tide to her fair face, she went on, +hurriedly--"Father, you don't think I forgot that he"--and then she +almost broke down, and "Ethel" was the only word that struck distinctly +upon his ear. + +"You mean," said Mr. Brooke, "that you do not forget that he is going to +marry Ethel Kenyon? Perhaps not; but I think that _he_ does." + +"I am not to blame for that," said Lesley, with a flash of the hot +temper that occasionally leaped to light when she was talking with her +father. + +Brooke made no immediate answer. He took a match box from his pocket, +struck a match, and began to light the wax candles on the +mantelpiece--partly by way of finding something to do, partly because he +thought that he should like to see his daughter's face. + +It was a very downcast face just then, but it was tinged with the hot +flush of mingled pride and shame with which she had spoken, and never +had it looked more lovely. The father considered it for a moment, less +with admiration than with curiosity: this daughter of his was an unknown +quantity: he never could predicate what she would do or say. Certainly +she surprised him once more when she lifted her head, and said, +quickly-- + +"I don't think I understand your English ways. I know what we should do +at the convent; but I never know whether I am right or wrong here. And +I have no one to ask." + +"There is your Aunt Sophy." + +"It is almost impossible to ask Aunt Sophy; she never sees where the +difficulty lies. I know she is kind--but she does not understand what I +want." + +Caspar nodded. "That is one reason why I spoke to you just now," he +said, much more gently than usual. "I knew that she was a little brusque +sometimes; and I suppose I am not much better. As a rule a father does +not talk to his girls as I have been talking to you, I fancy. I am +almost as ignorant of a father's duties to his daughter as you say you +are of the habits of English bourgeois society--for I suppose that is +what you mean?" + +He smiled a little--the slight smile of a satire which Lesley always +dreaded; and yet, she remembered, his voice had been very kind. It +softened again into its gentlest and most musical tones, as he said-- + +"You must take us as you find us, child: we shall not do you much harm, +and it will not be for long." + +Lesley was emboldened by the gentle intonation to draw closer to him, +and to lay an entreating hand upon his arm. + +"Oh, father," she said, "if you would but let me write to mamma!" + +And then she uttered a little sob, and the tears filled her eyes and ran +down her cheeks. As for Caspar Brooke, he stood like a man amazed, and +repeated her words almost stupidly. + +"_Write to mamma?_" he said. + +"It would do me good: it would not do any harm," said Lesley, hurriedly, +brokenly, and clasping his arm with both hands to enforce her plea. "I +would not tell her anything that you did not like: I should never say +anything but good about you; but, oh, there are so many things that +puzzle me, and that I should like to consult her about. You see, +although I was not much with her, I used to write to her twice a week, +and she wrote to me oftener, sometimes; and I told her everything, and +she used to advise me and help me! And I miss it so much--it is that +that makes me unhappy; it seems so hard never to write and never to hear +from her! I feel sometimes as if I could not bear it; as if I should +have to run away to her again and tell her everything! Nobody is like +her--nobody--and to be a year without her is terrible!" + +And Lesley put her head down on her father's arm and cried +unrestrainedly, with a sort of newborn instinct that he sympathised with +her, and would not repulse her confidence. + +As for Caspar Brooke, his face had turned quite pale: he stood like a +statue, with features rigidly set, listening to Lesley's outburst of +pleading words. It took him a little time to find his voice, even when +he had at last assimilated the ideas contained in her speech and +regained his self-possession. It took him still longer to recover from a +certain shock of surprise. + +"Write to your mother!" he exclaimed. "Well, but, of course--why should +you not write to your mother?" + +And then Lesley raised her head and looked at him with such amazement +and perplexity that her father felt absolutely annoyed. + +"Who on earth put it into your head that you might not write? Am I such +a tyrant--such an unfeeling monster----? Good heavens! what +extraordinary idea is this! Who said that you were not to write to her?" + +"My mother herself," said Lesley, drawing herself a little away from +him, and still looking into his face. + +"Your _mother_? Absurd! Why, what--what----" + +He faltered, frowned, turned away to the mantelpiece, and struck his +hand heavily upon it. + +"I never meant _that_," he said. It seemed as if vexation and +astonishment prevented him from saying more. + +"My mother said that it was agreed--years ago--that when I came to you, +we were to have no communication," said Lesley, trembling, and yet +resolute to have her say. "Was not that so?" + +"I remember something of the sort," he answered, reluctantly, frowning +still and looking down. "I did not think at the time of what it implied. +And when the time drew near for you to make the visit, the question was +not raised. We corresponded through a third party--the lawyer, you know. +Perhaps--at the time--I had an idea of preventing letters, but not +recently. Nobody mentioned it. Why"--his anger rising, as a man's anger +often does rise when he perceives himself to have been in the +wrong--"your mother might at least have mentioned it if she felt any +doubt!" + +"I suppose," said Lesley, rather haughtily, "that my mother did not want +to ask a favor of you." + +He flung himself round at that. "Your mother must have given you a +strange idea of me!" he said, with a mixture of anger and mortification +which it humiliated him to show, even while he could not manage to hide +it. "One would have said I was an ogre--a maniac. But she misjudged me +all her life--it is useless to expect anything else--of course she would +try to bias you!" + +"I never knew that you were even alive until the day that I left the +convent," said Lesley. "My mother certainly did not try to prejudice me +before then: she simply kept silence." + +"Silence is the worst condemnation? What had I done that I should be +separated from my child so completely?" said the man, the bitterness of +years displaying itself in a way as unexpected to him as to his +daughter. "It is not my fault, I swear, that I have lived without a +wife, without--well, well! it is not you to whom I ought to say this. We +will not refer to it again. About this letter writing--I might say, as +perhaps I did say at the time the arrangement was made, that surely I +had a right to claim you entirely for one year at least; but I don't--I +won't. If I did ever say so, Lesley, I regret the words exceedingly. +Ever since you came to me, I have had no idea but that you were writing +to her regularly and freely; and I never--never in my right mind--wished +it otherwise." + +"But mamma talked of an agreement----" + +"That was years ago. I must have said something in my heat which the +lawyers--the people who arranged things--interpreted wrongly. And your +mother, as you say, did not care to ask me for anything. I can only say, +Lesley, that I am sorry the mistake arose." + +His voice was grave and cold again, almost indifferent. He stood with +his elbow on the mantelpiece, his hand supporting his head, his eyes +averted from the girl. A close eye might have observed that the veins of +his forehead were swollen, and the pulse at his temple was beating +furiously: otherwise he had mastered all signs of agitation. Lesley +hesitated a moment: then came up to him, and put her slim fingers into +his hand. + +"Father," she said, softly, "if we _have_ misjudged you--mamma and +I--won't you forgive us?" + +For answer he took her face between his two hands, bent down and kissed +it tenderly. + +"You don't remember sitting on my knee when you were a tiny little +thing, do you?" he asked her. "You would not go to sleep at nights +without a kiss from me before I went out. You were rather fond of me +then, child! I wish things had turned out differently!" + +He spoke sadly, and Lesley returned his kiss with a new feeling of +affection of which she had not been conscious before, but which she +would have found it difficult to translate into words. Before she could +manage to reply, the handle of the door was turned, and father and +daughter stood apart as quickly as if they had had no right to stand +with arms enlaced and faces almost touching: indeed, the situation was +so new to both of them that they felt something like shame and alarm as +they turned to meet the expected Doctor Sophy. + +But it was not Doctor Sophy. It was Sarah with the tea-tray, very +resentful at not having had it rung for earlier--she having been +instructed not to bring it up until Miss Lesley rang the bell. And after +Sarah came Mr. Maurice Kenyon, unannounced, after his usual fashion. And +on hearing his voice, Lesley slipped away between the curtains into the +library, and upstairs, through the library door. + +"Why, Brooke, old fellow, you're not often to be found here at this +hour!" began Maurice. He looked on Caspar Brooke as a prophet and a hero +in his heart; but his manner before the world was characterized by the +frankest irreverence. Brooke was one of those men who are never older +than their companions. + +"Well, you must be neglecting your patients shamefully to be here at +all. What do you want at this feminine meal?" + +"I didn't come for tea," said Maurice, actually growing a little redder +as he spoke. "I came to see Miss Brooke." + +"Oh, she's gone to a meeting of some Medical Association or other," said +Caspar, indifferently, as he sat down in Lesley's place at the dainty +tea-table, and poured out a cup of tea with the manner of a man who was +accustomed to serving himself. "Here, help yourself to sugar and cream." + +"Thanks, I won't have any tea. I did not mean your sister: I meant Miss +Lesley--I thought I saw her as I came in." + +"Anything important?" said Caspar, blandly. He was certain that Lesley +had gone away to cry--women always cry!--and he did not want her to be +disturbed. Although he had quarrelled with his wife, he understood +feminine susceptibilities better than most men. + +"Oh, no. Only to ask her to sing at the Club on Sunday. It's my turn to +manage the music for that day, you know. Trent is going to sing too." + +"Ah," said Mr. Brooke. Then, after a pause: "I will ask her. But I don't +think she will be able to sing on Sunday. It strikes me she has an +engagement." + +He could not say to Ethel's brother what was in his mind, and yet he was +troubled by the intensity of his conviction that she was throwing +herself away upon "a cad." He must take some other method in the future +of giving Maurice a hint about young Trent. + +Maurice thought, not untruly, that there was something odd in his tone. + +"Isn't she well?" he asked, with his usual straightforwardness. "I hope +there is nothing wrong." + +"I did not say there was anything wrong, did I?" demanded Caspar. Then, +squaring his shoulders, and sitting well back in his chair, with his +hands plunged into the pockets of his old study coat, and his eyes fixed +on his visitor's face, he thus acquitted himself--"Maurice, my young +friend, I am and have been a most confounded ass." + +"Oh?" said Maurice, interrogatively. + +"I think it would relieve me--if I weren't out of practice--to swear. +But I've preached against 'langwidge' so long at the club that I don't +think I could get up the necessary stock of expletives." + +"I'll supply you. I shouldn't have thought that there was a lack of them +down in your printing offices about one or two o'clock every morning, +from what I've heard. What is it, if I may ask? Anything wrong with the +Football Club?" + +"Football Club! My dear fellow, I have a private life, unfortunately, as +contradistinguished from your everlasting clubs and printing offices." + +"It is something about Miss Brooke, is it?" said Maurice, with greater +interest "I was afraid there was something----" + +"Why?" + +"Oh--well, you must excuse me for mentioning it--but wasn't she--wasn't +she crying as she went out of the room? And she has not been looking +well for the last month or so." + +"I suppose you mean that she is not particularly happy here, with her +father?" + +Maurice elevated his eyebrows. "Brooke, old man, what have you got into +your head?" he asked, kindly. "You look put out a good bit. Does she say +she wants to leave you?" + +"Oh, no, no, 'tisn't that. I daresay she does, though. You know the +whole story--it is no good disguising the details from you. There's been +a wretched little mistake--all my fault, no doubt, but not intentionally +so: the girl came here with the idea that she might not write to her +mother--some nonsense about 'no communication' between them stood in the +way; and it seems she has been pining to do so ever since she came." + +"And she never asked you? never complained, or said anything?" + +"She broke down over it to-day. I'm ashamed to look her in the face," +said Brooke, vehemently. "I'm ashamed to think of what they--their +opinion of me is. A domineering, flinty-hearted, unnatural parent, eh, +Maurice? Ogre and tyrant and all the rest of it. As if I ever meant to +put a stop to her writing to her mother! I never heard of such an +unjustifiable proceeding! I never thought of such an absurd idea!" + +"Then weren't you very much to blame to allow the mistake to arise?" +asked Maurice, bluntly. + +"Of course I was. That's the abominable and confounded part of it. Some +hasty words of mine were misinterpreted, of course. I told you I had +been an ass." + +"Well, I hope it is set straight now?" + +"As far as I can set it straight. Probably nothing will undo the effect. +She'll think that I was cruel in the first instance if not in the last." + +He sat staring at his boots, with a very discontented expression of +countenance. But he did not get much sympathy from Mr. Kenyon. + +"Well," he said, "I suppose you've yourself to blame. I've no doubt you +have been very hasty, lots of times. It's my own idea that if you went +into detail over a good many actions of your past life"--this was very +significantly said--"you would find that you had been mistaken pretty +often. We all do. And there's one mistake that I think I can point out +to you." + +Caspar looked at him hard for a moment from under his bushy eyebrows. + +"One subject, Kenyon," he said, seriously, "I shall ask you to respect." + +"All right," said Maurice. "I am only speaking of your daughter. You +must allow me to say that I think you have misjudged her, ever since she +has been in your house for the last three months. I did just the same, +at first. You see, she came here, as far as I can make out, puzzled, +ignorant of the world, deprived of her mother's help and care, thrown on +the tender mercies of a father whom she did not know----" + +"And whom she took to be an ogre," said Brooke, with a bitter, little +laugh. + +"Brought into a world that she knew nothing about, and amongst a set of +people who could not understand why she looked sad and lonely, poor +child!----" + +"I say, Maurice, you are speaking of my daughter, remember." + +"Don't be touchy, old man. I speak and I think of her with every +respect. We have all misjudged and misunderstood her: she is a young +girl, little more than a child, and a child astray, pining +uncomplainingly for her mother, doing her best to understand the new +world she was thrown into, devouring your writings and trying as hard as +she could to assimilate every good and noble idea that she came +across--I say that she's a saint and a heroine," said Maurice, with +sudden passion and enthusiasm, "and we've forgotten that not a girl in a +thousand could have come through a trying ordeal so well!" + +"She hasn't come out of her ordeal at all, Maurice: the ordeal of living +in the house of a brutal father, who, in her view, probably broke her +mother's heart: all that has to be proceeded with for nine months +longer!" + +"It need not be an ordeal if she knows that you love her: if she writes +to her mother and gets the sympathy and aid she needs. Upon my soul, +Brooke, it seems to me that you are hard upon your daughter!" + +"Do you think I need to be taught my duty by you, young man?" said +Caspar. He spoke with a smile, but his tone was undoubtedly sharp. His +disciple was not so submissive as he had hitherto appeared to be. + +"Yes, I do," said Maurice, undismayed. "Because I appreciate her and +understand her, which you don't. I was dense at first as you are, but I +have learnt better now--through loving her." + +"Through _what_, man?" + +"Through loving her. It's the truth, Brooke, as I stand here. I've known +it for some little time. It is only because it may seem too sudden to +her and to you that I haven't spoken before, and I did not mean to do so +when I came here this afternoon. But the fact remains, I love Lesley, +and I want her to be my wife." + +"Heavens and earth!" said Caspar. "Is the man gone mad!" + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +LESLEY'S LETTER. + + +"Not a bit of it," said Maurice sturdily. "I speak the words of truth +and soberness. I've thought about it for some time." + +"A week?" + +"I'm in earnest, Brooke. Do you consent?" + +"My good man," said Caspar, slowly, "you forget that I am probably the +last person in the world whose consent is of any value." + +"Pooh!" + +"You may say 'pooh' as much as you like, but the fact remains. When +Lesley leaves me, say next August or September, she goes to her mother +and her grandfather, who's an earl, more's the pity. They have the +guardianship, you understand." + +"But you have it legally still." + +"Hum--no: we had a formal separation. I named the terms, certainly: I +was angry at the time, and was inclined to say that if I might not bring +up the child in my own way, neither should its mother. That was why we +compromised by sending her to school--but it was to be a school of Lady +Alice's choice. The year with me afterwards was a suggestion of mine, of +course. But I can't alter what was agreed on then." + +"Naturally. But----" + +"And as to money affairs," said Caspar, ruthlessly cutting him short, "I +have been put all along into the most painful and ridiculous position +that a man can well be in. I offered to settle a certain income on my +wife and daughter: Lady Alice and her father refused to accept any money +from me. I have paid various sums into his bank for Lesley, but I have +reason to believe that they have never touched a farthing of it. You see +they've put me at a disadvantage all round. And what is to be done when +she marries, unless she marries with their consent, I don't quite see. +She won't like to offend them or seem ungrateful when they have done so +much for her; and I--according to the account that they will give her--I +have done nothing. So I don't suppose I shall be consulted about her +marriage." + +"You are her father: you must be consulted." + +"Well, as a matter of form! But I expect that she is destined to marry a +duke, my dear fellow; and I call it sheer folly on your part to have +fallen in love with her." + +"But you don't object, Brooke?" + +"I only hope that the destined duke will be half as decent a chap as you +are. But I can't encourage you--Lesley will have to look out for squalls +if she engages herself to you." + +"May I not speak to her then?" inquired Maurice ruefully. "Not at once, +perhaps, you know; but if I think that I have a chance?" + +"Say what you like," said Brooke, with a genial smile; for his ill-humor +had vanished in spite of his apparent opposition to Maurice's suit. "I +should like nothing better--for my own part; but we are both bound to +consider Lesley. You know you are a shocking bad match for her. Oh, I +know you are the descendant of kings and all that sort of bosh, but as a +matter of fact you are only a young medico, a general practitioner, and +his lordship is bound to think that I am making something for myself out +of the marriage." + +"You don't think he'll consent?" + +"Never, my dear boy. One mesalliance was enough for him. He has got rid +of me, and regained his daughter; but no doubt he intends to repair her +mistake by a grand match for Lesley." + +"But perhaps she would not marry the man he chose for her?" + +Brooke laughed. "Can't answer for Lesley, I don't know her well enough," +he said. "Have you any notion, now, that she cares for you?" + +Maurice shook his head dismally. "Not in the least. I scarcely think she +even likes me. But I mean to try my chance some day." + +"I wish you joy," said Lesley's father, with a slight enigmatical smile. +"Especially with the Earl of Courtleroy. Hallo! there's the dinner bell. +We have wasted all our time talking up here: you'll stay and dine?" + +"No, thanks--wish I could, but I must dine with Ethel, and go out +directly afterwards." + +"When is the marriage to take place?" said Caspar, directing a keen +glance to the face of his friend. + +"Ethel's? There is nothing settled." + +"I say, Maurice, I don't like Trent. He's a slippery customer. I would +look after him a bit if I were you, and put Ethel on her guard. I think +I am bound to say as much as that." + +"Do you think any harm of him?" + +"I _think_ harm of him--unjustly, perhaps. I am not so sure that I know +of any. I only want you to keep your eyes open. Good-bye, old man." + +And Caspar Brooke gave his friend's hand such a pressure that Maurice +went away satisfied that Lesley's father, at any rate, and in spite of +protest, was upon his side. + +Miss Brooke came into dinner at the last moment, so Mr. Brooke and his +daughter were saved the embarrassment of dining alone--for it could not +be denied that it would have been embarrassing after the recent scene, +if there had been no third person present to whom they could address +remarks. Miss Brooke's mind was full of the meeting which she had +attended, and she gave them a glowing account of it. Lesley spoke very +little, but her face was happier than it had been for a long time, +although her eyes were red. Mr. Brooke looked at her a good deal in a +furtive kind of way, and with more interest than usual. She was +certainly a good-looking girl. But that was not all. Caspar Brooke had +passed the period of caring for good looks and nothing else. Lesley had +spirit, intelligence, honesty, endurance, as well as beauty. Well, she +might make a good wife for Maurice after all. For although he had +declared that Kenyon was "a shocking bad match," he was inclined to +think in his own heart that Kenyon was too good for his daughter Lesley. + +However, he had a soft corner in his big heart for the little girl who +used to sit on his knee and refuse to go to sleep without his good-night +kiss, and he was pleased when she came up to him before he went out that +evening, and timidly put her face up to be kissed, as if she had still +been the child he loved. She had never done that before; and he took it +more as a sign of gratitude for permission to write to Lady Alice than +actual affection for himself. + +"Are you writing your letter?" he said, touching her cheek half +playfully, half caressingly. + +"Yes," said Lesley, looking down. "Is there--have you--no message?" + +"Why should I have a message? Your mother and I correspond through our +lawyer, my dear. But--well, yes, if you like to say that I am sorry for +this mistake of the last few months, you may do so. I have no doubt that +she has missed your letters, and I should like her to understand that +the correspondence was not discontinued at my desire. I regret the +mistake." + +He said it formally and gravely, and in a particularly icy tone of +voice; but Lesley was for the moment satisfied. She went back to her +writing-desk and took up her pen. She had already written a couple of +sheets, but in them her father's name had scarcely been mentioned. Now, +however, she wrote:-- + + "You may be wondering, dearest mamma, why I am writing to you in + this way, because you told me that I must not write, and I have put + off my explanation until almost the end. I could not bear to be + without your letters any longer, and to-day I said so to my father. + I could not help telling him, because I was so miserable. And he + wishes me to tell you that it was all a mistake, and he is very + sorry; he never meant to put a stop to our writing to each other, + and he is very, _very_ sorry that we thought so." Lesley's version + was not so dignified as her father had intended it to be. "He was + terribly distressed when he found out that I was not writing to + you; and called himself all sorts of names--a tyrant and an ogre, + and asked what we must have thought of him! He was really very much + grieved about it, and never meant us to leave off writing. So now I + shall write as often as I please, and you, dearest mamma, will + write to me too. + + "There is one thing I must say, darling mother, and you will not be + angry with me for saying it, will you? I think father must be + different now from what he was in the old days; or else--perhaps + there _may_ have been a mistake about him, such as there has been + about the letters! For he is so clever and gentle and kind--a + little sarcastic now and then, but always good! The poor people at + the Club (which I told you about in the last sheet) just adore him; + and they say that he has saved many of them from worse than death. + And you never told me about his book, dear mamma--'The Unexplored.' + It is such a beautiful book--surely you think so, although you + think ill of the writer? Of course you have read it? I have read it + four times, I think; and I want to ask him about some parts of it, + but I have never dared--I don't think he even knows that I have + read it. It has gone through more than twelve editions, and has + been translated into French and German, so you _must_ have seen it. + And Mr. Kenyon says it sells by thousands in America. + + "It was Mr. Kenyon who first told me about it, and made me + understand how blind I was at first to my father's really _great_ + qualities. I know he is not like grandpapa--he does sometimes seem + a little rough when compared to grandpapa; but then you always said + I must not expect every man I met in the world to have grandpapa's + courtly manners. And it must have been very lonely for you if he + went out at such funny hours as he does now, and did not breakfast + or lunch with you! But I am told that all 'journalists keep these + hours,' and that it is very provincial of me not to know it! It is + a very different house, and different life, from any that I ever + saw before; but I am getting accustomed to it now, especially since + Mr. Kenyon has talked to me. + + "Dearest mother, don't think that I love you one whit the less + because I am away from you, and am learning to love other people a + little too. Nobody could be to me what you are, my own dear + mother.--Your child, + + "LESLEY." + +So Lesley's girlish, emotional, indiscreet letter went upon its way to +Lady Alice, who was just then in Eaton Square, and Lesley never dreamt +of the tears that it brought to her mother's eyes. + +The letter was a shock to Lady Alice in more ways than one. First, it +showed her that on one point at least she _had_ been mistaken--and it +was a point that had long been a very sore one to her. Caspar had not +meant the correspondence between mother and daughter to cease--so he +said now; but she was certain that he had spoken very harshly about it +when the arrangement was first made. He had even affected to doubt +whether she had heart enough to care whether she heard from her child or +not. Well, possibly he had altered his views since those days. Lesley +said that he _must_ be different! Poor Lesley! thought Lady Alice, how +very little she knew! She seemed to have been as much fascinated by her +father as Lady Alice had been, in days long past, by Caspar Brooke as a +lover; but Lady Alice reflected that _she_ had never thought of Caspar +as good or gentle or "great" in any way. She thought of him chiefly in +his relation to herself, and in that relation he had not been +satisfactory. Yes, she remembered well enough the sarcastic remarks, the +odd hours, the discomfort of her solitary meals. Lesley could see all +these points, and yet discover good in the man, and not be disgusted? +Lady Alice could not understand her daughter's impartiality. + +Of course--it had occurred to her once or twice--that, being human, she +_might_ have been mistaken. She could have got over the dreariness and +discomfort of Caspar's home, if Caspar had but loved her. Suppose--it +was just a remote possibility--Caspar had loved her all the time! + +"The child has infected me with her romantic ideas," said Lady Alice, at +last, with a faint, sad smile. "Let me see--what does she say about her +friends? The Kenyons--Ethel Kenyon--Mr. Trent--the clergyman of the +parish--Mr. Kenyon--Mr. Kenyon I wonder who the Mr. Kenyon is of whom +she speaks so highly. Surely not a clergyman too? Poor Caspar disliked +clergymen so much. I wonder if Mrs. Romaine is still living in the +neighborhood. But no, I remember: she went out to Calcutta and then to +some German baths with her husband. What became of her, I wonder! If she +were friendly with Caspar still, Lesley would be sure to mention her to +me!" + +And she read the letter through once more. But Lesley had not said a +word about Mrs. Romaine: her heart had been too hot and angry with the +remembrance of what Mrs. Romaine's brother had done, to lead her to say +one word about the family. + +Lady Alice lingered curiously over Lesley's remarks on "The Unexplored." +She had not read the book herself. She had seen it and heard of it very +often--so often that she thought she knew all that it contained. But for +Lesley's sake she resolved to read it now. Perhaps it held strange, +dangerous doctrines, against which her daughter ought to be cautioned. +Of course the house did not contain a copy. But early in the day Lady +Alice went to the nearest bookseller's and bought a copy. The obliging +book-seller, who did not know her, remarked that "Brooke's 'Unexplored'" +was always popular, and asked her whether she would like an unbound +copy, or one bound in neat great cloth. Lady Alice took the latter: she +had a distaste for paper-covered books. + +She read "The Unexplored" in her own room that morning, but of course +she was not struck by it exactly as Lesley had been. The facts which had +horrified Lesley were no novelties to her. She was, in truth, slightly +angry that her innocent Lesley should have so much of the great city's +misery and shame laid bare to her. She acknowledged the truth of the +portraiture, the beauty of the descriptions, the eloquence of the +author's appeals to the higher classes; but she acknowledged it with +resentment. Why had Caspar written a book of this sort? a book that +taunted the higher classes with their birth, and reproached the wealthy +with their riches? It was rather a disgrace than otherwise, in Lady +Alice's aristocratic eyes, to be connected in any way with the writer of +"The Unexplored." + +Nevertheless, the book stirred in her the desire to vindicate the worth +of her order and of her sex; and the next day, after having despatched a +long and tender letter to Lesley (with a formal message of thanks to her +husband), she went out to call on a lady, who was noted in her circle as +a great philanthropist, and mentioned to her in a timid way that she +wished she could be of any use amongst the poor, but she really did not +see what she could do. + +Her friend, Mrs. Bexley, was nothing if not practical. + +"But, my dearest Lady Alice, you can be of every use in the world," she +said. "I am going to drive to the East End to-morrow morning, to +distribute presents at the London Hospital--it is getting so close to +Christmas, you know, that we really must not put it off any longer. I +generally go once a week to visit the children and some of the other +patients. Won't you come with me?" + +"I am afraid I should be of very little use," said Lady Alice. + +"But we shall not want you to do anything--only to say a kind word to +the patients now and then, and give them things." + +"I think I could do that," said Lesley's mother, softly. + +She went back to her father's house quite cheered by the unexpected +prospect of something to do--something which should take her out of the +routine of ordinary work--something which should bring her closer +(though she did not say it to herself) to the aims and objects of Lesley +and Caspar Brooke. + +The visit was a great success. Lady Alice, with her tall, graceful +figure, her winning face, her becoming dress, was a pleasant sight for +the weary eyes of the women and children in the accident wards. Mrs. +Bexley was wise enough not to take her near any very painful sights. +Lady Alice talked to some of the little children and gave them toys: she +made friends, rather shyly, with some of the women, and promised to come +and see them again. Mrs. Bexley was well known in the hospital, and was +allowed to stay an unusually long time. So it happened that one of the +doctors, coming rather hurriedly into one of the wards, paused at the +sight of a lady bending over one of the children's beds, and looked so +surprised that one of the nurses hastened to explain that the stranger +came with old Mrs. Bexley and was going away again directly. + +The doctor nodded, and went straight up to the child's bed. Lady Alice, +raising herself after careful arrangement of some wooden animals on the +sick child's table, came face to face with a very handsome man of about +thirty, who seemed to be regarding her with especial interest. He moved +away with a slight bow when she looked back at him, but he did not go +far. He paused to chat with another little patient, and Lady Alice +noticed that all the small faces brightened at the sight of him, and +that two or three children called him imperiously to their bedsides. +Something about him vaguely interested her--perhaps it was only his +pleasant look, perhaps the affection with which he was regarded, perhaps +the expression which his face had worn when he looked at her. She +remembered him so well that she was able when she paid a second visit to +the hospital to describe him to one of the Sisters, and ask his name. + +"Kenyon," she repeated, when it was told to her. "I suppose it is not an +uncommon name?" + +Lesley had spoken of a Mr. Kenyon. It was not this Mr. Kenyon, of +course! + +But it _was_ "this Mr. Kenyon;" and thus Maurice met the mother of the +girl he loved in the ward of a London hospital, whither Lady Alice had +been urged by that impulse towards "The Unexplored," of which her +husband was the author. And in another ward of the same hospital lay a +patient whose destiny was to influence the fates of both--an insensible +man, whose name was unknown to the nurses, but whom Oliver would have +recognized as his brother, Francis Trent. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +ETHEL REMONSTRATES. + + +The house in which the Kenyons resided was built on the same pattern as +Mr. Brooke's, but it was in some respects very unlike Mr. Brooke's place +of residence. Maurice's consulting-room and dining-room corresponded, +perhaps, to Mr. Brooke's dining-room and study: it was upstairs where +the difference showed itself. Ethel's drawing-room was like herself--a +little whimsical, a little bizarre; pretty, withal, and original, and +somewhat unlike anything one had ever seen before. She was fond of +novelties, and introduced the latest fashions in draperies or china or +screens as soon as she could get hold of them; and the result was +occasionally incongruous, though always bright and cheerful-looking. + +It was the incongruity of the ornaments and arrangements which chiefly +struck the mind of Oliver Trent as he entered Ethel's drawing-room one +afternoon, and stumbled over a footstool placed where no footstool ought +to be. + +"I wish," he began, somewhat irritably, as he touched Ethel's forehead +with his lips, "that you would not make your room quite so much like a +fancy fair, Ethel." + +Ethel raised her eyebrows. "Why, Oliver, only the other day you said how +pretty it was!" + +"Pretty! I hate the word. As if 'prettiness' could be taken as a test of +what was best in art." + +"My room isn't 'art,'" pouted Ethel; "it's _me_." + +The sentence might be ungrammatical, but it was strictly true. The room +represented Ethel's character exactly. It was odd, quaint, striking, and +attractive. But Oliver was not in the mood to see its attractiveness. + +"It is certainly a medley," he replied, with some incisiveness. "How +many styles do you think are represented in the place? Japanese, +Egyptian, Renaissance, Louis Quinze, Queen Anne, Early Georgian----" + +"Oh, no! please don't go on!" cried Ethel, with mock earnestness. "_Not_ +Early Georgian, please! Anything but that!" + +"It is all incongruous and out of taste," said Oliver, in an +ill-tempered tone, and then he threw himself into a deep, comfortable +lounging chair, and closed his eyes as if the sight of the room were too +much for his nerves. + +Ethel remained standing: her pretty _mignonne_ figure was motionless; +her bright face was thoughtful and overcast. + +"Do you mean," she said, quietly, "that I am incongruous and out of +taste too!" + +There was a new note in her voice. Usually it was light and bird-like: +now there was something a little more weighty, a little more serious, +than had been heard in it before. Oliver noted the change, and moved his +head restlessly; he did not want to quarrel with Ethel, but he was ill +at ease in her presence, and therefore apt to be exceedingly irritable +with her. + +"You wrest my words, of course," he answered. "You always do. There's no +arguing with--with--a woman." + +"With _me_ you were about to say. Don't spare me. What other accusations +have you to bring!" + +"Accusations! Nonsense!" + +"It is not nonsense, Oliver." Her voice trembled. "I have felt for some +time that all was not right between us. I can't shut my eyes. I must +believe what I see, and what I feel. We must understand one another." + +Oliver's eyes were wide open now. He began to see that he had gone a +little too far. It would not do to snub Ethel too much--at least before +the marriage. Afterwards--he said to himself--he should treat her as he +felt inclined. But now---- + +"You are mistaken, Ethel," he said, in a tone of half appeased vexation +which he thought very effective. "What on earth should there be wrong +between us! Open your eyes and your ears as much as you like, my dear +child, but don't be misled by what you feel. The wind is in the +East,--remember. You feel a chill, most probably, and you put your +_malaise_ down to me." + +His tone grew more affectionate as he spoke. He wanted her to believe +that he had been suffering from a mere passing cloud of ill-temper, and +that he was already ashamed of it. + +"I feel the effects of the weather myself," he said. "I have been +horribly depressed all day, and I have a headache. Perhaps that is why +the brightness of your room seemed to hurt my eyes. You know that I +always like it when I am well." + +He looked at her keenly, hoping that this reference to +possible-ill-health might bring the girl to his feet, as it had often +done before in the case of other women; but it did not seem to produce +the least effect. She stood silent, immobile, with her eyes still fixed +upon the floor. Silence and stillness were so unusual in one of Ethel's +vivacious temperament, that Oliver began to feel alarmed. + +"Ethel," he said, advancing to her, and laying his hand upon hers, "what +is wrong? What have I done?" + +She shook her head hastily, but made no other reply. + +"Look at me," he said, softly. + +And then she lifted her eyes. But they wore a questioning and not a +trustful look. + +"Ethel, dearest, what have I done to offend you? It cannot be my silly +comment on your room that makes you look so grave? Believe me, dear, it +came only from my headache and my bad temper. I am deeply sorry to have +hurt you. Only speak--scold me if you like--but do not keep me in this +suspense." + +He was skilled in the art of pleading. His pale face, usually so +expressionless, took on the look of almost passionate entreaty. + +Ethel was an actress by profession--perhaps a little by nature also--but +she was too essentially simple-hearted to suspect her friends of acting +parts in private life, and indeed trusted them rather more implicitly +than most people trust their friends. It had been a grief to her to +doubt Oliver's faith for a moment, and her eyes filled with tears, while +they flashed also with indignation, as she replied, + +"You must know what I mean. I have felt it for a very long time. You do +not care for me as you used to do." + +"Upon my soul, I do!" cried Oliver, very sincerely. + +"Then you never cared for me very much." + +This was getting serious. Oliver had no mind to break off his +engagement. He reserved the right to snub Ethel without giving offence. +If this was an impracticable course to pursue, it was evident that he +must abandon it and eat humble pie. Anything rather than part from her +just now. He had lost the woman he loved: it would not do to lose also +his only chance of winning a competency for himself and immunity from +fear of want in the future. + +"Ethel," he said, softly, "you grieve me very much. I acknowledge my +faults of temper--I did not think you mistook then for a want of love." + +"I do not think I do. It is something more real, more tangible than +that." + +"What is it, dear?" + +She paused, then looked keenly into his face. "It seems to me, Oliver, +that Lesley Brooke has won your heart away from me." + +He threw back his head and laughed--a singularly jarring and unpleasant +laugh, as it seemed to her. "What will you imagine next?" he said. + +"Imagine? Have I imagined it? Isn't it true that you have been at her +house almost every day for the last three or four weeks? Do you come +here as often? Is it not Lesley that attracts you?--not me!" + +"Oh, so you are jealous!" + +"Yes, I suppose I am. It is only natural, I think." + +They faced each other for a moment, defiantly, almost fiercely. There +was a proud light in Ethel's eyes, a compression of the lips which told +that she was not to be trifled with. Oliver stood pale, with frowning +brows, and eyes that seemed to question both the reality of her feeling +and the answer that he should make to her demand. It was by a great +effort of self-control that at last he answered her with calmness-- + +"I assure you, Ethel, you are utterly mistaken. What have I in common +with a girl like Miss Brooke--one of the most curiously ignorant and +wrong-headed persons I ever came across? Can you think for a moment that +I should compare her with you?--_you_, beautiful and gifted and cultured +above most women?" + +"That is nothing to the point," said Ethel, quickly. "Men don't love +women because of their gifts and their culture." + +"No," he rejoined, "but because of some subtle likeness or +attractiveness which draws one to the other. I find it in you, without +knowing why. You--I hoped--found it----" + +His voice became troubled; he dropped his eyes. Ethel trembled--she +loved him, poor girl, and she thought that he suffered as she had +suffered, and she was sorry for him. But her outraged pride would not +let her make any advance as yet. + +"I may be a fatuous fool," said Oliver, after an agitated pause, "but I +thought you loved me." + +"I do love you," cried Ethel, passionately. + +"And yet you suspect me of being false to you." + +"Not suspect--not suspect"--she said, incoherently, and then, was +suddenly folded in Oliver's arms, and felt that the time for reproach or +inquiry had gone by. + +She was not sorry that matters had ended in this way, although she felt +it to be illogical. With his kisses upon her mouth, with the pressure of +his arm enfolding her, it was almost impossible for her to maintain, in +his presence, a doubt of him. It was when he had gone that all the facts +which he had ignored came back to her with torturing insistence, and +that she blamed herself for not having refused to be reconciled to him +until she had ascertained the truth or untruth of a report that had +reached her ears. + +With a truer lover she might have gone unsatisfied to her dying day. A +faithful-hearted man might never have perceived where she was hurt; he +would not have been astute enough to discover that he might heal the +wound by a few timely words of explanation. Oliver, keenly alive to his +own interests, reopened the subject a few days later of his own accord. + +They had completely made up their quarrel--to all outward appearance, at +any rate--and were sitting together one afternoon in Ethel's obnoxious +drawing-room. They had been laughing together at some funny story of +Ethel's associates at the theatre, and to the laughter had succeeded a +silence, during which Oliver possessed himself of the girl's hand and +carried it gently to his lips. + +"Ethel," he said, softly, "what made you so angry with me the other +day?" + +"Your bad behavior, I suppose!" she said, trying to treat the matter in +her usual lively fashion. + +"But what _was_ my misbehavior? Did it consist in going so often to the +Brookes'?" + +"Oh, what does it matter?" exclaimed Ethel, petulantly. "Didn't we agree +to forgive and forget? If we didn't, we ought to have done. I don't want +to look back." + +"But you are doing an injustice to me. Ethel, I dare not say to you that +I _insist_ on knowing what it was. But I very strongly _wish_ that you +would tell me--so that I might at least try to set your mind at rest." + +"Well," said Ethel, quickly, "if you _must_ know--it was only a bit of +gossip--servants gossip. I know all that can be said respecting the +foolishness of listening to gossip from such a source--but I can't help +it. One of the maids at Mr. Brooke's----" + +"Sarah?" asked Oliver, with interest. "Sarah never liked me." + +"Who, it was not Sarah.--it was that maid of Lesley's--Kingston her name +is, I believe--who said to one of our servants one day that you went +there a great deal oftener than she would like, if she were in my place. +There! I have made a full confession. It was a petty spiteful bit of +gossip, of course, and I ought not to have listened to it--but then it +seemed so natural--and I thought it might be true!" + +"What seemed natural?" said Oliver, who, against his will, was looking +very black. + +"Why, that you should like Lesley; she is the sweetest girl I ever came +across." + +In his heart Oliver echoed that opinion, but he felt morally bound to +deny it. + +"You say so only because you have never seen yourself! My darling, how +could you accuse me merely on servants' evidence!" + +"Is there _no_ truth in it, Oliver?" + +"None in the least." + +"But you do go there very often!" + +Then Oliver achieved a masterpiece of diplomacy. "My dear Ethel," he +said, "I will go there no more until you go with me. I will not set foot +in the house again." + +He knew very well that Mr. Brooke would not admit him. It was clever to +make a virtue of necessity. + +"No, no, please don't do that! Go as often as you please." + +"It was simply out of kindness to a lonely girl. I played her +accompaniments for her sometimes, and listened to her singing. But as +you dislike it, Ethel, I promise you that I will go there no more." + +"Oh, Oliver, forgive me! I don't doubt you a bit. Do go to see Lesley as +often as you can. I should _like_ you to do it. Go for my sake." + +But Oliver was quite obdurate. No, he would not go to the Brookes' +again, since Ethel had once objected to his going. And on this pinnacle +of austere virtue he remained, thereby reducing Ethel to a state of +self-abasement, which spoke well for his chances of mastery in the +married life which loomed before him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +LADY ALICE'S PHILANTHROPY. + + +Meanwhile, Lady Alice Brooke, in pursuit of her new fancy for +philanthropy and the sick poor, had wandered somewhat aimlessly into +other wards beside those set apart for women and children--at first the +object of her search. She strayed--I use the word "strayed" designedly, +for she certainly did not do it of set purpose--with one of the nurses +into accident wards, into the men's wards, where her flowers and fruits +and gentle words made her welcome, and where the bearded masculine +faces, worn sometimes by pain and privation of long standing, appealed +to her sensibilities in a new and not altogether unpleasant way. + +For Lady Alice was a very feminine creature, and liked, as most women do +like, to be admired and adored. She had confessed as much when she told +the story of her life to her daughter Lesley. And she had something less +than her woman's due in this respect. Caspar Brooke had very honestly +loved and admired her, but in a protective and slightly "superior" way. +The earl, her father, belonged to that conservative portion of the +aristocratic class which treats its womankind with distinguished +civility and profoundest contempt. In her father's home Lady Alice felt +herself of no account. As years increased upon her, the charm of her +graceful manner was marred by advancing self-distrust. In losing (as +she, at least, thought) her physical attractions, she lost all that +entitled her to consideration amongst the men and women with whom she +lived. She had no fixed position, no private fortune, nothing that would +avail her in the least when her father died; and the gentle coldness of +her manner did not encourage women to intimacy, or invite men to pay her +attentions that she would scorn. In any other situation, her natural +gifts and virtues would have fairer play. As a spinster, she would still +have had lovers; as a widow, suitors by the dozen; as a happily married +woman she would have been courted, complimented, flattered, by all the +world. But, as a woman merely separated from a husband with whom she had +in the first instance eloped, living on sufferance, as it were, in her +father's house, "neither maid, wife, nor widow," she was in a situation +which became more irksome and more untenable every year. + +To a woman conscious of such a jar in her private life, it was really a +new and delightful experience to find herself in a place where she could +be of some real use, where she was admired and respected and flattered +by that unconscious flattery given us sometimes by the preference of the +sick and miserable. The men in one of the accident wards were greatly +taken with Lady Alice. There was her title, to begin with; there were +her gracious accents, her graceful figure, her gentle, beautiful face. +The men liked to see her come in, liked to hear her talk--although she +was decidedly slow, and a little irresponsive in conversation. It soon +leaked out, moreover, that material benefits followed in the wake of her +visits. One man, who left the hospital, returned one day to inform his +mates that, "the lady" had found work for him on her father's estate, +and that he considered himself a "made man for life." The attentions of +such men who were not too ill to be influenced by such matters were +henceforth concentrated upon Lady Alice; and she, being after all a +simple creature, believed their devotion to be genuine, and rejoiced in +it. + +With one patient, however, she did not for some time establish any +friendly relations. He had been run over, while drunk, the nurses told +her, and very seriously hurt. He lay so long in a semi-comatose +condition that fears were entertained for his reason, and when the mist +gradually cleared away from his brain, he was in too confused a state of +mind for conversation to be possible. + +Lady Alice went to look at him from time to time, and spoke to the nurse +about him; but weeks elapsed before he seemed conscious of the presence +of any visitor. The nursing sister told the visitor at last that the man +had spoken and replied to certain questions: that he had seemed +uncertain about his own name, and could not give any coherent account of +himself. Later on, it transpired that the man had allowed his name to be +entered as "John Smith." + +"Not his own name, I'm certain," the nurse said, decidedly. + +"Why not?" Lady Alice asked, with curiosity. + +"It's too common by half for his face and voice," the Sister answered, +shrewdly. "If you look at him or speak to him, you'll find that that +man's a gentleman." + +"A gentleman--picked up drunk in the street?" + +"A gentleman by birth or former position, I mean," said the Sister, +rather dryly. "No doubt he has come down in the world; but he has been, +at any rate, what people call an educated man." + +Lady Alice's prejudices were, stirred in favor of the broken-down +drunkard by this characterization; and she made his acquaintance as soon +as he was able to talk. Her impression coincided with that of the +Sister. The man had once been a gentleman--a cultivated, well-bred man, +from whom refinement had never quite departed. Over and above this fact +there was something about him which utterly puzzled Lady Alice. His face +recalled to her some one whom she had known, and she could not imagine +who that some one might be. The features, the contour the face, the +expression, were strangely familiar to her. For, by the refining forces +which sickness often applies, the man's face had lost all trace of +former coarseness or commonness: it had become something like what it +had been in the days of his first youth. And the likeness which puzzled +Lady Alice was a very strong resemblance to the patient's sister, +Rosalind Romaine. + +Lady Alice was attracted by him, visited his bedside very often, and +tried to win his confidence. But "John Smith" had, at present, no +confidence to give. Questions confused and bewildered him. His brain was +in a very excitable condition, the doctor said, and he was not to be +tormented with useless queries. By the time his other injuries had been +cured, he might perhaps recover the full use of his mind, and could then +give an account of himself if he liked. Till then he was to be let +alone; and so Lady Alice contented herself with bringing him such gifts +as the authorities allowed, and with talking or reading to him a little +from time to time in soothing and friendly tones. It was to be noted +that before long his eyes followed her with interest as she crossed the +ward; that his brow cleared when she spoke to him, and that all her +movements were watched by him with great intentness. In spite of this +she could not get him to reply with anything but curtness to her +inquiries after his health and general welfare; and it was quite a +surprise to her when one day, on her visit to him, he accosted her of +his own accord. + +"Won't you sit down?" he said suddenly. + +"Thank you. Yes, I should like to sit and read to you a little if you +are able----" + +"It isn't for that," he said, interrupting her unceremoniously; "it's +because I have something special to say to you. If you'll stoop down a +moment I'll say it--I don't want any one else to hear." + +In great surprise, Lady Alice bowed her head. "I want to tell you," he +said gruffly, "that you're wasting your time and your money. These men +in the ward are not really grateful to you one bit. They speculate +before you come as to how much you are likely to give them, and when you +are gone they compare notes and grumble if you have not given them +enough." + +"I do not wish to hear this," said Lady Alice, with dignity. + +"I know you do not; but I think it is only right to tell you. Try them: +give them nothing for a visit or two, and see whether they won't sulk +and look gloomy, although you may talk to them as kindly as ever----" + +"And if they did," said Lady Alice, with a sudden flash of energy and +insight which amazed herself, "who could blame them, considering the +pain they have suffered, and the brutal lives they lead? Why should they +listen to my poor words, if I go to them without a gift in my hand?" + +She spoke as she would have spoken to an equal--an unconscious tribute +to the refinement which stamped this man as of a higher calibre than his +fellows. + +"It is a convenient doctrine for them," said John Smith, and buried his +head in the bedclothes as if he wanted to hear nothing more. + +For Lady Alice's next two visits he would not look up, or respond when +she came near him, which she never failed to do; but on the third +occasion he lifted his head. + +"Well, madam," he said, "you have after all been trying my plan, I hear. +Do you find that it works well?" + +Lady Alice hesitated. The averted faces and puzzled, downcast--sometimes +sullen--looks of the sick men and boys to whom she had of late given +nothing but kind words, had grieved her sorely. + +"I suppose it proves the truth, in part, of what you say," she answered +gently, "but on the other hand I find that my gifts have been judged +excessive and unwise. It seems that I have a great deal to learn in the +art of giving: it does not come by nature, as some suppose. I have +consulted the doctors and nurses--and I have to thank you for giving me +a warning." + +A look of surprise passed across the man's face. + +"You're better than some of them," he said, curtly. "I thought you'd +never look at me again. I don't know why I should have interfered. But I +did not like to see you cheated and laughed at." + +Lady Alice colored, but she felt no resentment against the man, although +he had shown her that she had made herself ridiculous when she was bent +on playing Lady Bountiful, and posing as an angel of light. She said +after a moment's pause-- + +"I believe you meant kindly. Is there nothing that I can do for you?" + +He shook his head. "I don't think so--I can't remember very well. The +doctors say I shall remember by and by. Then I shall know." + +"And if I can, you will let me help you?" + +"I suppose I ought to be only too glad," said the patient, with a sort +of sullenness, which Lady Alice felt that she could but dimly +understand. "I suppose I'm the sort of man to _be_ helped; and yet I +can't help fancying there's a--Past--a Past behind me--a life in which I +once was proud of my independence. But it strikes me that this was very +long ago." + +He drew the bedclothes over his head again, and made no further reply. +Lady Alice came to see him after this conversation as often as the rules +of the hospital would allow her; and, although she seemed to get little +response from him, the fact really remained that she was establishing an +ascendancy over the man such as no nurse or doctor in the place had yet +maintained. Others noticed it beside herself; but she, disheartened a +little by her disappointment in some of the other patients, did not +recognize the reality of his attachment to her. And an event occurred +about the time which put John Smith and hospital matters out of her head +for a considerable time to come. + +Old Lord Courtleroy died suddenly. He was an old man, but so hale and +hearty that his death had not been expected in the least; but he was +found dead in his bed one morning, and the doctors pronounced that his +complaint had been heart disease. The heir to the title and estate was a +distant cousin whom Lady Alice and her father had never liked; and when +he entered upon his possessions, Lady Alice knew that the time had come +for her to seek a home elsewhere. She had sufficient to live upon; +indeed, for a single woman, she was almost rich; but the loneliness of +her position once more forced itself upon her, especially as Lesley was +not by her side to cheer her gradually darkening life. + +She wrote the main facts concerning Lord Courtleroy's death and the +change in her circumstances in short, rather disjointed letters to +Lesley, and received very tender replies; but even then she felt a vague +dissatisfaction with the girl's letters. They were full of a wistfulness +which she could not understand: she felt that something remote had crept +into them, some aloofness for which she could not account. And as +Captain Harry Duchesne happened to come across her one day, and inquired +very particularly after Miss Brooke, she induced him to promise to call +on Lesley when he was in London, and to report to her all that Lesley +did or said. If it was a somewhat underhand proceeding, she told herself +that she was justified by her anxiety as a mother. + +Lord Courtleroy had left a considerable sum to Lesley, and when mother +and daughter were reunited, as Lady Alice hoped that they would shortly +be, there was no question as to their having means enough and to spare. +Lady Alice began to dream of a dear little country house in Sussex, with +an occasional season in London, or a winter at Bagneres. She was +recalled from her dreams to the realities of life by a letter from her +husband. Caspar Brooke wrote to ask whether, under present +circumstances, she would not return to him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +CAPTAIN DUCHESNE. + + +Lesley's life seemed to her now much less lonely than it had been at +first. The consciousness of having made friends was pleasant to her, +although her affection for Ethel had been for a time overshadowed by the +recollection of Oliver's unfaithfulness. But when this impression passed +away, as it gradually did, after the scene that had been so painful to +her, she consoled herself with the belief that Oliver's words and +actions had proceeded from a temporary derangement of judgment, for +which he was not altogether responsible, and that he had returned to his +allegiance; therefore she might continue to be friendly with Ethel +without any sensation of treachery or shame. An older woman than Lesley +would not, perhaps, have argued in this way: she would have suspected +the permanence of Oliver's feelings more than Lesley did. But, being +only an inexperienced girl, Lesley comforted herself by the fact that +Oliver now avoided her; and said that it could not be possible for her +to have attracted him away from Ethel, who was so winning, so sweet, so +altogether delightful. + +Then, apart from the Kenyons, she began to make pleasant acquaintances +amongst her father's friends. Caspar Brooke's house was a centre of +interest and entertainment for a large number of intellectual men and +women; and Lesley had as many opportunities for wearing her pretty +evening gowns as she could have desired. There were "at homes" to which +her charming presence and her beautiful voice attracted Caspar's friends +in greater numbers than ever: there were dinner-parties where her +interest in the new world around her made everything else interesting; +and there was a constant coming and going of people who had work to do +in the world, and who did it with more or less success, which made the +house in Woburn Place anything but a dull abode. + +The death of her grandfather distressed her less from regret for himself +than from anxiety for her mother's future. Lady Alice's notes to her +were very short and somewhat vaguely worded. It was, therefore, with +positive joy that, one afternoon in spring, she was informed by her maid +that Captain Duchesne was in the drawing-room, for she felt sure that he +would be able to tell her many details that she did not know. She made +haste to go down, and yet, before she went, she paused to say a word to +Kingston, who had brought her the welcome news. + +"I wish you would go out, Kingston; you don't look at all well, and this +spring air might do you good." + +It was certainly easy to see that Kingston was not well. During the past +few weeks her face had become positively emaciated, her eyes were +sunken, and her lips were white. She looked like a person who had +recently passed through some illness or misfortune. Lesley had tried, +delicately and with reserve, to question her; but Kingston had never +replied to any of her inquiries. She would shut up her lips, and turn +away with the look of one who could keep a secret to the grave. + +"Nothing will do me good, ma'am," she answered dryly. + +"Oh, Kingston, I am so sorry!" + +"Go down to your visitor, ma'am, and don't mind me," said Kingston, +turning her back on the girl with unusual abruptness. "It isn't much +that I've got to be sorry for, after all." + +"If there is anything I can do to help you, you will let me know, will +you not?" said Lesley. + +But Kingston's "Yes, ma'am," fell with a despairing cadence on her ear. + +Kingston had been to her husband's lodgings only to find that he had +disappeared. He had left some of his clothes, and the few articles of +furniture that belonged to his wife, and had never said that he was +going away. The accident that had made Francis Trent a patient at the +hospital where Lady Alice visited was of course unknown to his landlady, +as also to his wife. And as his memory did not return to him speedily, +poor Mary Trent had been left to suffer all the tortures of anxiety for +some weeks. At first she thought that some injury had happened to +him--perhaps that he was dead: then a harder spirit took possession of +her, and she made up her mind that he had finally abandoned her--had got +money from Oliver and departed to America without her. She might have +asked Oliver whether this were so, but she was too proud to ask. She +preferred to eat out her heart in solitude. She believed herself +deserted forever, and the only grain of consolation that remained to her +was the hope of making herself so useful and acceptable to Lesley +Brooke, that when Lesley married she would ask Mary Kingston to go with +her to her new home. + +Kingston had made up her mind about the man that Lesley was to marry. +She had seen him come and go: she had seen him look at her dear Miss +Lesley with ardently admiring eyes: she believed that he would be a true +and faithful husband to her. But she knew more than Lesley was aware of +yet. + +Lesley went slowly down into the drawing-room. She remembered Captain +Duchesne very well, and she was glad to think of seeing him again. And +yet there was an indefinable shrinking--she did not know how or why. +Harry Duchesne was connected with her old life--with the Paris lights, +the Paris drawing-rooms, the stately old grandfather, the graceful +mother--the whole assembly of things that seemed so far away. She did +not understand her whole feeling, but it suddenly appeared to her as if +Captain Duchesne's visit was a mistake, and she had better get it over +as soon as possible. + +It must be confessed that this sensation vanished as soon as she came +into the actual presence of Captain Duchesne. The young man, with his +grave, handsome features, his drooping, black moustache, his soldierly +bearing, had an attraction for her after all. He reminded her of the +mother whom she loved. + +It was not very easy to get into conversation with him at first. He +seemed as ill at ease as Lesley herself had been. But when she fell to +questioning him about Lady Alice, his tongue became unloosed. + +"She does not know exactly what to do. She talks of taking a house in +London--if you would like it." + +"Would mamma care to live in London?" + +"Not for her own sake: for yours." + +"But I--I do not think I like London so much," said Lesley, with a swift +blush and some hesitation. Captain Duchesne looked at her searchingly. + +"Indeed? I understood that you had become much attached to it. I am sure +Lady Alice thinks so." + +"I do love it--yes, but it is on account of the people who live in +London," said Lesley. + +"Ah, you have made friends?" + +"There is my father, you know." + +"Yes." And something in his tone made Lesley change the subject +hurriedly. Captain Duchesne would never have been so ill-bred as to +speak disparagingly of a lady's father to her face; and yet she felt +that there was something disparaging in the tone. + +"Have you seen the present Lord Courtleroy?" she asked. + +"Yes; I have met him once or twice. He is somewhat stiff and rigid in +appearance, but he is very courteous--more than courteous, Lady Alice +tells me, for he is kind. He wishes to disturb her as little as +possible--entreats her to stay at Courtleroy, and so on; but naturally +she wishes to have a house of her own." + +"Of course. But I thought that she would prefer the South of France." + +"If I may say so without offence," said Captain Duchesne, smiling, "Lady +Alice's tastes seem to be changing. She used to love the country and +inveigh against the ugliness of town; but now she spends her time in +visiting hospitals and exploring Whitechapel----" + +Lesley almost sprang to her feet. "Oh, Captain Duchesne, are you in +earnest?" + +"Quite in earnest." + +"Oh, I _am_ so glad!" + +"Why, may I ask?" said Duchesne, with real curiosity. But Lesley clasped +her hands tightly together and hung her head, feeling that she could not +explain to a comparative stranger how she felt that community of +interests might tend to a reconciliation between the long separated +father and mother. And in the rather awkward pause that followed, Miss +Ethel Kenyon was announced. + +Lesley was very glad to see her, and glad to see that she looked +approvingly at Captain Duchesne, and launched at once into an animated +conversation with him. Lesley relapsed almost into silence for a time, +but a satisfied smile played upon her lips. It seemed to her that +Captain Duchesne's dark eyes lighted up when he talked to Ethel as they +had not done when he talked to _her_; that Ethel's cheeks dimpled with +her most irresistible smile, and that her voice was full of pretty +cadences, delighted laughter, mirth and sweetness. Lesley's nature was +so thoroughly unselfish, that she could bear to be set aside for a +friend's sake; and she was so ingenuous and single-minded that she put +no strained interpretation on the honest admiration which she read in +Harry Duchesne's eyes. It may have been partly in hopes of drawing her +once more into the conversation that he turned to her presently with a +laughing remark anent her love of smoky London. + +"Oh, but it is not the smoke I like," Lesley answered. "It is the +people." + +"Especially the poor people," put in Ethel, saucily. "Now, I can't bear +poor people; can you, Captain Duchesne?" + +"I don't care for them much, I'm afraid." + +"I like to do them good, and all that sort of thing," said Ethel. "Don't +look so sober, Lesley! I like to act to them, or sing to them, or give +them money; but I must say I don't like visiting them in the slums, or +having to stand too close to them _anywhere_. I am so glad that you +agree with me, Captain Duchesne!" + +And not long afterwards she graciously invited him to call upon her on +"her day," and promised him a stall at an approaching _matinee_, two +pieces of especial favor, as Lesley knew. + +Captain Duchesne sat on as if fascinated by the brilliant little vision +that had charmed his eyes; and not until an unconscionable time had +elapsed did he seem able to tear himself away. When he had gone, Ethel +expressed herself approvingly of his looks and manners. + +"I like those soldierly-looking men," she said. "So well set up and +distinguished in appearance. Is he an old friend of yours, Lesley?" + +"No, I have met him only once before. In Paris, he dined with us--with +my grandfather, my mother, and myself." + +"And he comes from Lady Alice now?" + +"Yes, to bring me news of her." + +Ethel nodded her bright little head sagaciously. + +"It's very plain what Lady Alice wants, then?" + +"What?" said Lesley, opening her eyes in wide amaze. + +"She wants you to marry him, my dear." + +"Nonsense!" + +"It's not nonsense: don't get so red about it, you silly girl. What a +baby you are, Lesley." + +"I am sure mamma never thought of anything of the kind," said Lesley, +with dignity, although her cheeks were still red. + +"We shall see what we shall see. Well, I won't put my oar in--isn't that +kind of me? But, indeed, your Captain Duchesne looks thoroughly ripe for +a flirtation, and it will be as much as I can do to keep my hands off +him." + +"How would Mr. Trent like that?" said Lesley, trying to carry the war +into the enemy's camp. + +"He would bear it with the same equanimity with which he bears the rest +of my caprices," said Ethel, merrily; but a shade crossed her brow, and +she allowed Lesley to lead the conversation to the subject of her +_trousseau_. + +Captain Duchesne did not seem slow to avail himself of the favor +accorded to him. He presented himself at Ethel's next "at home;" and +devoted himself to her with curious assiduity. Even the discovery of her +engagement to Mr. Trent did not change his manner. It was not so much +that he paid her actual attention, as that he paid none to anybody else. +When she was not talking to him, he kept silence. He seemed always to be +observing her, her face, her manner, her dress, her attitude. Yet this +kind of observation was quite respectful and unobtrusive: it was merely +its continuity that excited remark. Oliver noticed it at last, and +professed himself jealous: in fact he was a little bit jealous, although +he did not love Ethel overmuch. But he had a pride of possession in her +which would not allow him to look with equanimity on the prospect of her +being made love to by anybody else. + +Ethel enjoyed the attentions, and enjoyed Oliver's jealousy, in her +usual spirit of childlike gaiety. She was quite assured of Oliver's +affection for her now; and she looked forward with shy delight to the +day of her wedding, which had been fixed for the twentieth of March. + +Meanwhile, Oliver was devoured with secret anxiety. For what had become +of Francis, and when would he appear to demand the money which had been +promised to him on the day when the marriage should take place? + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +MR. BROOKE'S DESIRES. + + +Lady Alice's movements were not without interest to Caspar Brooke, +although Lesley did not suspect the fact. It was quite a surprise to her +when he entered the library one day, with apparently no other object +than that of saying abruptly, + +"What is your mother going to do, Lesley?" + +"To do?" said Lesley, flushing slightly and looking astonished. + +"Yes"--impatiently. "Where is she going to live? What will become of +her? Do you want to go to her? I wish to hear what you know about her +arrangements." + +He planted himself on the hearth-rug in what might be termed an +aggressive attitude--really the expression of some embarrassment of +feeling. It certainly seemed hard to him at that moment to have to ask +his daughter these questions. + +"I think," said Lesley, with downcast eyes, "that she is trying to find +a house to suit her in Mayfair." + +"Mayfair. Then half her income will go in rent and taxes. Will she live +there alone?" + +"Yes. At least--unless--until----" + +"Until you join her: I understand. Will"--and then he made a long pause +before continuing--"if she wants you to join her at once; and you wish +to go, don't let this previous arrangement stand in the way. I shall not +interfere." + +His curtness, his abruptness, would once have startled and terrified +Lesley. She had of late grown so much less afraid of him, that now she +only lifted her eyes, with a proud, grieving look in them, and said, + +"Do you want me to go away, then?" + +"_Want_ you to go? Certainly not, child," and Mr. Brooke stretched out +his hand, and drew her to him with a caressing gesture. "No: I like to +have you here. But I thought you wanted to go to her." + +"So I do," said Lesley, the tears coming to her eyes. "But--I want to +stay, too. I want"--and she put both hands on his arms with a gesture as +affectionate as his own--"I want my father and mother both." + +"I'm afraid that is an impossible wish." + +"But why should it be?" said Lesley, looking up into his face +beseechingly. + +His features twitched for a moment with unwonted emotion. "You know +nothing about it," he said--but he did not speak harshly. "You can't +judge of the circumstances. What can I do? Even if I asked her she would +not come back to me." + +And then he put his daughter gently from him and went down to his study, +where he paced up and down the floor for a good half-hour, instead of +settling down as usual to his work. + +But Lesley's words were not without their effect, although he had put +them aside so decidedly. With that young, fair face looking so +pleadingly into his own, it did not seem impossible that she should form +a new tie between himself and his wife. Of course he had always known +that children were conventionally supposed to bind the hearts of husband +and wife to each other; but in his own case he had not found that a +daughter produced that result. On the contrary, Lesley had been for many +years a sort of bone of contention between himself and his wife; and he +had retained a cynical sense of the futility of such conventional +utterances, which were every day contradicted by barefaced facts. + +But now he began to acknowledge that Lesley was drawing his heart closer +to his wife. The charm of a family circle began to rise before him. +Pleasant, indeed, would it be to find that his dingy old house bore once +more the characteristics of a home; that womankind was represented in it +by fairer faces and softer voices than the face and voice even of dear +old Doctor Sophy, with her advanced theories, her committees, and her +brisk disregard of the amenities of life. Yes, he would give a good deal +to see Alice--it was long since he had thought of her by that +name--established in his drawing-room (which she should refurbish and +adorn to her heart's content), with Lesley by her side, and himself at +liberty to stroll in and out, to be smiled upon, and--yes, after all, +this was his dearest wish--to dare to lavish the love of which his great +heart was full upon the wife and child whose loss had been the +misfortune of his life. + +As he thought of the past years, it seemed to him that they had been +very bleak and barren. True, he had done many things; he had influenced +many people, and accomplished some good work; but what had he got out of +it for himself? He was an Individualist at heart, as most men are, and +he felt conscious of a claim which the world had not granted. It was +almost a shock to him to feel the egoistic desire for personal happiness +stirring strongly within him; the desire had been suppressed for so +long, that when it once awoke it surprised him by its vitality. + +The outcome of these reflections was seen in a letter written that day +after his talk with Lesley. He seated himself at last at his +writing-table, and after some minutes' thought dashed off the following +epistle. He did not stop for a word, he would not hesitate about the +wording of sentences: it seemed to him that if he paused to consider, +his resolution might be shaken, his purpose become unfixed. + + "My Dear Alice," he wrote--"I hear from Lesley that you are looking + for a house. Would it not be better for us all if you made your + home with me again? Things have changed since you left me, and I + might now be better able to consult your tastes and wishes than I + was then. We are both older and, I hope, wiser. Could we not manage + to put aside some of our personal predilections and make a home + together for our daughter? I use this argument because I believe it + will have more weight with you than any other: at the same time, I + may add that it is for my own sake, as well as for Lesley's, that I + make the proposition. Your affectionate husband, + + "CASPAR BROOKE." + +It was an odd ending, he thought: he had certainly not shown himself an +affectionate husband to her for many years. But there was truth in the +epithet: little as she might believe it, or as it might appear. He would +not stop to re-read the letter: he had said what he wanted to say, and +she could read his meaning easily enough. He had held out the olive +branch. It was for her to accept or reject it, as she would. + +Lesley could not understand why he was so restless and apparently +uneasy during the next few days. He seemed to be looking for +something--expecting something--nobody knew what. He spent more time +than usual with her, and took a new interest in her affairs. She did not +know that he was trying to put himself into training for domestic life, +and that he found it unexpectedly pleasant. + +"What's this?" he said one day, picking up a scrap of paper that fell +from a book that she held in her hand. "Not a letter, I think? Have you +been making extracts?" + +"No," said Lesley, blushing violently, but not trying to take the paper +from him. + +"May I see it? Oh, a sort of essay--description--impressions of London +in a fog." He murmured a few of the words and phrases as he went on. +"Why, this is very good. Here's the real literary touch. Where did you +get this, Lesley? It's not half bad." + +As she made no answer, he looked up and saw the guilty laughter in her +eyes, the conscious blushes on her cheeks. + +"You don't mean to say----" + +"I only wrote it to amuse myself," said Lesley, meekly. "I've had so +little to do since I came here, and I thought I would scribble down my +impressions." + +"My dear child," said Mr. Brooke, "if you can write as well as this, you +ought to have a career before you. Why," he added, surveying her, "I had +no idea of this. And I always did have a secret wish that a child of +mine should take to literature. My dear----" + +"But I don't want to take to literature, exactly," said Lesley, with a +little gasp. "I only want to amuse myself sometimes--just when I feel +inclined, if you don't think it a great waste of time----" + +"Waste of time? Certainly not. Go on, by all means. I shall only ask to +see what you do now and then; I might be able to give you a hint--though +I don't know. Your style is very good already--wants a little +compression, perhaps, but you can make sentences--that's a comfort." And +Mr. Brooke fell to reading the manuscript again, with a very pleased +look upon his face. + +It was while he was still reading that a servant brought in some letters +which had just arrived. He opened the first that came to hand almost +unthinkingly, for his mind was quite absorbed in the discovery which he +had made. It was only when his eye rested on the first page of the letter +that memory came back to him. He gave a great start, rose up, putting +Lesley's paper away from him, and went to the other side of the room to +read his letter. It was as follows:-- + + "DEAR MR. BROOKE,-- + + "I have already found a house that I think will suit me, and I hope + that Lesley will join me there as soon as you can spare her. I am + afraid that it is a little too late to change our respective ways + of life. It would be no advantage to Lesley to live with parents + who were not agreed. + + "Yours very truly, + + "ALICE BROOKE." + +Caspar Brooke turned round with a face that had grown strangely pale, +walked across the room to Lesley, and dropped the letter in her lap. + +"There!" he said. "I have done my uttermost. That is your mother's reply +to me." + +He strode out of the room, without deigning to answer her cry of +surprise and inquiry, and Lesley took up the letter. + +It was with a burst of tears that she put it down. "Oh, mother, mother!" +she cried to herself, "how can you be so unkind, so unjust, so +unforgiving? He is the best man in the world, and yet you have the heart +to hurt him." + +She did not see her father again until the next day, and then, although +she made no reference in words to the letter which she restored to him, +her pale and downcast looks spoke for her, and told the sympathy which +she did not dare to utter. Mr. Brooke kissed her, and felt vaguely +comforted; but it began to occur to him that he had made Lesley's +position a hard one by insisting on her visit to his house, and that it +might have been happier for her if she had remained hostile to himself, +or ignorant of his existence. For now, when she went back to her mother, +would not the affection that she evidently felt for him rise up as a +barrier between herself and Lady Alice? Would she not try to fight for +him? She was brave enough, and impetuous enough, to do it. And then +Alice might justly accuse him of having embittered the relation, +hitherto so sweet, between mother and daughter, and thereby inflicted on +her an injury which nothing on earth could repair or justify. + +Could nothing be done to remedy this state of things? Caspar Brooke +began to feel worried by it. His mind was generally so serene that the +intrusion of a personal anxiety seemed monstrous to him. He found it +difficult to write in his accustomed manner: he felt a diminution of his +interest in the club. With masculine impatience of such an unwonted +condition, he went off at last to Maurice Kenyon, and asked him +seriously whether his brain, his heart, or his liver were out of order. +For that something was the matter with him, he felt sure, and he wanted +the doctor to tell him what it was. + +Maurice questioned and examined him carefully, then assured him with a +hearty laugh that even his digestion was in the best possible working +order. + +Brooke gave himself a shake like a great dog, looked displeased for a +moment, and then burst out laughing too. + +"I suppose it is nothing, after all," he said. "I've been a trifle +anxious and worried lately. Nothing of any importance, my dear fellow. +By the by, have you been to see Lesley lately?" + +"May I speak to her?" said Maurice, his face brightening. "I +thought----" + +"Speak when you like," Caspar answered, curtly. "I almost wish you would +get if over. Get it settled, I mean." + +"I shall get it settled as soon as I can, certainly," said Maurice. + +And Mr. Brooke went away, thinking that after all he had found one way +of escape from his troubles. For if Lesley accepted Maurice, and lived +with him in a house opposite her father's, there would always be a +corner for him at their fireside, and he would not go to the grave +feeling himself a childless, loveless, desolate old man. + +It must be conceded that Mr. Brooke had sunk to a very low pitch of +dejection when he was dominated by such thoughts as these. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +LESLEY'S PROMISE. + + +Maurice was no backward lover. He made his way to Lesley that very day, +and found her in the library--not, as usual, bending over a book, but +standing by the window, from which could be seen a piece of waste ground +overgrown with grass and weeds, and shaded by some great plane and elm +trees. There was nothing particularly fascinating in the outlook, which +partook of the usual grimness of a London atmosphere; but the young +green of the budding trees spoke, in spite of the blackness of their +branches, of spring and spring's delight; and there was a brightness in +the tints of the tangled grass which gave a restful satisfaction to the +eye. Lesley was looking out upon this scene with a wistfulness which +struck Maurice with some surprise. + +"You like this window?" he said, interrogatively, when they had shaken +hands and exchanged a word or two of greeting. + +"Yes, it reminds me in some way of my old convent home; I don't know why +it should; but there are trees and grass and greenness." + +"Ah, you love the country?" + +"Do not you?" + +"Yes, but there are better things in the world than even trees and +grass." + +"Ah, yes," said Lesley, eagerly. Then, with a little smile, she added; +as if quoting--"Souls of men." + +"I was thinking of their bodies," said the young doctor. "But that's as +it should be. You think of the spiritual, I only of the material side. +Both sides ought to be considered that is where men and women meet, I +take it." + +"I suppose so," said Lesley, a little vaguely. + +"I'm afraid," Maurice went on, "that it will be a long time before I +have a country house of my own: a place where there will be trees and +green meadows and flowers, such as one loves and sighs for. I have +often thought"--with a note of agitation in his voice--"how much easier +it would be to ask any one to share my life if I had these good things +to offer. My only chance has been to find someone who cares--as I +care--for the souls and bodies of the men and women around us; who would +not disdain to help me in my work." + +"Who _could_ disdain it?" asked Lesley, innocently indignant. + +"Do you mean"--turning suddenly upon her--"that you don't consider a +hard working doctor's life something inexpressibly beneath you?" + +She drew back a little hurt, a little bit astonished. + +"Certainly not. Why should I?" + +"You are born to a life of luxury and self-indulgence." + +"My father is a journalist," said Lesley with a smile, in which +amusement struggled with offence. + +"But your grandfather was an earl! It is possible," with a touch of +raillery, "that you prefer earls to general practitioners." + +"Of the two, it is the doctor that leads the better life, in my +opinion," said Lesley, rather hotly; but immediately cooling down, she +added the remark--"My preferences have nothing much, however, to do with +the matter." + +"Have they not? How little you know your own power!" + +Lesley looked at him in much amaze. Whither this conversation was +tending it had not yet occurred to her to inquire. But something in his +look, as he stood fronting her, brought the color to her cheeks and +caused her eyes to sink. She became suddenly a little afraid of him, and +wished herself a thousand miles away. Indeed she made one backward step, +as if her maidenly instincts were about to manifest themselves in actual +flight. But Maurice saw the movement, and made two steps forward, which +brought him so close to her that he could have touched her hand if he +had wished. + +"Don't you understand?" he said, in an agitated voice. "Don't you see +that your opinion--your preferences--are all the world to me?" + +He paused as if expecting her to reply--leaning a little towards her to +catch the word from her lips. But Lesley did not speak. She remained +motionless, as pale now as she had been red before--her hands hanging at +her sides and her eyes fixed upon the ground. She looked as if she were +stricken dumb with dismay. + +"I know that I have not recommended myself to you by anything that I +have said or done," Maurice went on. "I misjudged you once, and I spoke +roughly, rudely, brutally; but it was the way you took what I said which +made me understand you. You were so fine, so noble, so sweet! Instead of +making my stupidity an excuse for shutting yourself away from what your +father was doing, you immediately threw yourself into it, you began to +work with him and for him--as of course I might have seen that you would +do directly you came to know him. I was a fool, and you were an +angel--that summarizes the situation." + +A faint smile curled Lesley's lips, although she did not look up. "I am +afraid there is not much of the angel about me," she said. + +"Ah, you can't see yourself as others see you," he answered, quite +ignoring the implication in her remark which a less ardent lover might +have resented. "To me, at any rate, you are the one woman in the world, +the only one I have ever loved--shall ever love as long as I live--the +fulfilment of my ideal--the realization of all my dreams!" + +His vehemence made Lesley draw back. + +"You exaggerate," she said with a slight shake of the head. "Indeed, I +am not all that--I could not be. I am very ignorant and full of faults. +I have a bad temper----" + +"You have a temper that is sweetness itself!" + +"Oh, Mr. Kenyon, how can you say so?"--with a look of reproach. "You who +have seen me so angry!" + +"Your temper is just like your father's," said Maurice, dogmatically. "A +little hot, if you like, but sweet----" + +"Something like preserved ginger?" asked Lesley. + +The two young people looked at each other with laughter in their eyes. +This was Lesley's way of trying to stave off the inevitable. If +Maurice's declaration could only be construed into idle compliment, she +would be rid of the necessity of giving him a plain answer. And what had +been begun as a proposal of marriage seemed likely to degenerate into a +fencing match. + +Maurice saw the danger, and was too quick-witted to fall unawares into +the trap which Lesley had laid for him. A war of words was the very +thing in which he and Ethel most delighted; and it was usually quite +easy to induce brother and sister to engage upon it. But on this +occasion he was too much in earnest for word-play. He laughed at +Lesley's simile, and then became suddenly and almost fiercely grave. + +"I can't let you turn the whole thing into a joke," he said. "You know +that I mean what I say. It is a matter of life and death to me. I love +you with my whole heart, and I come to-day to know whether there is any +chance for me--whether you can honor me with your love--whether you will +one day consent to be my wife." + +His voice sank to a pleading tone, and his face was very pale. But he +felt that a great display of emotion would frighten and repel the girl, +and he therefore sedulously avoided, as far as possible, any appearance +of agitation. He could not, however, entirely achieve the calmness which +he desired, and the very suppression of his agitation, which, in spite +of himself, made his voice shake, and brought fire to his eyes, had an +unwontedly unnerving effect upon Lesley. + +"Oh, I don't know," she said hurriedly. "I can't tell--I never +thought----" + +"Think now," he said persuasively. "Am I disagreeable to you?" + +"No,"--very softly. + +"Have you forgiven me for my bad behavior in the past?" + +"You never did behave badly." + +"But you have forgiven me?" + +"Oh, yes." + +This was illogical, as she had previously intimated that there was +nothing to forgive; but, under such circumstances, Lesley may be +excused. + +"And--surely, then--you like me a little!" + +"A little," Lesley breathed, rather than spoke, with an unconscious +smile of happiness. + +"Can you not call it 'loving?'" asked Maurice, daring for the first time +to take her soft little hand in his. + +But the question, the look, the touch, suddenly terrified Lesley, and +brought back to her mind a long-forgotten promise. What was it her mother +had required of her before she left Paris for her father's house? Was it +not a pledge that she should not bind herself to marry any man?--that +she should not engage herself to be married? Lesley had an instinctive +knowledge of the fact that to proclaim her promise would be to cast +discredit on Lady Alice; and so, while trying to keep her word, she +sought for means to avoid telling the whole truth. + +"No, oh no," she said, withdrawing her hand at once and turning away. +"Indeed, I could not. Please do not ask me anymore." + +The shock was very great to Maurice. He stood perfectly silent for a +moment. He had thought that he was making such good progress--and, +behold! the wind had suddenly changed; the face of the heavens was +overcast. He tried to think that he had been mistaken, and made another +attempt to win a favorable hearing. + +"Miss Brooke--Lesley--you say you like me a little. Do you not think +that your liking for me might grow? When you know that I love you so +tenderly, that I would lay down my very life for you, when you can hear +all that I can tell you of my hopes, my dreams, my aspirations----" + +"I do not want to hear," said Lesley, putting out her hand blindly. +"Please do not tell me: it makes me miserable--indeed, I must not +listen." + +Again Maurice stood silent for a moment. + +"_Must_ not listen?" he repeated at length, with a keen look at her. +"Why must you not?" + +Lesley made no answer. + +"You speak strangely," said Kenyon, with some slight coldness beginning +to manifest itself in his manner. "Why should you not listen to me? If +you are thinking of your father, I can assure you that he has no +objection to me. I have consulted him already. He would be honestly +glad, I believe, if you could care for me--he has told me so. Does his +opinion go for nothing?" + +She shook her head. + +"I can't explain," she said brokenly. "I can only ask you not to say +anything--at least--I have promised----" + +"Promised not to listen to me?" + +"To anything of the kind," said Lesley, feeling that she was making a +terrible mess of the whole affair, and yet unable to loosen her tongue +sufficiently to explain. + +"May I ask to whom you gave this promise?" + +"No," said Lesley. + +There was another silence, but this time it was a silence charged with +ominous significance. Maurice's face was very white, and a peculiar +rigidity showed itself in the lines of his features. He was very much +disappointed, and he also felt that he had some right to be displeased. + +"If you were bound by any such promise, Miss Brooke," he said, "I think +it would have been better that your friends should have known of it. I +don't think that Mr. Brooke was aware----" + +"Oh, no, he knew nothing about it." + +"It was a promise made before you came here?" + +"Yes." + +"Of which your mother--Lady Alice--approves?" + +"Oh, yes--it was to her--because she----" + +Lesley stammered and tried to explain. There was a tremendous oppression +upon her, such as one feels sometimes in a nightmare dream. She longed +to speak out, to clear herself in Maurice's eyes, and yet she could not +frame a single intelligible sentence. It was as though she were +afflicted with dumbness. + +"I think," said Maurice, deliberately, "that your father and your aunt +had a right to know this fact. You seem to have kept them in ignorance +of it. And I have been led into a mistake. I can assure you, Miss +Brooke, that if I had been aware of any previous promise--or--or +engagement of yours, I should never have presumed to speak as I have +spoken to-day. I can but apologize and withdraw." + +Before Lesley could answer, he had taken his hat, bowed profoundly, and +left the room. + +And Lesley, with lips from which all color had faded, and hands pressed +tightly together, watched him go, and stood for some minutes in dazed, +despairing silence before she could say, even to herself, with a burst +of hot and bitter tears, + +"Oh, I did not mean him to think _that_. And now I cannot explain! What +shall I do? What _can_ I do to make him understand?" + +But that was a question for which she found no answer. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +CURED. + + +"You are quite well," said the doctor to John Smith, otherwise called +Francis Trent, at the great hospital one day. "You can go out to-morrow. +There is nothing more that we can do for you." + +Smith raised his dull eyes to their faces. + +"Am I--cured?" he asked. + +One of the doctors shrugged his shoulders a little. Another answered +kindly and pityingly, + +"You will find that you are not as strong as you used to be. Not the +same man in many respects. But you will be able to get your own living, +and we see no reason for detaining you here. What was your trade?" + +The patient looked down at his white, thin hands. "I don't know," he +said. + +"Have you friends to go to?" + +There was a pause. Some of the medical students who were listening came +a little nearer. As a matter of fact, Francis Trent's future depended +very largely on the answer he made to this question. The statement that +he was "quite well" was hazarded rather by way of experiment than as a +matter of fact. The doctors wanted to know what he would say and do +under pressure, for some of them were beginning to suggest that the man +should be removed to the workhouse infirmary or a lunatic asylum. His +faculties seemed to be hopelessly beclouded. + +Suddenly he lifted his head. A new sharp light had come into his eyes. +He nodded reassuringly. + +"Yes, I have friends," he said. + +"You have a home where you can go? Shall we write to your friends to +meet you?" + +"No, thank you, sir. I can find my own way home." + +And then they conferred together a little, and left him, and reported +that he was cured. + +Certainly, there seemed to be nothing the matter with him now. His +wounds and injuries had healed, his bodily strength was returning. But +the haze which hung over his mind was far more impenetrable than the +doctors guessed. Something of it had been apparent to them in the +earlier days of his illness; but his clear and decided answers to their +questions convinced them that memory had to some extent returned. As a +matter of fact it was not memory that had returned, but a sharpening of +his perceptive faculties, awakening him to the fact that he stood in +danger of being taken for an idiot or a madman if he did not frame some +answer to the questions which the doctors asked him. This new acuteness +was perhaps the precursor to a return of his memory; but as yet the Past +was like a dead wall, an abyss of darkness surrounding him. Now and then +flashes of light seemed to dart across that darkness: he seemed on the +point of recalling something--he knew not what; for the flashes faded as +quickly as they came, and made the darkness all the greater for the +contrast. + +He was possessed now by the idea that if he could get out of hospital, +and walk along the London streets, he might remember all that he had +forgotten. His own name, his own history, had become a blank to him. He +knew in some vague, forlorn fashion, that he had once been what the +world calls a gentleman. He had not acknowledged so much to the doctors: +he had not felt that they would believe him. Even when the groping after +the Past became most painful, he made up his mind that he would not ask +these scientific men for help: he was afraid of being treated as a +"case," experimented on, written about in the papers. There was +something in the Past of which he knew he ought to be ashamed. What +could it be? He was afraid to ask, lest he might find himself to be a +criminal. + +In these haunting terrors there was, of course, a distinct token of +possible insanity. The man needed a friendly, guiding hand to steer him +back to the world of reason and common-sense. But to whom could he go, +since he had taken up this violent prejudice against the doctors? He +felt drawn to none of the nurses, although some of them had been very +kind to him. The only person to whom he might perhaps have disburthened +himself, if he had had the opportunity, was the sweet-voiced, +sweet-faced woman whom he had warned of the ill effects of her gifts. He +did not know her name, or anything about her; but before he left the +hospital he asked one of the nurses who she was. + +"Lady Alice Brooke--daughter of the Lord Courtleroy, who died the other +day," was the reply. + +"Could you give me her address?" + +"No; and I don't think that if I could it would be of any use to you. +She is leaving England, I believe. If you want work or help, why don't +you speak to Mr. Kenyon? He's the gentleman to find both for you--Mr. +Maurice Kenyon." + +"Which is Mr. Kenyon?" + +"There--he's just passing through the next ward; shall I speak to him +for you?" + +"No, thank you: I don't want anything from him: I only wanted the lady's +name," said John Smith, in a dogged sullen kind of way, which made the +whitecapped nurse look at him suspiciously. + +"Brooke!--Kenyon?"--How oddly familiar the names seemed to him! Of +course they were not very uncommon names; but there was a distinct +familiarity about them which had nothing to do with the names +themselves, as if they had some connection with his own history and his +own affairs. + +He was discharged--"cured." He went out into the streets with +half-a-crown in his pocket, and a fixed determination to know the truth, +sooner or later, about himself. At the same time he had a great fear of +letting any one know the extent of the blanks in his memory. He thought +that people might shut him up in a madhouse if he told them that he +could not recollect his own name. A certain amount of intellectual force +and knowledge remained to him. He could read, and understand what he +read. But of his own history he had absolutely no idea; and the only +clue to it that he could find lay in those two names--Brooke and Kenyon. + +Could he discover anything about the possessors of these names which +would help him? He entered a shop where a Post Office Directory was to +be found, and looked at Maurice Kenyon's name amongst the doctors. He +found Mr. Kenyon's private address; but as yet it told him nothing. +Woburn Place? Well, of course he had heard of Woburn Place, it was no +wonder that he should know it so well; but the name told him nothing +more. + +He sat staring at it so long that the people of the shop grew impatient, +and asked him to shut the book. He went away, and wandered about the +streets, vaguely seeking for he knew not what. And after a time he +bought a newspaper. Here again he found the name that had attracted his +attention--the name of Kenyon. "Last appearance of Miss Kenyon at the +Frivolity Theatre--this week only." + +"Who's Miss Ethel Kenyon?" he asked--drawing a bow at a venture--of his +neighbor in the dingy little coffeehouse into which he had turned. It +was ten to one that the man would not know; but he would ask. + +As it happened, the young man did know. "She's an actress," he said. "I +went to see her the other night. Pretty girl--going to get married and +leave the stage. My brother's a scene shifter at the Frivolity--knows +all about her." + +"Who is she going to marry?" + +"Oh, I don't know--some idle young chap that wants her money, I believe. +She ain't the common sort of actress, you know. Bit of a swell, with +sixty thousand pounds of her own." + +"Oh," said his interlocutor, vaguely. "And--has she any relations?" + +"Well, that I can't tell you. Stop a bit, though: I did hear tell of a +brother--a doctor, I believe. But I couldn't be sure of it." + +"Could you get to know if you wanted?" + +The young fellow turned and surveyed his questioner with some doubt. +"Dare say I could if I chose," he said. "What do you want to know for, +mate?" + +"I've been away--out of England for a long time--and I think they're +people who used to know me," said Francis Trent, improvising his story +readily. "I thought they could put me on the way of work if I could come +across them; but I don't know if it's the same." + +"Why don't you go to see her to-night? She's worth a look: she's a +pretty little thing--but she don't draw crowds: the gallery's never +full." + +"I think I'll go to-night," said Francis, rising suddenly from his seat. +He fancied that the young man looked at him suspiciously. "Yes, no +doubt, I should know her if I saw her: I'll go to-night." + +He made his way hastily into the street, while his late companion sent a +puzzled glance after him. "Got a tile loose, that chap has," he said to +the girl at the counter as he also passed out. "Or else he was a bit +screwed." + +So that night Francis Trent went to the Frivolity, and witnessed, from a +half-empty gallery, a smart, sparkling little society play, in which +Ethel Kenyon had elected to say farewell to her admirers. + +He saw her, but her face produced no impression upon his mind. + +It was not familiar to him, although her name was familiar enough. Those +gleaming dark eyes in the saucy piquante face, the tiny graceful figure, +the silvery accents of her voice, were perfectly strange to him. They +suggested absolutely nothing. It was the name alone that he knew; and he +was sure that it was in some way connected with his own. + +Before the end of the play, he got up and went out. The lights of the +theatre made him dizzy: his head ached from the hot atmosphere and from +his own physical weakness. He was afraid that he should cry out or do +something strange which would make people look at him, if he sat there +much longer. So he turned into a side street and leaned against a wall +for a little time, until he felt cool and refreshed. The evening was +warm, considering that the month was March, and the air that played upon +his face was soft and balmy. When he had recovered himself a little, he +noticed a group of young men lighting their cigarettes and loitering +about a door in the vicinity. Presently he made out that this was the +stage-door, and that these young men were waiting to see one of the +actresses come out. By the fragments of their talk that floated to him +on the still evening air in the quiet side street, Francis Trent +gathered that they spoke a good deal of Ethel Kenyon. + +"So this is the last we shall see of pretty little Ethel," he heard one +man say. "Who's the man she's hooked, eh?" + +Nobody seemed to know. + +"Why did she go on the boards at all, I wonder? She's got money, and +belongs to a pre-eminently respectable family. Her brother's a doctor." + +"Stage-struck," said another. "She'll give it up now, of course. Here's +her carriage. She'll be here directly." + +"And the happy man at her heels, I suppose," sneered the first speaker. +"They say she's madly in love with him, and that he, of course, wants +her money." + +"He's a cad, I know that," growled a younger man. + +Impelled by an interest of which he himself did not know the source, +Francis Trent had drawn nearer to the stage door as the young fellows +spoke. He was quite close to it, when it opened at last and the pretty +actress came forth. + +She was escorted by a train of admirers, rich and poor. Her maid was +laden with wraps and bouquets. The manager and the actor who played the +leading part were on either side of her, and Ethel was laughing the +merry, unaffected laugh of a perfectly happy woman as she made her +triumphal exit from the little theatre where she had achieved all her +artistic success. Another kind of success, she thought, was in store for +her now. She was to know another sort of happiness. And the whole world +looked very bright to her, although there was one little cloud--no +bigger than a man's hand, perhaps--which had already shown itself above +the horizon, and might one day cloud the noontide of her love. + +Francis Trent was so absorbed in watching her lovely face, and in +wondering why her name had seemed so familiar, that he paid scant +attention to her followers. It was only as the carriage drove off that +his eye was caught by the face of a man who sat beside her. A gleam from +a gas-lamp had fallen full upon it, revealing the regular, passionless +features, the dark eyes and pale complexion of Ethel's lover. And as +soon as he saw that face, a great change came over the mental condition +of Francis Trent. He stood for a moment as if paralyzed, his worn +features strangely convulsed, a strange lurid light showed itself in his +haggard eyes. Then he threw his arms wildly in the air, uttered a +choked, gasping cry, and rushed madly and vainly after the retreating +carriage, heedless of the shouts which the little crowd sent after him. + +"He's mad--he'll never catch up that carriage! What does he run after it +for, the fool?" said one of the men on the pavement. + +And indeed he soon relinquished the attempt, and sat down on a doorstep, +panting and exhausted, with his face buried upon his arms. + +But he was not mad. He was sure of that now. It was only that he +had--partially and feebly, but to some extent effectually--remembered +what had happened to him in the dark dead Past. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +DOUBT. + + +It was a difficult matter for Maurice Kenyon so to word his report to +Caspar Brooke as not to excite his displeasure against Lesley. He felt +himself bound to respect Lesley's confidences--if such they might be +called--respecting the promise which kept her from returning his love; +but he could not help a certain bitterness of tone in referring to his +interview with her; and his friend observed the bitterness. + +"What reason did she give for refusing you?" he asked sharply. + +"I suppose she does not care for me." + +"There is something else--to judge from your look. Perhaps there +is--somebody else?" said Brooke. + +"Well, I don't know that I'm doing right in telling you--but--God help +me!--I believe there is," said Maurice, with a groan. + +"She did not tell you who?" + +"No." + +Mr. Brooke knitted his brows. He was inclined to think that Oliver Trent +had produced an impression on Lesley's susceptible heart. He could not +ask questions of any of the persons concerned; but he had his +suspicions, and they made him angry as well as anxious. + +He made it his business during the next day or two to find out whether +Oliver had been to the house since the day when he had interrupted the +interview; but he could not learn that he had ventured there again. It +was no use asking Dr. Sophy about Lesley's comings and goings: it was +almost impossible for him to question Lesley herself. + +"What rubbish it all is--this love-making, marrying, and giving in +marriage!" he said, at last, impatiently, to himself. "I'll think no +more about these young folks' affairs--let them make or mar their +happiness in their own way. I'll think of my work and nothing else--I've +neglected it a good deal of late, I fancy. I must make up for lost time +now." And sitting down at his table, he turned over the papers upon it, +and took up a quill pen. But he did not begin to write for some minutes. +He sat frowning at the paper, biting the feathers of his pen, drumming +with his fingers on the table. And after a time he muttered to himself, +"If any man harms Lesley, I'll wring his neck--that's all;" which did +not sound as though he were giving to his literary work all the +attention that it required. + +As to Lesley, she would have given a great deal at that time for a +counsellor of some kind. The old feeling of friendlessness had come back +to her. Her aunt was absorbed by her own affairs, her father looked at +her with unquiet displeasure in his eyes. Oliver Trent had proved +himself a false friend indeed. Ethel was a little reserved with her, and +she had sent Maurice Kenyon away. There was nobody else to whom she +could turn for comfort. True, she had made many acquaintances by this +time: her father's circle was a large one, and she knew more people now +than she had ever spoken to in her quiet convent days. But these were +all acquaintances--not friends. She could not speak to any one of these +about Maurice Kenyon, her lover and her friend. Once or twice she +thought vaguely of writing to her mother about him; but she shrank from +doing so without quite knowing why. The fact was, she knew her mother's +criticism beforehand: she expected to be reproached with having broken +her compact in the spirit if not in the letter; and she did not know how +to justify herself. Maurice had taken his dismissal as final, and she +had not meant him to do so. Now, if ever, the girl wanted a friend who +would either encourage her to explain her position to him, or would do +it for her. Lady Alice would not fill this post efficiently. And Lesley, +in her youthful shamefaced pride, felt that nothing would induce her to +make her own explanation to Maurice. It would seem like asking him to +ask her again to marry him--an insupportable thought. + +So she went about the house pale and heavy-eyed, trying with all her +might to throw herself into her father's schemes for his club, writing a +little now and then, occupying herself feverishly with all the projects +that came in her way, but bearing a sad heart about with her all the +time. She was not outwardly depressed--her pride would not let her seem +melancholy. She held her head high, and talked and laughed more than +usual. But the want of color and brightness in her face and eye could +not be controlled. + +"You pale-faced wretch," she said to herself one Saturday evening, as +she stood before her glass and surveyed the fair image that met her eye; +"why cannot you look as usual? It must be this black dress that makes me +so colorless: I wish that I had a flower to wear with it." + +Mr. Brooke and his sister were holding one of their frequent Saturday +evening parties, when they were "at home" to a large number of guests. +Lesley was just about to go downstairs. Her dress was black, for she was +in mourning for her grandfather; and it must be confessed that the +sombre hue made her look very pale indeed. The wish for a flower was +gratified, however, almost as soon as formed. Kingston entered her room +at that moment carrying a bouquet of flowers, chiefly white, but with a +scarlet blossom here and there, which would give exactly the touch of +color that Lesley's appearance required. + +"These flowers have just come for you, ma'am," Kingston said quietly. + +Her subdued voice, her pale face, and heavily shadowed eyes, did not +make her a cheerful-looking messenger; but Lesley, for the time being, +thought of nothing but the flowers. + +"Where do they come from, Kingston?" she asked, eagerly. + +"I was only to say one word, ma'am--that they came from over the way." + +There was no want of color now in Lesley's face. Her cheeks were +rose-tinted, her eyes had grown strangely bright. "Over the way." Of +course that meant Maurice. Did not he live over the way?--and was there +any one else at the Kenyons' house who would send her such lovely +flowers? + +If he sent her flowers, she reflected, he could not have yet ceased to +care for her, although she had behaved so badly to him--in his eyes, at +least. The thought gave her courage and content. Perhaps he was coming +that night--he had a standing invitation to all the Brookes' evening +parties--and when he came he would perhaps "say something" to her, +something which she could answer suitably, so as to make him +understand. + +She did not know how pretty she looked as she stood looking down at her +flowers, the color and smile and dimples coming and going in her fair +young face in very unwonted confusion. But Mary Kingston noted every +change of tint and expression, and was surprised. For the little mystery +was quite plain to her. It was not Mr. Kenyon who sent the flowers at +all. Mr. Kenyon was too busy a man to buy bouquets. It was Oliver Trent +who had sent them, for Kingston had herself seen him carrying the +flowers and entrusting them to a commissionnaire with a message for Miss +Brooke. She believed, too, that Lesley knew from whom they came. But she +was not sufficiently alert and interested just then to make these +matters of great importance to her. She did not think it worth her while +to say how much she knew. With a short quick sigh she turned away, and +expected to see her young mistress quit the room at once, still with +that happy smile upon her face. But Lesley had heard the sigh. + +"Oh, Kingston," she said, laying her hand on the woman's arm, "I wish +you would not sigh like that!" + +"I beg your pardon, ma'am; I did not mean to annoy you." + +"I don't mean _that_: I mean it for your own sake. You seem so sad about +something--you have been sad so long!" + +"I've had a sad life, Miss Lesley." + +"But there is surely some special sadness now?" + +"Yes," said the woman slowly. "Yes, that is true. I've--lost--a friend." + +She put a strong emphasis on the word "lost," and paused before and +after uttering it, as if it bore a peculiar meaning to her. But Lesley +took the word in its ordinary sense. + +"I am very sorry," she said. "It must be very terrible, I think, when +one's friends die." + +She stood silent for a minute--a shadow from Kingston's grief troubling +the sweetness of her fair face. It was the maid who broke the silence. + +"Excuse me, ma'am; I oughtn't to have troubled you with my affairs +to-night, just when you're enjoying yourself too. But it's hard +sometimes to keep quiet." + +Moved by a sudden instinct of sympathy, Lesley turned and kissed the +woman who served her, as if she had been a sister. It was in such ways +that she showed her kinship with the man who had written "The +Unexplored." Lady Alice, in spite of all her kindness of heart, would +never have thought of kissing her ladies' maid. + +"Don't grieve--don't be sorrowful," said Lesley. "Perhaps things will +mend by and by." + +"Ah, my dear," said Kingston, forgetting her position, as Lady Alice +would have said, while that young, soft kiss was warm upon her cheek, +"the dead don't come back." + +And when Lesley had gone downstairs, with the white and scarlet bouquet +in her hand, Mary Kingston sat down and wept bitterly. + +It was not the first time that Lesley had spoken words of consolation to +her; but on this occasion her gentleness had gone home to Mary +Kingston's heart as it had never done before. After weeping for herself +for a time, she fell to weeping for Lesley too, for it seemed inevitable +to her that Lesley should suffer before very long. She believed that +Lesley was in love with Oliver, and that for this reason only had she +refused Maurice Kenyon, which shows that Lesley had kept her own secret +very well. + +"I'd do anything to keep her from harm," said Mary Kingston, with a +passionate rush of gratitude towards the girl for her kindly words and +ways. "Francis Trent brought me grief enough, God knows; and if she's +going to throw herself away on Oliver, she'll have her heart broke +sooner than mine. For I've been used to sorrow all my days; and +she--poor, pretty lamb--she don't know what it means. And Miss Brooke +all taken up with her medicine-fads, and Mr. Brooke only a _man_, after +all, in spite of his goodness; and my lady, her mother, far away and +never coming near her--if anybody was friendless and forlorn, it's Miss +Lesley. Only me between her and her ruin, maybe! But I'll prevent it," +said the woman, rising to her feet with a strange look of exaltation in +her sunken eyes: "I'll guard her from Oliver Trent as I couldn't guard +my own sister, poor lass! I'll see that she does not come to any harm, +and if he means ill by her I'll shame him before all the world, even +though I break more hearts than one by it." + +And then she roused herself from her reverie, and went downstairs, where +she knew that her presence was required in the tea-room. Scarcely had +she entered it, when she made a short pause and gave a slightly +perceptible start. For there stood Ethel Kenyon, with Oliver Trent in +attendance. She had not thought that he would come to the house; a rumor +had gone about that he had quarreled with Mr. Brooke; yet there he was, +smiling, bland, irreproachable as ever, with quite the look of one who +had the right to be present. He was holding Ethel's fan and gloves as +she drank a cup of tea, and seemed to be paying her every attention in +his power. Ethel, in the daintiest of costumes, was laughing and talking +to him as they stood together. _She_ was quite unconscious of any reason +for his possible absence. Mary Kingston gave them a keen glance as she +went by, and decided in her own mind that there was more in the +situation than as yet she had understood. + +Oliver was playing a bold game. His marriage was fixed for the following +Tuesday. From Mr. Brooke's attitude in general towards the Kenyons, he +felt sure that Caspar would not place them in any painful or perplexing +situation. He would not, for instance, refuse to welcome Oliver to his +house again, if Oliver went in Ethel's company. Accordingly, the young +man put his pride and his delicacy (if he had either--which is doubtful) +in his pocket, and went with his affianced wife to Mr. Brooke's Saturday +evening party. + +"For I will see Lesley again," he said to himself, "and if I do not go +to-night I may not have the opportunity. If she would relent, I would +not mind throwing Ethel over--I could do it so easily now that Francis +has disappeared. But I would give up Ethel's twenty thousand, if Lesley +would go with me instead!" + +Little did he guess that only on the previous night had he been +recognized and remembered by that missing brother, whose tottering brain +was inflamed almost to madness by a conviction of deliberate wrong; or +that this brother was even now upon his track, ready to demand the +justice that he thought had been denied him, and to punish the man who +had brought him to this evil pass! Wild and mad as were the imaginings +of Francis Trent's bewildered mind, they boded ill to his brother Oliver +whenever the two should meet. + +Meanwhile, Ethel's lover, with a white flower in his button-hole, +occupied the whole evening in leaning idly against a wall, and feasting +his eyes on the fair face and form--not of his betrothed, but--of Lesley +Brooke. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +IN MR. BROOKE'S STUDY. + + +Caspar Brooke's dingy drawing-room looked cheerful enough that night, +filled by a crowd of men and women, and animated by the buzz of constant +talk and movement. It was a distinguishing characteristic of his parties +that they were composed more of men than of women; and the guests were +often men or women who had done something in the world, and were known +for some special excellence in their work. Lesley generally enjoyed +these gatherings very much. The visitors were shabby, unfashionable +people sometimes: they had eccentricities of dress and manner; but they +were always interesting in Lesley's eyes. Literary men, professors, +politicians, travelers, philanthropists, faddists--these were the folk +that mostly frequented Caspar Brooke's parties. Neither artists nor +musicians were largely represented: the flow of talk was rather +political and literary than artistic; and on the whole there were more +elderly people than young ones. As a rule, Oliver Trent was not disposed +to frequent these assemblies: he shrugged his shoulders at them and +called them "slow," but on this occasion he was only too glad to find +admittance. It was at least a good opportunity for watching Lesley, as +she passed from one group to another, doing the duties of +assistant-hostess with grace and tact, giving a smile to one, a word to +another, entering into low-toned conversation, which brightened her eyes +and flushed her fair cheek, with another. Oliver thought her perfection. +Beside her stately proportions, Ethel seemed to him ridiculously tiny +and insignificant, and her sparkling prettiness was altogether eclipsed +by Lesley's calmer beauty. He was not in an amiable mood. He had steeled +himself against the dictates of his own taste and conscience, to +encounter Caspar Brooke's cold stare and freezing word of conventional +welcome, because he longed so intensely for a last word with Lesley; but +he was now almost sorry that he had come. Lesley seemed utterly +indifferent to his presence. She certainly carried his flowers in her +hand, but she did not glance his way. On the contrary, she anxiously +watched the door from time to time, as if she awaited the coming of some +one who was slow to make his appearance. Who could the person be for +whom she looked? Oliver asked himself jealously. He had not the +slightest suspicion that she was watching for Maurice Kenyon. And +Maurice Kenyon did not come. + +It was his absence that, as the evening wore on, made the color slip +from Lesley's cheeks and robbed her eyes of their first brightness. A +certain listlessness came over her. And Oliver, watching from his +corner, exulted in his heart, for he thought to himself-- + +"It is for me she is looking sad; and if she will but yield her will to +mine, I will win and wear her yet, in spite of all who would say me +nay." + +It was a veritable love-madness, such as had not come upon him since the +days of his youth. He had had a fairly wide experience of love-making; +but never had he been so completely mastered by his passion as he was +now. The consideration that had once been so potent with him--love of +ease, money, and position--seemed all to have vanished away. What +mattered it that to abandon Ethel Kenyon at the last moment would mean +disgrace and perhaps even beggary? He had no care left for thoughts like +these. If Lesley would acknowledge her love for him, he was ready to +throw all other considerations to the winds. + +"Sing something, Lesley," her father said to her when the evening was +well advanced. "You have your music here?" + +Oh, yes, Lesley had her music here. But she glanced a little nervously +in Oliver's direction. "I wonder if Ethel would accompany me," she said. +She shrank nervously from the thought of Oliver's accompaniments. + +But Oliver was too quick for her. He moved forward to the piano as soon +as he saw Caspar Brooke's eye upon it. And with his hand on the +key-board, he addressed himself suavely to Lesley. + +"You are going to sing, I hope? May I not have the pleasure of +accompanying you?" + +Lesley could not say him nay, but she also could not help a glance, half +of alarm, half of appeal, towards her father. Mr. Brooke's face wore an +expression which was not often seen upon it at a social gathering. It +was distinctly stormy--there was a frown upon the brow, and an ominous +setting of the lips which more than one person in the room remarked. +"How savage Brooke looks!" one guest murmured into another's ear. "Isn't +he friendly with Trent?" And the words were remembered in after days. + +But nothing could be said or done to hinder Oliver from taking his place +at the piano, for Lesley did not openly object, and her father could not +interfere between her and his own guest. So Lesley sang, and did not +sing so well as usual, for her heart failed her a little, partly through +vexation and partly through disappointment at Maurice Kenyon's +disappearance, but she gave pleasure to her hearers, in spite of what +seemed to herself a comparative failure, and when she had finished her +song, she was besieged by requests that she would sing once more. + +"Sing 'Thine is my heart,'" Oliver's soft voice murmured in her ear. + +"I have not that song here," said Lesley, quietly. She was not very much +discomposed now, but she did not want to encourage his attention. She +rose from the music-stool. "My music is downstairs," she said. "I must +go and fetch it--I have a new song that Ethel has promised to play for +me." + +Oliver bit his lips and stood back as Lesley escaped by the door of the +front drawing-room. Mr. Brooke's eye was upon him, and he could not +therefore follow her; but he made his way into the library through the +folding doors, and there a new mode of attack became visible to him. By +the library door he gained the landing; and then he softly descended the +stairs, which were now almost deserted, for the guests had crowded into +the drawing-room, first to hear Lesley's song and then to listen to a +recitation by Ethel Kenyon. But where had Lesley gone? + +A subtle instinct told him that she had hidden herself for a moment--and +told him also where to find her. The lights were burning low in her +father's study, which had been set to rights a little, in order to serve +as a room where people could lounge and talk if they wanted to escape +the din of conversation in the larger rooms. He looked in, and at first +thought it empty. But the movement of a curtain revealed some one's +presence; and as his eyes became accustomed to the dimmer light, he saw +that it was Lesley. She was standing between the fireplace and curtained +window, and her hand was on the mantelpiece. + +She started when she saw him in the doorway. It was her start that +betrayed her. He came forward and shut the door behind him--Lesley +fancied that she heard the click of the key in the lock. She tried to +carry matters with a high hand. + +"I am afraid I cannot find my music here," she said, "so please do not +shut the door, Mr. Trent. There is little enough light as it is." + +She walked forward, but he had planted himself squarely between her and +the door. She could not pass. + +"Mr. Trent----" she began. + +"Wait! don't speak," he said, in a voice so hoarse and stifled that she +could hardly recognize it as his own. "I must have a word with +you--forgive me--I won't detain you long----" + +"Excuse me, I must go back to the drawing-room." + +Lesley spoke civilly but coldly, though some sort of fear of him passed +shiveringly through her frame. + +"You shall not go yet: you shall listen to what I have to say." + +"Mr. Trent!" + +"Yes, it is all very well to exclaim! You know what I mean, and what I +want. I had not time to speak the other night; but I will speak now. +Lesley, I love you!----" + +"Mr. Trent, Ethel is upstairs. Have you forgotten her? Let me pass." + +"I have not forgotten her: I remember her only too well. She is the +burden, the incubus of my life. Oh, I know all that you can tell me +about her: I know her beauty, her gifts, her virtues; but all that does +not charm me. You, you and no other, are the woman that I love; and, +beside you, Ethel is nothing to me at all." + +"You might at least remember your duty to her," said Lesley, with +severity. "You have won her heart, and you are about to vow to make her +happy. I cannot understand how you can be so false to her." + +"If I am false to her," said Oliver, pleadingly, "I am true to the +dictates of my own heart. Hear me, Lesley--pity me! I have promised to +marry a woman whom I do not love. I acknowledge it frankly. I shall +never make her happy--strive as I may, her nature will never assimilate +with mine. She will go through life a disappointed woman; while, if I +set her free, she will find some man whom she loves and will be happy +with him. You may as well confess that this is true. You may as well +acknowledge that her nature is too light, too trivial to be rent asunder +by any falsity of mine. Ethel will never break her heart; but you might +break yours, Lesley--and I--I also--have a heart to break." + +Lesley smiled scornfully. "Yours will not break very easily," she said, +"and I can answer for mine." + +"You are strong," he said, using the formula by which men know how to +soften women's hearts, "stronger than I am. Be merciful, Lesley! I am +very weak, I know; but weakness means suffering. Can you not pity me, +when you think that my weakness and my suffering come from love of you?" + +"I am very sorry, Mr. Trent, but I really cannot help it. It is your own +fault--not mine," said Lesley, a little hotly. "I never thought of such +a thing." + +"No, you were as innocent and as good as you always are," he broke in, +"and you did not know what you were doing when you led me on with those +sweet looks and sweet words of yours. I can believe that. But you did +the mischief, Lesley, without meaning it; and you must not refuse to +make amends. You made me think you loved me." + +"Oh, no, no," said Lesley, her face aflame with outraged modesty. "I +never made you think so! You were mistaken--that is all!" + +"You made me think you loved me," Oliver repeated, doggedly, "and you +owe me amends. To say the very least, you have given me great pain: you +have made me the most miserable of men, and wrecked all chance of +happiness between Ethel and myself--have you no heart that you can +refuse to repair a little of the harm that you have done? You are a +cruel woman--I could almost say a wicked woman: hard, false, and +cowardly; and I wish my words could blight your life as your coquetry +has blighted mine." + +Lesley trembled. No woman could listen to such words unmoved, when her +armor of incredulity fell from her as Lesley's armor had fallen. +Hitherto she had felt a scornful disbelief in the reality of Oliver's +love for her. But now that disbelief had gone. There was a ring of +passionate feeling in Oliver's tones which could not be simulated. The +coldness, the artificiality of the man had disappeared: his passion for +Lesley had taken possession of him, and stirred his nature to the very +depths. + +"Listen, Lesley," he said, in a low, strained voice, which shook and +vibrated with the intensity of his emotion, "don't let me feel this. +Don't let me feel that you have merely played with me, and are ready to +cast me off like an old shoe when you are tired. Other women do that +sort of thing, but not you, my darling!--not you--don't let me think it +of you. Forgive me the harsh things I said, and help me--help me--to +forget them." + +He had grasped the back of a chair with both hands, and was kneeling +with one knee on the seat. He now stretched out his hands to her, and +came forward as if to take her in his arms. But Lesley drew back. + +"I am very sorry," she said, "but I cannot help it. I did not mean to be +unkind." + +"If you are really sorry for me," he said, still in the deep-shaken +voice which moved her to so uneasy a sense of pain and wrong-doing, "you +will do all you can for me. You will help me to begin a new life. I love +you so much that I am sure I could teach you to love me. I am certain of +it, Lesley--dearest--let me try!" + +Did she falter for a moment? There flashed over her the remembrance of +Maurice's anger, of his continued absence, of the probability that he +would never come back to her; and the dream of a tender love that could +envelop the rest of her lonely life assailed her like a temptation. She +hesitated, and in that moment's pause Oliver drew nearer to her side. + +"Kiss me, Lesley!" he whispered, and his head bent over hers, his lips +almost touched her own. + +Then came the reaction--the awakening. + +"Oh, no, no! Do not touch me. Do not come near me. I do not love you. +And if I did"--said Lesley, almost violently--"if I loved you more than +all the world, do you think that I would betray Ethel, my friend? that I +would be so false to her--and to myself?" + +"Then you do love me?" he murmured, undisturbed by her vehemence, which +he did not think boded ill for his chances, after all. + +"No, I do not." + +"You are mistaken. Kiss me once, Lesley, and you will know. You will +feel your love then." + +"You insult me, Mr. Trent. Love you? Come one step nearer and I shall +hate you. Oh!" she said, recoiling, as a gleam from the lamp revealed to +her the wild expression in his eyes, the tension of his white lips and +nostrils, the strange transformation in those usually impassive features +which revealed the brutal nature below the polished surface of the man, +"I hate you now!" + +She was close to the wall, and her head came in sudden contact with the +old-fashioned bell-rope. She seized it firmly. + +"Open the door," she said, "or I shall ring this bell and send for my +father. He will know what to do." + +Oliver gazed at her for a minute or two, then, with a smothered oath +upon his lips, he turned slowly to the door and opened it. Before +leaving the room, however, he said, in a voice half-stifled by impotent +passion-- + +"Is this really your last word?" + +"The last I shall ever speak to you," said Lesley, resolutely. + +Then he went out, seizing his hat as he passed through the hall and made +his way into the street. He did not notice, as he retired, that a +woman's figure was only half-concealed behind the curtains that screened +a door in the study, and that his interview with Lesley must therefore +have had an unseen auditor. He forgot that Ethel and Rosalind waited for +him above. He was mad with rage; deaf to all voices saving those of +passion: blind to all sights save the visions that floated maddeningly +before his eyes. + +Mad, blind, deaf to reason as he was, he was obliged to come back to +earth and its realities before very long. For he was stopped in the +streets by rough hands: a hoarse, passionate voice uttered threats and +curses in his ear; and he found himself face to face with his +long-vanished and half-forgotten brother, Francis Trent. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +BROTHERS. + + +"What do you want with me?" said Oliver trying to shake off the rude +grasp. + +"I want you--you," gasped the man. He was evidently much excited, and +his breath came in hard, quick pants. "Have you forgotten your own +brother?" + +The two paused for an instant under a gas lamp. Oliver looked into +Francis Trent's drawn, livid face--into the wild, bloodshot eyes, and +for an instant recoiled. It struck him that the face was that of a +madman. But it was, nevertheless, the face of his brother, and after +that momentary pause he recovered himself and laughed slightly. + +"Forgotten you? I'm not very likely to forget you, my boy. Well, what do +you want?" + +"I want that two thousand pounds." + +His hand still clutched Oliver's arm, and the grasp was becoming +unpleasant. + +"Can you not take your hand off my arm?" said the younger man, coolly. +"I'm not going to run away. Apropos, what have you been doing with +yourself all these weeks! I thought you had given us the slip +altogether." + +"I want my money," said Francis, doggedly. + +Oliver looked at him curiously. What did this persistence mean? What +money was he thinking about? + +"Your money?" he repeated. + +"Yes, my money--the money you ought to have given me by this time--where +is it?" + +"You mean the sum I promised you on my wedding-day?" + +Francis nodded, with a rather confused look upon his face. + +"My wedding-day has not occurred yet," said Oliver, lightly. "Upon my +word, I doubt whether it ever will occur. Don't alarm yourself, Francis. +I shall get the money for you before long--I've not forgotten it." + +"I want it now. Two thousand pounds," said Francis, thickly. + +"Are you drunk, man! Do you think I carry two thousand pounds about with +me in my pocket? Go home--I'll see you again when you are sober." + +"I have touched nothing but water to-day," said his brother. "I swear +it--so help me, God! I know what I'm about. And I know _you_. I know you +for the vilest cheat and trickster that ever walked the earth. I've been +in hospital--I don't know how long. I know that you would cheat me if +you could. You were to pay me within six months--and it's over six +months now." + +"I tell you I'm not married. I was to pay you on my wedding-day." + +"You were to pay me within six months. Have you opened a bank account +for me and paid in the two thousand pounds?" + +"Are you mad, Francis?" + +"Mad?--I may well be mad after all you have made me suffer. I tell you I +want money--money--money--I want two thousand pounds." + +His voice rose almost to a shriek, and the sound reverberated along the +quiet street with startling effect. Oliver shrank into himself a little, +and gave a hurried glance around him. They were still in Upper Woburn +Place, and he was afraid that the noise should excite remark. It was +plain to him that Francis was either drunk or out of his mind, and he +therefore concentrated his attention on getting quietly away from him, +or leading him to some more secluded spot. + +"Look here," he said, in a conciliatory tone. "You shall have your money +if you'll be quiet and come away with me. Come to my house and I'll +explain things to you. You've not seen Rosalind for a long time, have +you? Come in and talk things over." + +"Oh, you want to trap me, do you?" said Francis, sullenly. "No, I'll not +come to your house. Go in and fetch the money out to me, or I'll make +you repent it." + +Oliver was almost at his wit's end. + +"All right," he said, soothingly. "I will fetch it. I can give you a +cheque, you know. But don't you want a little loose change to go on +with? Take these." + +He held out a handful of gold and silver. Francis looked at it with +covetous eyes for a minute or two, then thrust his brother's hand aside +with a jerk which almost sent the coins into the road. + +"I want justice, not charity," he said. "I want the money you promised +me." + +Oliver shrugged his shoulders, and slowly returned the money to his +pocket. + +"I am more than ever convinced that you are either mad or drunk, my +boy," he said. "You should never refuse ten pounds when you can get it, +and it's not a thing that I should fancy you have often done before. +However, as you choose." + +He walked onward, and Francis walked, heavily and unsteadily, at his +side, muttering to himself as he went. Oliver glanced curiously at him +from time to time. + +"I wonder what _has_ happened to him," he said to himself. "It's not +safe to question, but I _should_ like to know. Is it drink? or is it +brain disease? One thing or the other it must be. He does not look as if +he would live to spend the two thousand pounds--if ever he gets it. I +wonder if I could contrive to stave off the payment----" + +And then he fell into a gloomy calculation of ways and means, +possibilities and chances, which lasted until the house in Russell +Square was reached. Here the brothers paused, and Oliver looked keenly +into his companion's face, noting that a somewhat remarkable change had +passed over it. Instead of being flushed and swollen, as if from +drinking, it had become very pale. His eyes seemed on the point of +closing, and he wavered unsteadily in his walk. Oliver had to put out +his hand to save him from falling, and to help him to the steps, where +he collapsed into a sitting posture, with his head against the railings. +He seemed to be stupefied, if not asleep. + +"Dead drunk," said Oliver to himself. "The danger's over for to-night, +at any rate. Now, what shall I do with him? I can't get him into the +house and lock him into a room--that would make talk. I think I had +better leave him to the tender mercies of the next policeman; if he gets +run in for being drunk and incapable, so much the better for me." + +He took out his latch key and let himself into the house, closing the +door softly behind him, so as not to awaken the half-sleeping wretch +upon the steps. Then he ascended the stairs--still softly, as if he +thought that he was not yet out of danger of awaking him--and locked +himself into his own room. Then he drew a long breath, and stood +motionless for a moment, with bent brows and downcast eyes. "There will +be no end to this," he said to himself, "until Francis is shipped off to +America or landed safely in a madhouse. One seems to me about as likely +as another. I wonder whether he was drunk to-night, or insane? Drunk, I +think: insanity"--with a sinister smile--"would be too great a stroke of +luck for me!" + +But it was perfectly true, as Francis had said, that no drop of +intoxicating liquor had passed his lips that day. He was suffering from +brain disease, as Oliver had half suspected, although not to such an +extent that he could actually be called insane. A certain form of mania +was gradually taking possession of his mind. He was convinced that he +had been robbed by his brother of much that was his due; and that Oliver +was even now withholding money that was his. This fancy had its +foundation in fact, for Oliver had wronged him more than once, and was +ready to wrong him again should a suitable opportunity occur; but the +notion that at present occupied his mind, respecting the payment of the +two thousand pounds, was largely a figment of his disordered brain. +Oliver had certainly questioned within himself whether he should be +called upon to pay this sum, and as Francis seemed to have completely +disappeared, he began to think that he might evade his promise to do so; +but he had not as yet sought to free himself from the necessity of +paying it. Francis' own words and demeanor suggested this idea for the +first time to his mind. Was it possible, he asked himself, to prove that +Francis was insane--clap him into a lunatic asylum--get rid of him +forever without hush-money? True, there was his wife, Mary, to be +silenced; but she had no influence and no friends. "Power is always in +the hands of those who have most money," Oliver said to himself, as he +reviewed the situation, after leaving Francis on the door step. "I have +more money than Francis, certainly: I ought to be able to control his +fate a little--and my own." + +But Oliver, astute as he thought himself, was occasionally mistaken in +his conclusions. Francis Trent, as we have said, was not intoxicated; +and when he had dozed quietly for a few moments on the door-step, he +came somewhat to himself, as he usually did after these fits of frenzy. +He felt dazed and bewildered, but he was no longer furious. He could not +remember very well what he had said to Oliver, or what Oliver had said +to him. But he knew where he was, and that in this region--between +Russell Square and St. Pancras Church--he should find his truest friends +and perhaps also his bitterest foes. + +He roused himself, stretched his cramped limbs, and turned back to +wander towards Upper Woburn Place, hardly knowing, however, why he bent +his steps in that direction. Instinct, not memory or reflection, guided +him, and when he halted, he leaned against the railings of the house +from which he had seen Oliver come forth, without realizing for one +moment that it was the house in which his faithful and half-forgotten +Mary was to be found. + +The door opened, as he waited, and some of the guests came out. Two or +three carriages drove up: there was a call for a hansom, a whistle, and +an answering shout. Francis Trent watched the proceedings with a sort of +stupid attention. They reminded him of the previous night when he had +seen Ethel Kenyon coming out of the theatre after her farewell +performance. But on that occasion he had passed unnoticed and +unrecognized. This was not now to be the case. + +Suddenly a woman on the threshold of Mr. Brooke's house caught sight of +the weary, shabby figure leaning against the railings. Francis heard a +little gasp, a little cry, and felt a hand upon his own. "Francis! is it +you? have you really come back?" It was Mary Kingston who looked him in +the face. + +He returned the gaze with lack-lustre, unseeing eyes. When the fever-fit +of rage left him, he was still subject to odd lapses of memory. One of +these had assailed him now. He did not recognize his wife in the very +least. + +"I--I don't know you," he said. "Go away, woman. I'm not doing any +harm." + +There is nothing so piteous as the absence of recognition of the +patient's best friends in cases of brain-disease. Francis Trent's +condition sent a stab of pain to Mary's innermost heart. She forgot +where she was--she forgot her duties as doorkeeper; she remembered only +that she loved this man, and that he had forgotten her. She cried +aloud---- + +"Francis, I am your wife." + +"I have no wife," said the distraught man, looking listlessly beyond +her. "I am here to see Oliver--he is to give me some money." + +"Don't you remember Mary, Francis? Look at me--look at me." + +"Mary?" he said, doubtfully. "Oh, yes, I remember Mary. But you are not +Mary, are you?" + +"Yes, indeed I am. Where have you been all this time? Oh, my poor dear, +you can't tell me! You are ill, Francis. Let me take care of you. Can +you tell me where you live?" + +But he could not reply. His head drooped upon his breast: he looked as +if he neither saw nor heard. What was she to do? + +Of one thing Mary was certain. Now that she had found her husband, she +was not going to lose sight of him again. + +She would go with him whithersoever he went, unless he repelled her by +force. She gave one regretful thought to her young mistress, and to a +certain project which she had determined to put into effect that night, +and then she thought of the Brookes no more. She must leave them, and +follow her husband's fortunes. There was no other way for her. + +Fortunately she had money in her pocket. She had also thrown a shawl +across her arm before she came to the door. The shawl belonged to Miss +Brooke, and had been offered to one of the guests as a loan; but Mary +had forgotten all about the guests, and appropriated the shawl, with the +cool resolution which characterized her in cases of emergency. +Necessity--especially the necessity entailed by love--knows no law. At +that moment she knew no law but that of her repressed and stunted, but +always abiding, affection for the husband who had burdened her life for +many weary years with toil and anxiety and care. For him she would do +anything--throw up all friendships, sacrifice her future, her character, +and, if need be, her life. + +She wrapped the shawl round her head, and put her arm through her +husband's, without once looking back. + +"Come, Francis," she said, quietly, "show me where you live now. We will +go home." + +She led him unresistingly away. For a little while he walked as if in a +dream; but by and by his movements became more assured, and he turned so +decidedly in one direction that she saw he knew his way and was +pursuing it. She said nothing, but kept close to his side, with her hand +resting lightly on his arm. She was not mistaken in her expectations. +Francis went straight to the wretched lodging in which he had slept for +the past few nights, and Mary at once assumed the management of his +affairs. + +She was rewarded--as she thought, poor soul!--for her efforts. When she +had lighted a fire and a candle, and prepared some sort of frugal meal +for the man she loved, he lifted up his face and looked at her with a +gleam of returning memory and intelligence in his haggard eyes. + +"Mary," he said, in a bewildered tone, "Mary--my wife? How did you come +here, Mary? How did you find me out?" + +"Are you glad to see me, dear?" said Mary. + +"Yes--yes, I am. Everything will be right now. You'll manage things for +me." + +It was an acknowledgment of the power of her affection which more than +recompensed her for the trouble of the last few months. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +MRS. TRENT'S STORY. + + +"I never heard of such an extraordinary thing," said Lesley. + +"Then that shows how little you know of the world," said Doctor Sophy, +amicably. "I've heard of a hundred cases of the kind." + +"Well, there are some elements of oddity in this case," remarked Caspar +Brooke, striking in with unexpected readiness to defend his daughter's +views. "Kingston was not a giddy young girl, who would go off with any +man who made love to her. Indeed, I can't quite fancy any man making +love to her at all. She was remarkably plain, poor woman." + +"She had beautiful eyes," said Lesley. "And she was so nice and quiet +and kind. And I really thought that she was--fond of me." She paused +before she uttered the last three words, being a little afraid that they +would be thought sentimental. And indeed Miss Brooke did give a +contemptuous snort, but Caspar smiled kindly, and patted his daughter's +hand. + +"Don't take it to heart," he said. "'Fondness' is a very indeterminate +term, and one that you must not scrutinize too closely. This little +black beast, for instance"--caressing, as he spoke, the head of the +ebony-hued cat which sat upon the arm of his chair--"which I picked up +half-starving in the street when it was a kitten, is fond of me because +I feed it: but suppose that I were too poor to give it milk and +chicken-bones, do you think it would retain any affection for me? A +sublimated cupboard-love is all that we can expect now-a-days from +cats--and servants." + +"When you can write as you do about love," said Lesley, who was coming +to know her father well enough to tease him now and then, "I wonder that +you dare venture to express yourself in this cold-blooded way in our +hearing!" + +"Ah, but, my dear, I was not talking about love," said Caspar, lightly. +"I was talking about 'fondness,' which is a very different matter. You +did not say that your maid, Kingston, _loved_ you--I suppose she was +hardly likely to go that length--you said that she was fond of you. Very +probably. But fondness has its limits." + +Lesley smiled in reply, and did not utter the thought that occurred to +her. What she really believed was that Kingston was not only "fond" of +her, after the instinctive fashion of a dumb creature that one feeds, +but loved her, as one woman loves another. Although her democratic +feelings came to her through her father's teaching, or by inheritance +from him, she did not quite like to say this to him: he might think it +foolish to believe that a servant whom she had not known for very many +weeks actually loved her; and yet she had the conviction that Kingston's +attachment was deeper and more sincere than that of many a woman who +claimed to be her friend. And she was both grieved and puzzled by +Kingston's disappearance. + +For this was on Monday morning, and the woman had not come back to Mr. +Brooke's. Great had been the astonishment of every one in the house when +it was found that the quiet, well-spoken, well-behaved Mary Kingston, +who had hitherto proved herself so trustworthy and so conscientious, had +gone away--disappeared utterly and entirely, without leaving a word of +explanation behind. She had last been seen on the pavement, shortly +before midnight, assisting a lady to get into a hansom. Nobody had seen +her re-enter the house. It seemed as if she had been spirited away. She +had gone without a bonnet or shawl, in her plain black dress and white +cap and apron, as if she meant to return in a minute or two, and she had +not appeared again. The shawl that she had taken with her was not +missed, for Miss Brooke continued for some time under the impression +that it had been lent to one of the visitors. + +The conversation recorded above took place at Mr. Brooke's +luncheon-table. It was not often that he was present at this meal, but +on this occasion he had joined his sister and daughter, and questioned +them with considerable interest about Kingston. After lunch, he put his +hand gently on Lesley's arm, just as she was leaving the dining-room, +and said, in a tone where sympathy was veiled with banter-- + +"Never mind, my dear. We will get you another maid, who will be _less_ +fond of you, and then perhaps she will stay." + +"I don't want another maid, thank you, papa. And, indeed, I do think +Kingston was fond of me," said Lesley earnestly. + +Mr. Brooke shrugged his shoulders. "Verily," he said, "the credulity of +some women----" + +"But it isn't credulity," said Lesley, with something between a smile +and a sigh, "it is faith. And I can't altogether disbelieve in poor +Kingston--even now." + +Mr. Brooke shook his head, but made no rejoinder. Privately he thought +Lesley foolishly mistaken, but believed that time would do its usual +office in correcting the mistakes of the young. + +His own incredulity received a considerable shock somewhat later in the +day. About four o'clock a knock came to his study, and the knock was +followed by the appearance of the sour-visaged Sarah. + +"If you please, sir, there's that woman herself wants to see you." + +"What woman, Sarah?" said Caspar, carelessly. He was writing and +smoking, and did not look up from his work. + +"The woman, Kingston, that ran away," said Sarah, indignantly. "I nearly +shut the door in her face, sir, I did." + +"That wouldn't have been legal," said Mr. Brooke. "Why doesn't she see +Miss Brooke or Miss Lesley? I am busy." + +"I expect she thinks she can get round you more easy," said Sarah, who +was a very old servant, and occasionally took liberties with her master +and mistress. + +"She won't do that, Sarah," said Caspar, laughing a little in spite of +himself. "Show her in." + +He laid down his pen and his pipe with a rather weary air. Really, he +was becoming involved in no end of domestic worries, and with few +compensations for his trouble! Such was his silent thought. Lesley +would, shortly leave him: Alice had refused to come back to his house. +Well, it would be but for a short time. He had almost made up his mind +that when Lesley was gone he would give up a house altogether, establish +his sister in a flat, throw journalism to the winds, and go abroad. The +life that he had led so long, the life of London offices and streets, of +the study and the committee-room, had become distasteful to him. As he +thrust away from him the manuscript at which he had been busy, his lips +were, half unconsciously, murmuring a very well-worn quotation-- + + "For I will see before I die, + The palms and temples of the South." + +And from this passing day-dream he was roused by the entrance of a woman +whom he knew only as his daughter's maid. + +He was struck at once by some indefinable change that had passed over +her since he had seen her last. He had noticed her, as he noticed +everybody that came within his ken; and he had remarked the mechanical +precision of her demeanor, the dull sadness of her lifeless eyes. There +was a light in her face now, a tremulous quiver of her lips, a slight +color in her thin cheeks. She looked like a creature who could feel and +think: not an automaton, worked by ingenious machinery. + +He noted the change, but did not estimate it at its true worth. He +thought she was simply excited by the consciousness of her misdemeanor, +and by the prospect of an interview with him. He put on his most +magisterial manner as he spoke to her. + +"Well, Kingston," he said, "I hope you have come to explain the cause of +the great inconvenience you have brought upon Miss Brooke and my +daughter." + +"That is exactly what I have come to do, sir," said Kingston, looking +him full in the face, and speaking in clear, decided tones, such as he +had never heard from her before. She generally spoke in a muffled sort +of way, as though she did not care to exert herself--as though she did +not want her true voice to be heard. + +"Sit down," said Mr. Brooke, more kindly. He had the true gentleman's +instinct; he could not bear to see a woman stand while he was seated, +although she was only his daughter's maid, and--presumably--a culprit +awaiting condemnation. "Now tell me all about it." + +"Thank you, sir, I'd prefer to stand," said Kingston, quietly. "At any +rate, until I've told you one or two things about myself. To begin +with: my name was Kingston before my marriage, but it's not Kingston +now." + +"Do you mean that you have got married since Saturday?" asked Caspar, +quietly. + +The woman uttered a short, gasping sort of laugh. "Since Saturday? Oh, +no, sir. I've been married for the last six years, or more. I am Francis +Trent's wife--Francis the brother of Mr. Oliver Trent, who was here last +Saturday night." + +And then, overcome with her confession, or with the look of mute +astonishment--which he could not repress--on Caspar Brooke's +countenance, she dropped into the chair that he had offered her, covered +her face with her hands and sobbed aloud. It took her hearer some +seconds before he could adjust his mind to this new revelation. + +"Do you mean," he said at last, "that brother of Mr. Trent's"--he had +nearly said "of Mrs. Romaine's"--"who--who----" He paused, feeling +unable to put into words the question that was in his mind. + +"That got into trouble some years ago, you mean," said Mrs. Trent, +lifting her face from her hands, and trying to control her trembling +voice. "Yes, I mean him. I know all about the story. He got into +trouble, and he's gone from bad to worse ever since. I've done my best +for him, but it doesn't seem as if I could do much more now." + +"Why?" + +"He's been ill--I think he's had an accident--but I don't rightly know +what's been the matter with him. Mr. Brooke, sir, I hope you'll believe +me in what I say. When I came here first I didn't know that you were +friends with his sister and his brother, or I wouldn't have come near +the place. And when I found it out I'd got fond of Miss Lesley, and +thought it would be no harm to stay." + +"But what--what on earth--made you take a situation as ladies'-maid at +all?" cried Caspar, pulling his beard in his perplexity, as he listened +to her story. + +"I wanted to earn money. _He_ could not work--and I could not bear to +see him want." + +"_Could_ not work? Was it not a matter of the will? He could have worked +if he had wished to work," said Mr. Brooke, rather sternly. "That +Francis Trent should let his wife go out as----" + +"Oh, well, it was work I was used to," said Francis Trent's wife, +patiently. "I'd been in service when I was a girl, and knew something +about it. And it was honest work. There's plenty of ways of earning +money which are worse than being a servant in your house, and to Miss +Lesley, too." + +Lesley's words came back to Caspar's mind. She had had "faith" in +Kingston's attachment, and her faith seemed now to be justified. Women's +instincts, as Caspar acknowledged to himself, are in some ways certainly +juster than those of men. + +"Is he not strong? Is there no sort of work that he can do?" he +demanded, with asperity. "If you had come to me at the beginning and +told me who you were, I might have found something for him. It is not +right that his wife should be waiting upon my daughter. Tell me what he +can do." + +"I don't think he can do much now," was Mary Trent's answer. "He's very +much broken down. I daresay you wouldn't know him if you saw him. I +don't think he _could_ do a day's work, so there's all the more reason +that I should work for both." + +She spoke truly enough as regarded the present; but, by a suppression of +the truth which was almost heroic she concealed the fact that for many +years Francis had been able but unwilling to work. Now, certainly, he +was incapacitated, and she spoke as if he had been an invalid for years. +Thus Caspar Brooke understood her, and his next words were uttered in a +gentler tone. + +"I am very sorry that you should have been brought into these straits, +Mrs. Trent. Will you give me your address, and let me think over the +matter? Mrs. Romaine or Mr. Oliver Trent----" + +"I'd rather not have anything to do with them," said Mrs. Trent, +quietly, but with an involuntary lifting of her head. "Mrs. Romaine +knows I am his wife, but she won't speak to me or see me." Caspar moved +uneasily in his chair. This account of Rosalind's behavior did not +coincide with his own idea of her softness and gentleness. "And Oliver +Trent is the man who has brought more misery on me than any other man in +the world." + +"But if I promise--as I will do--not to give your address to Mrs. +Romaine or Mr. Trent, will you not let me know where you live?" said +Caspar, with the gentle intonation that had often won him his way in +spite of greater obstacles than poor Mary Trent's obstinate will. + +She gave him her address, after a little hesitation. It was in a +Whitechapel slum. Then, seeing in his face that he would have liked to +ask more questions, she went on hurriedly-- + +"But I have not come here to take up your time. I only wanted to explain +to you why I left your house on Saturday--which I'm very sorry to have +been obliged to do. And one other thing--but I'll tell you that +afterwards." + +"Well? Why did you go on Saturday, Mrs. Trent?" said Mr. Brooke, more +curious than he would have liked to allow. But she did not reply as +directly to his question as he wanted her to do. + +"I was only a poor girl when Francis married me," she said, "but I loved +him as true as any one could have loved, and I would have worked my +fingers to the bone for him. And he was good to me, in his way. He got +to depend upon me and trust to me; and I used to feel--especially when +he'd had a little more than he ought to have--as if he was more of a +child to me than a husband. It was to provide for him that I came here. +And then--one day when I'd been here a little while--I went to his +lodgings to give him some money I'd been saving up for him--and I found +him gone--gone--without a word--without a message--disappeared, so to +speak, and me left behind to be miserable." + +Caspar ejaculated "Scoundrel!" behind his hand, but Mrs. Trent heard and +caught up the word. + +"No, you're wrong, sir, he was no scoundrel," she said calmly. "He'd met +with an accident and been taken to an hospital. He was there for weeks +and weeks, not able to give an account of himself, or, as far as I can +make out, even to give his name. He came out last week, and made his +way, by sort of instinct, to your house, where he knew I was living. I +came out on the steps and saw him there--my husband that I'd given up +for lost. I ran up to him--you'd have done the same in my place--and +went with him without thinking of anybody else." + +"I see. But why did you not leave a word of explanation behind." + +"I daren't quit hold of him for a moment, sir. He was so dazed and +stupid, he didn't even know me at the first. That was why I say it was +instinct, not knowledge, that guided him to the place. If I had left him +to speak to any one in the house, he might have gone off, and I never +seen him again. That was why I felt obliged to go sir, and am very sorry +for the inconvenience I know I must have caused." + +Caspar nodded gravely. "I see," he said. "Of course it _was_ +inconvenient, and we were anxious--there's no denying that. But I can +see the matter from your point of view. Would you like to see Miss +Lesley and explain it to her?" + +"I'd rather leave it in your hands, sir," said Mary Trent. "Because +there's one thing more I've got to mention before I go. And Miss Lesley +may not thank me for mentioning it, although I do it to save her--poor +lamb--and to save you too, sir, from a great trouble and sorrow and +disgrace that hangs over you all just now." + +Caspar flushed. "Disgrace?" he said, almost angrily. + +And Mrs. Trent looked at him full in the face and nodded gravely, as she +answered-- + +"Yes, sir, disgrace." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +"A FAIRLY GOOD REASON." + + +Caspar Brooke's attitude stiffened. His features and limbs became +suddenly rigid. + +"I must confess, Mrs. Trent," he said, "that I am unable to conceive the +possibility of _disgrace_ hanging over me or mine." + +"That is because you are a man, and therefore blind to what goes on +around you," said Mary Trent, with sudden bitterness; "and I am a woman, +and can use my eyes and ears. There, I'd better tell you my tale at +once, and you can make what you like of it. Miss Lesley----" + +"If you have anything to say about Miss Lesley, it had better be said in +her hearing," returned Caspar, in hot displeasure. He rose and laid his +hand upon the bell. "I want no tales about her behind her back." + +"For mercy's sake, sir, stop," said the woman, eagerly. "It is only to +spare her that I ask it! It isn't that she is to blame--no, no, I don't +mean that; but she is in more danger than she knows." + +Caspar's hand fell from the bell rope. His face had turned a trifle +pale, and his brows looked very stern. + +"Tell me exactly what you mean. I do not wish to listen to anything that +Miss Lesley has not intended me to hear. I have perfect faith in her." + +"Faith in her! She's one of the sweetest and truest-hearted ladies I +ever came across," said Mary Trent, indignantly; "but she may be on the +brink of a precipice without knowing it. Sir, what I mean is this. Mr. +Oliver Trent is in love with Miss Lesley, and is doing his best to get +her to run off with him. Yes, I know what you want to say--that she +would never do such a thing--but one cannot always say what a girl will +do under pressure; and, believe me or not as you please, Oliver Trent is +ready to throw over Miss Kenyon at any moment for the sake of your +daughter, Mr. Brooke." + +"Do you know what you are saying?" thundered Caspar, now white to the +lips. "Do you know what an aspersion you are casting on my daughter's +character? Are you aware that Miss Kenyon's marriage with Mr. Trent is +to take place to-morrow morning? Your remarks are perfectly +unjustifiable--unless you are in ignorance of the facts of the case." + +"I know all, and yet I warn you," said Mrs. Trent, perfectly unmoved by +this burst of anger. "I tell you what I have seen and heard for myself. +And I know Oliver Trent only too well. It was Oliver Trent who betrayed +my only sister, and brought her to a miserable death. She was a good +girl until she met him. He ruined her, and he had no scruples. He will +have more outward respect to Miss Lesley and Miss Kenyon, but he is no +more scrupulous about using his power, when he has any, than he was +then." + +"After making this accusation you must not be surprised if I ask what +grounds you have for it," said Mr. Brooke. + +He was calm enough to all appearance now, but even Mrs. Trent, not very +observant by nature, could tell that he was very much disturbed. For +answer, she proceeded to describe the scene that had taken place in the +very room in which they now stood, on the preceding Saturday night. + +"I saw him follow Miss Lesley into this room," she explained. "And I'd +seen enough to make me fearful of what he was going to do or say. You +know there are folding-doors between this room and the next--screened by +curtains. The doors had been partly opened, and I slipped into the space +between them. I was covered by the curtain, and I could not hear all +that was said, because I had sounds from the other room in my ears as +well; but I heard a great deal, and I made up my mind to tell you there +and then. If I had not seen my husband that night you would have heard +my story before you slept." + +Caspar Brooke's next question took her by surprise. He swung round on +one heel, so that his back was almost turned to her, and flung the words +over his shoulder with savage bitterness. + +"What business had you to listen to my daughter's conversation with her +friends?" + +This was a distinctly ungrateful speech, and Mrs. Trent felt it so. But +she replied, quietly-- + +"Miss Lesley's been kinder to me than any one I ever knew. And I had +suffered a good deal from Oliver Trent's wicked falseness. He is my +brother-in-law, as the law puts it, and I don't want to have any quarrel +with him: but he shall do no more harm than I can help." + +By the time she had finished her speech Caspar had recovered himself a +little. + +"You are quite right," he said, "and you have done me a service for +which I thank you. I don't for a moment suppose that my daughter is not +capable of taking care of herself. But other people are interested +beside Lesley. Miss Kenyon's brother is one of my closest friends, and I +should be very treacherous if I allowed her to marry this man, Oliver +Trent, after all that I have heard about him to-night--if it be true. I +don't want to throw doubt on your testimony, Mrs. Trent, but I suppose I +must have some further proof." + +"Miss Lesley could tell you----" + +"I shall not ask Miss Lesley, unless I am obliged. Did you not yourself +beg me to spare her? This other story of his heartless conduct to your +sister is quite enough to damn him in every right-minded woman's eyes. I +shall speak to him myself--I will have the truth from his own lips if I +have to wring it out by main force," said Caspar speaking more to +himself than to Mary Trent, and quite unaware how truculent an +appearance he presented at that moment to that quiet woman's eyes. + +She smiled stealthily to herself. She had a great faith in Caspar +Brooke's powers for good or evil. To have him upon her side made her +support with equanimity the thought that she and Francis might suffer if +Oliver did not marry a rich wife. _He_ would see that they did not want. +And she should behold the darling wish of her heart gratified at last. +For had she not ardently desired, ever since the day of Alice's betrayal +and Alice's death, to see that false betrayer punished? Caspar Brooke +would punish him, and she should be the instrument through which his +punishment had come about. + +"I should like to thrash the scoundrel within an inch of his life," said +Mr. Brooke. + +"There is very little time before the wedding, if you mean to do +anything before then," said Mrs. Trent, softly. + +Caspar started. "Yes, that is true. I must see him to-night. H'm"--he +stopped short, oppressed by the difficulties of the situation. Had he +not better speak to Maurice Kenyon at once? But, as he recollected, +Maurice had gone out of town, and would not be back until half an hour +or so before the hour fixed for his sister's wedding. The ceremony was +to be performed at an unusually early hour--ten o'clock in the +morning--for divers reasons: one being that Ethel wanted to begin her +journey to Paris in very good time. She had never been anxious for a +fashionable wedding, and had decided to have no formal wedding +breakfast, and there was no reason for delaying the proceedings until a +later hour. But, as Mr. Brooke reflected, unless he went to Ethel Kenyon +herself there was little time in which to take action. Indeed, it seemed +to him for a moment almost better to let the past sink into oblivion, +and to hope that Oliver would be kind and faithful to the beautiful and +gifted girl who was, apparently, the choice of his heart. + +But it was not to Mrs. Trent's interest that this mood should last. +"Poor Miss Kenyon!" she said, in quietly regretful tones. "I'm sorry for +her, poor young lady. No mother or father to look after her, and no +friend even who dares to tell her the truth!" + +The words stung Caspar. He thought of his own daughter Lesley, placed in +Ethel's position, and he felt that he could not let Ethel go unwarned. +And yet--could he believe Oliver Trent to be such a scoundrel on the +mere strength of this woman's story! It might be all a baseless slander, +fabricated for the sake of obtaining money. And there was so little time +before poor Ethel's wedding! + +While he hesitated, Mary Trent saw her opportunity, and seized it. + +"If you want to see Oliver Trent," she said, "he is coming to our +lodgings this very night. I have been to Mrs. Romaine's house to ask him +to come to my husband who wants a few words with him. If you'll +undertake to come there, I'll let you see what sort of a man Mr. Oliver +Trent is, and then you can judge for yourself whether or no he is a fit +husband for Miss Kenyon, or a fit lover for Miss Lesley Brooke." + +Caspar raised his hand hastily as if to entreat silence. "Tell me where +you live," he said shortly, "and the hour when he will be there." + +"Half-past nine o'clock this evening, sir. The place--oh, you know the +place well enough: it is in Whitechapel." + +She gave him the address. He cast a keen, sharp glance at her face as he +took it down. "Not a pleasant neighborhood," he said gravely. "May I ask +why you have taken a room in that locality?" + +She shook her head. "I did not take it," she said. "My husband took it +before I found him, and I was obliged to stay. Francis is ill--I cannot +get him away." + +"Can I do anything to help----" Caspar was beginning but she interrupted +him with almost surprising vehemence. + +"Oh, no, no. I would not take anything from you. I did not come for +that. I came to see if I could save Miss Lesley and Miss Kenyon from +misery, not to beg--either for myself or him." + +The earnestness of her tone took from Mr. Brooke a certain uneasy +suspicion which had begun to steal over him: a suspicion that she was +using him as a tool for her own ends, that her real motives had been +concealed from him. Even when she had gone--and she went without making +any attempt to see Lesley or Miss Brooke--he could not rid himself +altogether of this suggestion; for with her sad voice no longer echoing +in his ears, with her deep-set eyes looking no longer into his face, he +found it easier to doubt and to suspect than to place implicit faith in +the story that she had told him. + +Lesley had heard of Kingston's reappearance, and was very much surprised +to find that she was not called upon to interview her runaway attendant. +Still more was she surprised when at last she heard the front door shut, +and learned from Sarah that the woman had gone without a word. So much +amazed was she, that shortly before dinner she stole into her father's +study and attempted to cross-examine him, though with small result. + +"Father, Sarah says that Kingston has been to see you." + +"Yes, she has," said Caspar, briefly. He was writing away as if for dear +life, with his left hand grasping his beard, and his pipe lying unfilled +upon the table--two signs of dire haste, as Lesley had by this time +learned to know. She remained silent, therefore, feeling herself an +intruder. + +"What do you want to know, my dear?" said her father at last, in a +quiet, business-like tone. He went on writing all the time. + +"Is she coming back to us?" + +"No." + +"Why did she go away?" + +"I cannot tell you just now. She had a--a--fairly good reason." + +"I thought she must have had that," said Lesley, brightening. "And did +she come here to explain?" + +"Partly." + +"But why not to us?" + +Caspar laid down his pen suddenly, and laughed. "Oh, the insatiable +curiosity of women! I thought you were wiser than most, Lesley, but you +have all the characteristics of your sex. I can't satisfy your +curiosity, to-day, but I will, if I can, in a short time. Will that do?" + +Lesley seemed rather hurt. "I don't think I asked questions out of mere +curiosity," she said. "I always liked Kingston." + +"And she likes you, my dear--so far you were perfectly right," said her +father, rising, and patting her on the arm. "To use your feminine +parlance, she is quite as 'fond' of you as you can reasonably desire." + +"I don't like to hear so much about 'feminine' ways and +characteristics," said Lesley, smiling, and recovering her spirits. "I +always fancy somebody has vexed you when you talk in that cynical +manner." + +"That remark is creditable to your penetration," said Mr. Brooke, in his +accustomed tone of gentle raillery, "and, you cannot say that it is not +a very harmless way of letting off steam." + +"Who has vexed you then?" said Lesley, looking keenly into his face. It +was a bold question, but her father did not look displeased. + +"Suppose I said--you yourself?" he queried, with a certain real gravity +which she was not slow to discover. + +The color rushed into her face. She thought of Maurice Kenyon, and the +mistake that he had made. She had long been conscious of her father's +disappointment, but had not expected him to speak of it. She made an +effort to be equal to the situation. + +"If you are vexed with me, it would be kinder to tell me of it than to +sneer at all womankind in general," she said, with spirit. + +"Right you are, my girl. Well--why have you refused Kenyon?" + +Her eyes drooped. "I would rather you did not ask me that, father." + +"Nonsense, Lesley. A plain answer to a plain question is easy to give. +Are you in love with any one else?" + +"No, indeed," she answered, vehemently; "I am not----" + +And then, for some inexplicable reason, she stopped short. + +"'Not in love with any one' was what she was going to say," said Caspar +to himself, as he watched with keen eyes the changes of color and +expression in her face. "And she does not dare to say it after all. What +does that mean?" But he did not say this aloud. + +"You don't care for Maurice, then?" he asked her. + +She drew herself away from him and colored hotly, but made no other +reply. + +"My dear," said Caspar, half jestingly, half warningly, "you must let me +remind you that silence is usually taken to mean consent." + +And even then she did not speak. + +"Really, of all incomprehensible creatures, women are the worst. Well, +well! Tell me this, at any rate, Lesley: you have not given your heart +to Oliver Trent?" + +"Father! how can you ask?" + +"Have you anything to complain of with respect to him? Has he always +behaved to you with courtesy and consideration?" + +"I would rather not say," Lesley answered, bravely. "He--spoke as I did +not like--once--or twice; but it is his wedding-day to-morrow, and I +mean to forget it all." + +"Once or twice! When was the last time, child? On Saturday? Here in this +room? Ah, I see the truth in your face. Never mind how I know it. I want +to know nothing more. Now you can go: I am busy, and shall probably have +to be out late to-night." + +With these words he led the girl gently out of the room, kissed her on +the forehead before he shut the door, and then returned to his work. He +did not dine with his sister and daughter, but sent a message of excuse. +Later in the evening, Sarah reported to Miss Brooke that "Master had +gone out, looking very much upset about something or other; and he'd +taken his overcoat and his big stick, which showed, she supposed, that +he was off to the slums he was so fond of." Sarah did not approve of +slums. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +ETHEL KENYON'S WEDDING-DAY. + + +The morning of Ethel Kenyon's wedding-day was as bright and sunny as any +wedding day had need to be. The weather was unusually warm, and the +trees were already showing the thin veil of green which is one of +spring's first heralds in smoky London town. The window-boxes in the +Square were gay with hyacinth and crocus-blossom. The flower-girls' +baskets were brilliant with "market bunches" of wall-flowers and +daffodils--these being the signs by which the dwellers in the streets +know that the winter is over, that the time of the singing of birds has +come, and that the voice of the turtle is heard in the land. The soft +breezes blew a fragrance of violets and lilac-blossom from the gardens +and the parks. London scarcely looked like itself, with the veil of +smoke lifted away, and a fair blue sky, flecked with light silvery +cloud, showing above the chimney-tops. + +Ethel was up at seven o'clock, busying herself with the last touches to +her packing and the consideration of her toilet; for she was much too +active-minded to care for the seclusion in which brides sometimes +preserve themselves upon their wedding-mornings. Some people might have +thought that it would not be a very festive day, for her brother was the +only near relative who remained to her, and an ancient uncle and aunt +who had been, as Ethel herself phrased it, "routed out" for the +occasion, were not likely to add much to the gaiety of nations by their +presence. Mrs. Durant, lately Ethel's companion, was to remain in the +house as Maurice's housekeeper, and she had nominally the control of +everything; but Ethel was still the veritable manager of the day's +arrangements. She had insisted on having her own way in all respects, +and Oliver was not the man to say her nay--just then. + +Mrs. Romaine had offered to stay the night with her, and help her to +dress; but Ethel had smilingly refused the companionship of her future +sister-in-law. "Thanks very much," she had said, in the light and airy +way which took the sting out of words that might otherwise have hurt +their hearer; "but I don't think there's anything in which I want help, +and Lesley Brooke is going to act as my maid on the eventful morn +itself." + +"Lesley Brooke?" said Mrs. Romaine. She could not altogether keep the +astonishment out of her voice. + +"Yes, why not?" asked Ethel, with just so much defiance in her voice as +to put Mrs. Romaine considerably on her guard. "Have you any objection?" + +"Dear Ethel, how can you ask such a thing? When you know how fond I am +of Lesley." + +"Are you?" asked Miss Kenyon lightly. "Do you know I should never have +thought it, somehow. _I_ am exceedingly fond of Lesley, and so"--with a +little more color in her face than usual--"so is Oliver." + +Bravely as she spoke, there was something in the accent which told of +effort and repression. Mrs. Romaine admired her for that little piece of +acting more than she had ever admired her upon the stage. She was too +anxious for her brother's prosperity to say a word to disturb Ethel's +serenity, whether it was real or assumed. + +"I am so glad, dear," she said, sweetly. "Lesley is a dear girl, and +thoroughly good and loving. I am quite sure you could not have a better +friend, and she will be delighted to do anything she can for you." + +"I don't know about that," said Ethel, with a little pout. "I had a +great deal of trouble to get her to promise to come. She made all sorts +of excuses--one would have thought that she did not want to see me +married at all." + +Which, Rosalind thought, might be very true. She had so strong a faith +in the power of her brother's fascinations that she could not believe +that he had actually "made love," as he had threatened, to Lesley Brooke +without success. + +Ethel spoke truly when she said that she had had great difficulty in +persuading Lesley to come. After what had passed between herself and +Oliver, Lesley felt herself a traitress in Ethel's presence. It seemed +to her at first impossible to talk to Ethel about her pretty wedding +gifts, her trousseau and her wedding tour, or to listen while she +swore fidelity to Oliver Trent, when she knew what she did know +concerning the bridegroom's faith and honor. On the Sunday after the +Brookes' evening party she had a very severe headache, and sent word to +Ethel that she could not possibly come to her on the morrow. But Ethel +immediately came over to see her, and poured forth questions, +consolations, and laments in such profusion that Lesley, half blind and +dazed, was fain to get rid of her by promising again that nothing should +keep her away. And on Monday the headache had gone, and she had no +excuse. It was not in Lesley's nature to simulate: she could not pretend +that she had an illness when she was perfectly well. There was +absolutely no reason that she could give either to the Kenyons or to +Miss Brooke for not keeping her promise to sleep at Ethel's house on the +Monday night, and be present at her wedding on Tuesday morning. + +So she wound herself up to make the best it. It seemed to her that no +girl had ever been placed in so painful a position before. We, who have +more experience of life than Lesley had, know better than that. Lesley's +position was painful indeed, but it might in many ways have been worse. +But she, ignorant of real life, more ignorant even than most girls, +because she knew so few of the pictures of real life that are to be +found in the best kind of novels, had nothing but her native instincts +of truth and courage to fall back upon, together with the strong will +and power of judgment that she inherited from her father. These +qualities, however, stood her in good stead that day. "It is no use to +be weak," she said to herself. "What good shall I do to Ethel if I give +her cause to suspect Oliver Trent's truth to her? The only question +is--ought I to tell her--to put her on her guard? Oh, I think not--I +hope not. If he marries her, he cannot help loving her; and it would +break her heart--now--if I told her that he was not faithful. I must be +brave and go to her, and be as sympathetic as usual--take pleasure in +her pleasure, and try to forget the past! but I wish she were going to +marry a man that one could trust, like my father, or like--Maurice." + +She always called him Maurice when she thought about him now. + +It took all the strength that she possessed, however, to go through the +ordeal of those hours with Ethel. She managed to keep away until nearly +nine o'clock on Monday night, and then--just after her father had gone +out--she received a peremptory little note from Ethel. "Why don't you +come? You said you would come almost directly after dinner, and it is +ever so late now. Oliver has just left me: he has business in the city, +so I shall not see him again until to-morrow. Do come at once, or I +shall begin to feel lonely." + +So Lesley went. + +She had to look at the wedding-cake, the wedding-gown, the simple little +breakfast table. She sat up with Ethel until two in the morning, helping +her to pack up her things, and listening to her praises of Oliver. That +was the worst of it. Ethel _would_ talk of Oliver, _would_ descant on +his perfections, and, above all, on his love for her. It was very +natural talk on Ethel's part, but it was indescribably painful and +humiliating to Lesley. Every moment of silence seemed to her like an +implicit lie, and yet she could not bring herself to destroy the fine +edifice of her friend's hopes, although she knew she could bring it down +to the ground with a touch--a word. + +"And I am so glad there is not to be a fuss," Ethel said at last, when +St. Pancras' clock was striking two: "for I always thought that a fussy +wedding would be horrid. You see, Lesley, I have dressed up so often in +white satin and lace, as a bride, or a girl in a ballroom, or some other +character not my own, that I feel now as if there would be no reality +for me in a wedding if I did not wear rather every-day clothes. In a +bride's conventional dress, I should only fancy myself on the stage +again." + +"You don't call the dress you are to wear to-morrow 'every-day clothes,' +do you?" said Lesley, with a smiling glance towards the lovely gown in +which Ethel had elected to be married, and then to wear during the first +part of her wedding-journey. + +"I call it just a nice, pretty frock--nothing else," said Ethel, +complacently, "one that I can pay calls in afterwards. But I could not +refuse the lovely lace Maurice insisted on giving me: so I shall wear a +veil instead of a bonnet--it is the only concession I make to +conventionality." + +"I wish you would go to sleep, Ethel: you will look very pale under your +veil to-morrow." + +"Well, I will try; but I don't feel like it. I hope Maurice will be back +in good time. It was very tiresome of that patient of his to send for +him in such a hurry." + +Then there was a silence, for both girls were growing sleepy; and it was +with a yawn that Ethel at last inquired-- + +"Lesley, why won't your father come to my wedding?" + +"Won't he?" said Lesley, with a little start. + +"Not he: I asked him again on Saturday, and he refused." + +"Perhaps," said Lesley, not very steadily, "it gives him pain to be +present at a wedding: he speaks sometimes--as if he did not like to hear +of them." + +"Oh, you poor, dear thing, I had forgotten all that trouble," said +Ethel, giving her friend a hug which nearly strangled her; "but won't it +come right in the end? Captain Duchesne says that she is so sweet, so +charming--and your father is just delightful." + +"I think I can't talk about it," said Lesley, very quietly. + +"Then we won't. Did you know I had asked Captain Duchesne to the +breakfast?" + +"Oh, Ethel, how heartless of you!" Lesley said, laughing in spite of +herself. For Captain Duchesne's devotion was patent to all the world. + +At last they slept in each other's arms; but at seven o'clock Ethel was +skimming about the room like a busy fairy, and it was Lesley, sleeping +heavily after two or three wakeful nights, who had to be aroused by the +little bride-elect, and Ethel laughed merrily to see her friend's start +of surprise. + +"Ethel! Ethel! People should be waiting on you and here you are bringing +me tea and bread and butter. This is too bad!" + +"It's a new departure," Ethel laughed. "There is no law against a +bride's making herself useful as well as ornamental, is there? You will +have to hurry up, all the same, Lesley: we are dreadfully late already. +And it is the loveliest morning you ever saw--and the bouquets have just +come from the florist--and everything is charming! I feel as if I could +dance." + +But Ethel's mirth did not communicate itself to Lesley. There was +nothing forced or unnatural in the young bride's happiness, but Lesley +felt as if some cloud, some shadow, were in the air. Perhaps she had had +bad dreams. She would not damp Ethel's spirits by a word of warning, but +the old aunt from the country who came to inspect her niece as soon as +she was dressed for church was not so considerate. + +"You are letting your spirits run away with you, my dear," she said, +reprovingly. "Even on a wedding-day there should not be too much +laughter. Tears before night, when there has been laughter before +breakfast, remember the proverb says." + +"Oh, what a cheerful old lady!" said Ethel, brimming over with saucy +laughter once more, as soon as the old dame's back was turned. "I don't +care: I don't mean to be anything but a smiling bride--Oliver says that +he hates tears at a wedding, and I don't mean him to see any." + +Maurice arrived just in time to dress and to escort his sister to the +church. It was not he, but Mrs. Durant, the companion and house-keeper, +who first received a word of warning that things were not altogether as +they should be. Others beside Lesley were scenting calamity in the air. +Mrs. Romaine was to form one of the wedding-party. She made her +appearance at a quarter to ten, beautifully dressed, but white to the +very lips, and with a haggard look about her eyes. As soon as she +entered the house she drew Mrs. Durant aside. + +"Has Oliver been sleeping here?" she asked. + +"_Here!_" Mrs. Durant's indignant accent was sufficient answer. + +"He has not been home all night," Mrs. Romaine whispered. + +"Not at home!" + +"I suppose he is sleeping at his club and will come on from there," Mrs. +Romaine answered, trying to reassure herself now that she had given the +alarm to another. "Everything has been ordered--my bouquet came from +him, at least from the florist's this morning--and I suppose we shall +find him at the church. But I have been dreadfully anxious about +him--quite foolishly, I daresay. Don't say anything to any body else." + +Mrs. Durant did not mean to say anything, but--without exactly stating +facts--she had managed in about three minutes to convey her own and Mrs. +Romaine's feeling of discomfort, to the whole party. The only exceptions +were Maurice and Ethel, who, of course, heard nothing. A gloom fell upon +the guests even while the carriages were standing at the door. + +Lesley and Mrs. Romaine happened to be placed in the same carriage, +facing one another. They looked at one another in silence, but with a +mutual understanding that they had never felt before. Each read her own +fear in the other's face. But the fear came from different sources. +Lesley was afraid that Oliver had felt himself unable to fulfil his +engagement to Ethel, and had therefore severed his connection with her +by flight: Rosalind feared that he had been taken ill or met with some +untoward accident. Only in Rosalind's mind there was always another fear +in the background where her brothers were concerned--that one or other +of them would be bringing himself and her to disaster and disgrace. She +had no faith in them, and not much faith in herself. + +There was no bridegroom in waiting at St. Pancras' Church. Mrs. Romaine +held a hurried consultation with a friend, and a messenger was +despatched to Oliver's club, where he sometimes slept, and also to the +rooms which he called his "chambers" in the city. A little silence +overspread the group of guests from the Kenyons' house. Other visitors, +of whom there were not many, looked blithe enough; but gloom was plainly +visible on the faces of the bride's friends. And a little whisper soon +ran from group to group--"The bridegroom has not come." + +If only he would appear before the bride! There was yet time. The +carriage containing Ethel and her brother had not started from the door. +But the distance was short, and speedily traversed: still Oliver did not +come. And there at last was the wedding-chariot with its white silk +linings and the white favors on the horses--and there was the pretty, +smiling bride herself upon her brother's arm. How sweet she looked as +she mounted the broad grey steps, with cheeks a little rosy, eyes +downcast, and her smiles half concealed by the costly lace in which she +had veiled herself! There was never a prettier bride than Ethel Kenyon, +although she had not attired herself in all the bridal finery that many +women covet. + +Something in the expression of the faces that met her at the church door +startled her a little when she first looked up: she changed color, and +glanced wonderingly from one to another. Some one spoke in Maurice +Kenyon's ear. + +"What is it?" she asked, quickly. "Is anything wrong?" + +"Oliver is late, dear, that is all. Just wait a minute--here by the +door: he will be here presently." + +"Late!" re-echoed the girl, turning suddenly pale. "Oh Maurice, what do +you mean? _We_ were late too--it is a quarter past ten." + +"Hush, my darling, he will be here directly, and more distressed than +any of us, no doubt." + +"I should think so," said Ethel, trying to laugh. "Poor Oliver! what a +state he will be in!" + +But the hand with which she had suddenly clutched Lesley's arm trembled, +and her lips were very white. + +For a minute, for five, for ten minutes, the bridal party waited, but +Oliver did not come. A messenger came back to say that he had not been +at the club since the previous day. And then Maurice's hot temper blazed +up. He left his sister and spoke to his old friend, Miss Brooke. + +"Do not let Ethel make herself a laughing-stock," he said. "The man +insults us by being late, and shall account to me for it, but she must +be got out of this somehow. Can't you take her away?" + +"Let her go to the vestry," said Miss Brooke. "You had better not take +her away just yet--look at the crowd outside. I will get Lesley to +persuade her." + +Ethel made no opposition. She went quietly into the vestry and sat down +on a seat that was offered to her, waiting in silence, asking no +questions. Then there was a short period of whispered consultation, of +terrible suspense. She herself did not know whether the time was short +or long. She could not bear even Lesley's arm about her, or the support +of Maurice's brotherly hand. Harry Duchesne's dark face in the +background seemed in some inexplicable sort of way the worst of all. For +she knew that he loved and admired her, and she was shamed by a recreant +lover before his very eyes. + +After a time Maurice was called out. A policeman in plain clothes wanted +to speak to him. They had five minutes' conversation together, and then +the young doctor returned to the room where Ethel was still sitting. His +face was as white as that of his sister now, and she was the first to +remark the change. + +"You have heard something," she said, springing to her feet and fixing +her great dark eyes upon his face. + +"Yes, Ethel, my poor darling, yes. Come home with me." + +"Not till you tell me the truth." + +"Not here, my darling--wait till we get home. Come at once." + +"I must know, Maurice: I cannot bear to wait. Is he--is he--_dead_?" + +He would gladly have refused to answer, but his pallid lips spoke for +him. And from another group a shriek rang out from the lips of Rosalind +Romaine--a shriek that told her all. + +"Dead? Murdered? Oh, no, no--it cannot be?" cried Oliver's sister. "Not +dead! not dead!" + +She fell back in violent hysterics, but Ethel neither wept nor cried +aloud. She stood erect, her head a little higher than usual, a smile +that might almost be called proud curving her soft lips. + +"You see," she said, unsteadily, but very clearly; "you see--it was not +his fault. He _would_ have come--if he had been--alive." + +And, then, still smiling, she gave her hand to her brother and let him +lead her away. But before she had crossed the threshold of the room, he +was obliged to take her in his arms to save her from falling, and it was +in his arms that she was carried back to the carriage which she had left +so smilingly. + +But for those who were left behind there was more bad news to hear. In +London no secret can be kept even from the ears of those whose heart it +breaks to hear it. Before noon the newsboys were crying in the streets-- + +"Brutal murder of a gentleman on his wedding-day. Arrest of a well-known +journalist." + +And everywhere the name bandied from pillar to post was that of Mr. +Caspar Brooke, who had been arrested on suspicion of having caused the +death of Oliver Trent. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +IN ETHEL'S ROOM. + + +To those who knew Caspar Brooke best, it seemed ridiculously impossible +that he should have been accused of any act of violence. But the +accusation was made with so much circumstantial detail that no course +seemed open to the police but to arrest him with as little delay as +possible. And before the ill-fated wedding party had been dispersed, +before Miss Brooke could hurry home, and long before Lesley suspected +the blow that was in store for her, he had been taken by two policemen +in plain clothes to the Bow Street Police station. + +The full extent of the misfortune did not burst upon Doctor Sophy all at +once. When she left the church the accusation was not publicly known, +and as she walked home she reflected on the account that she must give +to her brother of the extraordinary events of the day. She wished he had +been present, and wondered why he had shirked the invitation which had +been sent him by Ethel. He was not usually out of bed at this hour, but +she resolved to go to his room and tell him the story at once, for, +though he had never cared much for poor Oliver Trent, he had always been +fond of Ethel. Lesley had gone to the Kenyons' house at Maurice's +earnest request, and might not be back for some time. + +She opened the door with her latch-key, and, to her great surprise, was +confronted at once by Sarah, her face swollen, and her eyes red with +weeping. + +"Sarah! why--have you heard the dreadful news already?" said Miss +Brooke. + +"Have _you_ heard it, is more the question, I'm thinking?" said Sarah, +grimly. + +"Of course you mean--about poor Mr. Trent?" + +"More than that, ma'am. However, here's a letter from master to you, and +that'll tell you more than I can do." And Sarah, handed a note to her +mistress, and retired to the back of the hall, sniffing audibly. + +Miss Brooke walked into the dining-room and opened the note. Caspar had +gone out, she gathered from the fact of his having written to her at +all: perhaps he had heard of Oliver Trent's death, and had gone to offer +his services to Maurice, or to assist in discovering the murderer. So +she thought to herself; and then she began to read the note. + +In another minute Sarah heard a strange, muffled cry; and running into +the room found that Miss Brooke had sunk down on the sofa, and was +trembling in every limb. Her brother's letter was crushed within her +hand. + +"What does it mean, Sarah?--what does it mean?" she stammered, with a +face so white and eyes so terror-stricken that Sarah took her to task at +once. + +"It means a great, big lie, ma'am, that's all it means. Why, you ain't +going to be put about by that, I hope, when master himself says--as he +said to me--that he'd be home afore night! I'm ashamed of you, looking +as pale as you do, and you a doctor and all!" + +"Did he say to you he would be home before night?" said Miss Brooke +collecting herself a little, but still looking very white. + +Sarah took a step nearer to her, and spoke in a low voice. "Nobody else +in the house knows where he's gone," she said, "but I know, for master +called me himself, and told me what they wanted him for. It was two men +in plain clothes, and there was a cab outside and a p'liceman on the +box. 'Of course it's all a mistake, Sarah,' he said to me, as +light-hearted as you please, 'and don't let Miss Lesley or your Missus +be anxious. I dare say I shall be back in an hour or two.' And then he +asked the men if he might write a note, and they let him, though they +read it as he wrote, the nasty wretches!"--and Sarah snorted +contemptuously, while she wiped away a tear from her left eye with her +apron. + +"But it is so extraordinary--so ridiculous!" said Miss Brooke. And then, +with a little more color in her face, she read her brother's letter over +again. + +It consisted only of these words-- + + "DEAR SOPHY,--Don't worry yourself. The police have got it into + their wise heads that I had something to do with poor Trent's + tragic end. I dare say I shall be back soon, but I must go and hear + what they've got to say. Take care of Lesley--C. B." + +"Take care of Lesley! As if _she_ wanted taking care of!" said Miss +Brooke, with sudden energy. "Sarah, go over at once to Mr. Kenyon's, and +tell Miss Lesley to come home. She can't stay _there_ while this is +going on. It isn't decent." + +Sarah was rather glad to execute this order. She was of opinion that +Miss Lesley needed to be taken down a bit, and that this was the way in +which the Lord saw fit to do it. And it never occurred to Miss Brooke to +caution the woman against startling Lesley or hurting her feelings. She +had been startled certainly, and almost overcome; but she belonged to +that class of middle-aged women who think that their emotions must +necessarily be stronger than those of young people, because they are +older and understand what sorrow means, whereas the reverse is usually +the case. Besides, Miss Brooke quite underrated the warmth of Lesley's +attachment to her father, and was not prepared to see her experience +anything but shallow and commonplace regret. + +So Sarah went to the house opposite and knocked at the door. She had to +knock twice before the door was opened, for the whole household was out +of joint. The maids were desperately clearing away all signs of +festivity--flowers, wedding-cake, the charming little breakfast that had +been prepared for the guests--everything that told of wedding +preparation, and had now such a ghastly look. Under Mrs. Durant's +direction the servants were endeavoring to restore to the rooms their +wonted appearance. Ethel's trunks had been piled into an empty room: she +would not want her trousseau now, poor child. The uncle from the country +was pacing up and down the deserted drawing-room; the aunt was fussing +about Ethel's dressing-room, nervously folding up articles of clothing +and putting away trifles. All the blinds were down, as if for a funeral. +And in Ethel's own room, the girl lay on her bed, white and rigid as a +corpse, with half-shut eyes that did not seem to see, and fingers so +tightly closed that the nails almost ran into her soft palms. Since she +had been laid there she had not spoken; no one could quite tell whether +she were conscious or not; but Lesley, who sat beside her, and sometimes +laid her cheek softly against the desolate young bride's cold face, or +kissed the ashen-grey lips, divined by instinct that she was not +unconscious although stunned by the force of the blow--that she was +thinking, thinking, thinking all the time--thinking of her lost lover, +of her lost happiness, and beating herself passionately against the wall +of darkness which had arisen between her and the future that she had +planned for herself and Oliver. + +Sarah asked at once for Miss Lesley Brooke, and Mrs. Durant came out of +the dining-room to speak to the messenger. + +"Is Miss Brooke wanted very particularly?" she asked. "Miss Kenyon will +not have anyone else with her." + +"I think I must speak to Miss Lesley, ma'am; my mistress said I must," +said Sarah, primly. Then, forgetting her loyalty to her employers in her +desire to be communicative, she went on--"Maybe you haven't heard what's +happened, ma'am. Mr. Brooke's been taken up on the charge of murder----" + +This was not strictly true, but it was the way in which Sarah read the +facts. + +"And Miss Brooke says Miss Lesley _must_ come home, as it is not proper +for her to stay." + +The horror depicted on Mrs. Durant's face was quite as great as Sarah +had anticipated, and even more so. For Mrs. Durant, a conventional and +narrow-minded woman, did not know enough of Caspar Brooke's character to +feel any indignation at the accusation: indeed, she was the sort of +woman who was likely to put a vulgar construction upon his motives, and +regard it as probable that he had quarreled with Oliver for not wishing +to marry Lesley instead of Ethel Kenyon. And she at once grasped the +situation. Under the circumstances--if Caspar Brooke had killed Ethel's +lover--it was most improper that Caspar Brooke's daughter should be +staying in the house. + +"Of course!" she said, with a shocked face. "Miss Lesley Brooke must go +at once--naturally. How very terrible! I am much obliged to Miss Brooke +for sending--as Ethel's chaperon I couldn't undertake----I'll go +upstairs and send her down to you." + +Sarah was left in the hall, while Mrs. Durant went upstairs. But after a +time the lady came down with a troubled air. + +"I can't get her to come," she said. "You must go up yourself, Sarah, +and speak to her. She will come into the dressing-room, she says, for a +minute, but she cannot leave Miss Kenyon for a longer time. You must +tell her quietly what has happened, and then she will no doubt see the +advisability of going away." + +Sarah went upstairs, therefore, and entered the dressing-room, where the +old aunt was still busy; and in a minute or two Lesley appeared. + +"What is it?" she said, briefly. + +"Your aunt sent me to say you must come home at once, miss." + +"I cannot come just yet: Miss Kenyon wishes me to stay with her," said +Lesley, with dignity. + +"You'd better come, Miss Lesley. I don't want to tell you the dreadful +news just now: you'd better hear it at home. Then you'll be glad you +came. It's your pa, miss." + +"My father! Oh, Sarah, what do you mean? Is he ill? is he dead? What is +it?" + +"He's been arrested, miss, for killing Mr. Trent." + +Sarah spoke in a whisper, but it seemed to her hearers as if she had +shouted the words at the top of her voice. Mrs. Durant pressed her hands +together and uttered a little scream. Lesley turned deadly white, and +laid one hand on the back of a chair, as if for support. And the old +aunt immediately ran into the inner room, and burst into tears over +Ethel's almost inanimate form, bewailing her, and calling her a poor, +injured, heartbroken girl, until Ethel opened her great dark eyes, and +fixed them upon the aged, distorted face with a questioning look. + +"Lesley!" she breathed. "I want Lesley." + +"Oh, my dearest child, you must do without Lesley now. It is not fit +that she should come to you." + +But Ethel's lips again formed the same sounds: "I want Lesley." And the +old lady continued-- + +"She must not come, dear: you cannot see Lesley Brooke again. It is her +father who has done this terrible thing--blighted your life--destroyed +your happiness----" + +And so she would have babbled on had not Ethel all at once raised +herself in her bed, with white face and flaming eyes, and called in +tones as clear and resonant as ever-- + +"Lesley! Lesley! come back!" + +And then the old aunt was silent: silent and amazed. + +From the next room Lesley came, softly and swiftly as was her wont. Her +face was pale, but her eyes and lips were steady. She went straight to +Ethel; was at once encircled by the girl's arms, and drew Ethel's head +down upon her shoulder. + +"Shall I go?" she whispered in Ethel's ear. + +"No, no; don't leave me." + +"You know what they say? Can you trust my father?" + +"I trust you both. Stay with me." + +Lesley raised her head and looked back at the little group of meddlesome +women who had tried to tear her from her friend's side. At the look they +disappeared. They dared not say another word after meeting the rebuke +conveyed in Lesley's pale, set face and resolute eyes. They closed the +door behind them, and left the two girls alone. + +For a long time neither spoke. Ethel seemed to have relapsed once more +into a semi-unconscious state. Lesley sat motionless, pillowing her +friend's head against her shoulder, and stroking one of her hands with +her own. Now and then hot tears welled over and dropped upon Ethel's +dark, curly head, but Lesley did not try to wipe them away. She scarcely +knew that she was crying: she was only aware of a great weight of +trouble that had come upon her--trouble that seemed to include in its +effects all that she held most dear. Trouble not only to her friend, but +to her father, her mother, her lover. Not a shadow of doubt as to her +father's innocence rested upon her mind: there was no perplexity, no +shame--only sorrow and anxiety. Not many women could have borne the +strain of utter silence with such a burden laid on them to bear. But to +Lesley, even in that hour, Ethel's trouble was greater than her own. + +An hour must have passed away before Ethel murmured, + +"Lesley--are you there?" + +"Yes, I am with you, darling: I am here." + +"You are crying." + +"I am crying for you, Ethel, dear." + +For the first time, Ethel's hand answered to her pressure. After a +little silence, she spoke again-- + +"I wish I could die--too." + +"My poor little Ethel." + +"I suppose there is no chance of that. People--like me--don't die. They +only suffer--and suffer--and break their hearts--and live till they are +eighty. Oh, if you were kind to me, you would give me something to make +me die." + +She shuddered, and crept a little closer to Lesley's bosom. "Oh, why +must he go--without me--without me?" she cried. And then she burst out +suddenly into bitter weeping, and with Lesley's arms about her she wept +away some of the "perilous stuff" of misery which had seemed likely to +destroy the balance of her brain. When those tears came her reason was +saved, and Lesley was wise enough to be reassured and not alarmed by +them. + +She was very much exhausted when the burst of tears was over, and Lesley +was allowed to feed her with strong soup, which she took submissively +from her friend. "You won't go?" she whispered, when the meal was done. +And Lesley whispered back: "I will not go, darling, so long as you want +me here." + +"I want you--always." Then with a gleam of returning strength and +memory: "What was it they said about your father?" + +Lesley shivered. + +"Never mind, Ethel, dear," she said. + +"But--I know--I remember. That he was--a--oh, I can't say the word. But +that is not true." + +"I _know_ it is not true. It is a foolish, cruel mistake." + +"It could not be true," Ethel murmured. "He was always kind and good. +Tell him--from me--that I don't believe it, Lesley. And don't let them +take you away from me." + +Holding Lesley's hand in hers, at last she fell asleep; and sleep was +the very thing that was likely to restore her. The doctor came and went, +forbidding the household to disturb the quiet of the sick-room; and +after a time, Lesley, exhausted by the excitements and anxieties of the +day, laid her head on the pillow and also slept. It was late in the +afternoon when Maurice Kenyon, stealing softly into the room, found the +two heads close together on one pillow, the arms interlaced, the slumber +of one as deep as of the other. His eyes filled with tears as he looked +at the sleeping figures. "Poor girls!" he muttered to himself. "Well for +them if they can sleep; but I fear that theirs will be a sad awakening." + +Suddenly Lesley opened her eyes. The color rushed to her pale cheeks as +she saw who was regarding her, but she had sufficient self-control not +to start or move too hastily. Ethel altered her position at that moment, +and left Lesley free to rise, then sank back to slumber. And, obeying a +silent motion of Maurice Kenyon's hand, Lesley followed him noiselessly +into the dressing-room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +THE EVIDENCE. + + +"She ought not to be left alone: I promised not to leave her," said +Lesley in a low tone. + +"I have brought a nurse with me. She can go in and sit by the bed until +you are ready to return," said Maurice, quietly. "Call us, nurse, if my +sister wakes and asks for us; but be very careful not to disturb her +unnecessarily." + +The nurse, whose face Lesley scanned with involuntary interest, was +gentle and sensible-looking, with kindly eyes and a strong, well-shaped +mouth. She looked like a woman to be trusted; and Lesley was therefore +not sorry to see her pass into Ethel's room. She had felt very conscious +of her own ignorance of nursing during the past few hours, and had not +much confidence in the sense or judgment of any woman in the house. +Maurice made her sit down, and then stood looking at her for a moment. + +"You are terribly pale," he said at last. "Will you come downstairs and +let me give you something to eat and drink?" + +"Oh, no, thank you. I want nothing. And Ethel may need me: I cannot bear +to be far away." + +"Have you had nothing all day? It is after five o'clock." + +She shook her head. + +"Then you must eat before I talk to you. I have several things to say, +and you must have strength to listen. Sit still: I will be back +directly." + +He went away, and Lesley leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. +She was very weary, but even in her trouble there was some sweetness for +her in the knowledge that Maurice was attending to her needs. When he +returned with wine and food, she roused herself to accept both, knowing +very well that he would not tell her what she wanted to hear until she +had done his bidding. The door between bed and dressing room was closed; +the house was very quiet, and the light was dim. Maurice spoke at last, +in grave, low tones. + +"I have just come from your father," he said. Lesley started and clasped +her hands. "Is he at home again?" + +"No. They would not let him go. But take heart--we, who know him, will +stand by him until he is a free man." + +"Then you believe--as I believe?" she asked, tremulously. + +"Would it be possible for me to do otherwise? Hasn't he been my friend +for many a year? You have surely no need to ask!" + +Lesley, looking up at him, stretched out her hand in silence. He took it +in both his own and kissed it tenderly. Seeing her grief, and seeing +also her sympathy for another woman who grieved, had, for the time +being, cured him of his anger against her. He had cherished some bitter +feeling towards her for a while; but he forgot it now. + +"I am as sure," he said, fervently, "that Caspar Brooke could not commit +murder as I am sure that _you_ could not. It is an absurdity to think of +it." + +"Then what has made people think of it?" asked Lesley. "How has it come +about?" + +Maurice paused. "There is a mystery somewhere," he said slowly, "which +is a little difficult to fathom. Can you bear to hear the details? Your +father told me to tell them to you--as gently as I could." + +"Tell me all--all, please." + +"Poor Oliver Trent was found dead early this morning on the stair of a +lodging-house in Whitechapel. I have been to the place myself: it is now +under the care of the police. He had been beaten about the head ... it +was very horrible ... with a thick oaken staff or walking stick ... the +stick lay beside him, covered with blood, where he was found. The stick +was--was your father's, unfortunately: it must have been stolen by some +ruffian for the purpose--and--and----" + +He stopped short, as if the story were too hard to tell. Lesley sat +watching his face, which was as pale as her own. + +"Go on," she said, quickly. "What else?" + +"A pocket-book--with gilt letters on the back: C. B. distinctly marked. +That was also found on the stairs, as if it had dropped from the pocket +of some man as he went down. And it is proved--indeed, your father tells +me so--that he went to that house last night and did not leave it until +nearly midnight." + +"But why was he there?" + +"He went to see the man and woman who lived in the top room of that +lodging-house. I think you know the woman. She was once your maid----" + +"Mary Kingston? She came to our house that very afternoon. She must have +asked my father to go to see her--he spoke kindly of her to me. But why +did Mr. Trent go there too?" + +"There have been secrets kept from us which have now come to light," +said Maurice, sadly. "Oliver went there to see his brother Francis, who +was ill in bed; and his brother's wife was no other than the woman who +acted as your maid, Mary Kingston--or rather Mary Trent. Kingston left +your house on Saturday, it seems, because she had caught sight of her +husband in the street: he had been very ill, and she felt herself +obliged to go home with him and put him to bed. He has been in bed, +unable to rise, she tells me, ever since." + +"But she--_she_," said Lesley eagerly, "can explain the whole matter. +She must have heard the fight--the scuffle--whatever it was--upon the +stairs. She ought to be able to tell when father left the house--and +when Mr. Trent left the house. They did not go together, did they?" +there was a touch of scorn in her voice. + +"No, they did not go together. But what Mrs. Trent alleges is, that your +father waited for Oliver on the stairs, and attacked him there. It is a +malicious, wicked lie--I am sure of that. But it is what she says she is +willing to swear." + +"Mrs. Trent!" Lesley repeated vaguely. "Mrs. Trent! Do you +mean--Kingston? _Kingston_ swears that my father lay in wait for Oliver +Trent upon the stairs? It is impossible!" + +"Yes, Kingston," Maurice answered, in a low, level voice. "It is +Kingston who has accused your father of the crime." + +Lesley covered her face with her hands, and for a moment or two did not +speak. "It is too terrible," she said at last, not very steadily. "I do +not know how to believe it. I always trusted her. Is there nobody worth +trusting in the world? Is there no truth and faith anywhere at all?" + +The tears were raining down her cheeks as she spoke. Maurice looked at +her with wistful tenderness. + +"Can you ask that question when you have _such_ a father?" he asked. +"And I--have I done anything to deserve your want of trust?" + +She could only sob out incoherent words by way of answer. "Not you--not +my father--I was thinking--of others--others I have trusted and been +deceived in." + +"Oliver Trent," he said--not as a question so much as by way of sad +assertion. She drew her handkerchief away from her eyes immediately, and +gazed at him through her tears, with flushed cheeks and panting breath. +What did he mean? He did not leave her long in doubt. + +"Kingston--Mrs. Trent--has told a strange story," he said. "She avers +that Oliver was false--false to my poor little sister who believed in +him so entirely--false to himself and false to us. They say you knew of +this. She says that he--he made love to you, that he asked you to marry +him--to run away with him indeed--so late as last Saturday. She had +hidden herself between the folding-doors in order to hear what went on. +Lesley, is this true?" + +She was white enough now. She cast one appealing glance at his face, and +then said, almost inaudibly-- + +"Don't tell Ethel." + +"Then it was true?" + +"Quite true!" + +"Oh, my God!" cried Maurice, involuntarily. He did not use the words +with any profane intention: they escaped his lips as a sort of cry of +agony, of protest, almost of entreaty. He had hoped until this moment +that Lesley would be able to deny this charge. When she acknowledged its +truth, the conviction of Oliver's falsity, the suspicion of Lesley's +faith, smote him like a blow. He drew back from her a little and looked +at her steadfastly. Lesley raised her candid, innocent eyes to his, and, +after a moment's silence, made her defence. + +"I could not help it. If Kingston speaks the truth, she will tell you +that. He locked the door so that I could not get out, and then ... I +said I would never speak to him again. I was never so angry--so +ashamed--in all my life. You must not think that I--I too--was false to +Ethel. She is my friend, and I never dreamed of taking him away from +her. I never cared--in that way--for him, and even if I had----" + +"You never cared? Did you not love him, too?" + +"No! no, indeed! I hated him. If Kingston says so she is lying about me, +as she is lying about my father. You say that you do not believe her +when she speaks against him: surely you won't believe her when she +speaks against me? Can't you trust my father's daughter, as well as my +father?" + +The voice was almost passionate in its pleading: the lovely eyes were +eloquent of reproach. Maurice felt his whole being quiver: he was shaken +to the very depths. Why should she plead to him in this way if she had +no love at all for _him_? Why should she be so anxious that he should +trust her? And did he not? He could not look into her face and think for +one moment that she lied. + +"I do trust--your father's daughter," he said, hoarsely. "I trust her +above all women living!--God knows that I do. You did not love Oliver? +It was not to _him_ that you made some promise you spoke of--some +promise against engaging yourself?" + +"It was to my mother," said Lesley, simply. "I am sorry that I did not +make you understand." + +He took a quick step nearer. "May I say more?" + +She shook her head. + +"But--some day?" + +"Not now," she answered, softly. But a very faint and tremulous smile +quivered for one moment on her lips. "It is very wrong to talk of +ourselves just now. Go on with your story--tell me about my dear, +dearest father." + +"I will," said Maurice. "I will do exactly what you wish--_just +now_"--with a great accent on the last two words. "We will talk about +that promise at a more fitting time, Lesley--I may call you Lesley, may +I not? There is no harm in that, for you are like a sister to my poor +Ethel, and you may as well let me be a brother to you, dear, _just now_. +Well, Lesley"--how he lingered over the name!--"Mrs. Trent says that she +returned to your house on Monday afternoon in order to warn your father +of what was going, on----" + +"Oh! Did she really?" + +"Yes, for your father tells me she did so. She also told him various +stories of Oliver's baseness, which he felt it his duty to inquire into, +and in order that, he might have an interview with Oliver, she arranged +with him to come that night to the house in Whitechapel, where she and +her husband were living. There she was to confront him with Oliver, and +she said that in _her_ presence he would not dare to deny that her tales +were true." + +"But why did father agree to that? Why did he want to find out?" + +"For Ethel's sake. He wanted to protect her. If Mrs. Trent could prove +her stories, he meant to expose Oliver to Ethel and myself, if it were +but an hour before her marriage----" + +"And why didn't he?" demanded Lesley, breathlessly. + +"Because--here comes in your father's evidence--your father assures me +that when he reached the house that night and confronted Oliver, the +woman took back every word that she had uttered, and declared that it +was all a lie. And Oliver, of course, persisted that he had done nothing +amiss. Your father says he was so much tempted to strike Oliver to the +ground--for he did not believe in Kingston's retractation--that he flung +his stick out upon the landing lest he should use it too effectually. He +forgot to pick it up, and came away without it. The pocket-book must of +course have fallen out of his pocket as he left the house." + +"Then he could not convict Mr. Trent of anything?" + +"No, and so he did not feel justified in meddling. But he wishes that he +had gone to Ethel at once--or that I had been at home and that he had +come to me. He is reproaching himself terribly for his silence now." + +"As I have been reproaching myself for mine," said Lesley. + +"You have no need. Ethel would never have believed the stories--and as +Mrs. Trent denied them again, I think that Oliver would have carried the +day. But let her deny them as she will, I believe that they were true, +and that Oliver was a villain. Our poor Ethel may live to bless the day +when she was delivered from him." + +"I am afraid she will never believe us, or forgive us if she does," +sighed Lesley. "But what else happened?" + +"Your father left the building, after a long and angry conversation, +about midnight. Oliver remained behind. Of course your father knows +nothing more. But Mrs. Trent says that Oliver went away ten minutes +later, and that she then heard loud words and the sound of a struggle +upon the stairs. Fights are too common in that neighborhood to excite +much remark. She, however, feeling anxious, stole down the upper flight +of stairs, and distinctly saw Mr. Brooke and her brother-in-law +struggling together. She maintains that Mr. Brooke's stick was in his +hand." + +"How wickedly false! Why did she not scream if she saw such a sight?" + +"She was afraid. And she says that she did not think it would come +to--_murder_. She crept back to her room again, and in a few minutes +everything was quiet. Only--in the early morning the dead body of Oliver +Trent was found upon the stairs, and then she gave information as to +what she had seen and heard." + +There was a short silence. Then Lesley said, very tremulously--"It +sounds like a plot--a plot against my dear father's good name!" + +"And a very cleverly concocted plot too," thought Maurice to himself in +silent rage; but he dared not say so much aloud. He only answered, +tenderly-- + +"Such a plot can never come to good, Lesley. You and I together--we will +unravel it--we will clear your father, and bring him back to the world +again." + +"He is not coming home just yet, then?" + +"I am afraid--dear, do not tremble so--he will have to take his trial. +But he will be acquitted, you will see." + +She let him press her fingers to his lips again, and made no outward +sign; but the two looked into each other's eyes, and each was conscious +of the presence of a deadly fear. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +A VAIN APPEAL. + + +Lesley went home to sleep, and learned from her aunt the details of her +father's arrest. "But he will be back in a few hours," said Miss Brooke, +obstinately. "They will be obliged to let him ago. They will accept +bail, of course. Mr. Kenyon thinks they will." + +"Has Mr. Kenyon been here?" + +"Oh, yes; he brought me a message from Caspar. What a horrible thing it +is! But the ridiculous--absurd--part of it is that your father should be +accused. Why, your father was very friendly with Oliver Trent--at least +he used to be!" Then Miss Brooke paused, and fired an unexpected +question at her niece. "Have you any reason to think he was not?" + +Lesley winced and hesitated. "I don't think he liked Mr. Trent very +much," she said, at last; "but that is a different thing----" + +"From killing him? I should think so!" said Doctor Sophy, in a high tone +of voice. She was in her dressing-gown, and sitting before the fire that +had been lighted in her own little sanctum upstairs; but she was not +smoking as she was usually at that hour. The occasion was too serious +for cigarettes: Doctor Sophy was denying herself. Perhaps that was the +reason why she looked so haggard and so angry, as she turned suddenly +and spoke to her niece in a somewhat excited way. + +"What made him unfriendly? Do you not know? It was because you flirted +with Oliver Trent! I really think you did, Lesley. And I know your +father thought so too." + +"Then he ought to have been vexed with me, not with Oliver," said +Lesley, standing her ground, but turning very pale. + +"Yes, yes, but you are a girl, and he did not like to blame you. He +spoke rather strongly about Oliver Trent to me. However, it is no use +saying so now. We had better keep that phase of the matter as quiet as +we can." + +"Aunt Sophy," said Lesley, in a tremulous tone, "you don't mean--you +don't think--that my--my _flirting_, as you call it, with Mr. Trent will +be spoken of and tend to hurt my father--my father's good name?" + +Aunt Sophy stared at her. "Of course it would hurt your father's chances +if it _were_ talked about," she said, rather, sharply. "I don't see how +it could do otherwise. People would say that he might have quarrelled +with Oliver about you, you know. But we must try to keep the matter as +quiet as we can. _I'm_ prepared to swear that they were bosom-friends, +and that I never heard Caspar say a word against him; and you had better +follow my example." + +"But, Aunt Sophy--if I can't----" + +"If you want to come the Jeanie Deans' business, my dear," said Miss +Brooke, "you had better reflect that personal application to the Queen +for a pardon will not help you very much now-a-days. I must confess +that, although I admire Jeanie Deans very much, I don't intend to +emulate her. It's my opinion too that most women will tell lies for the +sake of men they love, but not for the sake of women." + +"Oh, Aunt Sophy!" + +"It is no good making exclamations," said Aunt Sophy, with unusual +irritability. "If you are different from all other women, I can't help +it. I once thought that I was different myself, but I find I am as great +a fool as any of them. There, go to bed, child! Things will turn out all +right by and by. Nobody could be so absurd as to believe ill of your +father." + +"You think it will be all right?" said Lesley, wistfully. + +"Don't ask me to believe in a God in heaven, if things go badly with +Caspar," said Miss Brooke, curtly. "Haven't I lived ten years in the +house with the man, and don't I know that he would not hurt a fly? He's +the gentlest soul alive, although he looks so big and strong: the +gentlest, softest-hearted, most generous----But I suppose it is no good +saying all that to your mother's daughter?"--and Miss Brooke picked up a +paper-covered volume that had fallen to her feet, and began to read. + +"I am my father's daughter too," said Lesley, with rather tremulous +dignity, as she turned away. She was too indignant with Miss Brooke to +wish her good-night, and meant to leave the room without another word. +But Miss Brooke, dropping her book on her red flannel lap, and looking +uneasily over her shoulder at her niece's retreating figure, would not +let her go. + +"Come, Lesley, don't be angry," she said. "I am so upset that I hardly +know what I am saying. Come here and kiss me, child, I did not mean to +vex you." + +And Lesley came back and kissed her aunt, but in silence, for her heart +was sore within her. Was it perhaps true--or partially true--that she +had been the cause of the misery that had come upon them all? Indirectly +and partially, unintentionally and without consciousness of +wrong-doing--and yet she could not altogether acquit herself of blame. +Had she been more reserved, more guarded in her behavior, Oliver Trent +would never have fallen in love with her. Would this have mended +matters? If, as she gathered, the sole reason of her father's visit to +the Trents had been to assure himself of the true nature of her +relations with Oliver--her cheeks burned as she put the matter in that +light, even to herself--why, then, she could not possibly divest herself +of responsibility. Of course she could not for one moment imagine that +her father had lifted his hand against Oliver; but his visit to the +house shortly before the murder gave a certain air of plausibility to +the tale: and for this Lesley felt herself to blame. + +She went to her own room and lay down, but she could not sleep. There +was a hidden joy at the bottom of her heart--a joy of which she was half +ashamed. The relief of finding that Maurice was still her friend--it was +so that she phrased it to herself--was indeed very great. And there was +a strange and beautiful hope for the future, which she dared not look at +yet. For it seemed to her as if it would be a sort of treason to dream +of love and joy and hope for herself when those that she loved best--and +she herself also--were involved in one common downfall, one common +misfortune of so terrible a kind. The thought of her father--detained, +she knew not where: she had a childish vision of a felon's cell, very +different indeed from the reality of the plain but fairly comfortable +room with which Mr. Caspar Brooke had been accommodated, and she +shuddered at the thought of the days before him, of the public +examinations, of the doubt and shame and mystery in which poor Oliver +Trent's death was enwrapped. She thought of Ethel, now under the +influence of a strong narcotic, from which she would not awake until the +morning; and she shrank in imagination from that awakening to despair. +And she thought of others who were more or less concerned in the +tragedy; of Mary Kingston--though she could not remember her without a +shudder--of Mrs. Romaine, who had loved her brother so tenderly; and of +Lady Alice, the woman whose husband was in prison for a crime of which +Lesley was willing to swear that he was innocent. + +When her thoughts once reached her mother, they stayed and would not be +diverted. She could not sleep: she could think of nothing but the mother +and the father whom she loved. And she wept over the failure of her +schemes for their reunion. All hope of that was at an end. It was +impossible that Lady Alice should not believe him guilty. She had always +judged him harshly, and taken the worst possible view of his behavior. +Lesley remembered that she had not--in common parlance--"had a good word +to say for him," when she spoke of him in the convent parlor. What would +she say now, and how could Lesley make her see the truth? + +The fruit of her reflections became evident at breakfast-time next +morning. Lesley came downstairs with her hat on and a mantle over her +arm. + +"Where are you going?" Miss Brooke asked. "Not to poor Ethel, I hope? I +am very sorry for her, but really, Lesley----" + +"I am going to mamma," said Lesley. + +"Going to----Well, upon my word! Lesley, I did think you had a little +more feeling for your father! Going----Well, I shall not countenance it. +I shall not let your boxes go out of the house. It is simply +disgraceful." + +"But I don't want my boxes," said Lesley, rather forlornly helping +herself to a cup of coffee. "What have my boxes to do with it, Aunt +Sophy? I shall be back in an hour. Mr. Kenyon said we should be able to +see father to-day, and I do not want to be away when he comes." + +"Then--then you don't mean to _stay_ with your mamma?" gasped Aunt +Sophy. + +Lesley could not help a little laugh, but the tears came into her brown +eyes as she laughed. "Would you mind very much if I did, Aunt Sophy?" +she asked, setting down her cup of coffee. + +"I should mind for this reason," said Miss Brooke, stoutly, "that if you +ran away from your father's house now, people would say that you thought +him guilty. It would go against him terribly. Sooner than that, I would +lock you into your own room and prevent your going by main force." + +"I believe you would," said Lesley, "and so would I, in your place, Aunt +Sophy. But you need not be afraid. I am as proud of my father and as +full of faith in him as even you can be; and if I go to see my mother, +it is only that I may tell her so, and let her understand that she has +no cause to be afraid for him." The color came to her face as she spoke, +and she lifted her head so proudly that Aunt Sophy felt--for a moment or +two--slightly abashed. + +"I will be back in an hour," Lesley went on, firmly, "and I hope that +Mr. Kenyon will wait for me if he comes before I return." + +"Am I to tell him where you have gone?" asked Miss Brooke, with a slight +touch of sharpness in her voice. + +And Lesley replied, "Certainly. And my father, too, if you see him +before I do. I am not doing anything wrong." + +Greatly to her surprise, Miss Brooke got up and kissed her. "My dear," +she said, "you are very like your father, and I am sure you won't do +anything to hurt his feelings; but are you quite sure that you need go +to Lady Alice just at present?" + +"Quite sure, Aunt Sophy." And then Miss Brooke sighed, shook her head, +and let her go, with the air of one who sees a person undertake a +hopeless quest. For she fancied that Lesley was going to make an attempt +to reconcile the husband and wife who had been so long separated, and +she did not believe that any such attempt was likely to succeed. But she +had not fathomed Lesley's plan aright. + +The girl took a hansom and drove at once to her mother's house. She knew +well where it was situated, but she had never visited it before. It was +a small house, but in a good position, close to the Green Park, and at +any other moment Lesley would have been struck by the air of +distinction that it had already achieved. It was painted differently +from the neighboring houses: the curtains and flower-boxes in the +windows were remarkably fresh and dainty, the neat maid who opened the +front door was neater and smarter than other people's maids. Lesley was +informed that her ladyship was not up yet; and the servant seemed to +think that she had better go away on receiving this information. + +"I will come in," said Lesley, quietly. "I am Miss Brooke. You can take +my name up to her first, if you like, but I want to see her at once." + +The maid looked doubtful, but at this moment Mrs. Dayman was seen +crossing the hall, and her exclamation of mingled pleasure and dismay +caused Lesley to be admitted without further parley. + +Lady Alice was up, but not fully dressed; she was breakfasting in a +dressing-room or boudoir, which opened out of her own sleeping +apartment. As soon as Lesley entered she started up; and the girl +noticed at the first glance that her mother was looking ill, but perhaps +the richly-tinted plush morning-gown, that fell round her slender figure +in long straight folds, made her look taller and thinner than usual. +Certainly her face was worn, and her eyelids were reddened as if from +weeping or sleeplessness. + +"Lesley! my darling! have you come back to me?" + +She folded the girl in her arms and pressed her lips to the soft cheek, +a little sob breaking from her as she spoke. + +"Only for half an hour, mamma. Just to speak to you for a few minutes +about _him_." + +"Him! Your father! Oh, Lesley, what does it all mean?" + +"Poor mamma! it must have been a great shock to you. Sit down, and I +will tell you all that I know." + +And gently pressing Lady Alice back into a seat, Lesley took a footstool +at her mother's knee and told her the story. Lady Alice listened in +silence. With one hand she stroked Lesley's hair; with the other she +held Lesley's fingers, and Lesley noticed that it twitched from time to +time as if in nervous agitation. Otherwise, however, she was very calm. + +"And so," she said, at last, "you came to tell me the story as you know +it.... But, my child, you have told me very little that I did not know +already. Even in last night's papers the relationship between Oliver +Trent and these people in Whitechapel was commented on. And your own +name, my darling--that did not escape. Did you think I should +misunderstand you?" + +"Oh, no, mamma--not misunderstand _me_, but I was afraid lest you might +misunderstand some one else." + +Lady Alice was silent. + +"I was afraid," said Lesley, softly, "lest the years that have gone by +should have made you forget his gentleness and nobleness of soul--lest +for one moment you should think him capable of a mean or vile action. I +came to tell you, dearest mother, how impossible it was for us--who +_know_ him--to credit for one moment an accusation of this kind. If all +the world said that he was guilty, you and I, mamma, would know that he +was not." + +"My child, my darling, you must speak for yourself. Do not try to speak +for me!" + +"Mother, won't you give me a message for him?" + +"Are you going to see him, Lesley?" + +"I hope so. Mr. Kenyon said he would take me." + +There was a short silence, and then Lesley lifted her eyes to her +mother's face. She was not encouraged by what she saw there. It was +pale, sad, immobile, and, as it seemed to Lesley, very cold. + +"Mother, I must go. Won't you send him a message?" + +"I have no message, Lesley." + +"Not one little word?" + +"Not one." And then, as if trying to excuse herself Lady Alice added, +hurriedly, "there is nothing that I can say which would please him. He +would not care for any message from me." + +"He would care to hear that you trusted him!" + +"I do not think so," said Lady Alice, with a little shake of her head. + +Lesley rose to her feet, silenced for the moment, but not altogether +vanquished. She put her arms round her mother's neck. + +"But you do trust him, mamma? Tell me that, at any rate." + +For almost the first time within Lesley's memory Lady Alice made a +gesture of impatience. + +"I cannot be catechised; Lesley. Let me alone. You do not understand." + +And Lesley was obliged to go away, feeling sorrowfully that she had +failed in her mission. Perhaps, however, she had succeeded better than +she knew. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +"AT YOUR SIDE." + + +Caspar Brooke was not as yet debarred the privilege of seeing his +friends, and on the morning after his arrest he had a great many +visitors, including, of course, Maurice Kenyon and his lawyer. Maurice +was busying himself earnestly on his friend's behalf; and, considering +the position that Brooke held, the esteem felt for him in high places, +and the amount of interest that was being brought to bear on the +authorities, there was little doubt but that he would be let out on bail +in a day or two, even if the proceedings were not quashed altogether. +Some delay, however, there was sure to be owing to the pertinacity of +Mary Trent's assertion that she saw him struggling with Oliver on the +stairs, but in the meantime his detention was allowed to press as +lightly upon him as possible. + +It was noon before Lesley saw him, and when she sprang to his side and +threw her arms around his neck, with a new demonstrativeness of manner, +she noticed that his brows lifted a little, and that he smiled with a +look of positive pleasure and relief. + +"So you have come?" he said, holding her to him as if he did not like to +let her go. "I began to wonder if you had deserted me!" + +"Oh, father! Why, I have been waiting ever so long for Mr. Grierson to +go." + +"And before that----?" he asked, in rather a peculiar tone. + +"Before that--I went to see mamma." And Lesley looked bravely up into +his face. + +"That was an infringement of contract, as I suppose you know," said +Caspar, smiling persistently. "But it does not matter very much. What +did 'mamma' say to you?" + +"I--don't--know," murmured Lesley, confused by the question. "Nothing +very much." + +"Nothing. Ah, I know what that means." He turned away from her, and, +sitting down, leaned his elbows upon a table, and played with his beard. +"It was useless, Lesley," he said, quietly, after a few minutes' +silence. "Your mother is the last person whose sympathies will be +enlisted on my side." + +Lesley tried to speak but suddenly felt her voice fail her; so instead +of speaking she knelt down by her father, leaned her head upon his +shoulder, and burst into very heartfelt tears. + +"Little one," said Caspar, "I'm afraid we have both got ourselves into a +mess." + +It did not sound comforting, but Lesley stayed her tears to listen. + +"I have been talking to Grierson," her father continued, "and we have +agreed that there must be no suppression of the truth. My dislike to +Oliver Trent has been commented on already, and I must give a reason for +it. Lesley, my dear, you will have to contribute your own evidence as to +the reason." + +Lesley looked up with terrified, wide-open eyes. "Do you mean that I +shall have to say----" + +"You will have to go into the witness-box and tell what you know, or +rather answer the questions that are asked you." + +"But will that be--best--for you?" She put the question with some +difficulty. + +"That is not the point. What we have to do is to tell the truth, and +leave the result to others." + +"--To God?" Lesley interposed, almost involuntarily. Caspar Brooke's lip +moved with a grave smile. + +"Well, yes, to God if you will have it so--we use different terms, but +perhaps we have the same meaning. We must at any rate leave the result +to the working of various laws which we cannot control, and to fight +against these laws of nature is wrong-doing--or sin. Therefore, Lesley, +you will have to tell the truth, whether it may seem to be for my good +or my harm." + +She glanced at him rather piteously, and her eyes filled with tears. +Aunt Sophy's words recurred to her mind; but they seemed feeble and +futile in the light of his courage and steadfastness. Aunt Sophy had +been wrong--so much was clear to Lesley; and truth was best under all +possible circumstances. + +"It is for Ethel I am sorry," she murmured. + +"Yes, poor Ethel. It is true then--what that woman said--that Oliver +Trent was in love with you?" + +"I could not help it, father. I don't think it was my fault. I did not +know till it was too late." + +"I am not blaming you, my dear. When I came into the drawing-room that +day--do you remember?--what had happened then? Can you bear to tell me?" + +She hid her face on his shoulder as she answered, "He was speaking +foolishly. I think he wanted to--to kiss me.... I was very glad that you +came in." + +"Was that the first time?" + +"Yes, the first. And I did not even see him again until that Saturday +night, when he found me in the study--and----" + +"And asked you to run away with him?" + +"Yes. Indeed, I had not led him to think that I would do any such thing, +father. I told him never to speak to me again. If it had not been for +Ethel's sake, I think I should have called someone--but I did not like +to make a disturbance." + +"No, dear, no. And you--yourself--_you_ did not care for him?" + +"Oh no, no, no!" + +"It has been a terrible tangle--and the knot has been cut very rudely," +said Mr. Brooke, in a musing tone. "Of one thing I am quite certain, we +were not fit to have the care of you, Lesley--your aunt and I. You would +never have been in this position, my poor child, if we had looked after +you." + +"It isn't _that_ which troubles me," said Lesley, trying to steady her +voice. "It is--that you have to bear the brunt of it all. If it had not +been for me you would never have been here. It has been my fault!" + +"Not your fault, child," said her father. "The fault did not lie with +you, but with that unfortunate young man, for whom I am truly sorry. +Don't be morbid, Lesley; look things straight in the face, and don't +blame yourself unless you are perfectly sure that you deserve to be +blamed." + +And there the conference ended, for Miss Brooke arrived at that moment, +and Lesley thought it advisable to leave the choice of a subject of +conversation in her hands. Caspar had many visitors that day, and many +letters of advice and condolence, for few men were blessed--or +cursed--with as many friends as he. Among the letters that reached him +was a note without signature, which he read hastily, and as hastily +concealed when he had read it. This note was written in uneven, crooked +characters, as if the writer's hand had shaken as she wrote, and ran as +follows:-- + +"I ought not to write, but how can I keep silence? There is nothing that +I am not capable of bearing for my friends. If you will but confide in +me--I am ready to do, to bear, to suffer anything--to forgive anything. +Let me see you: I can then speak more freely. If you should be set at +liberty in a day or two, I shall hear. You can then come to me: if not, +I will come to you. But you need have no fear for me: I shall take means +to prevent recognition." + +The envelope was plain and of common texture; but the note-paper was +hand-made; with a faint, fine odor as of some sweet-smelling Eastern +wood, and bore in one corner the letters "R. R.," intertwined in deep +blue tints. There was no doubt in Caspar's mind as to the person from +whom it came. + +He received it about three o'clock in the afternoon. If he wished to +decline the proposed interview, he knew that he must write at once. In +his heart he knew also that it would be better for him and better for +her that the interview should be declined. What had he to do with +Rosalind Romaine? He was accused of murdering her brother: it was not +seemly that she should see him--even although the world were not to know +of the visit. The world would know sooner or later--that was the worst +of it: ultimately, the world knows everything. But why should she wish +to see him? Had she information to impart? If she had, it would be +foolish, from merely conventional reasons, to refuse her admittance, +supposing that she really wished to come. And in a day or two at most he +would certainly be able to go, if necessary, to her. + +But the fact was, he did not believe that she had any information to +impart. She did not say so. Probably she only wished to express her +faith in him, and to assure him of her friendship. Rosalind had been his +friend through many a long year. She had always shown herself kind and +sympathetic--in spite of one or two interludes of coldness and general +oddity which Caspar had never felt able to understand. It would be +pleasant enough to hear her say that she trusted him--he could not help +feeling that. For, although he had passed the matter off very lightly +when talking to Lesley, he was secretly hurt at the absence of any +message from his wife. He could almost have worked himself into a rage +at the thought of it. "Does she, too, think me guilty?" he asked +himself. "She ought to know me better, although she does not love me! +She ought to know. And she does know, but she is too cold and too proud +to say so. Poor, warm-hearted Lesley has tried to win her sympathy for +me and failed. Well, I never expected otherwise: she never gave me what +I wanted--sympathy, understanding, or love! And how can she blame +me"--the thought stole unawares into his mind--"if I turn for sympathy +to one who offers it?" + +Yes, Rosalind would sympathize, and there would be no harm in listening +to her gentle words. He had the pen in his hand, paper and ink before +him: a word would be enough, if he wished to stay her visit. But he +would not write it: if she liked to come, she might come--he would be +glad to see her. Besides, her letter wanted explanation: for what had +she to forgive? + +He pushed the writing materials away from him, and went to the +fireplace, where a small fire was burning very dimly. The day was +cloudy, and the afternoon was drawing in. He crushed the coal with the +heel of his boot in order to make a flame leap up; then leaned his elbow +on the narrow mantelpiece and gazed down into the glowing embers. + +The door opened and closed again behind him, but at first he did not +look up. He thought that the attendant had come to light the gas or +bring him some tea. But when he heard no further sound, he suddenly +stirred and looked up; and in the dim light he saw beside him the figure +of a woman, cloaked and veiled. + +Was it Rosalind? No, it was too tall for Rosalind Romaine. Not +Lesley?--though it had a look of her! And then his heart gave a +tremendous leap (although no one would have suspected it, for his +massive form and bearded face remained as motionless and calm as ever), +for it dawned upon him that the visitor was none other than Lesley's +mother, his wife, Alice Brooke, who had quitted him in anger twelve +years before. + +"I beg your pardon," he said, courteously. "I did not see--I had no idea +who it was. Will you not sit down?" + +He handed her a chair, with a bow as formal as that of a complete +stranger. Perhaps the formality was inevitable. Lady Alice put her hand +on the back of the chair, and felt that she was trembling. + +"I hope I am not intruding," she said, in a voice as formal as his own. + +"Not at all. It was most kind of you to come. Pray sit down." + +She seated herself in silence, and then put up her veil. He remained +standing, and for a moment or two the husband and wife looked each other +steadily in the face, with a sort of curiosity and with a sort of wonder +too. The years had not dealt unkindly with either of them. Lady Alice +had kept her slender grace of figure and her gentleness of expression, +but the traces of sorrow and anxiety were so visible upon her delicate +face that Caspar felt a sudden impulse of pity towards the woman who had +suffered in her loneliness more than he had perhaps thought possible. As +she sat and looked at him, a certain pathetic quality showing itself +with more than usual vividness in her soft eyes and drooping mouth, he +was conscious of a desire to take her in his arms and console her for +all the past. But he caught back the impulse with an inward laugh of +scorn. She had no doubt come to run needles into him, as she used to do +in those unlucky days of poverty and struggle. She had a knack of +looking pretty and sweet while she was doing it, he remembered. It would +not do to show any weakness now. + +And she--what did she think of him? She was less absorbed with the +consideration of any change in him than with what she intended to say. +What impressed her most were the inflections of his quiet, musical +voice--a voice as unroughened and as gentle as when it wooed her in her +father's Northern Castle years before! She had forgotten its power, but +it made her tremble now from head to foot with a sort of terror that was +not without charm. It was so cold a voice--so cold and calm! She felt +that if it once grew tender and caressing her strength would fail her +altogether. But there was not much fear of tenderness from him--to her. + +After that involuntary and rather awkward pause, Lady Alice recollected +herself; and spoke first. + +"You must be very much surprised to see me?" + +"I am delighted, of course. I could wish"--with a slight smile--"that +the apartment was more worthy of you, and that the circumstances were +less disagreeable; but I am unfortunately not able to alter these +details." + +"And it is exactly to these details that you owe my visit," said Lady +Alice, with unexpected calmness. + +"Then I ought to be grateful them, no doubt." + +She moved uneasily, as if the studied conventionality of his tone jarred +on her a little; and then she said, with an effort that made her words +sound brusque, + +"I mean that under ordinary circumstances I should not have come to see +you. But these are so strange--so extraordinary--that you will perhaps +pardon the intrusion. I felt--on reflection--that it was only right for +me to come--to express----" + +She faltered, and he took advantage of her hesitation to say, with a +quiet smile-- + +"I am very much obliged to you. But you should not have taken all this +trouble. A note would have answered the purpose just as well. I suppose +you wish to express your indignation at the little care I seem to have +taken of Lesley. You cannot blame me more severely than I blame myself. +If she had been under your care I have no doubt we should not be in our +present dilemma; but it is no use fretting over what is past--or +inevitable. I can only say that I am exceedingly sorry. Will you not +loosen your cloak? This room is rather warm. I can't very well ring for +tea, I am afraid. You should call on me at Woburn Place, if you want +tea." + +She loosened her cloak a little at the throat as he suggested. She had +taken off her gloves, and he could see that her slender white hands were +trembling. Somehow it occurred to him that he had spoken unkindly--but +he did not know how or why. His words were commonplace enough. But it +was his tone that had been cruel. + +"I did not come to make any reproaches or complaints," she said at last, +in a low voice. + +"No. That was very good of you. I have to thank you, then, for your +forbearance." + +There was still coldness, still something perilously like scorn, in his +tone. It was unbearable to Lady Alice. + +"Why do you talk in that way?" she broke out, suddenly. "I came to say +something quite different; and you speak as if you wanted to taunt +me--to insult me--to hurt me in every possible way? I do not understand +what you mean." + +"You never did," said Caspar. The scorn had gone now, and the voice had +grown stern. "It is useless for us to talk together at all. You have +made intercourse impossible. I have no desire to hurt or taunt or insult +you, as you phrase it; but, if I am to speak the truth, I must say that +I feel very strongly that it is to _you_ and _your_ behavior that we owe +the greater part of this trouble. If you had been at my side, if Lesley +had been under a mother's wing, sheltered as only a mother could shelter +her, there never would have been an opportunity for that man Trent's +clandestine approaches, which will put a stigma on that poor child for +the rest of her life, and may--for aught I know--endanger my own neck! I +could put up with the loss and harm to myself; but once and for all let +me say to you, Alice, that you have neglected your duty as a mother as +much as I have neglected mine as a father; and that if you had been in +your proper place all this ruin and disgrace and misery might never have +come about." + +The broken and vehement tones of his voice showed that his feelings were +powerfully affected. Lady Alice listened in perfect silence, and kept +silence for some minutes after the conclusion of his speech. Caspar, +leaning with one shoulder against the mantelpiece, looked frowningly +before him, as if he were unconscious of the fact that she had taken her +handkerchief out of her muff, and was pressing it to her cheeks and +eyes. But in reality he was painfully alive to every one of her +movements, and expected a plaintive rejoinder to his accusations. But +none came. The silence irritated him, as it had formerly irritated him +with Lesley. He was obliged at last to ask a question. + +"Since you say you did not come to reproach me, may I ask the motive of +your visit?" he asked. + +"I scarcely think that it is of any use to tell you now," said his wife, +quietly. She had got rid of her tears now, and had put her handkerchief +away. "I had a sort of fancy that you might like me to tell you with my +own lips something that I felt rather strongly, but you would probably +resent it--and it is only a trifle after all." + +She rose from her chair and drew her fur-lined cloak closely round her, +as if preparing to depart. + +"I should like to hear it--if I am not troubling you too much," said +Caspar. + +She averted her eyes and began slowly to draw on her gloves. "It is +really nothing--I came on a momentary impulse. I have not seen you for a +good many years, and we parted with very angry words on our lips, did we +not?--but I wanted to say that--although you were sometimes angry--I +never knew you do a cruel thing--you were always kind--kindest of all to +creatures that were weak (except, perhaps to me); and I am quite +sure--sure as that I stand here--that you never did the thing of which +they are accusing you. There!"--and she looked straight into his +face--"it is a little thing, no doubt: you have hosts of friends to say +the same thing to you: but my tribute is worth having, perhaps, because, +after all, I am your wife--and in some ways I do understand!" + +Caspar's face worked strangely: he bit his lip hard as he looked at her. + +"You are generous, Alice," he said, in a low voice, after a pause that +seemed eternal to her. + +"Oh, no. Why should you call it generous? I only wanted to say this--and +also--that if I can be of any use to you now, I am ready. A little thing +sometimes turns the course of public opinion. If I were to go to Woburn +Place--to stay with Lesley, for instance--so that all the world could +see that I believed in you----" + +"But--I shall be at Woburn Place myself in a day or two, on bail; and +then----" + +"I could stay," said Lady Alice, again looking at him. Then her eyes +dropped and the color mounted to her forehead. He made a sudden step +towards her. + +"Alice--is it possible--after all these years----" + +"No, it is not possible," she said, with a little laugh which yet had +something in it of a sob, "and I don't think we should ever get on +together--and I don't love you at all, except for Lesley's sake--but +just until this horrible affair is over, if I might show everybody that +I have all possible faith in you, and that I know you to be good and +upright and honorable--just till then, Caspar, I _should_ like to be at +your side." + +But whether Caspar heard the whole of this speech must remain for ever +doubtful, as, long before its close, he had taken her in his arms and +was sealing the past between them with a long kiss which might verily be +called the kiss of peace. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +"OUT ON BAIL." + + +Miss Brooke was electrified. Such a thing had never occurred to her as +possible. After years of separation, of dispute, of ill-feeling on +either side, here was Lady Alice appearing in her husband's house, and +expressing a desire to remain in it. She came to Woburn Place on the +evening after her interview with Caspar, and at once made known her +wishes to Doctor Sophy. + +It was a curious interview. Miss Brooke sat bolt upright on a sofa, with +an air of repressed indignation which was exceedingly striking: Lady +Alice, half enveloped in soft black furs, was leaning back in the lowest +and most luxurious chair the room afforded, with rather more the air of +the _grande dame_ than she actually wished to convey. In reality her +heart was very soft, and there was moisture in her eyes; but it was +difficult for her to shake off an appearance of cold indifference to all +the world when Miss Sophia Brooke, M. D., was in her society. She had +never understood Doctor Sophy, and Miss Brooke had always detested her. + +"Am I to understand, Lady Alice," said the spinster, in her stiffest +voice, "that my brother wishes you to take up your abode in this house +during his absence?" + +"Yes, I think so," said Lady Alice, equably. "He has wished me to take +up my abode here for some time past." + +"Indeed?" + +The note of incredulity in her voice angered Caspar's wife. + +"I think you hardly understand," she said with some quiet dignity, "that +I have been to see Mr. Brooke this afternoon. Strange circumstances +demand new treatment, Miss Brooke. I consulted with my husband as to +what we had better do, and he agreed with me that it would be better for +Lesley if I came here--at any rate for the present." + +"Better for Lesley!" Miss Brooke was evidently offended. "I do not think +that you need put yourself to any inconvenience--even for Lesley's sake. +I will take care of her." + +"But I happen to be her mother," said Lady Alice, with a touch of +amusement. It struck her as odd that Miss Brooke only amused her now, +and did not make her angry at all. "And we have the world to think of, +besides." + +"I scarcely thought you troubled yourself very much about what the world +said," remarked Aunt Sophy, severely. "It has said a good deal during +the last ten or twelve years." + +"At least it shall not say," responded Lady Alice, "that I believe my +husband guilty of murder. I have come back to prevent _that_." + +Miss Brooke looked at her doubtfully. She was not a person of very quick +perceptions. + +"You mean," she said at last, "that you have come back--because----" + +"_Because_ he was accused of murder," said Lady Alice, clearly, "and I +choose to show the world that I do not believe it." + +And Lesley, entering from the library, heard the words, and stood +transfixed for a moment with pure delight. Then she sprang forward, fell +on her knees before her mother, and embraced her with such fervor that +Miss Brooke put up her eye-glasses and gazed in surprise. + +"Mother! my own dearest mother! You do believe in him, then! and you +have come to show us that you do! Oh! how delighted he will be when he +knows!" + +A little color showed itself in Lady Alice's delicate face. "He does +know," she whispered, almost with the coyness of a girl. + +"And he _was_ delighted, was he not? It would be such a comfort to +him--just now when he wants every kind of comfort. Oh, mamma, it is so +good of you, and I am so glad. Aunty Sophy, aren't you glad, too?" + +Lady Alice tried to stifle this naive utterance, but it would not be +repressed, and Aunt Sophy had to rise to the occasion as best she could, +with rather a grim face, she rose from her seat upon the sofa and +advanced towards her brother's wife, holding out a very reluctant hand. + +"I appreciate your motives, Lady Alice, and I see that your conduct may +be of service to my brother." Then she relapsed into a more colloquial +tone. "But how on earth you mean to live in this part of London, I'm +sure I can't imagine. No doubt it seems rather smoky and grimy to you +after Mayfair and Belgravia." + +"London is generally a little smoky," said Lady Alice, smiling in spite +of herself. "Thank you, Sophy: I thought you would do me justice." + +And the hands of the two women met in a friendlier grasp than ever in +the days of yore. + +"I must see about your room," said Miss Brooke, practically. It was her +way of holding out the olive branch. "You would like to be near Lesley, +I suppose. We shall try to make you comfortable, but, of course, you +won't expect the luxuries of your own home here." + +"I shall be very comfortable, I am sure," said Lady Alice. + +"What, does she mean by talking in that tone?" cried Lesley, hotly when +Doctor Sophy had left the room. "It was almost insulting!" + +"No, my darling, no. It is only a memory of old times when I +was--exacting and dissatisfied. Yes, I see that I must have seemed so, +then. I had not had much experience in those days; and then your father +was not a man of substance as he seems to be now," said Lady Alice, +inspecting the room, with a half-smile. The smile died quickly away, +however, and was succeeded by a sad look, and a sigh. "Ah, poor Caspar!" + +"He will be home in a day or two. Everybody says so." + +"I trust so, dearest. And I will stay with--you till he comes home." + +"Oh, but now that you have come, mamma you will never be allowed to go +away again." + +"I never said that, Lesley. I have come to maintain a principle, that is +all. A wife ought to show that she trusts her husband, if he is falsely +accused." + +And then Lady Alice lowered her eyes and changed the subject, for it +suddenly occurred to her that she had not been very ready, in her +younger years, to give the trust that now seemed to be her husband's +due. + +But she settled down quite naturally in her husband's home during the +next few days. Lesley, remembering the discomfort of her own first few +weeks, expected her to say that the house was hideous and the +neighborhood detestable. But Lady Alice said nothing of the kind. She +thought it a fine old house--well-built and roomy--far preferable, she +said, to the places she had often occupied in the West End. With +different furniture and a little good taste it might be made absolutely +charming. And when she got as far as "absolutely charming," uttered with +her chin pillowed on one hand, and her eyes roving meditatively over the +drawing-room mantelpiece, Lesley smiled to herself, and gave up all fear +that she would ever go away again. Lady Alice had evidently come to the +conclusion that it was her duty to see that Caspar's house was +thoroughly redecorated from top to bottom. + +But she did not come to this conclusion all at once. There were days +when the minds of mother and daughter were too full of sorrow and +anxiety to occupy themselves with upholstery and bric-a-brac. And the +day of the adjourned inquest, when Caspar Brooke was allowed to go to +his own house on bail, was one of the worst of all. + +He came home quietly that afternoon in company with Maurice Kenyon, +greeted his family affectionately but with something of a melancholy +air, then went at once to his study, where he shut himself up and began +to write and read letters. The cloud was hanging over him still. He knew +well enough that if he had been a poor man, of no account in the world, +he would at that moment have been occupying a prison cell instead of his +own comfortable study. For presumption was strong against him; and it +had taken a great deal of influence and extraordinarily high bail to +secure his release. At present he stood committed to take his trial for +manslaughter within a very short space of time. And nobody had +succeeded, or seemed likely to succeed, in throwing any doubt on the +testimony of Mary Trent. He was certainly in a very awkward position: it +might be a very terrible position by-and-bye. + +He was aroused from the reverie into which he had fallen by the entry of +a servant with a note. He opened it, read the contents slowly, and then +put it into the fire. He stood frowning a little as he watched it burn. + +After a few moments of this hesitation he rang the bell, told Sarah that +he was going out, and left the house. The three women in the +drawing-room upstairs, already nervous and overstrained from long +suspense, all started when the reverberation of that closing door made +itself heard. Lesley felt her mother's hand close on hers with a quick, +convulsive pressure. She looked up. + +"He has gone out!" Lady Alice murmured, so that Lesley alone could hear. +"He does not come--to _us_!" + +Lesley did not know what to say. She was surprised to find that her +mother expected him to come. But then she was only Caspar Brooke's +daughter and not his wife. + +Lady Alice lay back in her chair, closed her eyes and waited. She had +once been a jealous woman: there were the seeds of jealousy in her +still. She sat and wondered whether Caspar had gone for sympathy and +comfort to any other woman. And after wondering this for half an hour it +suddenly occurred to her mind with the vividness of a lightning flash +that if things _were_ so--if her husband _had_ found sympathy +elsewhere--it was her own fault. She had no right to accuse him, or to +blame him, when she had left him for a dozen years. + +"I have no right to blame him, perhaps, but I have still a right to +know," she said to herself. And then, disengaging her hand from Lesley's +clinging fingers, she rose and went downstairs--down to the study which +she had so seldom visited. She seated herself in Caspar's arm-chair, and +prepared to wait there for his return. Surely he would not be long!--and +then she would speak to him, and things should be made clear. + +Caspar's note had been written by Mrs. Romaine. It was quite formal, and +merely contained a request that he would call on her at his earliest +convenience. And he complied at once, as she had surmised that he would +do. Her confidential maid opened the door to him, and conducted him to +the drawing-room. It was dusk, and the blinds were drawn down. Oliver +Trent's funeral had taken place the day before. + +Mr. Brooke did not sit down. He knew that the interview which was about +to take place was likely to be a painful one, but he could not guess in +the least what kind of turn it would take. Did Rosalind believe in his +guilt? Did she know what manner of man her brother Oliver had been? Was +she going to reproach or to condole? She had done a strange thing in +asking him to the house at all, and at another time he might have +thought it wiser not to accede to her request; but he was in the mood in +which the most extraordinary incidents seem possible, and scarcely +anything could have seemed to him too bizarre to happen. He felt +curiously impatient of the ordinary conventionalities of civilized life. +Since this miraculous thing had come to pass--that he, Caspar Brooke, a +respectable, sane, healthy-minded man of middle-age, could be accused of +killing a miserable young scamp like Oliver Trent in a moment of +passion--the world had certainly seemed somewhat crazy and out of joint. +It was not worth while to stand very much on ceremony at such a +conjuncture; and if Rosalind Romaine wanted to talk to him about her +dead brother, he was willing to go and hear her talk. And yet as he +stood in her dainty little drawing-room, it came over him very strongly +that he ought not to be there. + +He was still musing when the door opened, and Rosalind stole into the +room. He did not hear her until she was close upon him, and then he +turned with a sudden start. She looked different--she was changed. Her +face was very pale: her eyelids were reddened: she was dressed in the +deepest black, and over her head she had flung a black lace veil, which +gave her--perhaps unintentionally--a tragic look. She held the folds +together with her right hand, and spoke to him quietly. + +"It was kind of you to come," she said. + +"You summoned me. I should not have come without that," he answered, +quickly. + +"No, I suppose not. And of course--in the ordinary course of things--I +ought not to have summoned you. The world would say that I was wrong. +But we have been old friends for many years now, have we not?" + +"I always thought so," he answered, gravely. "But now--I fear----" + +"You mean"--with a strange vibration in her voice--"you mean that we +must never be friends again--because--because of Oliver----" + +"This accusation must naturally tend to separate the families," he said, +in a very calm, grave voice. "Even when it is disproved, we shall not +find it easy to resume old relations. I am very sorry for it, Rosalind, +just as I need not tell you how sorry I am for the cause----" + +She interrupted him hurriedly. "Yes, yes, I know all that; but you speak +of _disproving_ the charge. Can you do that?" + +He was silent for a moment. "I shall do my best," he said at length, +with some emotion in his voice. + +"And if it is not disproved--what then?" she asked. "Suppose they call +it _murder_?" + +Caspar drew himself up: a certain displeasure began to mark itself upon +his features. + +"Need you ask me?" + +"Yes, I need. I want you to consider the answer that you would give. I +have a reason." + +Her eager eyes, hot and burning in a face that was strangely white, pled +for her. Caspar relented a little, but bent his brows as he replied-- + +"The extreme penalty of the law, I suppose. It is absurd--but, of +course, it is possible. It is not a case in which I should expect penal +servitude for life to be substituted, supposing that I were found +guilty. But I fail to see your motive for asking what must be to me a +rather painful question." + +"Oh, you are strong! You can bear it!" she said, dropping her face upon +her hands. Caspar gazed at her in amazement. He began to wonder whether +she were going out of her mind. But before he could find any word of +calming or consoling tendency, she flung down her hands and spoke again. +"I want you to fix your mind on it for a moment, even although it hurts +you," she said. "You are a strong man--you do not shrink from a thing +because, it is a little painful. Think what it would mean for yourself, +and not for yourself only; for your friends, for those who love you! A +perpetual disgrace--a misery!" + +"You seem anxious to assume that I shall be convicted," he said, still +with displeasure. + +"I tell you I am doing so on purpose. I want you to think of it. You +know--you know as well as I do--that the chances are against you!" + +"And if they are?" + +"If they are--why do you incur such a risk!" + +"Mrs. Romaine," said Caspar, gently, but with a steady coldness of tone, +of which she did not at first feel the import, "I think you hardly know +the force of what you are saying. I do not incur any risk unnecessarily +or wantonly: I only wish the truth to be made known. What can I do +more--or less?" + +"You could go away," she said, almost in a whisper. + +If the room had been lighter, she might, perhaps, have seen the frown +that was gathering on his brow, the wrath that darkened his eyes as he +spoke: but his face was in shadow, and for a moment anger made him +speechless. She went on eagerly, breathlessly, without waiting for a +reply. + +"You might get off quite easily to--to Spain, perhaps, or some place +where there was no extradition treaty. You are out on bail, I know; but +your friends could not complain. Surely it is a natural enough thing for +a man, situated as you are, to wish to escape: nobody would blame you in +the long run--they would only say that you were wise. And if you stay, +everything is against you. You had so much better take your present +chance!" + +Caspar muttered something inarticulate, then seemed to choke back +further utterance, and kept silence for a minute. When he spoke it was +in a curiously tranquil tone. + +"You do not seem to have heard of the quality that men call their +honor?" + +"Oh, honor! I have heard enough about honor," she answered with +a nervous, rasping laugh. "And you--_you_ to talk about +honor--after--after _what you have done_!" + +Caspar Brooke fell back a step or two and surveyed her curiously. "Good +God!" The exclamation broke from him, as if against his will. "You speak +as though you thought I was guilty--as though I had--_murdered_ Oliver!" + +And she, looking at him as intently as he looked at her, said only, in +the simplest possible way-- + +"And did you not?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +LOVE OR TRUST. + + +Caspar turned away. For a moment he felt mortally sick, as if from a +pang of acute physical pain. Distrust from an old friend is always a +hard thing to bear. And so, for a moment or two, he did not speak. + +"I was not surprised," said Mrs. Romaine, quickly. "I had been looking +for something of the kind. I won't say that you were not justified--in a +certain sense. Oliver acted abominably, I know. He told me what he was +going to do beforehand." + +"Told you what he was going to do?" + +"Yes--to make Lesley fall in love with him. He did not mean to marry +her. He meant to gain her affections and then to--to--leave her, to +break her heart. I suppose that is what you found out. I do not wonder +that you were surprised." + +"No doubt you have good authority for what you are saying," said Mr. +Brooke, very coldly, "but your account does not tally with what I have +gathered from other sources." + +"From Lesley herself?" + +Caspar bowed his head. He was conscious of a violent dislike to bringing +Lesley's name into the discussion. Mrs. Romaine went on rapidly. + +"As to Lesley, of course I cannot say. I don't know whether he failed or +succeeded. Oliver very seldom failed with women when he tried. But, of +course, he was going to marry Ethel; and that meant that if he _had_ +succeeded Lesley had been thrown over. It is not like me to put things +so baldly, is it? I see that I disgust you. But I do not know that I +need apologize. You are man of the world enough to understand that at +certain crises we are obliged to speak our minds, to face the truth +boldly and see what it means. Is it not so?" + +"It may be so, but I am not aware that the present crisis demands such +plain speaking." + +"Then you must be blind," said his hearer, with a burst of indignation, +"blind--blind--_blind_! Or mad? is that it? What sort of crisis do you +expect? What can be worse than the present state of things? Are not your +life and her character at stake? Why do you not take your present +opportunity and save her and yourself? Look the matter in the face and +decide?" + +"I would rather not discuss it," said Caspar. "The course you indicate +is not one that could be taken by any honorable man. It is--it +is--absurd." The last word was evidently the substitute for a much +stronger one in his mind. "I see no use in talking about the matter. We +are only giving ourselves useless pain." + +There was a short silence. Mrs. Romaine drew her veil more tightly round +her face, and seemed to deliberate. Caspar threw a longing glance--which +she intercepted--towards the door. + +"Men are such cowards," she said at last, in a low and bitter tone. "I +have proved _that_ in every way: I ought to be prepared for +cowardice--even from you. They want to slip out of every unpleasant +position, and leave some woman to bear the brunt of it. You, for +instance, want to go now, this minute, because I have said one or two +things that pain you. You don't care enough for what I think to make you +wish to alter my opinion--to fight it out and conquer me; you only want +to get away and leave me to 'cool down,' as you would call it. You are +mistaken. I am not speaking from any momentary irritation: what I say to +you to-day is the result of long thought, long consideration, long +patience. It would be better for you to have the courage and the +manliness to listen to me." + +"You talk in a very extraordinary way, Rosalind,", said Caspar. "I do +not understand it, and I fail to see its justice towards me. I have +never refused to listen to you, have I? As for cowardice--it seemed to +me that you were trying to persuade me to do a very cowardly thing just +now; but perhaps I was mistaken. I will hear all that you have to say: +if I was anxious to go, it was only that I might save you from tiring or +hurting yourself." + +"It matters so much whether I am tired or hurt, does it not?" she said, +with the faintest possible flicker of a smile on her white lips. "That +is what you all think of--whether one suffers--suffers physically. It is +my soul that is hurt, my heart that is tired--but you don't concern +yourself with that sort of thing." + +"I assure you that I am very sorry----," he began, and then he stopped +short. She had made it very difficult for him to say anything so +commonplace, and yet so true. + +"If you are sorry," she said, in a softer tone, "and if you want to make +me happier--_save yourself_." + +"No," said Caspar, roughly--almost violently--"by Heaven, I won't do +that." + +"You don't wish to save yourself?" + +"Not at that price--the price of my honor." + +"Listen to me," she said, drawing nearer to him and speaking very +softly. "I have made it my business during the last day or two--when I +gathered that you would be let out on bail--to collect all the +information that might be useful to you. You could get away to-morrow or +next day by a vessel that leaves Southampton at the time I have marked +on this paper. It is not an ordinary steamer--not a passenger-ship at +all--and no one will know that you are on board. It would take you to +Oporto. You would be safe enough in the interior--a friend of mine who +went there once told me that there were charming palaces and half-ruined +castles to let, where one could live as in paradise, amidst the +loveliest gardens, full of fountains and birds and flowers." + +Her voice took on a caressing tone, as if she were dreaming of perfect +happiness. "How like a woman," thought Caspar to himself, "to think only +of the material side of life?" Then he corrected himself: "Like some +women: not like all, thank-God!" + +"So you would condemn me to exile and loneliness as well as to +dishonor?" he said. It was as much as he could do not to laugh outright +at the chimerical idea. + +"It is no exile to a cosmopolitan like yourself to live out of England," +she answered, scornfully. "As to dishonor--what will you not have to +suffer if you stay in England? Where is your reputation now? And as to +loneliness--don't you know--do you not see--that you need not +go--alone?" + +She put her left hand gently on his arm, and for a moment there was +silence in the room. Her heart beat so loudly that she was afraid of his +hearing it. But she need not have feared; his mind was far too much +occupied with more important matters to be able to take cognizance of +such a detail as the state of Mrs. Romaine's pulse. + +His first impulse was one of intense indignation and anger. His second +was one of pity. These feelings alternated in him when at last he forced +himself to speak. Which of the two predominated he hardly knew. Perhaps +pity: because it drove him, almost as a matter of self-respect, to make +a pretence of not knowing what she meant. + +"Anything is exile to a man who leaves his home," he said sternly. "To a +man who leaves his wife and daughter--do you understand? As for the +dishonor of such a course, it seems as if you could not comprehend that: +my feelings on the subject are evidently beyond your ken. But you can +understand this--first, that I should go nowhere into no exile, into no +new home, without my wife; and, secondly, that _she_, at least, trusts +me--she knows that I have not your brother's blood upon my hands." + +Rosalind's fingers had slipped from his arm when he began to speak: she +knew that if she had not removed them then they would have been shaken +off. He could see them amongst the folds of black lace at her +breast--clutching, tearing, as if she had not room to breathe. + +"Your wife!" she said, with a gasp. "I did not know.... She has been +beforehand with me, then! And it is she--she--that you will take--to +Spain?" + +"There is no question of Spain. I mean to stay here in England and fight +the matter out. My wife would be the first person to tell me so. I +cannot imagine her speaking to me again if I were coward enough to run +away." + +"She would not do for you what I have done!" cried the unhappy woman, +now, as it seemed, beside herself. "If she believes you innocent, so +much the easier for her! But I--I--believe you guilty--yes, Caspar +Brooke, I believe that you killed my brother--and I do not care! I loved +him, yes; but I love you--_you_--a thousand times more!" + +"You do not know what you are saying. You are mad. Be silent, Rosalind," +said Caspar Brooke, in a deep tone of anger. But she raved on. + +"Have I not been silent for years? And who is as faithful to you as I +have been? It is easy to love a man who is innocent; but not a man who +is guilty! Guilty or not--I do not care. It is you that I care for--and +you may have as many sins as you please upon your soul--but they are +nothing to me. I am past anything now but speaking the truth. Have you +no pity for a woman to whom you are dearer than her own soul?" + +She would have thrown herself at his feet, if he had not prevented her. +He was touched a little by her suffering, but he was also immeasurably +angered and disgusted. An exhibition of uncontrolled feeling was not the +way to charm him. His one desire now became the desire to escape. + +"I should have no pity," he said, gravely, "for my own selfishness and +cowardice, if I took advantage of this moment of weakness on your part. +It _is_ weakness, I hope--I will not call it by any other name. You will +recover from it when the stress of this painful time is over, and you +will be glad to forget it as I shall do. Believe me, I will not think of +it again. It shall be in my mind as though you had not said it; and, +though it will be impossible for us to continue on our former terms of +friendship, I shall always wish for your welfare, and hope that time +will bring you happiness and peace." + +She made no answer. She lay where he had placed her, her head buried +amongst the cushions, crushed to the very earth. She would not look at +him, would not make semblance to have heard. And he, without hesitation, +went deliberately to the door and let himself out. He gained the street +without being intercepted, and drew a long breath of relief when he felt +the soft night air playing on his heated brow. The moralist would have +said that he came off victor; but he had a sense, as he went out along +the pavement, of being only a defeated and degraded man. There was not +even the excitement of gratified vanity, for an offered love which did +not include perfect trust in his honor was an insult in itself. And +Caspar Brooke's integrity of soul was dear to him. + +It was perhaps impossible for him--a mere man--to estimate the extent of +suffering to which his scorn had subjected the woman that he left +behind. Rosalind remained as he had seen her, crouching on the ground, +with her head on the sofa cushions, for full two hours or more. When she +rose she went to her own room and lay upon her bed, refusing for many +hours either to eat or to speak. She did not sleep: she lay broad awake +all night, recalling every tone of Caspar's voice, and every passing +expression of his face. She was bitterly humiliated and ashamed. But she +was not ashamed in the sense of shame for wrong-doing: she was only +ashamed because he had rebuffed her. She was sick with mortification. +She had offered him everything in her power--peace, safety, love: she +had offered him _herself_ even, and been rejected with scorn. Nothing +crushes a woman like this humiliation. And in some women's natures such +an experience will produce dire results; for loss of self-respect is +resented as the worst injury that man can inflict, and is followed by +deadly hatred to the man who has inflicted it. It may be argued by the +more logical male that the woman has brought it all upon herself; but no +affronted, humiliated, shame-stricken woman will ever allow this to be +the fact. The sacrifice she conceives to have been all her own; but the +pain has come from _him_. + +This was the way in which Rosalind looked at the matter. And mistaken as +she was in her view of the moralities and proprieties of the situation, +she suffered an amount of pain which may well arouse in us more pity +than Caspar Brooke felt for her. The burning, stinging sense of shame +seemed to make her whole soul an open wound. It was intolerable. The +only way out of it, she said to herself at first, is to die. There was +an old song that rang in her ears continually, as if somebody were +repeating it over and over again. She could not remember it all--only a +line here and there. "When lovely woman stoops to folly," it began, what +art can wash her tears and stains and shame away? And the answer was +what Rosalind herself had already given: the only way "to rouse his +pity" was "to die!" She almost laughed at herself for repeating the +well-worn, hackneyed, century-old ditty. People did not die now-a-days, +either of broken hearts or of chloral, when their lovers deserted them. +And Caspar Brooke had never been her lover. No, he had only given her +pain; and she wished that she could make him suffer, too. "Revenge" was +too high-flown a word; but if she could see him heartbroken, ruined, +disgraced, she would be--not satisfied, but she would feel her pain +allayed. + +Caspar Brooke walked for an hour before he was calm enough to remember +that he ought to go home. When this idea once occurred to him, he felt +a pang of shame for his own forgetfulness. What would Alice think of +him? And this was the first day that she had been with him in his house +for so many years. He must go home and make his apologies. Not that she +would expect very much attention from him. Had she not said that she was +only trying to do her duty? Probably she disliked him still. + +He let himself in with his latch-key, and walked straight into the +study. A shaded lamp had been lighted, and but faintly illuminated the +corners of the room. But there was light enough for him to see that Lady +Alice was sitting in his chair. He came up to the table, and looked at +her without speaking. There was a strange tumult of feeling in his +heart. He wished that he could tell her how gratified he was by her +trust in him, how much he prized the very things that had once irritated +him against her--her reserve, her fine perception, her excellent +fastidiousness of taste, even that little air of coldness that became +her so well. To come into her presence was like entering a fragrant +English garden, after stifling for an hour in a conservatory where the +air was heavy with the perfume of stephanotis. + +She rose, as he continued silent, and stood on the rug, almost face to +face with him. She did not find it easy to speak, and there was +something in his air which frightened her a little. She made a trivial +remark at last, but with great difficulty. + +"You have been away a long time," she said. + +She was not prepared for the answer. He put out his hand and drew her +close to him. "You were away a great deal longer," he said, looking down +at her fair, serious face. She could not reply. "Twelve years, is it +not?" he went on. "That's a long time out of one's life, Alice. I feel +myself an old man now." + +"No, no, Caspar!" she said, tremulously. + +"What was it all about, Alice? You know I never really understood it. +Can't you make me understand? Was it that I was simply unbearable? too +disagreeable to be put up with any longer." + +"No, it was not that. I will speak the truth now, Caspar. I was +jealous--I thought you cared for Rosalind Romaine." + +"But you know now--surely--that that was not true?" + +"Could you swear it?" she asked, suddenly and sharply, with a quick look +into his face. + +For a moment he was annoyed. Then his brow cleared, and he answered, +very gravely-- + +"I can and will, if you like. But I thought--having trusted me so +far--that you could trust me without an oath. Alice, I never loved any +woman but one: and that one was yourself. Have you been as true to me as +I have been to you?" + +"I don't think I ever knew that I loved you until now," said Alice, +laying her head with a deep sigh upon her husband's breast. + +"Love is not enough, though it is a great deal: do you trust me?" + +"Implicitly--now that I have looked at you again." + +Caspar gave a little laugh. + +"Then I must never let you go away from me, or you will begin to +disbelieve in me," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +TWELVE SILVER SPOONS. + + +Lady Alice was not long in finding out that Maurice Kenyon, her +husband's chief friend, was the man of whom Lesley had spoken in her +letters, and also the doctor who had interested her at the hospital. She +did not speak to Lesley about him: she took a little time to accustom +herself to her husband's circle before she made any remarks upon its +members. But she was shrewd enough to see very quickly that Mr. Kenyon +took even more interest in her daughter than in her husband, and from +Lesley's shy looks she fancied that the interest was reciprocated. She +had a twinge of regret for her favorite, Harry Duchesne, and then +consoled herself by saying that after all Lesley was too young to know +her own mind, and that probably she would change before she was +twenty-one. + +She did not come particularly into contact with Maurice, however, until +the Sunday after she had taken up her abode in Woburn Place. And then +she saw a good deal of him. For Lesley went to sit with Ethel as was her +wont, and Maurice came to dine at Mr. Brooke's. After the early dinner, +Lady Alice noticed that there was some parleying between the guest and +his host. + +"I am going," said Maurice in an urgent undertone. To which Caspar +returned a cheerful answer. + +"All right, old man; but I am going too." And then Mr. Kenyon knitted +his brows and looked vexed. + +Caspar at once noted his wife's glance of inquiry. "Has Lesley told you +nothing about our Sunday meetings at the Club? We generally betake +ourselves to North London on a Sunday afternoon. Mr. Kenyon thinks I had +better stay with you, and--I don't." + +From Maurice's uncomfortable looks, Lady Alice gathered that there was +something doubtful in the proceeding. "Will you let me go with you?" she +said, by way of experiment. + +There was an exchange of astonished and rather embarrassed looks all +round. Caspar elevated his eyebrows and clutched his beard: Miss Brooke +made a curious sound, something like a snort; and Maurice flushed a deep +and dusky red; indications which all annoyed Lady Alice, although she +did not quite know what they signified. She rose from her chair and took +the matter into her own hands; but all without the slightest change in +the manner of graceful indifference which had grown natural to her of +late years. + +"That is the place where Lesley used to go," she said. "She tells me she +sings to the people sometimes. I cannot sing, but I can play the piano a +little, if that is any good. Sophy is going, is she not? And I should +like to go too." + +"There is no reason why you should not," said Mr. Brooke rather +abruptly. But the gleam in his eye told of pleasure. "There are some +very rough characters at the club sometimes, you know. And perhaps the +reception they give me to-day will not be of the pleasantest." + +Lady Alice looked at her husband with a mixture of wonder and +admiration. The calm way in which he sometimes alluded to his present +circumstances, without a trace of bitterness or fretfulness, amazed her. +In old days she would have put it down to "good breeding--good manners," +some superficial veneer of good society of which she thoroughly +approved; but she had seen too much of the seamy side of "good society" +now to be able to accept this explanation of his calmness. It was not +want of sensitiveness, she was sure of that: he was by no means obtuse: +it was simply that his large, strong nature rose above the pettiness of +resentment and complaint. The suspicion under which he labored was a +grave thing--a trouble, a blow; but it had not made him sour, nor borne +him to the earth with a conviction of the injustice of mankind. + +His wife looked and marveled, but recollected herself in time to say +after only a minute's hesitation: + +"I know a little more about rough characters than I once did. We saw a +good many at the East End hospital, did we not, Mr. Kenyon?" + +It was the first time that she had shown that she remembered Maurice's +face. Caspar pricked up his ears. + +"_You_ at a hospital, Alice? Why, what were you doing there?" + +"Visiting some of the patients," she answered, with a little blush. + +"Visits which were much appreciated," put in Maurice, "although we found +that Lady Alice was too generous." + +"Until I was warned by one of the patients that the others abused my +kindness and traded on it," said Lady Alice, laughing rather nervously, +"and then I drew in a little." + +"What patient was that?" + +"The name I think was Smith--the man who lost his memory in that curious +way." + +"Ah yes, I remember." And then Maurice knitted his brows and became very +thoughtful: he looked as if a thoroughly new idea had been suggested to +him. + +Miss Brooke remarked that it was almost time to set out if they were to +go to the club that afternoon, and Lady Alice went to her room for her +cloak. She was before the looking-glass, apparently studying the +reflection of her own face, when a knock at the door, to which she +absently said "Come in," was followed by Caspar's entrance. She, +thinking that it was her maid, did not look round, and he came behind +her without being perceived. The first token of his presence was +received by her when his arm was slipped round her waist, and his voice +said caressingly and almost playfully in her ear, "I don't know that I +want my dainty piece of china carried down into the slums." + +"Am I nothing more to you than that?" said Lady Alice reproachfully. + +He made no answer, but as he looked at the fair face in the glass, and +as their eyes met, she thought that she read a reply in his glance. + +"I have been nothing more--I know," she said, with sudden humbleness, +"but if it is not too late--if I can make up now for the time I have +lost----" + +The tears trembled in her eyes, but he kissed them away with new +tenderness, saying in a soothing tone-- + +"We will see, my dear, we will see. I was only in jest." + +And she felt that he was thinking not only of the lost years, but of the +possible gulf before him--that horror of darkness and disgrace which +they might yet have to face. + +She went downstairs to the cab that was waiting, with a new and subduing +sensation very present to her mind: a sense of something missed out of +her own life, a sense of having failed in the duty that had once been +given her to do. Hitherto she had been buoyed up by a certain confidence +in her own conscientiousness and power of judgment, as most rather +narrow-minded women are; but it now occurred to her that she might have +been wrong--not only in a few details, as she had consented to +admit--but wrong from beginning to end. She had marred not only her own +life but the lives of her husband and her child. + +This consciousness kept her very quiet during the drive to Macclesfield +Buildings. But nobody spoke much, except Doctor Sophy, who made +interjectional remarks, half lost in the rattling of the cab, by way of +trying to keep up everybody's spirits. Caspar sitting opposite his wife, +with his arms folded and his long legs carefully tucked out of the way, +had an unusually serious and even anxious expression. Indeed it struck +Lady Alice for the first time that he was looking haggard and ill. The +burden was weighing upon him even more than he knew. Maurice, too, +seemed absorbed in thought, so that the drive was not a particularly +lively one. + +They got out at the block of buildings which had once struck Lesley as +so particularly ugly. Perhaps their ugliness did not impress Lady Alice +so much. At any rate she made no remark upon it. Her fingers were +lightly pressed upon Caspar's arm: her thoughts were occupied by him. + +At the door of the block in which the club-rooms were situated, a little +group of men were standing in somewhat aimless fashion, smoking and +talking among themselves. Caspar recognized several of the club members +in this group. "Ah," he said quietly to his wife, "they thought that I +should not come." She made no answer: as a matter of fact she began to +feel a trifle frightened. These rough-looking men, with their pipes, who +nudged each other and laughed as she passed, were of a kind unknown to +her. But Caspar walked through them easily, nodding here and there, with +a cheery "Good-afternoon." + +Lady Alice did not know it, but the room presented an unusual sight to +her husband's eyes that afternoon. The fire was burning, and the gas was +lighted, for the day was cold and damp: the comfortable red-seated +chairs were as inviting as ever, and the magazines and newspapers lay +in rows upon the scarlet table-cloth. There were flowers in the vases, +and a piece of music on the open piano. Lady Alice exclaimed in her +pleasure, "How pretty it is! how cosy!" and wondered at the gloom that +sat upon her husband's brow. + +The room was cosy and pretty enough--but it was empty. + +Caspar looked round mutely, then glanced at his companions. Miss Brooke +paused in the act of taking off one woollen glove, and opened her mouth +and forgot to shut it again. Maurice stood frowning, twitching his brows +and biting his lips in the effort to subdue a torrent of rage that was +surging up in his heart. He would have sworn, he said afterwards, if +Lady Alice had not been there--he did not mind Doctor Sophy so much. All +that he did now, however, was to mutter "Ungrateful rascals," and make +as if he would turn to flee. + +But he was stopped by Caspar's clutch at his arm. Maurice saw that his +purpose--that of haranguing the men outside--had been divined and +arrested. He turned to his friend and saw for the first time on Caspar's +face that the shaft had gone home. He had shown scarcely any sign of +suffering before. + +"I don't deserve this from them," said Brooke quietly, and Maurice could +tell that he had gone rather white about the lips. Then in a still lower +voice, "Don't let her know. You were right, Maurice; I had better not +have come." + +"I'll just go and look outside: I won't speak to them, don't be +afraid--you talk to Lady Alice," said Maurice breaking from him. But +when he got into the dark little entry, he did not look outside for +anything or anybody: he only relieved himself by exclaiming. "Oh, d--n +the fools!" and shaking his first in a very reprehensible way at some +imaginary crowd of auditors. For Maurice was half an Irishman, and his +blood was up, and on his friend's behalf he was, as he would just then +have expressed it, "in a devil of a rage." While he was executing a sort +of mad war-dance on the jute mat in the passage, relieving his mind by +some wild gesticulation and still wilder objurgation of the world, Mr. +Brooke had turned back to his wife with a pleasant word and smile. + +"I must show you the photographs," he said. "We are very proud of them. +There will be plenty of time, for the members seem to be a little late +in getting together to-day. Possibly they thought I was not coming." + +"It is scarcely time yet," said Miss Brooke heroically. She knew it was +ten minutes past, but she was quite prepared to sacrifice truth for the +maintenance of her brother's dignity. + +"That's a good one of the Parthenon," said Caspar negligently, putting +his hand within his wife's arm, and leading her from one picture to +another. "The Coliseum you see: not quite so clear as it might be. These +frames were made by one of the men in the buildings--given as a present +to the club. Not bad taste, are they? And this statuette----". + +He broke off suddenly. He had been going on hurriedly and feverishly, +filling up the time as best he might, trying to forget the embarrassing +situation into which he had brought his wife and himself, when the sound +of heavy footsteps fell upon his ear. A sound of shuffling, the creak of +men's boots, a little gruff whispering in the doorway--what was it all +about? Were the men whom he had helped and guided going to turn against +him openly--to give him in his wife's presence some other insult beside +the tacit insult of their absence? He turned round sharply, with the +feeling that if he was brought to bay the men would have a bad time of +it. He certainly looked a formidable antagonist. The hair had fallen +over his forehead, his brows were knotted, his eyes gleamed rather +fiercely beneath them, his under lip was thrust out aggressively. "As +fierce as a lion," said one of the observers, afterwards. But even while +his eyes darted flame and fury at the men who had deserted them, his +body kept its half-protecting, half-deferential pose with respect to +Lady Alice; and the hand that held her arm was studiously gentle in its +touch. + +Lady Alice turned round, amazed. There was a little crowd in the +passage: the room was already half full. Men and women too were there, +and more crowded in from behind. There must have been nearly fifty, when +all were seen, and there were more men than women. But they did not sit +down: they stood, they leaned against the walls; one or two mounted on +the benches at the back and stood where they could get a good view of +the proceedings. Caspar's scowl remained fixed, but it was a scowl of +astonishment. He looked round for Maurice, whom he presently saw +beckoning to him to take his usual place near the piano. He said a word +to his wife, and brought her round with him towards his sister and his +friend. The men still stood, and crowded a little nearer to him as he +reached his place. There was very little talking in the room, and the +men's faces looked somewhat solemn: it was evidently a serious occasion. + +"Is this--this--what usually goes on?" queried the puzzled Lady Alice. + +"This? Oh no!" said Maurice, to whom she had addressed herself, with a +sudden happy laugh, and a perfectly beaming face. "_This_ is--a +demonstration. Here, Caspar, old man, you've got to stand here. _Now_, +Gregson." + +Lady Alice accepted the chair offered to her, and Miss Brooke another. +Caspar began to look utterly perplexed, but a little relieved also, for +his eye, in straying over the crowd, had recognized two or three faces +as those of intimate friends who seemed to be mingling with the men, and +he felt sure that they had no inimical purpose towards him. All that he +could do was to look down and grasp his beard, as usual, while Jim +Gregson, the man who had once spoken to Lesley so warmly of her father, +being pushed forward by the crowd as their spokesman, addressed himself +to Caspar. + +"Mr. Brooke--Sir: We have made bold to change the order of the +proceedings for this 'ere afternoon. Instead of beginning with the +music, we just want to say a few words; and that's why we've come in all +at once, so as to show that we are all of one mind. We think, sir, that +this is a very suitable opportunity for presenting you with a mark of +our--our gratitude and esteem. We have always found you a true friend to +us, and an upright man that would never allow the weak to be trampled +on, nor the poor to be oppressed, and we wish to show that whatever the +newspapers may say, sir, we have got heads on our shoulders and know a +good man when we see him." This sentence was uttered with great +emphasis, to an accompaniment of "Hear, hear," from the audience, and +considerable stamping of feet, umbrellas and sticks. "What we wish to +say, sir," and Mr. Gregson became more and more embarrassed as he came +to this point, "is that we respect you as a man and as a gentleman, and +that we take this opportunity of asking you to accept this small tribute +of our feelings towards you, and we wish to say that there's not a +member of the club as has not contributed his mite towards it, as well +as many poor neighbors in the Buildings. It's a small thing to give, +but that you will excuse on account of the shortness of the notice, so +to speak: the suggestion having been made amongst ourselves and by +ourselves only three days ago. We beg you'll accept it as a token of +respect, sir, from the whole of the Macclesfield Buildings Working Men's +Club, of which you was the founder, and which we hope you'll continue +for many long years to be the president _of_." And with a resounding +emphasis on the preposition, Mr. Gregson finished his speech. A +tremendous salvo of applause followed his last word, and before it had +died away a woman was hastily dragged to the front, with a child--a +blue-eyed fairy of two or three years old--in her arms. The child held a +brown paper parcel, and presented it with baby solemnity to Mr. Brooke, +who kissed her as he took it from her hands. And then, under cover of +more deafening applause, Mr. Brooke turned hurriedly to Maurice and +said, in a very unheroic manner-- + +"I say, I can't stand much more of this. I shall make a fool of myself +directly." + +"Do: they'll like it, the beggars!" returned Maurice in high glee. + +But he had more sympathy in his eyes than his words expressed, and the +grip that he gave his friend's hand set the audience once more +applauding enthusiastically. An audience of Londoners with whom a +speaker is in touch, is one of the most sympathetic and enthusiastic in +the world. + +While they applauded, the parcel was opened. It contained a morocco +case, lined with dark blue satin and velvet--an unromantic and prosaic +expression of as truly high and noble feeling as ever found a vent in +more poetic ways--and on the velvet cushion lay--twelve silver spoons! + +There was an odd little touch of bathos about it, and an outsider might +perhaps have smiled at the way in which the British workman and his wife +had chosen to manifest their faith in the man who had been in their eyes +wrongfully accused; but nobody present in the little assembly saw the +humorous side of it at all, not even a young gentleman who was hastily +making a sketch of it for the _Graphic_, for he blew his nose as +vigorously as anybody else. And there was a good display of +handkerchiefs and some rather troublesome coughing and choking in the +course of the afternoon, which showed that the donors of the spoons did +not look on the gift exactly in the light of a joke. + +Mr. Brooke was a practised speaker; and when he opened his lips to +reply, his sister dried her eyes and put down her handkerchief with a +gratified smile as much as to say, "Now we shall have a treat." And she +settled herself so that she could watch the effect of the speech on Lady +Alice, who had forgotten to wipe her tears away, and sat with eyelashes +wet and cheeks slightly flushed, looking astoundingly young and pretty +in the excitement of the moment. But Miss Brooke was doomed to be +disappointed. Caspar began once, twice, thrice--and broke down +irrevocably. The only intelligible words he got out were, "My dear +friends, I can't tell you how I thank you." And that was quite true: he +couldn't. + +But there was all the more applause, and all the more kindly feeling for +that failure of his to make a speech; and then one or two other men +spoke of the good that Mr. Brooke had done in that neighborhood, and of +the help that he had given them all in founding the club, and of the +brave and encouraging words that he had spoken to them, and so on; and +the young artist for the _Graphic_ sketched away faster and faster, and +said to himself, "My eye, there'll be a precious row if they try to hang +him after this, whatever he's done." But the sensation of the afternoon +was yet to come. + +"I can only say once more, my friends," said Caspar, as the hour wore +away, "that I thank you for this expression of your confidence in me, +and that I have never had a prouder moment in my life than this, in +which you tell me of your own accord that you believe in my innocence of +the crime attributed to me. Of that, however, I will not speak. I wish +only, before we separate, to introduce you to my wife, who has never +been here before, and whom I am sure you will welcome for my sake." + +There was a moment of astonishment. Every one knew something of the +story of Caspar's married life, and was taken aback by the appearance of +his wife. But when Maurice Kenyon led the way by clapping his hands +vigorously, someone took up the word, and cried, "Three cheers for Mrs. +Brooke." And Lady Alice started at the new title, and thought that it +sounded much better than the one by which she was usually known. + +"Shall I say any more?" said Caspar, smiling as he stooped down to her. +But suddenly she rose to her feet and put her hand within his arm. "No," +she said, "I am going to do it myself." + +The storm of clapping was renewed and died away when it was perceived +that Lady Alice was about to speak. She was a little flushed, but +perfectly self-possessed, and her clear silvery voice could be heard in +every corner of the room. + +"I wish to thank you, too," she said, "for your kindness to my husband +and myself. I hope I shall know more of his work here by and by, and in +the meantime I can only tell you that you are right to trust him and +believe in him--as _I_ trust him and believe in him with all my heart +and soul!" + +She turned to him a little as she spoke, her eyes shining, her face +transfigured--the faith in her making itself manifest in feature and in +gesture alike. There was not applause so much as a murmur of assent when +she had done; and Caspar, laying hold of her hand, looked down at her +with a new warmth of tenderness, and said half wonderingly, + +"Why, Alice!" + +"Do you think I could let them go without telling them what you are to +me?" she said, with a kind of passion in her voice which reminded him of +Lesley. But there was no time to say more, for every person in the room +presented himself or herself to shake hands with Caspar and his wife, +and to admire the spoons, which had been purchased only the night +before. + +"Very glad to see you amongst us, Mrs. Brooke, mum; and hope you'll come +again," was heard so often that Lady Alice was quite amazed by the +warmth of the greeting. "And the young lady too--where's she? she ought +to have been here as well," said one woman; to which Maurice Kenyon +responded in a pleased growl-- + +"Yes, confound your blundering, so she ought; and so she would have +been, if you hadn't nearly made such a blessed mull of the whole +affair." + +He did not think that anybody heard him, and was rather taken aback when +Lady Alice smiled at him over her shoulder. "What do you mean, Mr. +Kenyon?" she said. + +Maurice was on his good behavior immediately. "Oh, nothing, Lady Alice; +only that Miss Brooke might have been here if we had only had a hint +beforehand, and it is a pity she should have missed it." + +"A great pity," said Lesley's mother; and she looked quite complacently +at the twelve silver spoons, which she was guarding so jealously, as if +she feared they would be taken away from her. + +Outside the doors, when the assembly had reluctantly dispersed, after an +improvised collation, given by Caspar, of hot drinks and plum cake, a +little crowd of men and boys cheered the departing hero of the day so +valiantly that Lady Alice was almost glad to find herself once more +driving through the dusky London streets with her husband at her side. +Miss Brooke and Maurice had elected to walk home. + +"There's one thing," said Caspar, rather later in the day, as a history +of these experiences was unfolded to Lesley; "we quite, forgot to tell +the good folks your mother's name and title. She was applauded to the +echo as 'Mrs. Brooke.'" + +"Oh, you must never tell them," said Lady Alice, hastily. "I do not want +to be anything else, please--now." + +"I wish they had let one know beforehand," said Maurice, "they kept it a +dead secret--even from me." + +"All the greater surprise for us," said Mr. Brooke. Then he looked at +Maurice for a moment, and smiled. But it was long before they mentioned +to each other what both had thought and felt in that heart-breaking +minute of suspense when they believed that Caspar was deserted in the +hour of need. + +"Well," said Caspar Brooke, at length, "whatever may happen now"--and he +made a pause which was fraught with graver meaning than he would have +cared to put into words--"I can feel at any rate that 'I have had my +say.' And you, Alice--well, my dear, you will always have those silver +spoons to look at! So we have not done badly after all." + +Like Sir Thomas More, he would have joked when going to the scaffold; +but jokes under such circumstances have rather a ghastly sound in the +ears of his family. + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +CAIN. + + +Maurice Kenyon took an early opportunity of asking Lady Alice whether +she would recognize the man Smith if she saw him again. + +"I think so. Why do you ask? You know I talked to him a good deal." + +"I have been very blind," said Maurice seriously. "I never thought until +to-day of associating him in my mind with someone else--someone whom I +have seen twice during the past week. May I speak freely to you? You +know I am as anxious as anyone can possibly be that this mystery should +be cleared up. I wish to speak of Francis Trent, the brother of Oliver +Trent, and the husband of the woman who makes this accusation against +Mr. Brooke." + +Lady Alice recoiled. "You cannot mean that John Smith had anything to do +with him?" + +"I have a strong belief that John Smith and Francis Trent are one and +the same. To my shame be it spoken, I did not recognize him either on +Wednesday or Friday when I paid him a visit. Ethel wished me to go when +she heard that he was ill." He said this in a deprecating tone. + +"I quite understand. You saw this man--Francis Trent--then?" + +"Yes, and could not imagine where I had seen him before. I think it is +the man I used to see in hospital. Lady Alice--if you saw him +yourself----" + +"I, Mr. Kenyon? What! see the man and woman who accuse my husband of +murder?"--There was genuine horror in her tone. "How could I speak to +them?" + +"It is just a chance," said Maurice, in a low voice. "If he knew that +_you_ were the wife of the man who was accused--perhaps something would +come of it." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Lady Alice, pray do not build too much on what I am going to say. If +Francis Trent and John Smith be the same, then my knowledge of John +Smith's previous condition leads me to think it quite possible that it +was Francis Trent who, in a fit of frenzy, committed the murder of which +your husband is suspected." + +Lady Alice looked at him in silence. "I don't see exactly," she said, +"that I should be of much use." + +"Nor I--exactly," said Maurice. "But I see a vague chance; and I ask +you--for your husband's sake--to try it." + +"Ah, you know I cannot refuse that," she said quickly. And then she +arranged with him where they should meet on the following afternoon in +order to drive to the lodgings now occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Francis +Trent. Whether this proceeding might not be stigmatized as "tampering +with witnesses," Maurice and Lady Alice neither knew nor cared. If +Maurice had a doubt, he stifled it by telling himself that they were not +going to visit the "witness," Mary Trent, but the sick man, John Smith, +in whom Lady Alice had been interested at the hospital. It was only as a +precaution that he took with him young Mr. Grierson, junior partner of +the firm of solicitors to whom Caspar's defence was entrusted. Young +Grierson was a friend as well as a lawyer, and it was always as well to +have a friend at hand. But really he hardly knew for what result he +hoped. + +The rooms in which Maurice himself, at Ethel's instance, had located Mr. +and Mrs. Francis Trent were in Bernard Street. They were plain but +apparently clean and comfortable. Maurice said a word to the servant, +and unceremoniously put her aside, and walked straight into the room +where he knew that Francis Trent was lying. + +A thin, spare woman, with a deadly pale face and black sunken eyes, rose +from a seat beside the bed as they entered. Lady Alice knew, as if by +instinct, that this was Mary Trent. She averted her eyes from the woman +who had falsely accused her husband: she could not bear to look at her. +But Mary Trent scarcely took her eyes off Lady Alice's face. + +"Will you look here, Lady Alice, if you please?" said Maurice in his +most professional tone. She turned towards the bed, and saw--yes, it was +the face of the man whom she had known in the hospital: thinner, +yellower, more haggard than ever, but still the face of the patient who +used to watch her as if her presence were a means of healing in itself. + +"Yes," she said slowly, "that is--John Smith." + +"His real name is Francis Trent," said Maurice. "Do you know this lady, +Francis?" + +The sick man nodded. There was a curiously vacant look upon his face, +brightened only at times by gleams of vivid consciousness. + +"Yes, yes, I know her. The lady that came to see me in hospital," he +murmured feebly. + +"Do you know who she is?" + +"Why do you trouble him, sir?" said Mrs. Trent. "You see how ill he is, +wouldn't it be better for him to be left in peace?" + +She spoke with sedulous calmness; but there was a jar in her voice which +did not sound quite natural. Maurice simply repeated his question, and +Francis Trent shook his head. + +"She is the wife of Caspar Brooke, the man who, you _say_, killed your +brother Oliver." + +The sick man's eyes dilated, and fixed themselves uneasily on his wife. +"I did not say it," he answered, almost in a whisper. "Mary said it--not +I." + +"But you heard something, did you not?" said Maurice remorselessly. + +"How should he hear anything," said Mary Trent, "and he asleep in his +bed at the time? Or if not asleep, too ill and weak to notice anything. +It's a shame to question him like that; and not legal, neither. You'll +please to leave us to ourselves, sir; we ain't a show. We can but say +what we saw and heard, whatever the consequences may be, but we need not +be tortured for all that." + +"That's enough, Mary," said the man speaking from the bed in a much more +natural manner and in a stronger voice than he had yet used. "You're +overdoing it--you always do. It's no good. This is the last stroke, and +I give up. It has gone against the grain with me to get anybody into +trouble," he said, looking attentively at Lady Alice, "and now that I +know who this lady is, I don't feel inclined to keep up the farce any +longer. I am much too ill to live to be hanged--Mr. Kenyon can tell you +so at any minute--and I may as well give you the satisfaction of +knowing that Caspar Brooke had nothing at all to do with Oliver's death: +I was his murderer, and no one else: I swear it, so help me God!" + +Lady Alice turned very faint. Someone put her in a chair and fanned her, +and when she came to herself she heard Francis Trent's wife speaking. + +"He's mad, I tell you. It's no good paying any attention to what he +says, gentlemen. I saw him myself in his bed at the time, and----" + +"Now, Mary, my dear good soul," said Francis with the old easy +superiority which he had always assumed to her, "will you just hold your +tongue, and let me tell my own tale? You have done your best for me, but +you know I always told you I was not to be trusted to lie about it if +anybody appealed to me to evidence. I really have not the strength to +keep it up. I want at least to die like a gentleman." + +"I am not at all sure that you are going to die," said Maurice quietly, +with his finger on the sick man's pulse. Francis had put off the vacant +expression, and his eyes had lighted up. He was evidently quite himself +again. + +"No?" he said easily. "Well, I would rather die, if it's all the same to +you; because I fancy I shall have to be put under restraint if I do +live. I don't always know what I am doing in the least. I know now, +though. You can bear me out, doctor, isn't my brain in a very queer +state?" + +"I fear it is," said Maurice. + +"Just so. I am subject to fits of rage in which I don't know what I am +doing. And on that night when Oliver came to see me, after Brooke had +gone away, I got into one of these frenzies and followed him downstairs, +picking up Brooke's stick on the way and beating poor Oliver about the +head with it.... You know well enough how he was found. I only came to +myself when it was done. And then, my wife--with all a woman's +ingenuity--bundled me into bed, swore that I had never left it, and that +Caspar Brooke had done it. It was a lie--she told me so afterwards. Eh, +Mary?--Forgive me, old girl: I've got you into trouble now; but that is +better than letting an innocent man swing for what I have done, +especially when that man is the husband of one who was so kind to +me----" + +"And the father of Lesley Brooke," said Maurice, looking steadfastly at +Mary Trent. + +A shudder ran through the woman's frame. Then she covered +her face with her hands and flung herself down at her husband's side. + +"Oh Francis, my dear, my dear!" she said. "I did it for you." + +And then for an instant there was silence in the room, save for her +heavy sobs. Francis lay still but patted her with his thin fingers, and +looked at Caspar Brooke's wife with his large, unnaturally bright, dark +eyes. + +"She is a good soul in spite of it all," he said, addressing himself to +Lady Alice. "And she did it out of love for me. You would have done as +much for your husband, perhaps, if you loved him--but I have heard, that +you don't." + +"Oh, but you are wrong," said Lady Alice. "I love him with all my heart, +and I thank you deeply--deeply--for saving him." + +"That ought to be some payment," said Francis Trent, with his wan, wild +smile. "And I don't suppose they'll be very hard on me, as I did not +know what I was doing. You'll speak a word to that effect, won't you, +doctor?" + +"I will indeed. But it would have been better for you as well as for +others if truth had been told from the beginning," said Kenyon. + +"It can't be helped now. Is there anything else I can do? You must have +my statement taken down. And Mary, my girl, you'll have to make your +confession too." + +"Oh, Francis, Francis!" she moaned. "Not against you, my dear--not +against you!" + +"Yes, against me," said Francis steadily. "And let us finish with the +formalities as quickly as may be, doctor, as long as my head's clear. I +killed my brother Oliver--that you must make known as soon as you can. +Not for malice, poor chap, nor yet for money--though he had cheated me +many a time--but because I was mad--mad. And I am mad now--mad though +you do not know it--stark, staring mad!" + +And his dark eyes glared at them so strangely that Lady Alice cried out +and had to be led into another room, for it was the light of madness +indeed that shone from beneath his sunken brows. + +It was while she sat alone for a minute or two while the gentlemen were +talking in another room, that Mary Trent came creeping to her, with +folded hands and furtive mien. + +"Oh, my lady, my lady, forgive me," she said, sobbing fretfully as she +spoke. "I thought but of my own--I did not think of you. Nor of Miss +Lesley, though I did love her--yes, I did, and tried my best to save her +from that wicked man. Mr. Brooke will tell you what I mean, ma'am. And +tell him, if you will be so good, that I was frightened into taking back +the stories I had told him about Oliver--but they were _all true_. +Everyone of 'em was true. And that I beg he'll forgive me; for a better +and a kinder gentleman I never see, nor one that loved poor people more. +And Miss Lesley was just like him--but it was my husband, and I thought +he'd be hanged for it, and what could I do?" + +And then, while Lady Alice still hesitated between pity and a feeling of +revolt at pity for a woman who had sworn falsely against her dearly +beloved husband, Caspar Brooke, a cry was heard from the bedroom, and +Mary turned and fled back to the scene of her duties--sad and painful +duties indeed, sometimes, when the madman became violent, and likely +enough to be very speedily terminated by death. + + * * * * * + +"What can I say to you?" said Lady Alice to Maurice Kenyon, a day or two +later. "It was your acuteness that brought the matter to light. Now that +that poor wretched man is hopelessly insane, we might never have learnt +the truth. Is there any way in which I can thank you? any way in which I +can give you a reward?" + +She looked steadily into his face, and saw that he changed color. + +"There is only one way, Lady Alice," he stammered. + +"You are not to call me Lady Alice: I like 'Mrs. Brooke' much better. +Well?" + +"I love your daughter," said Maurice bluntly, "and I believe she would +love me if you would let her." + +"_Let_ her?" said Mrs. Brooke, with a smile. + +"She made you some promises before she came to London----" + +"Ah, not to become engaged before the year was out. Tell her that I +absolve her from that promise, and--ask her again." + +Maurice found that under these conditions Lesley's answer was all that +could be desired. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + +VALE! + + +"Now that Ethel has gone to the sea-side, I can have you to myself a +little while," said Lady Alice to her daughter. + +"Poor Ethel! But it is delightful to have you here, mamma: it is so +home-like and comfortable." + +"Ah, you will soon have to make a home for somebody else!" + +Lesley grew red, but smiled. "We won't think of that yet," she said +softly. "Mamma, I want to speak to you on a very serious subject." + +"Well, my darling?" + +"You won't be angry with me, will you? It is--about Mrs. Romaine." + +Lady Alice's brow clouded a little. "Well, Lesley?" she said. + +"Mamma, I can't bear Mrs. Romaine myself. Neither can you. Neither can +papa. And it is very unchristian of all of us, to say the least. +Because----" + +"Neither can papa," repeated Lady Alice, with raised brows. "My dear +child, Mrs. Romaine is a great friend of your father's. He told me only +the other day that she used to come here very often--to see your Aunt +Sophy and yourself." + +"So she did," said Lesley, lightly. "But, of course, she can't very well +come now--at least, it would be awkward. Still I am sure papa does not +like her, for he looked quite pleased the other day when I told him that +she was going to give up her house, and said in his short way--'So much +the better.'" + +"Very slight evidence," said Caspar Brooke's wife smiling. + +"Well, never mind evidence, mammy dear. What I want to say is that I +feel very sorry for Mrs. Romaine. You see she must be feeling very much +alone in the world. Oliver, whom she really cared for, is dead, and +Francis is out of his mind, and Francis' wife"--with a little +shudder--"cannot be anything to her--and then, don't you think, mamma, +that when there has been _one_ case of insanity in the family, she must +be afraid of herself too?" + +"Not necessarily. Francis Trent's insanity was the result of an +accident." + +"Yes, but it is very saddening for her, all the same, and she must be +terribly lonely in that house in Russell Square. I wanted to know if I +might go and call upon her?" + +"You, dear? I thought you did not like her." + +"I don't," said Lesley, frankly, "but I am sorry for her. Ethel asked me +why I did not go. She thought there must be something wrong, because +Rosalind never came to see her after Oliver's death--never once. I +believe she has scarcely been out of the house--not at all since the +funeral, and that is a month ago. I have not heard that she was ill, so +I suppose it is just that she is--miserable, poor thing." + +Lady Alice stroked her daughter's hair in silence for a minute or two. +"I think I had better go instead of you, Lesley. There is no reason why +she should feel she cannot see us. She was not to blame for that +accusation--though I heard that she believed it. But I will see her +first, and you can go afterwards if she is able to receive visitors." + +"That is very good of you, mamma--especially as you don't like her," +said Lesley. "I can't help feeling thankful that Ethel will have nothing +to do with that family now. And since Maurice told her a little more +about poor Mr. Trent, I think she sees that she would not have been very +happy." She was silent for a little while, and then went on, trying to +give an indifferent sound to her words:--"Captain Duchesne's people live +near Eastbourne, he told me; and Ethel has gone to Seaford." + +"Not far off," said Lady Alice, smiling a little. "I hope that his +sister Margaret will call on Ethel: I think they would like each other." + +And no more was said, for it was as yet too early to wonder even whether +Harry Duchesne's adoration for Ethel Kenyon was ultimately to meet with +a return. + +True to her new tastes, Lady Alice had had cards printed bearing the +name "Mrs. Caspar Brooke." She desired, she said, to be identified with +her husband as much as possible: it was a great mistake to retain a +mere courtesy title, as if she had interests and station remote from +those of her husband. Caspar had smilingly opposed this change, but Lady +Alice had stood firm. Indeed, to her old friends she remained "Lady +Alice" to the end of the chapter; but to the outer world she was +henceforth known as Mrs. Brooke. + +She sent up one of her new cards when she called upon Mrs. Romaine. She +paid this visit with considerable shrinking of heart. She had bitter +memories connected with Mrs. Romaine. Since the day on which she had +been reconciled to her husband, she had cast from her all suspicion of +his past--cast it from her in much the same arbitrary and unreasoning +manner as she had first embraced it. For, like most women, she was +governed far more by her feelings and instincts than by the laws of +evidence. As Rosalind had once told her brother, Lady Alice had +accidentally seen and intercepted a letter of hers to Caspar; and Lady +Alice had then rushed to the conclusion that it was part of a long +continued correspondence and not a single communication. And +now--now----what did she think? She hardly knew; of one thing only was +she certain that Caspar had never been untrue to her, had never cared +for any woman but herself. + +She was not at all sure that Mrs. Romaine would receive her: she knew +that she had written to her in a tone that no woman, especially a woman +like Mrs. Romaine, is likely to forgive; but time, she thought, blunts +the memory of past injuries, and if Rosalind chose to forget the past, +she would forget it too. It was with a soft and kindly feeling, +therefore, that Lady Alice asked for admittance at Mrs. Romaine's door, +and learned that Mrs. Romaine was at home and would see her. + +Before she had been in the drawing-room five minutes, it dawned on Lady +Alice's mind that there was something odd in her hostess' manner and +even in her appearance. Of course she was prepared for a change; in the +twelve years or more that had elapsed since they had met she herself +must have also changed. But, as a matter of fact, Lady Alice's long, +elegant figure, shining hair and delicate complexion showed the ravages +of time far less distinctly than she imagined; while Mrs. Romaine was a +mere wreck of what she had been in her youth. During the last few +weeks, Rosalind had grown thin: her features were sharpened, her hands +white and wasted: her eyes seemed too large for her face, and were +surmounted by dark and heavy shadows. Lady Alice was reminded of another +face that she had last seen relieved against the whiteness of a pillow, +of eyes that had gleamed wildly as they looked at her, of a certain +oddness of expression that in her own heart she called "a mad look." +Yes, there was certainly a likeness between her and her brother Francis, +and it was the sort of likeness that gave Lady Alice a shock. + +For a few minutes the two women talked in platitudes of indifferent +things. Lady Alice noticed that after every sentence or two Mrs. Romaine +let the subject drop and sat looking at her furtively, as if she +expected something that did not come. Was it sympathy that she wanted? +It was with difficulty that Lady Alice could approach the subject. After +a longer pause than usual, she said softly-- + +"You must let me tell you how sorry I am for the sorrow that has come +upon you--upon us all." + +Mrs. Romaine stared at her for a moment; an angry light showed itself in +her eyes. + +"You have come to tell me that?" she said, with chill disdain. + +"I came to say so--yes," Lady Alice answered, in her surprise. + +"I am very much obliged to you, I am sure." The tone was almost +insolent, but the woman was herself again. The oddness, the awkwardness +of manner had passed away, and her old grace of bearing had come back. +Even her beauty returned with the flush of crimson to her face and the +lustre of her eyes. The prospect of combat brought back the animation +and the brilliancy that she had lost. + +"There were other things I thought that you had perhaps come to +say--repetitions of what you said to me years ago--before you left your +husband." + +Lady Alice rose at once. "I think you had better not touch on that +subject," she said gently but with dignity. "I did not come here with +any such intention. I hoped all that was forgotten by you--as it is by +me." + +"I have not forgotten," said Mrs. Romaine, rising also, and fixing her +eyes on Lady Alice's face. + +"I am sorry for it. You will allow me----" + +"No, do not go: stay for a minute or two, I beg of you. I am not +well--I said more than I meant--do not leave me just yet." She spoke now +hurriedly and entreatingly. + +These extraordinary changes of tone and manner impressed Lady Alice +disagreeably. And yet she hesitated: she did not like to carry out her +purpose of leaving the house at once, when she had been entreated to +remain. Looking at her, Mrs. Romaine seemed to make a great effort over +herself, and suddenly put on the air that she used most to affect--the +air of a woman of the world, with peculiarly engaging manners. + +"Don't hurry away," she said. "I really have something particular to say +to you. Will you listen to me for two minutes?" + +"Yes--if you wish it." + +"I do wish it very much. You will stay? That is kind of you. And I will +ring for tea." + +"No, please do not," said Lady Alice shrinking instinctively from the +thought of eating and drinking in Rosalind Romaine's drawing-room; "I +really cannot stay long, and I do not drink tea so early." + +Her hostess smiled and withdrew her hand from the bell-handle. "As you +please," she said indifferently. "It is so long since I had visitors +that I almost forget how to entertain them. You must excuse me if I have +seemed _distrait_ or--or peculiar. You see I have had a great deal to +bear." + +"I know it, and I am very sorry," said Lady Alice gently. + +"You are very kind." Was there a touch of satire in the tone? "And--as +you are here--why should we not speak of one or two matters that have +troubled us sometimes? As two women of the world, we ought to be able to +come to a sort of compact." + +"I do not understand you, Mrs. Romaine." + +Rosalind laughed a little wildly. "Of course you don't. But I do not +mean to talk conventionalism or commonplace. Just for a minute or two, +let us speak openly. You have come back to your husband--yes, I _will_ +speak, and you shall not interrupt!--and you hope no doubt to be happy +with him. Don't you know that I could wreck your whole happiness if I +chose?" + +The color rose in Lady Alice's face, but she looked clearly into the +other's face as she replied-- + +"My happiness with my husband is not dependent on anything that you may +do or say. I really cannot discuss the subject with you, Mrs. Romaine, +it is most unsuitable." + +"You are very impatient," said Rosalind satirically. "I only want to +make a bargain with you. If you will do something that I want, I promise +you that I will go away from London and never speak to any of your +family again." Lady Alice's alarm struggled for mastery with her pride +and her sense of the becoming, both of which told her not to parley with +this woman. But the temptation to a naturally exacting nature was very +great. She hesitated for a moment, and Mrs. Romaine went rapidly on. + +"I wrote a letter once." The hot color mounted to her cheeks and brow +while she was speaking. "You wrote to me about it. But you did not send +it back. You have that letter still." + +Lady Alice continued to look at her steadily, but made no reply. + +"That letter has been the curse of my life. I repented it as soon as it +was sent--you may be sure of that: I could repeat it word for word even +now. Oh, no doubt you made the most of it--jeered at it--laughed over it +with _him_--but to me----" + +"It is the last thing I should ever have mentioned to my husband," said +Lady Alice, with grave disdain. "He never knew that you wrote it--never +saw it--never will see or know it from _me_." + +"Do you mean that you have kept it to yourself all these years?" + +"I mean that I put it into the fire as soon as I had read it. Why are +you so concerned about it? Was it worse than the others that you must +have written--before that?" + +"I never wrote to him before." + +They faced each other with mutual suspicion in their eyes. Lady Alice +had forgotten her proud reserve: she wanted to know the truth at last. + +"I will acknowledge," she said, "that I believed that you had written +other letters--of a somewhat similar kind--to Mr. Brooke. I was angry +and disgusted: it was that which formed one of my reasons for leaving +him years ago. But I have come to a better mind since then. I do not +care what you wrote, what you said, or what you did: I believe that my +husband is a good man and I love him. I have come back to him, and +shall never leave him again. You can do me no harm now." + +Mrs. Romaine laughed mockingly. "Can I not?" she said. "Do you know that +he came to me within an hour after his release? Do you know that he +asked me to go away with him to Spain, where we could be safe and happy +together? What do you say to that?" + +"I say this," cried Lady Alice, almost violently, "that I do not believe +a word of it." She drew herself to her full height and turned to leave +the room. Then she looked at Rosalind and spoke in a gentler tone. "I am +sorry for you," she said. "But your suffering is partly your own fault. +What right had you to think of winning my husband's heart away from me? +You have not succeeded, although you have done your best to make us +miserable. I have never spoken of you to him--never; but now, when I go +home, I shall go straight to him and tell him all that you have said to +me, and I shall know very well whether what you say is false or true." + +She left the room proudly and firmly, unheeding of the mocking laugh +that Rosalind sent after her. She let herself out into the street and +walked straight back to her home. Caspar was out: she could not go to +him immediately, as she had said that she would do. She went to her room +and lay down upon the bed, feeling strangely tired and weak. In spite of +her haughty rebuttal of the charge against her husband, she was wounded +and oppressed by it. And as the time went on, she felt more and more the +difficulty of telling him her story, of asking him to clear himself. How +could she question him without seeming to doubt? + +She fretted herself until a headache came on, and she was unable to go +down to dinner. Lesley brought her up a cup of tea, but her mother +refused her company. "I shall be better alone," she said. "Has your +father come in yet? Isn't he very late?" + +It was nearly ten o'clock when Mr. Brooke came in, and, hearing that he +had been asked for, made his way to his wife's room. He bent over her +tenderly, asking her how she felt; and she put one hand up to his rough +cheek, without answering. + +"What has made your head ache, my darling?" he asked. + +"Caspar, I have been to see Mrs. Romaine." + +She felt a sort of start or quiver go through him at the name. He put +his lips softly to her forehead before he spoke. "Well!" he said, a +little dryly. + +"Did you--did she----" + +Then she broke down, and sobbed a little with her face against her +husband's breast. Caspar's breath grew shorter--a sign of excitement +with him--but for a time he waited quietly and would not speak. He could +not all at once make up his mind what to say. + +"Alice," he said at last, "if you ask me questions I suppose I must +answer them in one way or another. But--I think I had rather you did +not." He felt that every nerve was strained in self-control as she +listened to him. "Mrs. Romaine," he went on deliberately, "is not a +woman that I like--or--respect. I would very much prefer not to talk +about her." + +"I must tell you just one thing," she whispered, "it was my feeling +about her--my jealousy of her--that made me leave you--twelve years +ago." + +She had surprised him now. "Alice! Impossible," he said. "Why, my poor +girl, there was not the slightest reason. I can most solemnly swear to +you, Alice, that I never had any other feeling for Mrs. Romaine than +that of ordinary friendship. My dear, will you never believe that you +have always been the one woman in all the world for me?" + +"Forgive me, Caspar," she murmured, "I do believe it now." + + * * * * * + +At the same hour, a haggard and despairing woman raised herself from the +floor where she had lain for many weary hours, trying by passionate +tears and cries and outbursts of unavailing lamentation to exhaust or +stifle the anguish which seemed to have reached its most intolerable +point. Her robes were soiled and crushed, her hair was dishevelled, her +eyes were red with weeping; and, as she rose, she wrung her hands +together and then raised them in appeal to the God whom she had so long +forgotten and forsaken. + +"Oh, my God," she cried, "how can I bear it? All that I do is useless. I +may lie and cheat and plot as much as I like, but all my schemes are in +vain. I cannot hurt her, as she said: I cannot punish him: I have no +power left. No power, no beauty, no will! Am I losing my senses, too, +like Francis?" She shuddered at the thought. "Perhaps I am going +mad--they have driven me mad, Caspar Brooke and his wife, between +them--mad, mad, mad!--Oh, God," she said, with a long shivering sigh, +"Oh, God, avert _that_ doom! Not that punishment of all others, for +mercy's sake!" + +She looked up and down her dimly lighted room with an expression upon +her face of horror and unrest, which bore some resemblance to the look +of one whose intellect was becoming unhinged. It seemed as if she were +afraid that something might leap out upon her from the darkness, or as +if goblin voices might at any moment mutter in her ear. For a long time +she stood motionless in the middle of the room, her eyes staring, her +hands hanging at her sides. Then she moved slowly to a writing-table, +took a sheet of paper and a pen, and wrote a few lines. When she had +finished she enclosed the sheet in an envelope, and addressed it to Lady +Alice Brooke. And when that was done she rang the bell and sent the +letter to the post. Then she nodded and smiled strangely to herself. + +"Perhaps that will atone," she murmured vaguely. "And perhaps God will +not take away my reason, after all." + +And then she began to fumble among the things upon her dressing-table +for the little bottle that contained her nightly sleeping draught. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Romaine's letter was brought to Lady Alice before she rose next +morning. It contained these words:-- + + "I told you what was not true to-day. Your husband never asked me + to go away with him--he never cared for me. I loved him, that was + all. His carelessness drove me mad--I tried to revenge myself on + him by making you suffer. But you would not believe me, and you + were right. Pity me if you can, and pray for me. + + "ROSALIND ROMAINE." + +"Ah, poor soul!" thought Alice Brooke, her eyes filling with tears. "I +do pity her--I do, with all my heart. God help her!" + +And she said those words again--useless as they might be--when, by and +by, a messenger came hurrying to the house with the news that Mrs. +Romaine had been found dead that morning--dead, from an overdose of the +chloral which she kept beside her for sleeplessness. And so the life of +false aims and perverted longings came to its appointed end. + + * * * * * + +There was never a cloud on Alice Brooke's domestic happiness, never a +shadow of distrust between her and her husband, after this. For some +little time they changed their mode of life--giving up the house in +Bloomsbury and spending long, blissful months in Italy and the Tyrol. It +was like another honeymoon. And when they returned to London, Caspar +took a house in a sunnier and pleasanter region than Upper Woburn Place, +but not so far away as to prevent him from visiting the Macclesfield +Club on Sundays, and having a chat with Jim Gregson and his other +workman friends. These workmen and their wives came also in their turn +to Mr. Brooke's abode, where there was not only a gentle and gracious +lady to preside at the table (where twelve especially valued silver +spoons always held a place of honor), but a very remarkable baby in the +nursery; and it was Mr. Brooke's continual regret that he had not +insisted on naming his son and heir Macclesfield, after the workmen's +buildings, instead of the more commonplace Maurice, after Maurice +Kenyon. But Maurice and Lesley returned the compliment by calling their +eldest child Caspar, although Lesley did say saucily that she thought it +a very ugly name. + +Francis Trent was in a lunatic asylum, "at Her Majesty's pleasure." His +wife was allowed to see him now and then; and on this account she would +not leave England, as some of her friends urged her to do, but occupied +herself with needlework and some kind of district visiting among the +poor. The Brookes and the Kenyons were both exceedingly kind to her, and +would have been kinder if she had felt it possible to accept "their +kindness"; but, although she cherished in secret a strong affection for +Lesley, she was too much ashamed of her past conduct ever to present +herself to them again. She could but live and work in silence, until one +of the two great healers, Time or Death, should soothe the bitterness of +her heart away. + +And Ethel?--Well, Mrs. Harry Duchesne knows more about Ethel than I do, +and I shall be happy to refer you to her. + + +THE END. + + + + +JELLY OF CUCUMBER AND ROSES. + +MADE BY W. A. DYER & CO., MONTREAL, is a delightfully fragrant Toilet +article. Removes freckles and sunburn, and renders chapped and rough +skin, after one application, smooth and pleasant. No Toilet-table is +complete without a tube of Dyer's Jelly of Cucumber and Roses. 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Heart of Gold, by L. T. Meade .30 + 43. Famous or Infamous .30 + + + + +JOHN LOVELL & SON'S PUBLICATIONS. + + +=Nurse Revel's Mistake.= By FLORENCE WARDEN. + +From first to last it is without a dull page, and is full of thrilling +adventure, which renders it a most readable volume. + +PRICE 30 cents. + + +=Sylvia Arden.= By OSWALD CRAWFURD. + +This work adds materially to the growing fame of this popular author. + +PRICE 30 cents. + + +=The Mynns' Mystery.= By GEO. MANVILLE FENN. + +An interesting story of life among the richer classes of England, with a +glimpse into the early western life of the United States, that always +affords to a wearied mind a few moments of refreshing reading. + +PRICE 30 cents. + + +=Was Ever Woman in this Humor Wooed?= By CHS. GIBBON. + +A novel of more than ordinary merit, with a rather remarkable plot, +which gives a peculiar charm to lady readers especially. + +PRICE 30 cents. + + +=A Girl of the People.= By L. T. 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Gray, Chemist. 122 St. Lawrence, Montreal, Sole Manufacturer. + + * * * * * + + JOHNSTON'S FLUID BEEF + THE GREAT + Strength Giver + +[Illustration: THE GLORY OF A MAN IS HIS STRENGTH] + + *_An Invaluable Food_ + FOR + Invalids & Convalescents + BECAUSE: + Easily Digested by the WEAKEST STOMACH.* + +Useful in domestic economy for making delicious Beef Tea, enriching +Gravies and Soups. + + * * * * * + + NOTMAN + + *17 BLEURY ST.,* + AND ROOM 116 + *WINDSOR HOTEL, + MONTREAL. + Photographer* + TO THE + *QUEEN*. + + THE BEST + + *VIEWS* + OF MONTREAL, + OF QUEBEC, + OF THE SAGUENAY + AND + Rocky Mountains + ETC., ETC. + + *PORTRAITS* + IN + =_All Sizes_= + AND + =_Styles_= + AT + *REASONABLE PRICES*. + + *_AMATEUR OUTFITS._* + Photo-Chemicals + KODAK and + LILIPUT + *CAMERAS*. + ETC., ETC. + + *Visitors always Welcome.* + + *BRANCHES:* + + GEORGE STREET, HALIFAX. + + 315 MADISON AV., + NEW YORK. + + 3 PARK ST. AND 184 BOYLSTON ST., + BOSTON. + + 48 NORTH PEARL ST., ALBANY. + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE + +Inconsistent hyphenation and italicization have been retained +as-is within the text. + +Here is a list of the minor typographical corrections made: + - Comma replaced by period after "ETC" on the second page of + advertisements. + - Comma changed to a period after "cents" on the fourth page of + advertisements (the second page of book listing). + - Comma changed to a period after "25c" on Page 4. + - "loose" changed to "lose" on Page 7. + - "had" changed to "Had" on Page 8. + - "a a" changed to "a" on Page 17. + - Quote added after "mean----" on Page 20. + - "show-white" changed to "snow-white" on Page 24. + - "a a" changed to "a" on Page 42. + - "occurrred" changed to "occurred" on Page 57. + - "word" changed to "world" on Page 64. + - "fasionably" changed to "fashionably" on Page 65. + - "brink" changed to "drink" on Page 78. + - Comma changed to period after "doubt" on Page 83. + - Quote removed after "I?" on Page 84. + - "demeannor" changed to "demeanor" on Page 90. + - Period added after "aglow" on Page 90. + - "pursued" changed to "pursed" on Page 91. + - Quote added after "Club." on Page 114. + - Single quote added before the final "t" in "'T'aint" + on Page 123. + - Comma changed to period after "Romaine" on Page 124. + - Comma changed to period after "too" on Page 138. + - Quote removed after "even----" on Page 145. + - "sonething" changed to "something" on Page 148. + - "got" changed to "get" on Page 148. + - Quote removed before "Her" on Page 154. + - "quitely" changed to "quietly" on Page 165. + - "thing" changed to "think" on Page 166. + - "Leslie" changed to "Lesley" on Page 180. + - "vist" changed to "visit" on Page 181. + - Single quote moved to before "prettiness" on Page 184. + - Double quote added after "'art'" on Page 184. + - Quotation mark removed after "feel." on Page 185. + - Comma changed to period after "explanation" on Page 188. + - "the the" changed to "the" on Page 191. + - "commoness" changed to "commonness" on Page 193. + - "Leslie" changed to "Lesley" on Page 199. + - Exclamation mark changed to question mark after "Lesley" + on Page 201. + - Quote added after "dreams!" on Page 211. + - "nan" changed to "man" on Page 218. + - Quotation mark moved to follow "suppose," on Page 219. + - "againt" changed to "against" on Page 221. + - Removed quotation mark after "position," on Page 225. + - "brough" changed to "brought" on Page 225. + - Question mark changed to a period after "seat" and following + letter capitalized on Page 232. + - "then" changed to "them" on Page 242. + - Quote added after "behind." on Page 247. + - Quotation mark added after "then?" on Page 254. + - Period added after "start" on Page 260. + - "back ground" changed to "background" on Page 262. + - Quote added after "Trent?" on Page 265. + - "draw" changed to "drew" on Page 276. + - Quotes removed after "Because" and before "your" on Page 278. + - Question mark changed to period after "heard" on Page 279. + - Comma changed to a period after "Lesley" on Page 280. + - Question mark changed to comma after "accommodated" on Page 282. + - Quote added after "him." on Page .284 + - "night" changed to "night's" on Page 286. + - "afaid" changed to "afraid" on Page 289. + - Quote removed after "forgive?" on Page 292. + - "God God" changed to "Good God" on Page 305. + - "need need" changed to "need" on Page 308. + - "nowa-days" (hyphenated line-break) changed to "now-a-days" on + Page 311. + - "sold" changed to "be sold" on Page 344. + - ".00" changed to ".30" on Page 344. + - "33" changed to "38" on Page 344. + - "49" changed to "39" on Page 344. + - "30" changed to "40" on Page 344. + - "48" changed to "43" on Page 344. + - "Barret" changed to "Barrett" on Page 346. + - Period added after "Manufacturer" on Page 347. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Brooke's Daughter, by Adeline Sergeant + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BROOKE'S DAUGHTER *** + +***** This file should be named 31106.txt or 31106.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/1/0/31106/ + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Linda Hamilton and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by the Canadian Institute for Historical +Microreproductions (www.canadiana.org)) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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