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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/37107-8.txt b/37107-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..73d7657 --- /dev/null +++ b/37107-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12402 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Life For a Love, by L. T. Meade + +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: A Life For a Love + A Novel + +Author: L. T. Meade + +Release Date: August 16, 2011 [EBook #37107] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LIFE FOR A LOVE *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Ron Stephens and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions +(www.canadiana.org)) + + + + + + + + + + + + + A LIFE FOR A LOVE. + + A NOVEL + + BY + + L.T. MEADE, + + _Author of "Heart of Gold," "A Girl of the People," + 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. + + + + + +JOHN LOVELL & SON'S PUBLICATIONS. + + +=April's Lady.= By THE DUCHESS. + +A story written in the author's most striking vein, highly original and +deeply interesting, and certainly not the least entertaining of her +works. PRICE 30 cents. + +=By Order of the Czar.= By JOS. HATTON. + +A thrilling story of Russian outrages on the Jews, of Nihilistic +plotting and revenge. It admirably supplements the papers of George +Kennan, which have filled so much of the public eye of late. PRICE 30 +cents. + +=The Lady Egeria.= By JOHN BERWICK HOWARD. + +This book is avowedly of the sensational kind, and of a different class +of fiction from the author's previous story of "Paul Knox. Pitman;" the +dramatic passages and vivid description of Indian life and scenery are +exceptionally fine. PRICE 30 cents. + +=Syrlin.= By OUIDA. + +A tale of London social and political life. A characteristic Ouida +novel, not too highly spiced, and holds the attention throughout. PRICE +30 cents. + +=The Burnt Million.= By JAMES PAYN. + +The delicate suggestive humor and quiet sarcasm, combined with a good +plot, makes every chapter of this book a delight. PRICE 30 cents. + +=Her Last Throw.= By THE DUCHESS. + +Like all the works from the pen of this popular author, this little +book is a gem in the ocean of fiction. PRICE 30 cents. + +=A Scarlet Sin.= By FLORENCE MARRYAT. + +An exceedingly interesting and readable book. PRICE 30 cents. + +=The Haute Noblesse.= By GEO. MANVILLE FENN. + +A cleverly written book, with exceptional characters. The plot and +description of scenery are alike inimitable. PRICE 30 cents. + +=Buttons and Bootles' Baby.= By JOHN STRANGE WINTER. + +Two military tales, abounding in the most grotesque situations and +humorous touches, which will greatly amuse the reader. PRICE 30 cents. + +=Mount Eden.= By FLORENCE MARRYAT. + +A charming romance of English life, and probably the greatest effort of +this popular authoress. PRICE 30 cents. + +=Hedri, or Blind Justice.= By HELEN MATHERS. + +An exciting story in which love plays only a secondary part. 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. + + + + +LOVELL'S CANADIAN COPYRIGHT SERIES OF CHOICE FICTION. + + +The Series now numbers over 60 books, and contains the latest jewels of +such well-known authors as + + Ouida, The Duchess, Geo. Manville Fenn, + Rosa Nouchette Carey, Florence Marryat, + A. Conan Doyle, Georg Ebers, James Payn, + Miss Braddon, Frank Barrett, Mrs. Alexander, + Edna Lyall, Katherine S. Macquoid, G.M. Robins, + G.A. Henty, Adeline Sergeant, Mona Caird, + John Strange Winter, Joseph Hatton, + Dora Russell, Julian Sturgis, + Kate Tannatt Woods, + Florence Warden, Annie Thomas, + W.E. Norris, Helen Mathers, + Jessie Fothergill, Hall Caine, + Oswald Crawfurd, Rhoda Broughton, + F.C. Phillips, Robert Buchanan, + Charles Gibbon, L.T. Meade, John Berwick Harwood, + +From whose pens books have been issued during the past year, and others +now in preparation, make the Series the best in the Dominion. + +The books are printed on good paper with new type. + +All the books are published by arrangement with the authors, to whom a +royalty is paid, and are issued simultaneously with their publication +in England. + +For sale at all Bookstores. + +JOHN LOVELL & SON, PUBLISHERS. MONTREAL. + + + + +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=. + + + + +A LIFE FOR A LOVE. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +The time was July, and the roses were out in great profusion in the +rectory garden. The garden was large, somewhat untidily kept, but it +abounded in all sweet old-fashioned flowers; there was the invariable +tennis-court, empty just now, and a sweet sound of children laughing +and playing together, in a hay-field near by. The roses were showering +their petals all over the grass, and two girls, sisters evidently, were +pacing up the broad walk in the centre of the garden arm-in-arm. They +were dark-eyed girls, with chestnut, curling hair, rosy lips full of +curves and smiles, and round, good-humored faces. They were talking +eagerly and excitedly one to the other, not taking the smallest notice +of the scene around them--not even replying when some children in the +hay-field shouted their names, but coming at last to a full stand-still +before the open window of the old-fashioned rectory study. Two men were +standing under the deep-mullioned window; one tall, slightly bent, with +silvery-white hair, aquiline features, and dark brown eyes like the +girls. He was the Rector of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and the man he was +addressing was his only son, and the brother of the eager +bright-looking girls. + +"I can't understand it, Gerald," he was saying. "No, don't come in at +present, my dears;" he waved his white, delicate hand to his daughters. +"We'll join you in the tennis-court presently. Yes, Gerald, as I was +saying, it seems the most incomprehensible and unheard-of arrangement." + +The girls smiled gently, first into their brother's face, then at one +another. They moved away, going through a little shrubbery, and passing +out into a large kitchen garden, where Betty, the old cook, was now +standing, picking raspberries and currants into a pie-dish. + +"Betty," said Lilias, the eldest girl, "has Martha dusted our trunks +and taken them upstairs yet? And has Susan sent up the laces and the +frilled things? We want to set to work packing, as soon as ever the +children are in bed." + +"Bless your hearts, then," said old Betty, laying her pie-dish on the +ground, and dropping huge ripe raspberries into it with a slow +deliberate movement, "if you think that children will go to bed on the +finest day of the year any time within reason, you're fine and mistook, +that's all. Why, Miss Joey, she was round in the garden but now, and +they're all a-going to have tea in the hay-field, and no end of butter +they'll eat, and a whole batch of my fresh cakes. Oh, weary, weary me, +but children's mouths are never full--chattering, restless, untoward +things are children. Don't you never go to get married, Miss Marjory." + +"I'll follow your example, Betty," laughed back Marjory Wyndham. "I +knew that would fetch the old thing," she continued, turning to her +sister. "She does hate to be reminded that she's an old maid, but she +brings it on herself by abusing matrimony in that ridiculous fashion." + +"It's all because of Gerald," answered Lilias--"she is perfectly wild +to think of Gerald's going away from us, and taking up his abode in +London with those rich Pagets. I call it odious, too--I almost feel +to-night as if I hated Valentine. If Gerald had not fallen in love +with her, things would have been different. He'd have taken Holy +Orders, and he'd have been ordained for the curacy of +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and then he need never have gone away. Oh, I +hate--I detest to think of the rectory without Gerald." + +"Oh, Lilias," replied Marjory, "you really are--you really--you really +are----" + +"What, miss? Speak out, or I'll shake you, or pinch you, or do +something malicious. I warn you that I am quite in the mood." + +"Then I'll stand here," said Marjory, springing to the other side of a +great glowing bed of many-colored sweet-williams. "Here your arm can't +reach across these. I will say of you, Lilias Wyndham, that you are +without exception the most contradictory and inconsistent person of my +acquaintance. Here were you, a year ago, crying and sobbing on your +knees because Gerald couldn't marry Valentine, and now, when it's all +arranged, and the wedding is to be the day after to-morrow, and we have +got our promised trip to London, and those lovely brides-maid +dresses--made by Valentine's own express desire at Elise's--you turn +round and are grumpy and discontented. Don't you know, you foolish +silly Lilias, that if Gerald had never fallen in love with Valentine +Paget he'd have met someone else, and if he was father's curate, those +horrid Mortimer girls and those ugly Pelhams would have one and all +tried to get him. We can't keep Gerald to ourselves for ever, so +there's no use fretting about the inevitable, say I." + +Lilias' full red lips were pouting; she stooped, and recklessly +gathering a handful of sweet-williams, flung them at her sister. + +"I own to being inconsistent," she said, "I own to being cross--I own +to hating Valentine for this night at least, for it just tears my heart +to give Gerald up." + +There were real tears now in the bright, curly-fringed eyes and the +would-be-defiant voice trembled. + +Marjory shook the sweet-william petals off her dress. + +"Come into the house," she said in a softened tone. "Father and Gerald +must have finished that prosy discussion by now. Oh, do hark to those +children's voices; what rampageous, excitable creatures they are. Lilly, +did we ever shout in such shrill tones? That must be Augusta: no one +else has a voice which sounds like the scraping of a coal-scoop in an +empty coal-hod. Oh, of course that high laugh belongs to Joey. Aren't +they feeding, and wrangling, and fighting? I am quite sure, Lil, that +Betty is right, and they won't turn in for hours; we had better go and +do our packing now." + +"No, I see Gerald," exclaimed Lilias. And she flew up the narrow +box-lined path to meet her brother. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +Gerald Wyndham was not in the least like his rosy, fresh-looking +sisters. He was tall and slenderly made, with very thick and rather +light-brown hair, which stood up high over his low, white forehead--his +eyes were large, but were deeply set, they were grey, not brown, in +repose were dreaming in expression, but when he spoke, or when any +special thought came to him, they grew intensely earnest, luminous and +beautiful. The changing expression of his eyes was the chief charm of a +highly sensitive and refined face--a face remarkable in many ways, for +the breadth of his forehead alone gave it character, but with some weak +lines about the finely cut lips. This weakness was now, however, hidden +by a long, silken moustache. Lilias and Marjory thought Gerald's face +the most beautiful in the world, and most people acknowledged him to be +handsome, although his shoulders were scarcely broad enough for his +height, and his whole figure was somewhat loosely hung together. + +"Here you are at last," exclaimed Lilias, linking her hand in her +brother's arm. "Here, take his other arm. Maggie. Oh, when, and oh, +when, and oh, when shall we have him to ourselves again, I wonder?" + +"You little goose," said Gerald. He shook himself as if he were half in +a dream, and looked fondly down into Lilias' pretty dimpled, excitable +face. "Well, girls, are the trunks packed, and have you put in plenty +of finery? I promise you Mr. Paget will give a dinner-party every +night--you'll want heaps of fine clothes while you stay at Queen's +Gate." + +Marjory began to count on her fingers. + +"We arrive on Wednesday," she said. "On Wednesday evening, dinner +number one, we wear our white Indian muslins, with the Liberty sashes, +and flowers brought up from the dear old garden. Thursday evening, +dinner number two, and evening of wedding day, our bridesmaids' toggery +must suffice; Friday, dinner number three, those blue nun's veiling +dresses will appear and charm the eyes. That's all. Three dresses for +three dinners, for it's home, sweet home again on Saturday--isn't it, +Lilias?" + +"Of course," said Lilias, "that is, I suppose so," she added, glancing +at her brother. + +"Valentine wanted to know if you would stay in town for a week or ten +days, and try to cheer up her father," said Gerald. "Mr. Paget and +Valentine have scarcely been parted for a single day since she was +born. Valentine is quite in a state at having to leave him for a month, +and she thinks two bright little girls like you may comfort him +somewhat." + +"But we have our own father to see to," pouted Marjory; "and Sunday +school, and choir practising, and the library books----" + +"And I don't see how Valentine can mind leaving her father--if he were +the very dearest father in the world--when she goes away with you," +interrupted Lilias. + +Gerald sighed, just the faintest shadow of an impatient sigh, +accompanied by the slightest shrug of his shoulders. + +"Augusta can give out the library books," he said. "Miss Queen can +manage the choir. I will ask Jones to take your class, Lilias, and Miss +Peters can manage yours with her own, Marjory. As to the rector, what +is the use of having five young daughters, if they cannot be made +available for once in a way? And here they come, and there's the +governor in the midst of them. He doesn't look as if he were likely to +taste the sweets of solitude, eh, Marjory?" + +Not at that moment, certainly, for a girl hung on each arm, and a +smaller girl sat aloft on each square shoulder, while a fifth shouted +and raced, now in front, now behind, pelting this moving pyramid of +human beings with flowers, and screaming even more shrilly than her +sisters, with eager exclamation and bubbling laughter. + +"There's Gerry," exclaimed Augusta. + +She was the tallest of the party, with a great stretch of stockinged +legs, and a decided scarcity of skirts. She flew at her brother, flung +her arms round his neck and kissed him rapturously. + +"You darling old Gerry--don't we all just hate and detest that horrible +Valentine Paget." + +"Hush, Gussie," responded Gerald, in his quiet voice. "You don't know +Valentine, and you pain me when you talk of her in that senseless +fashion. Here, have a race with your big brother to the other end of +the garden. Girls," turning to his elder sisters--"seriously speaking I +should like you to spend about a fortnight with the Pagets. And had you +not better go and pack, for we must catch the eleven o'clock train +to-morrow morning. Now, Gussie--one, two, three, and away." + +Two pairs of long legs, each working hard to come off victorious in the +race, flew past the group--the rector and the little girls cheered and +shouted--Marjory and Lilias, laughing at the sight, turned slowly and +went into the house; Gerald won the race by a foot or two, and Gussie +flung herself panting and laughing on the grass at the other end of the +long walk. + +"Well done, Augusta," said her brother. "You study athletics to a +purpose. Now, Gussie, can't you manage to give away the library books +on Sunday?" + +"I? You don't mean it?" said Augusta. Her black eyes sparkled; she +recovered her breath, and the full dignity of her five feet five and +a-half of growth on the instant. "Am I to give away the library books, +Gerry?" + +"Yes, I want Lilias to stay in London for a few days longer than she +intended." + +"And Marjory too?" + +"Of course. The girls would not like to be parted." + +"Galuptions! Won't I have a time of it all round! Won't I give old +Peters a novel instead of his favorite Sunday magazines? And won't I +smuggle Pailey's 'Evidences of Christianity' into the hand of Alice +Jones, the dressmaker. She says the only books she cares for are Wilkie +Collins 'Woman in White,' and the 'Dead Secret,' so she'll have a +lively time of it with the Evidences. Then there's 'Butler's Analogy,' +it isn't in the parish library, but I'll borrow it for once from +father's study. That will exactly suit Rhoda Fleming. Oh, what fun, +what fun. I won't take a single story-book with me, except the 'Woman +in White,' for Peters. He says novels are 'rank poison,' so he shall +have his dose." + +"Now look here, Gussie," said Gerald, taking his sister's two hands in +his, and holding them tight--"you've got to please me about the library +books, and not to play pranks, and make things disagreeable for Lilias +when she comes back. You're thirteen now, and a big girl, and you ought +to act like one. You're to make things comfortable for the dear old +pater while we are all away, and you'll do it if you care for me, +Gussie." + +"Care for you!" echoed Augusta. "I love you, Gerry. I love you, and I +hate----" + +"No, don't say that," said Gerald, putting his hand on the girl's +mouth. + +Gussie looked droll and submissive. + +"It is so funny," she exclaimed at length. + +"You can explain that as we walk back to the house," responded her +brother. + +"Why, Gerry, to see you so frightfully in love! You are, aren't you? +You have all the symptoms--oh, before I----" + +"I love Valentine," responded Gerald. "That is a subject I cannot +discuss with you, Augusta. When you know her you will love her too. I +am going to bring her here in the autumn, and then I shall want you all +to be good to her, and to let her feel that she has a great number of +real sisters at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, who will be good to her if she +needs them, by-and-bye." + +"As if she ever could need us," responded Gussie. "She'll have you. +Yes, I'll do my best about the books--good-night. Gerald. Good-night, +dear old darling king. That's Miss Queen's voice. Coming, Miss Queen, +coming! Good-night, old Gerry. My love to that Val of yours. Oh, what a +nuisance it is to have ever to go to bed." + +Gussie's long legs soon bore her out of sight, and Gerald stepped into +the silent and now empty study. To an initiated eye this room bore one +or two marks of having lately witnessed a mental storm. Close to the +rector's leather armchair lay a pile of carefully torn-up papers--the +family Bible, which usually occupied a place of honor on his desk, had +been pushed ruthlessly on one side, and a valuable work on theology lay +wide open and face downwards on the floor. Otherwise the room was in +perfect order--the only absolutely neat apartment in the large old +house. Not the most daring of all the young Wyndhams would disturb a +volume here, or play any wild pranks in the sacred precincts of the +rector's study. As Gerald now entered the room and saw these signs of +mental disquiet round Mr. Wyndham's chair, the pleasant and somewhat +cheerful look left his face, his eyes grew dark, earnest and full of +trouble, and flinging himself on the sofa, he shaded them with his +white long fingers. There was an oil painting of a lady over the +mantel-piece, and this lady had Gerald's face. From her he inherited +those peculiar and sensitive eyes, those somewhat hollow cheeks, and +that noble and broad white brow. From her, too, came the lips which +were curved and beautiful, and yet a little, a little wanting in +firmness. In Mrs. Wyndham the expressive mouth only added the final +touch of womanliness to a beautiful face. In her son it would have +revealed, could it have been seen, a nature which might be led astray +from the strictest paths of honor. + +Wyndham sat motionless for a few moments, then springing to his feet, +he paced restlessly up and down the empty study. + +"Everything is fixed and settled now," he said, under his breath. "I'm +not the first fellow who has sold himself for the sake of a year's +happiness. If my mother were alive, though, I couldn't have done it, +no, not even for Valentine. Poor mother! She felt sure I'd have taken +Holy Orders, and worked on here with the governor in this sleepy little +corner of the world. It's a blessing she can't be hurt by anything now, +and as to the governor, he has seven girls to comfort him. No, if I'm +sorry for anyone it's Lilias, but the thing's done now. The day after +to-morrow Val will be mine. A whole year! My God, how short it is. My +God, save and pity me, for afterwards comes hell." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +The human face has been often spoken of as an index of the mind. There +are people who boldly declare that they know a man by the height of his +forehead, by the set of his eyes, by the shape of his head, and by the +general expression of his countenance. Whether this rule is true or +not, it certainly has its exceptions. As far as outward expression goes +some minds remain locked, and Satan himself can now and then appear +transformed as an angel of light. + +Mortimer Paget, Esq., the head and now sole representative of the once +great ship-broking firm of Paget Brothers, was one of the handsomest +and most striking-looking men in the city. On more than one occasion +sculptors of renown had asked to be permitted to take a cast of his +head to represent Humanity, Benevolence, Integrity, or some other +cardinal virtue. He had a high forehead, calm velvety brown eyes, +perfectly even and classical features, and firm lips with a sweet +expression. His lips were perfectly hidden by his silvery moustache, +and the shape of his chin was not discernible, owing to his long +flowing beard. But had the beard and moustache both been removed, no +fault could have been found with the features now hidden--they were +firmly and well-moulded. On this beautiful face no trace of a sinister +cast lurked. + +Mortimer Paget in his business transactions was the soul of honor. No +man in the city was more looked up to than he. He was very shrewd with +regard to all money matters, but he was also generous and kind. The old +servants belonging to the firm never cared to leave him; when they +died off he pensioned their widows and provided for their orphans. He +was a religious man, of the evangelical type, and he conducted his +household in every way from a religious point of view. Family prayers +were held night and morning in the great house in Queen's Gate, and the +servants were expected each and all to attend church twice on Sundays. +Mr. Paget had found a church where the ritual was sufficiently low to +please his religious views. To this church he went himself twice on +Sundays, invariably accompanied by a tall girl, richly dressed, who +clung to his side and read out of the same book with him, singing when +he sang, and very often slipping her little hand into his, and closing +her bright eyes when he napped unconsciously during the prosy sermon. + +This girl was his only child, and while he professed to be actuated by +the purest love for both God and his fellow creatures, the one being +for whom his heart really beat warmly, the one being for whom he could +gladly have sacrificed himself was this solitary girl. + +Valentine's mother had died at her birth, and since that day Valentine +and her father had literally never been parted. She was his shadow, +like him in appearance, and as far as those who knew her could guess +like him in character. + +The house in Queen's Gate was full of all the accompaniments of wealth. +It was richly and splendidly furnished; the drawing-rooms were +spacious, the reception rooms were all large. Valentine had her own +boudoir, her own special school-room, her own bedroom and +dressing-room. Her father had provided a suite of rooms for her, each +communicating with the other, but except that she tossed off her +handsome dresses in the dressing-room, and submitted at intervals +during the day with an unwilling grace to the services of her maid, and +except that she laid her bright little curling head each evening on +the softest of down-pillows, Valentine's suite of rooms saw very little +of their young mistress. + +There was an old library in the back part of the house--an essentially +dull room, with windows fitted with painted glass, and shelves lined +with books, most of them in tarnished and worm-eaten bindings, where +Mr. Paget sat whenever he was at home, and where in consequence +Valentine was to be found. Her sunny head, with its golden wavy hair, +made a bright spot in the old room. She was fond of perching herself on +the top of the step-ladder, and so seated burrowing eagerly into the +contents of some musty old volume. She devoured the novels of Smollett +and Fielding, and many other books which were supposed not to be at all +good for her, in this fashion--they did her no harm, the bad part +falling away, and not touching her, for her nature was very pure and +bright, and although she saw many shades of life in one way or another, +and with all her expensive education, was allowed to grow up in a +somewhat wild fashion, and according to her own sweet will, yet she was +a perfectly innocent and unsophisticated creature. + +When she was seventeen, Mr. Paget told her that he was going to +inaugurate a new state of things. + +"You must go into society, Val," he said. "In these days the daughters +of city men of old standing like myself are received everywhere. I will +get your mother's third cousin, Lady Prince, to present you at the next +Drawing-room, and then you must go the usual round, I suppose. We must +get some lady to come here to chaperon you, and you will go out to +balls and assemblies, and during the London season turn night into +day." + +Val was seated on the third rung of the step-ladder when her father +made this announcement. She sprang lightly from her perch now, and ran +to his side. + +"I won't go anywhere without you, dad; so that's settled. Poor old +man!--dear old man!" + +She put her arms round his neck, and his white moustache and beard +swept across her soft, peach-like cheek. + +"But I hate going out in the evening, Val. I'm getting an old +man--sixty next birthday, my dear--and I work hard all day. There's no +place so sweet to me in the evening as this worm-eaten, old +armchair;--I should find myself lost in a crowd. Time was when I was +the gayest of the gay. People used to speak of me as the life and soul +of every party I went to, but that time is over for me. Val; for you it +is beginning." + +"You are mistaken, father. I perch myself on the arm of this wretched, +worm-eaten, old chair, and stay here with you, or I go into society +with you. It's all the same to me--you can please yourself." + +"Don't you know that you are a very saucy lass, miss?" + +"Am I? I really don't care--I go with you, or I stay with you--that's +understood. Dad--father dear--that's always to be the way, you +understand. You and I are to be always together--all our lives. You +quite see what I mean?" + +"Yes, my darling. But some day you will have a husband. Val. I want you +to marry, and have a good husband, child; and then we'll see if your +old father still comes first." + +Valentine laughed gaily. + +"We'll see," she repeated. "Father, if you are not awfully busy, I must +read you this bit out of Roderick Random--listen, is not it droll?" + +She fetched the volume with its old-fashioned type and obsolete s'es, +and the two faces so alike and so beautiful, and so full of love for +one another, bent over the page. + +Valentine Paget had her way, and when she made her _début_ in the world +of fashion she was accompanied by no other chaperon than her handsome +father. A Mrs. Johnstone, a distant relative of Valentine's mother had +been asked to come to drive with the young lady in the Parks, and to +exercise a very mild surveillance over her conduct generally, when she +received her visitors at five o'clock tea, but in the evenings Mr. +Paget alone took her into society. The pair were striking enough to +make an instant success. Each acted as a foil and heightener to the +beauty of the other. Mortimer Paget was recognized by some of his old +cronies--fair ladies who had known him when he was young, reproached +him gently for having worn so well, professed to take a great interest +in his girl, and watched her with narrow, critical, but not unkindly +eyes. The girl was fresh and _naïve_, perfectly free and untrammelled, +a tiny bit reckless, a little out of the common. Her handsome face, her +somewhat isolated position, and her reputed fortune, for Mortimer Paget +was supposed to be one of the richest men in the city, soon made her +the fashion. Valentine Paget, in her first season, was spoken about, +talked over, acknowledged to be a beauty, and had, of course, plenty of +lovers. + +No one could have taken a daughter's success with more apparent +calmness than did her father. He never interfered with her--he never +curbed her light and graceful, although somewhat eccentric, ways; but +when any particular young man had paid her marked attention for more +than two nights running, had anyone watched closely they might have +seen a queer, alert, anxious look come into the fine old face. The +sleepy brown eyes would awake, and be almost eagle-like in the keenness +of their glance. No one knew how it was done, but about that possible +suitor inquiries of the closest and most delicate nature were instantly +set on foot; and as these inquiries, from Mr. Paget's point of view, in +each case proved eminently unsatisfactory, when next the ardent lover +met the beautiful Miss Paget, a thin but impenetrable wall of ice +seemed to have started up between them. Scarcely any of Valentine's +lovers came to the point of proposing for her; they were quietly +shelved, they scarcely knew how, long before matters arrived at this +crisis. Young men who in all respects seemed eligible of the +eligible--men with good names and rent-rolls, alike were given a sort +of invisible _congé_. The news was therefore received as a most +startling piece of information at the end of Valentine's first season, +that she was engaged, with the full consent and approval of her most +fastidious father, to about the poorest man of her acquaintance. + +Gerald Wyndham was the only son of a country clergyman--he was young, +only twenty-two; he was spoken about as clever, but in the eyes of +Valentine's friends seemed to have no one special thing to entitle him +to aspire to the hand of one of the wealthiest and most beautiful girls +of their acquaintance. + +It was reported among Mr. Paget's friends that this excellent, +honorable and worthy gentleman must surely have taken leave of his +senses, for Gerald Wyndham had literally not a penny, and before his +engagement to Valentine, the modest career opening up before him was +that of Holy Orders in one of its humblest walks. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +Wyndham before his engagement was one of the most boyish of men. All +the sunshine, the petting, the warmth, the love, which encircled him as +the prime favorite of many sisters and an adoring father at +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, seemed to have grown into his face. His deep +grey-blue changeful eyes were always laughing--he was witty, and he +said witty and laughable things by the score. The young man had plenty +of talent, and a public school and university education had developed +these abilities to a fine point of culture. His high spirits, and a +certain Irish way which he inherited from his mother, made him a +universal favorite, but at all times he had his grave moments. A look, +a word would change that beaming, expressive face, bring sadness to the +eyes, and seriousness to the finely curved lips. The shadows passed as +quickly as they came. Before Wyndham met Valentine they were simply +indications of the sensitiveness of a soul which was as keenly strung +to pain as to joy. + +It is a trite saying that what is easily attained is esteemed of little +value. Valentine found lovers by the score; in consequence, the fact of +a man paying her attention, looking at her with admiration, and saying +pretty nothings in her ear, gave her before her first season was over +only a slightly added feeling of ennui. At this juncture in her life +she was neither in love with her lovers nor with society. She was +younger than most girls when they make their entrance into the world, +and she would infinitely have preferred the sort of half school-room, +half nursery existence she used to lead. She yawned openly and wished +for bed when she was dragged out night after night, and when fresh +suitors appeared she began really to regard them as a weariness to the +flesh. + +Gerald Wyndham did not meet Valentine in quite the ordinary fashion. + +On a certain hot day in July, she had been absolutely naughty, the heat +had enervated her, the languor of summer was over her, and after a late +dinner, instead of going dutifully upstairs to receive some final +touches from her maid, before starting for a great crush at the house +of a city magnate near by, she had flown away to the library, turned on +the electric light, and mounting the book-ladder perched herself on her +favorite topmost rung, took down her still more favorite "Evelina," and +buried herself in its fascinating pages. Past and present were both +alike forgotten by the young reader, she hated society for herself, but +she loved to read of Evelina's little triumphs, and Lord Orville was +quite to her taste. + +"If I could only meet a man like him," she murmured, flinging down her +book, and looking across the old library with her starry eyes, "Oh, +father, dear, how you startled me! Now, listen, please. I will not go +out to-night--I am sleepy--I am tired--I am yawning dreadfully. Oh, +what have I said?--how rude of you, sir, to come and startle me in that +fashion!" + +For Valentine's light words had not been addressed to Mr. Paget, but to +a young man in evening dress, a perfect stranger, who came into the +room, and was now looking up and actually laughing at her. + +"How rude of you," said Valentine, and she began hastily to descend +from her elevated position. In doing so she slipped, and would have +fallen if Wyndham had not come to the rescue, coolly lifting the +enraged young lady into his arms and setting her on the floor. + +"Now I will beg your pardon as often as you like," he said. "I was +shown in here by a servant. I am waiting for Mr. Paget--I was +introduced to him this morning--my father turns out to be an old +friend, and he was good enough to ask me to go with you both to the +Terrells to-night." + +"Delightful!" said Valentine. "I'll forgive you, of course; you'll take +the dear old man, and I'll stay snugly at home. I'm so anxious to +finish 'Evelina.' Have you ever read the book?--Don't you love Lord +Orville?" + +"No, I love Evelina best," replied Gerald. + +The two pairs of eyes met, both were full of laughter, and both pairs +of lips were indulging in merry peals of mirth when Mr. Paget entered +the room. + +"There you are, Val," he said. "You have introduced yourself to +Wyndham. Quite right. Now, was there ever anything more provoking? I +have just received a telegram." Here Mr. Paget showed a yellow +envelope. "I must meet a business man at Charing Cross in an hour, on a +matter of some importance. I can't put it off, and so. Val, I don't see +how I am to send you to the Terrells all alone. It is too bad--why, +what is the matter, child?" + +"Too delightful, you mean," said Valentine. "I wasn't going. I meant to +commit high treason to-night. I was quite determined to--now I needn't. +Do you mean to go to the Terrells by yourself, Mr. Wyndham?" + +"The pleasure held out was to go with you and your father," responded +Wyndham, with an old-fashioned bow, and again that laughing look in his +eyes. + +Mr. Paget's benevolent face beamed all over. + +"Go up to the drawing-room, then, young folks, and amuse yourselves," +he said. "Our good friend, Mrs. Johnstone, will bear you company. Val, +you can sing something to Wyndham to make up for his disappointment. +She sings like a bird, and is vain of it, little puss. Yes, go away, +both of you, and make the best of things." + +"The best of things is to remain here," said Valentine. "I hate the +drawing-room, and that dear, good Mrs. Johnstone, if she must act +chaperon, can bring her knitting down here. I am so sorry for you, Mr. +Wyndham, but I don't mean to sing a single song to-night. Had you not +better go to the Terrells?" + +"No, I mean to stay and read 'Evelina,'" replied the obdurate young +man. + +Mr. Paget laughed again. + +"I will send our good friend, Mrs. Johnstone, to make tea for you," he +said, and he hurried out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +This was the very light and airy beginning of a friendship which was to +ripen into serious and even appalling results. Wyndham was a man who +found it very easy to make girls like him. He had so many sisters of +his own that he understood their idiosyncrasies, and knew how to humor +their little failings, how to be kind to their small foibles, and how +to flatter their weaknesses. More than one girl had fallen in love with +this handsome and attractive young man. Wyndham was aware of these +passionate attachments, but as he could not feel himself particularly +guilty in having inspired them, and as he did not in the slightest +degree return them, he did not make himself unhappy over what could not +be cured. It puzzled him not a little to know why girls should be so +silly, and how hearts could be so easily parted with--he did not know +when he questioned his own spirit lightly on the matter that the day of +retribution was at hand. He lost his own heart to Valentine without +apparently having made the smallest impression upon this bright and +seemingly volatile girl. + +On that very first night in the old library Wyndham left his heart at +the gay girl's feet. He was seriously in love. Before a week was out he +had taken the malady desperately, and in its most acute form. It was +then that a change came over his face, it was then for the first time +that he became aware of the depths of his own nature. Great abysses of +pain were opened up to him--he found himself all sensitiveness, all +nerves. He had been proud of his rather athletic bringing-up, of his +intellectual training. He had thought poorly of other men who had +given up all for the sake of a girl's smile, and for the rather +doubtful possession of a girl's fickle heart. He did not laugh at them +any longer. He spent his nights pacing his room, and his days haunting +the house at Queen's Gate. If he could not go in he could linger near +the house. He could lounge in the park and see Valentine as she drove +past, and nodded and smiled to him brightly. His own face turned pale +when she gave him those quick gay glances. She was absolutely +heart-whole--a certain intuition told him this, whereas he--he found +himself drivelling into a state bordering on idiotcy. + +Almost all men have gone through similar crises, but Wyndham at this +time was making awful discoveries. He was finding out day by day the +depths of weakness as well as pain within him. + +"I'm the greatest fool that ever breathed," he would say to himself. +"What would Lilias say if she saw me now? How often she and I have +laughed over this great momentous matter--how often we have declared +that we at least would never lose ourselves in so absurd a fashion. +Poor Lilias, I suppose her turn will come as mine has come--I cannot +understand myself--I really must be raving mad. How dare I go to Mr. +Paget and ask him to give me Valentine? I have not got a halfpenny in +the world. This money in my pocket is my father's--I have to come to +him for every sixpence! I am no better off than my little sister Joan. +When I am ordained, and have secured the curacy of +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, I shall have exactly £160 a year. A large sum +truly. And yet I want to marry Valentine Paget--the youngest heiress of +the season--the most beautiful--the most wealthy! Oh, of course I must +be mad--quite mad. I ought to shun her like the plague. She does not in +the least care for me--not in the least. I often wonder if she has got +a heart anywhere. She acts as a sort of siren to me--luring me +on--weakening and enfeebling my whole nature. She is a little flirt in +her way, but an unconscious one. She means nothing by that bright look +in her eyes, and that sparkling smile, and that gay clear laugh. I +wonder if any other man has felt as badly about her as I do. Oh, I +ought to shun her--I am simply mad to go there as I do. When I get an +invitation--when I have the ghost of a chance of seeing her--it seems +as if thousands of invisible ropes pulled me to her side. What is to +come of it all? Nothing--nothing but my own undoing. I can never marry +her--and yet I must--I will. I would go through fire and water to hold +her to my heart for a moment. There, I must have been quite mad when I +said that--I didn't mean it. I'm sane now, absolutely sane. I know what +I'll do. I won't dine there to-night. I'll send an excuse, and I'll run +down to the old rectory until Monday, and get Lilias to cure me." + +The infatuated young man seized a sheet of notepaper, dashed off an +incoherent and decidedly lame excuse to Mr. Paget, and trembling with +fear that his resolution would fail him even at the eleventh hour, +rushed out and dropped the letter into the nearest pillar-box. This +action was bracing, he felt better, and in almost gay spirits, for his +nature was wonderfully elastic. He took the next train to Jewsbury, and +arrived unexpectedly at the pleasant old rectory late on Saturday +evening. + +The man who is made nothing of in one place, and finds himself +absolutely the hero of the hour in another, cannot help experiencing a +very soothed sensation. Valentine Paget had favored Gerald with the +coolest of nods, the lightest of words, the most indifferent of +actions. She met him constantly, she was always stumbling up against +him, and when she wanted him to do anything for her she issued a brief +and lordly command. Her abject slave flew to do her bidding. + +Now at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold the slave was in the position of master, +and he could not help enjoying the change. + +"Augusta, wheel that chair round for Gerald. Sit there. Gerald, +darling--oh, you are in a draught. Shut the door, please, Marjory. +Joan, run to the kitchen, and tell Betty to make some of Gerald's +favorite cakes for supper. Is your tea quite right, Gerry; have you +sugar enough--and--and cream?" + +Gerald briefly expressed himself satisfied. Lilias was superintending +the tea-tray with a delicate flush of pleasure on her cheeks, and her +bright eyes glancing moment by moment in admiration at her handsome +brother. Marjory had placed herself on a footstool at the hero's feet, +and Augusta, tall and gawky, all stockinged-legs, and abnormally thin +long arms, was standing at the back of his chair, now and then +venturing to caress one of his crisp light waves of hair with the tips +of her fingers. + +"It is too provoking!" burst from Marjory,--"you know, Lilias, we can't +put Gerald into his old room, it is being papered, and you haven't +half-finished decorating the door. Gerry, darling, you might have let +us know you were coming and we'd have worked at it day and night. Do +you mind awfully sleeping in the spare room? We'll promise to make it +as fresh as possible for you?" + +"I'll--I'll--fill the vases with flowers--" burst spasmodically from +Augusta. "Do you like roses or hollyhocks best in the tall vases on the +mantel-piece, Gerry?" + +"By the way, Gerald," remarked the rector, who was standing leaning +against the mantel-piece, gazing complacently at his son and daughters, +"I should like to ask your opinion with regard to that notice on +Herring's book in the _Saturday_. Have you read it? It struck me as +over critical, but I should like to have your opinion." + +So the conversation went on, all adoring, all making much of the +darling of the house. Years afterwards, Gerald Wyndham remembered that +summer's evening, the scent of the roses coming in at the open window, +the touch of Marjory's little white hand as it rested on his knee, the +kind of half-irritated, half-pleased thrill which went through him when +Augusta touched his hair, the courteous and proud look on the rector's +face when he addressed him, above all the glow of love in Lilias' +beautiful eyes. He remembered that evening--he was not likely ever to +forget it, for it was one of the last of his happy boyhood, before he +took upon him his manhood's burden of sin and sorrow and shame. + +After tea Lilias and Gerald walked about the garden arm-in-arm. + +"I am going to confess something to you," said the brother. "I want +your advice, Lilly. I want you to cure me, by showing me that I am the +greatest fool that ever lived." + +"But you are not, Gerald; I can't say it when I look up to you, and +think there is no one like you. You are first in all the world to +me--you know that, don't you?" + +"Poor Lil, that is just the point--that is where the arrow will pierce +you. I am going to aim a blow at you, dear. Take me down from your +pedestal at once--I love someone else much, much better than I love +you." + +Lilias' hand as it rested on Gerald's arm trembled very slightly. He +looked at her, and saw that her lips were moving, and that her eyes +were looking downwards. She did not make any audible sound, however, +and he went on hastily:-- + +"And you and I, we always promised each other that such a day should +not come--no wonder you are angry with me, Lil." + +"But I'm not, dear Gerald--I just got a nasty bit of jealous pain for a +minute, but it is over. I always knew that such a day would come, that +it would have to come--if not for me, at least for you. Tell me about +her, Gerry. Is she nice--is she half--or a quarter nice enough for +you?" + +Then Gerald launched into his subject, forgetting what he supposed +could only be a very brief sorrow on Lilias' part in the enthralling +interest of his theme. Valentine Paget would not have recognized the +portrait which was drawn of her, for this young and ardent lover +crowned her with all that was noble, and decked her with attributes +little short of divine. + +"I am absolutely unworthy of her," he said in conclusion, and when +Lilias shook her head, and refused to believe this latter statement, he +felt almost angry with her. + +The two walked about and talked together until darkness fell, but, +although they discussed the subject in all its bearings, Gerald felt by +no means cured when he retired to rest, while Lilias absolutely cried +herself to sleep. + +Marjory and she slept in little white beds, side by side. + +"Oh, Lil, what's the matter?" exclaimed the younger sister, disturbed +out of her own sweet slumbers by those unusual tokens of distress. + +"Nothing much," replied Lilias, "only--only--I am a little +lonely--don't ask me any questions, Maggie, I'll be all right in the +morning." + +Marjory was too wise to say anything further, but she lay awake herself +and wondered. What could ail Lilias?--Lilias, the brightest, the gayest +of them all. Was she fretting about their mother. But it was seven +years now since the mother had been taken away from the rectory +children, and Lilias had got over the grief which had nearly broken her +child-heart at the time. + +Marjory felt puzzled and a little fearful,--the evening before had been +so sweet,--Gerald had been so delightful. Surely in all the world there +was not a happier home than Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. Why should Lilias +cry, and say that she was lonely? + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +On Monday morning Wyndham returned to town. His father had strained a +point to give his only son the season in London, and Gerald was paying +part of the expenses by coaching one or two young fellows for the next +Cambridge term. He had just concluded his own University course, and +was only waiting until his twenty-third birthday had passed, to be +ordained for the curacy which his father was keeping for him. Gerald's +birthday would be in September, and the rectory girls were looking +forward to this date as though it were the beginning of the millennium. + +"Even the cats won't fight, nor the dogs bark when Gerald is in the +room," whispered little Joan. "I 'spect they know he don't like it." + +Wyndham returned to London feeling both low and excited. His +conversation with Lilias and the rather pallid look of her face, the +black shadows under her eyes, and the pathetic expression which the +shedding of so many tears had given to them, could not cure him nor +extinguish the flame which was burning into his heart, and making all +the other good things of life seem but as dust and ashes to his taste. + +He arrived in town, went straight to his lodgings, preparatory to +keeping his engagement with one of his young pupils, and there saw +waiting for him a letter in the firm upright handwriting of Mortimer +Paget. He tore the envelope open in feverish haste. The lines within +were very few:-- + + DEAR WYNDHAM. + + Val and I were disappointed at your not putting in an appearance at + her dinner-party last night, but no doubt you had good reasons for + going into the country. This note will meet you on your return. + Can you come and lunch with me in the City on Monday at two + o'clock? Come to my place in Billiter-square. I shall expect you + and won't keep you waiting. I have a matter of some importance I + should like to discuss with you.--Yours, my dear Wyndham, + sincerely, + + "MORTIMER PAGET." + + + +Wyndham put the letter into his pocket, flew to keep his appointment +with his pupil, and at two o'clock precisely was inquiring for Mr. +Paget at the offices of the shipping firm in Billiter-square. + +Mortimer Paget was now head of the large establishment. He was the sole +surviving partner out of many, and on him alone devolved the carrying +out of one of the largest business concerns in the city. + +Wyndham never felt smaller than when he entered those great doors, and +found himself passed on from one clerk to another, until at last he was +admitted to the ante-room of the chief himself. + +Here there was a hush and stillness, and the young man sank down into +one of the easy chairs, and looked around him expectantly. He was in +the ante chamber of one of the great kings of commerce, the depressing +influence of wealth when we have no share in it came over him. He +longed to turn and fly, and but that his fingers, even now, fiddled +with Mr. Paget's very pressing note he would have done so. What could +the great man possibly want with him? With his secret in his breast, +with the knowledge that he, a poor young expectant curate, had dared to +lift up his eyes to the only daughter of this great house, he could not +but feel ill at ease. + +When Wyndham was not at home with any one he instantly lost his charm. +He was painfully conscious of this himself, and felt sure that he would +be on stilts while he ate his lunch with Mr. Paget. Nay more, he was +almost sure that that astute personage would read his secret in his +eyes. + +A clerk came into the room, an elderly man, with reddish whiskers, +small, deep-set eyes, and thin hair rapidly turning white. He stared +inquisitively at young Wyndham, walked past him, drew up the blinds, +arranged some papers on the table, and then as he passed him again said +in a quick, half-frightened aside: + +"If I was you, young man, I'd go." + +The tone in which this was said was both anxious and familiar. Wyndham +started aside from the familiarity. His face flushed and he gazed +haughtily at the speaker. + +"Did you address me?" he said. + +"I did, young man, don't say nothing, for the good Lord's sake, don't +say nothing. My name is Jonathan Helps. I have been here man and boy +for close on forty years. I know the old house. Sound! no house in the +whole city sounder, sound as a nut, or as an apple when _it's rotten at +the core_. You keep that to yourself, young man--why I'd venture every +penny I have in this yer establishment. I'm confidential clerk here! +I'm a rough sort--and not what you'd expect from a big house, nor from +a master like Mr. Paget. Now, young man, you go away, and believe that +there ain't a sounder house in all the city than that of Paget, Brake +and Carter. I, Jonathan Helps, say it, and surely I ought to know." + +An electric bell sounded in the other room. Wiping his brow with his +handkerchief as though the queer words he had uttered had cost him an +effort, Helps flew to answer the summons. + +"Ask Mr. Wyndham to walk in and have lunch served in my room," said an +authoritative voice. "And see here. Helps, you are not to disturb us on +any excuse before three o'clock." + +Shutting the door behind him, Helps came back again to Gerald's side. + +"If you don't want to run away at once you're to go in there," he +said. "Remember, there isn't a sounder house in all London than that of +Paget, Brake and Carter. Paget's head of the whole concern now. Don't +he boss it over us though! Oh, you're going in?--you've made up your +mind not to run away. Surely in vain is the net spread in the sight of +any bird. Good Lord, if that ain't the least true word that David ever +writ. Well, here you are. Don't forget that this house is sound--sound +as an apple when it is--Mr. Wyndham, sir." + +"You seem to have got a very extraordinary clerk," said Gerald, when he +had shaken hands with his host, who had expressed himself delighted to +see him. + +"Helps?" responded Mr. Paget. "Yes, poor fellow--has he been +entertaining you--telling you about the soundness of the house, eh? +Poor Helps--the best fellow in the world, but just a little--a very +little--touched in the head." + +"So I should think," said Gerald, laughing; "he compared me to a bird +in the fowler's net, and all kinds of ridiculous similes. What a snug +room you have here." + +"I am glad you think it so. I have a still snugger room at the other +side of this curtain, which I hope to introduce to you. Come along and +see it. This was furnished at Val's suggestion. She comes here to have +lunch with me once a week. Friday is her day. Will you come and join us +here next Friday at two o'clock?" + +"I--I shall be delighted," stammered Wyndham. + +"She has good taste, hasn't she, little puss? All these arrangements +are hers. I never saw any one with a better eye for color, and she has +that true sympathy with her surroundings which teaches her to adapt +rooms to their circumstances. Now, for instance, at Queen's Gate we are +all cool greys and blues--plenty of sunshine comes into the house at +Queen's Gate. Into this room the sun never shows his face. Val +accordingly substitutes for his brightness golden tones and warm +colors. Artistic, is it not? She is very proud of the remark which +invariably falls from the lips of each person who visits this sanctum +sanctorum, that it does not look the least like an office." + +"Nor does it," responded Gerald. "It is a lovely room. What a beautiful +portrait that is of your daughter--how well those warm greys suit her +complexion." + +"Yes, that is Richmond's, he painted her two years ago. Sit down at +this side of the table, Wyndham, where you can have a good view of the +saucy puss. Does she not look alive, as if she meant to say something +very impertinent to us both. Thanks, Helps, you can leave us now. Pray +see that we are not disturbed." + +Helps withdrew with noiseless slippered feet. A curtain was drawn in +front of the door, which the clerk closed softly after him. + +"Excellent fellow, Helps," said Mr. Paget, "but mortal, decidedly +mortal. If you will excuse me, Wyndham. I will take the precaution of +turning the key in that door. This little room, Val's room, I call it, +has often been privileged to listen to state secrets. That being the +case one must take due precautions against eaves-droppers. Now, my dear +fellow, I hope you are hungry. Help yourself to some of those +cutlets--I can recommend this champagne." + +The lunch proceeded, the elder man eating with real appetite, the +younger with effort. He was excited, his mind was full of trouble--he +avoided looking at Valentine's picture, and wished himself at the other +side of those locked doors. + +"You don't seem quite the thing," said Mr. Paget, presently. "I hope +you have had no trouble at home, Wyndham. Is your father well? Let me +see, he must be about my age--we were at Trinity College, Cambridge, +some time in the forties." + +"My father is very well, sir," said Gerald. "He is a hale man, he does +not look his years." + +"Have some more champagne? I think you told me you had several +sisters." + +"Yes, there are seven girls at home." + +"Good heavens--Wyndham is a lucky man. Fancy seven Valentines filling a +house with mirth! And you are the only son--and your mother is dead." + +"My mother is not living," responded Wyndham with a flush. "And--yes, I +am the only son. I won't have any more champagne, thank you, sir." + +"Try one of these cigars--I can recommend them. Wyndham, I am going to +say something very frank. I have taken a fancy to you. There, I don't +often take fancies. Why, what is the matter, my dear fellow?" + +Gerald had suddenly risen to his feet, his face was white. There was a +strained, eager, pained look in his eyes. + +"You wouldn't, if you knew," he stammered. "I--I have made a fool of +myself, sir. I oughtn't to be sitting here, your hospitality chokes me. +I--I have made the greatest fool of myself in all Christendom, sir." + +"I think I know what you mean," said Mr. Paget, also rising to his +feet. His voice was perfectly calm, quiet, friendly. + +"I am not sorry you have let it out in this fashion, my poor lad. You +have--shall I tell you that I know your secret, Wyndham?" + +"No, sir; don't let us talk of it. You cannot rate me for my folly more +severely than I rate myself. I'll go away now if you have no objection. +Thank you for being kind to me. Try and forget that I made an ass of +myself." + +"Sit down again, Wyndham. I am not angry--I don't look upon you as a +fool. I should have done just the same were I in your shoes. You are in +love with Valentine--you would like to make her your wife." + +"Good heavens, sir, don't let us say anything more about it." + +"Why not? Under certain conditions I think you would make her a +suitable husband. I guessed your secret some weeks ago. Since then I +have been watching you carefully. I have also made private inquiries +about you. All that I hear pleases me. I asked you to lunch with me, +to-day, on purpose that we should talk the matter over." + +Mr. Paget spoke in a calm, almost drawling, voice. The young man +opposite to him, his face deadly white, his hands nervously clutching +at a paper-knife, his burning eyes fixed upon the older man's face, +drank in every word. It was an intoxicating draught, going straight to +Gerald Wyndham's brain. + +"God bless you!" he said, when the other had ceased to speak. He turned +his head away, for absolute tears of joy had softened the burning +feverish light in his eyes. + +"No, don't say that, Wyndham," responded Mr. Paget, his own voice for +the first time a little shaken. "We'll leave God altogether out of this +business, if you have no objection. It is simply a question of how much +a man will give up for love. Will he sell himself, body and soul, for +it? That is the question of questions. I know all about you, Wyndham; I +know that you have not a penny to bless yourself with; I know that you +are about to embrace a beggarly profession. Oh, yes, we'll leave out +the religious aspect of the question. A curacy in the Church of England +is a beggarly profession in these days. I know too that you are your +father's only son, and that you have seven sisters, who will one day +look to you to protect them. I know all that; nevertheless I believe +you to be the kind of man who will dare all for love. If you win +Valentine, you have got to pay a price for her. It is a heavy one--I +won't tell you about it yet. When you agree to pay this price, for the +sake of a brief joy for yourself, for necessarily it must be brief; and +for her life-long good and well-being, then you rise to be her equal in +every sense of the word, and you earn my undying gratitude, Wyndham." + +"I don't understand you, sir. You speak very darkly, and you hint at +things which--which shock me." + +"I must shock you more before you hold Valentine in your arms. You have +heard enough for to-day. Hark, someone is knocking at the door." + +Mr. Paget rose to open it, a gay voice sounded in the passage, and the +next moment a brilliant, lovely apparition entered the room. + +"Val herself!" exclaimed her father. "No, my darling. I cannot go for a +drive with you just now, but you and Mrs. Johnstone shall take Wyndham. +You will like a drive in the park, Wyndham. You have got to scold this +young man, Val, for acting truant on Saturday night. Now go off, both +of you, I am frightfully busy. Yes, Helps, coming, coming. Valentine, +be sure you ask Mr. Wyndham home to tea. If you can induce him to dine, +so much the better, and afterwards we can go to the play together." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +On a certain evening about ten days after the events related in the +last chapter, Valentine Paget and her father were seated together in +the old library. Good-natured Mrs. Johnstone had popped in her head at +the door, but seeing the girl's face bent over a book, and Mr. Paget +apparently absorbed in the advertisement sheet of the _Times_, she had +discreetly withdrawn. + +"They look very snug," soliloquized the widowed and childless woman +with a sigh. "I wonder what Mortimer Paget will do when that poor +handsome Mr. Wyndham proposes for Val? I never saw anyone so far gone. +Even my poor Geoffrey long ago, who said his passion consumed him to +tatters--yes, these were poor dear Geoffrey's very words--was nothing +to Mr. Wyndham. Val is a desperately saucy girl--does not she see that +she is breaking that poor fellow's heart? Such a nice young fellow, +too. He looks exactly the sort of young man who would commit suicide. +Dear me, what is the world coming to? That girl seems not in the very +least troubled about the matter. How indifferent and easy-going she is! +I know _I_ could not calmly sit and read a novel when I knew that I was +consuming the vitals out of poor dear Geoffrey. But it's all one to +Val. I am very much afraid that girl is developing into a regular +flirt. How she did go on and amuse herself with Mr. Carr at the cricket +match to-day. Adrian Carr has a stronger face than poor young +Wyndham--not half as devoted to Val--I doubt if he even admires her, +and yet how white Gerald Wyndham turned when he walked her off across +the field. Poor Val--it is a great pity Mr. Paget spoils her so +dreadfully. It is plain to be seen she has never had the advantage of a +mother's bringing up." + +Mrs. Johnstone entered the beautifully-furnished drawing-room, seated +herself by the open window, and taking up the third volume of a novel, +soon forgot Valentine's love affairs. + +Meanwhile that young lady with her cheeks pressed on her hands, and her +eyes devouring the final pages of "Jane Eyre," gave no thought to any +uncomfortable combinations. Her present life was so full and happy that +she did not, like most girls, look far ahead--she never indulged in +day-dreams, and had an angel come to her with the promise of any golden +boon she liked to ask for, she would have begged of him to leave her +always as happy as she was now. + +She came to the last page of her book, and, drumming with her little +fingers on the cover, she raised her eyes in a half-dreaming fashion. + +Mr. Paget had dropped his sheet of the _Times_--his hand had fallen +back in the old leathern armchair--his eyes were closed--he was fast +asleep. + +In his sleep this astute and careful and keen man of business dropped +his mask--the smiling smooth face showed wrinkles, the gay expression +was succeeded by a careworn look--lines of sadness were about the +mouth, and deep crow's-feet wrinkled and aged the expression round the +eyes. + +The mantle of care had never yet touched Valentine. For the first time +in all her life a pang of keen mental pain went through her as she +gazed at her sleeping father. For the first time in her young existence +the awful possibility stared her in the face that some time she might +have to live in a cold and dreary world without him. + +"Why, my father looks quite old," she half stammered. "Old, and--yes, +unhappy. What does it mean?" + +She rose very gently, moved her chair until it touched his, and then +nestling up close to him laid her soft little hand on his shoulder. + +Paget slept on, and the immediate contact of Valentine's warm, loving +presence, made itself felt in his dreams--his wrinkles disappeared, and +his handsome lips again half smiled. Val laid her hand on his--she +noticed the altered expression, and her slightly roused fears +slumbered. There was no one to her like her father. She had made a +mistake just then in imagining that he looked old and unhappy. No +people in all the world were happier than he and she. He was not +old--he was the personification in her eyes of all that was manly and +strong and beautiful. + +The tired man slept on, and the girl, all her fears at rest, began idly +to review the events of the past day. There had been gay doings during +that long summer's afternoon, and Valentine, in the prettiest of summer +costumes, had thoroughly enjoyed her life. She had spent some hours at +Lords, and had entered with zest into the interest of the Oxford and +Cambridge Cricket Match. She lay back in her chair now with her eyes +half closed, reviewing in a lazy fashion the events of the bygone +hours. A stalwart and very attractive young man in cricketing flannels +mingled in these dreams. He spoke to her with strength and decision. +His dark eyes looked keenly into her face, he never expressed the +smallest admiration for her either by look or gesture, but at the same +time he had a way of taking possession of her which roused her +interest, and which secured her approbation. She laughed softly to +herself now at some of the idle nothings said to her by Adrian Carr, +and she never once gave a thought to Wyndham, who had also been at +Lords. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +"Val, child, what are you humming under your breath?" said her father, +suddenly rousing himself from his slumbers and looking into his +daughter's pretty face. "Your voice is like that of a bird, my darling. +I think it has gained in sweetness a good deal lately. Have you and +Wyndham been practising much together. Wyndham has one of the purest +tenor voices I ever heard in an amateur." + +"Oh, what a worry Mr. Wyndham is," said Valentine, rising from her seat +and shaking out her muslin dress. "Everybody talks to me of his +perfections. I'm perfectly tired of them. I wish he wouldn't come here +so often. No, I was not thinking of any of his songs. I was humming +some words Mr. Carr sings--'Bid me to Live'--you know the words--I like +Mr. Carr so much--don't you, dad, dear?" + +"Adrian Carr--yes," replied Mr. Paget in a slow deliberate voice. "Yes, +a good sort of fellow, I've no doubt. I heard some gossip about him at +my club yesterday--what was it? Oh, that he was engaged, or about to be +engaged, to Lady Mabel Pennant. You know the Pennants, don't you, Val? +Have you seen Lady Mabel? She is one of the youngest, I think." + +"Yes, she's a fright," responded Valentine, with a decided show of +temper in her voice. + +Her face had flushed too, she could not tell why. + +"I did not know Lady Mabel was such a plain girl," responded Mr. Paget +drily. "At any rate it is a good connection for Carr. He seems a fairly +clever fellow. Valentine, my child, I have something of importance to +talk to you about. Don't let us worry about Carr just now--I have +something to say to you, something that I'm troubled to have to say. +You love your old father very much, don't you, darling?" + +"Love you, daddy! Oh, you know--need you ask? I was frightened about +you a few minutes ago, father. When you were asleep just now, your face +looked old, and there were lines about it. It frightens me to think of +you ever growing old." + +"Sit close to me, my dear daughter. I have a great deal to say. We will +leave the subject of my looks just at present. It is true that I am not +young, but I may have many years before me yet. It greatly depends on +you." + +"On me, father?" + +"Yes. I will explain to you by-and-bye. Now I want to talk about +yourself. You have never had a care all your life, have you, my little +Val?" + +"I don't think so, daddy--at least only pin-pricks. You know I used to +hate my spelling lessons long ago, and Mdlle. Lacount used to worry me +over the French irregular verbs. But such things were only pin-pricks. +Yes, I am seventeen, and I have never had a real care all my life." + +"You are seventeen and four months, Valentine. You were born on the +14th of February, and your mother and I called you after St. Valentine. +Your mother died when you were a week old. I promised her then that her +baby should never know a sorrow if I could help it." + +"You have helped it, daddy; I am as happy as the day is long. I don't +wish for a thing in the wide world. I just want us both to live +together as we are doing now. Of course we will--why not? Shall we go +up to the drawing-room now, father?" + +"My dear child, in a little time. I have not said yet what I want to +say. Valentine, you were quite right when you watched my face as I +slumbered. Child, I have got a care upon me. I can't speak of it to +anybody--only it could crush me--and--and--part us, Valentine. If it +fell upon you, it--it--would crush you, my child." + +Mr. Paget rose. Valentine, deadly white and frightened, clung to him. +She was half crying. The effect of such terrible and sudden words +nearly paralyzed her; but when she felt the arm which her father put +round her tremble, she made a valiant and brave effort--the tears which +filled her brown eyes were arrested, and she looked up with courage in +her face. + +"You speak of my doing something," she whispered. "What is it? Tell me. +Nothing shall part us. I don't mind anything else, but nothing shall +ever part us." + +"Val, I have not spoken of this care to any one but you." + +"No, father." + +"And I don't show it in my face as a rule, do I?" + +"Oh, no! Oh, no! You always seem bright and cheerful." + +Her tears were raining fast now. She took his hand and pressed it to +her lips. + +"But I have had this trouble for some time, my little girl." + +"You will tell me all about it, please, dad?" + +"No, my darling, you would not understand, and my keenest pain would be +that you should ever know. You can remove this trouble, little Val, and +then we need not be parted. Now, sit down by my side." + +Mr. Paget sank again into the leathern armchair. He was still trembling +visibly. This moment through which he was passing was one of the most +bitter of his life. + +"You will not breathe a word of what I have told you to any mortal, +Valentine?" + +"Death itself should not drag it from me," replied the girl. + +She set her lips, her eyes shone fiercely. Then she looked at her +trembling father, and they glowed with love and pity. + +"I can save you," she whispered, going on her knees by his side. "It is +lovely to think of saving you. What can I do?" + +"My little Val--my little precious darling!" + +"What can I do to save you, father?" + +"Valentine, dear--you can marry Gerald Wyndham." + +Valentine had put her arms round her father's neck, now they dropped +slowly away--her eyes grew big and frightened. + +"I don't love him," she whispered. + +"Never mind, he loves you--he is a good fellow--he will treat you well. +If you marry him you need not be parted from me. You and he can live +together here--here, in this house. There need be no difference at all, +except that you will have saved your father." + +Paget spoke with outward calmness, but the anxiety under his words made +them thrill. Each slowly uttered sentence fell like a hammer of pain on +the girl's head. + +"I don't understand," she said again in a husky tone. "I would, I will +do anything to save you. But Mr. Wyndham is poor and young--in some +things he is younger than I am. How can my marrying him take the load +off your heart, father? Father, dear, speak." + +"I can give you no reason, Valentine, you must take it on trust. It is +all a question of your faith in me. I do not see any loophole of +salvation but through you, my little girl. If you marry Wyndham I see +peace and rest ahead, otherwise we are amongst the breakers. If you do +this thing for your old father, Valentine, you will have to do it in +the dark, for never, never, I pray, until Eternity comes, must you know +what you have done." + +Valentine Paget had always a delicate and bright color in her cheeks. +It was soft as the innermost blush of a rose, and this delicate and +lovely color was one of her chief charms. Now it faded, leaving her +young face pinched and small and drawn. She sank down on the hearthrug, +clasping her hands in her lap, her eyes looking straight before her. + +"I never wanted to marry," she said at last. "Certainly not yet, for I +am only a child. I am only seventeen, but other girls of seventeen are +old compared to me. When you are only a child, it is dreadful to marry +some one you don't care about, and it is dreadful to do a deed in the +dark. If you trusted me, father--if you told me all the dreadful truth +whatever it is, it might turn me into a woman--an old woman even--but +it would be less bad than this. This seems to crush me--and oh, it does +frighten me so dreadfully." + +Mr. Paget rose from his seat and walked up and down the room. + +"You shan't be crushed or frightened," he said. "I will give it up." + +"And then the blow will fall on _you_?" + +"I may be able to avert it. I will see. Forget what I said to-night, +little girl." + +Mortimer Paget's face just now was a good deal whiter than his +daughter's, but there was a new light in his eyes--a momentary gleam of +nobility. + +"I won't crush you, Val," he said, and he meant his words. + +"And _I_ won't crush _you_," said the girl. + +She went up to his side, and, taking his hand, slipped his arm round +her neck. + +"We will live together, and I will have perfect faith in you, and I'll +marry Mr. Wyndham. He is good--oh, yes, he is good and kind; and if he +did not love me so much, if he did not frighten me with just being too +loving when I don't care at all, I might get on very well with him. +Now dismiss your cares, father. If this can save you, your little Val +has done it. Let us come up to the drawing-room. Mrs. Johnstone must +think herself forsaken. Shall I sing to you to-night, daddy, some of +the old-fashioned songs? Come, you have got to smile and look cheerful +for Val's sake. If I give myself up for you, you must do as much for +me. Come, a smile if you please, sir. 'Begone, dull care.' You and I +will never agree." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +It was soon after this that Valentine Paget's world became electrified +with the news of her engagement. Wyndham was congratulated on all +sides, and those people who had hitherto not taken the slightest notice +of a rather boyish and unpretentious young man, now found much to say +in his favor. + +Yes, he was undoubtedly good-looking--a remarkable face, full of +interest--he must be clever too--he looked it. And then as to his +youth--why was it that people a couple of months ago had considered him +a lad, a boy--why, he was absolutely old for his two-and-twenty years. +A grave thoughtful man with a wonderfully sweet expression. + +It was plain to be seen that Wyndham, the expectant curate of +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and Wyndham, the promised husband of Valentine +Paget, were totally different individuals. Wyndham's prospects were +changed, so was his appearance--so, in very truth, was the man himself. + +Where he had been too young he was now almost too old, that was the +principal thing outsiders noticed. But at twenty-two one can afford +such a change, and his gravity, his seriousness, and a certain proud +thoughtful look, which could not be classified by any one as a sad +look, was vastly becoming to Wyndham. + +His future father-in-law could not make enough of him, and even +Valentine caught herself looking at him with a shy pride which was not +very far removed from affection. + +Wyndham had given up the promised curacy--this was one of Mr. Paget's +most stringent conditions. On the day he married Valentine he was to +enter the great shipping firm of Paget, Brake and Carter as a junior +partner, and in the interim he went there daily to become +acquainted--the world said--with the ins and outs of his new +profession. + +It was all a great step in the direction of fortune and fame, and the +Rectory people ought, of course, to have rejoiced. + +They were curious and unworldly, however, at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and +somehow the news of the great match Gerald was about to contract +brought them only sorrow and distress. Lilias alone stood out against +the storm of woe which greeted the receipt of Wyndham's last letter. + +"It is a real trouble," she said, her voice shaking a good deal; "but +we have got to make the best of it. It is for Gerald's happiness. It is +selfish for us just to fret because we cannot always have him by our +side." + +"There'll be no millennium," said Augusta in a savage voice. "I might +have guessed it. That horrid selfish, selfish girl has got the whole of +our Gerald. I suppose he'll make her happy, nasty, spiteful thing; but +she has wrecked the happiness of seven other girls--horrid creature! I +might have known there was never going to be a millennium. Where are +the dogs? Let me set them fighting. Get out of that, madame puss--you +and Rover and Drake will quarrel now to the end of the chapter, for +Gerald is never coming home to live." + +Augusta's sentiments were warmly shared by the younger girls, and to a +great extent she even secured the sympathy of Marjory and the rector. + +"I don't understand you, Lilias," said her pet sister. "I thought you +would have been the worst of us all." + +"Oh, don't," said Lilias, tears springing to her eyes. "Don't you see, +Marjory, that I really feel the worst, so I must keep it all in? Don't +let us talk it over, it is useless. If Valentine makes Gerald happy I +have not a word to say, and if I am not glad I must pretend to be glad +for his sake." + +"Poor old Lil!" said Marjory. + +And after this little speech she teased her sister no more. + +A fortnight after his engagement Gerald came to the rectory for a brief +visit. He was apparently in high spirits, and never made himself more +agreeable to his sisters. He had no confidential talks, however, with +Lilly, and they all noticed how grave and quiet and handsome he had +grown. + +"He's exactly like my idea of the god Apollo," remarked Augusta. "No +wonder that girl is in love with him. Oh, couldn't I just pull her hair +for her. I can't think how Lilly sits by and hears Gerald praise her! +I'd like to give her a piece of my mind, and tell her what I think of +her carrying off our ewe-lamb. Yes, she's just like David in the Bible, +and I only wish I were the prophet Nathan, to go and have it out with +her!" + +Augusta was evidently mixed in her metaphors, for it was undoubtedly +difficult to compare the same person to Apollo and a ewe-lamb. +Nevertheless, she carried her audience with her, and when now and then +Gerald spoke of Valentine he received but scant sympathy. + +On the day he went away, the rector called Lilias into his study. + +"My dear," he said, "I want to have a little talk with you. What do you +think of all this? Has Gerald made you many confidences? You and he +were always great chums. He was reserved with me, remarkably so, for he +was always such an open sort of a lad. But of course you and he had it +all out, my dear." + +"No, father," replied Lilias. "That is just it. We hadn't anything +out." + +"What--eh--nothing? And the boy is in love. Oh, yes, anyone can see +that--in love, and no confidences. Then, my dear, I was afraid of +it--now I am sure--there must be something wrong. Gerald is greatly +changed. Lilias." + +"Yes," said Lilias. "I can't quite define the change, but it is there." + +"My dear girl, he was a boy--now he is a man. I don't say that he is +unhappy, but he has a good weight of responsibility on his shoulders. +He was a rather heedless boy, and in the matter of concealment or +keeping anything back, a perfect sieve. Now he's a closed book. +Closed?--locked I should say. Lilias, neither you nor I can understand +him. I wish to God your mother was alive!" + +"He told me," said Lilias, "that he had talked over matters with +you--that--that there was nothing much to say--that he was perfectly +satisfied, and that Valentine was like no other girl in the wide world. +To all intents and purposes Gerald was a sealed book to me, father; but +I don't understand your considering him so, for he said that he had +spoken to you very openly." + +"Oh, about the arrangements between him and Paget. Yes, I consider it a +most unprecedented and extraordinary sort of thing. Gerald gives up the +Church, goes into Paget's business--early next summer marries his +daughter, and on the day of his wedding signs the deeds of partnership. +He receives no salary--not so much as sixpence--but he and his wife +take up their abode at the Pagets' house in Queen's Gate, Paget making +himself responsible for all expenses. Gerald, in lieu of providing his +wife with a fortune, makes a marriage settlement on her, and for this +purpose is required to insure his life very heavily--for thousands, I +am told--but the exact sum is not yet clearly defined. Paget undertakes +to provide for the insurance premium. I call the whole thing unpleasant +and derogatory, and I cannot imagine how the lad has consented. +Liberty? What will he know of liberty when he is that rich fellow's +slave? Better love in a cottage, with a hundred a year, say I." + +"But, father, Mr. Paget would not have given Val to Gerald to live in a +cottage with her--and Gerald, he has consented to this--this that you +call degradation, because he loves Val so very, very much." + +"I suppose so, child. I was in love once myself--your mother was the +noblest and most beautiful of women; that lad is the image of her. +Well, so he never confided in you, Lil? Very strange, I call it very +strange. I tell you what. Lilias, I'll run up to town next week, and +have a talk with Paget, and see what sort of girl this is who has +bewitched the boy. That's the best way. I'll have a talk with Paget, +and get to the bottom of things. I used to know him long ago at +Trinity. Now run away, child. I must prepare my sermon for to-morrow." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +At this period of her life Valentine was certainly not in the least in +love with the man to whom she was engaged--she disliked caresses and +what she was pleased to call honeyed words of flattery. Wyndham, who +found himself able to read her moods like a book, soon learned to +accommodate himself to her wishes. He came to see her daily, but he +kissed her seldom--he never took her hand, nor put his arm round her +slim waist; they sat together and talked, and soon discovered that they +had many subjects of interest in common--they both loved music, they +both adored novels and poetry. Wyndham could read aloud beautifully, +and at these times Valentine liked to lie back in her easy chair and +steal shy glances at him, and wonder, as she never ceased to wonder, +from morning to night, why he loved her so much, and why her father +wanted her to marry him. + +If Valentine was cold to this young man, she was, however, quite the +opposite to the rector of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. Mr. Wyndham came to +town, and of course partook of the hospitality of the house in Queen's +Gate. In Valentine's eyes the rector was old, older than her +father--she delighted for her father's sake in all old men, and being +really a very loveable and fascinating girl soon won the rector's +heart. + +"I'm not a bit surprised, Gerald," the good man said to his son on the +day of his return to his parish duties. "She's a wilful lass, and has a +spirit of her own, but she's a good girl, too, and a sweet, and a young +fellow might do worse than lose his heart to her. Valentine is open as +the day, and when she comes to me as a daughter, I'll give her a +daughter's place in my heart. Yes, Valentine is all right enough, and +I'll tell Lilias so, and put her heart at rest, poor girl, but I'm not +so sure about Paget. I think you are putting yourself in a very +invidious position, if you will allow me to say so, my boy, coming into +Paget's house as a sort of dependent, even though you are his girl's +husband. I don't like the sound of it, and you won't care for the +position, Gerald, when you've experienced it for a short time. +However--oh, there's my train--yes, porter, yes, two bugs and a rag--I +mean two bags and a rug--Here, this way, this way. Dear, dear, how +confused one gets! Yes, Gerald, what was I saying? Oh, of course you're +of age, my boy, you are at liberty to choose for yourself. Yes, I like +the girl thoroughly. God bless you. Gerry; come down to the old place +whenever you have a spare Saturday." + +The younger Wyndham smiled in a very grave fashion, saw to his father's +creature comforts, as regarded wraps, newspapers, etc., tipped the +porter, who had not yet done laughing at the reverend gentleman's +mistake, and left the station. + +He hailed a cab and drove at once to his future father-in-law's +business address. He was quite at home now in the big shipping office, +the several clerks regarding him with mixed feelings of respect and +envy. Gerald had a gracious way with everyone, he was never distant +with his fellow-creatures, but there was also a slight indescribable +touch about him which kept those who were beneath him in the social +scale from showing the smallest trace of familiarity. He was +sympathetic, but he had a knack of making those who came in contact +with him treat him as a gentleman. The clerks liked Wyndham, and with +one exception were extremely civil to him. Helps alone held himself +aloof from the new-comer, watching him far more anxiously than the +other clerks did, but, nevertheless, keeping his own counsel, and +daring whenever he had the opportunity to use covert words of warning. + +On his arrival, to-day, Wyndham sent a message to the chief, asking to +see him as soon as convenient. While he waited in the ante-room, for in +reality he had little or nothing to do in the place, the door was +opened to admit another visitor, and then Adrian Carr, the young man +whom Valentine had once spoken of with admiration, stepped across the +threshold. The two young men were slightly acquainted, and while they +waited they chatted together. + +Carr was a great contrast to Wyndham--he was rather short, but thin and +wiry, without an atom of superfluous flesh anywhere--his shoulders were +broad, he was firmly knit and had a very erect carriage. Wyndham, tall, +loosely built, with the suspicion of a stoop, looked frail beside the +other man. Wyndham's dark grey eyes were too sensitive for perfect +mental health. His face was pallid, but at times it would flush +vividly--his lips had a look of repression about them--the whole +attitude of the man to a very keen observer was tense and watchful. + +Carr had dark eyes, closely cropped hair, a smooth face but for his +moustache, and a keen, resolute, bold glance. He was not nearly as +handsome as Wyndham, beside Wyndham he might even have been considered +commonplace, but his every gesture, his every glance betokened the +perfection of mental health and physical vigor. + +After a few desultory nothings had been exchanged between the two, Carr +alluded to Wyndham's engagement, and offered him his congratulations. +He did this with a certain guardedness of tone which caused Gerald to +look at him keenly. + +"Thank you--yes, I am very lucky," he replied. "But can we not exchange +good wishes, Carr? I heard a rumor somewhere, that you also were about +to be married." + +Carr laughed. + +"These rumors are always getting about," he said, "half of them end in +smoke. In my case you yourself destroyed the ghost of the chance of +such a possibility coming about." + +"I? What do you mean?" said Wyndham. + +"Nothing of the least consequence. As matters have turned out I am +perfectly heart-whole, but the fact is, the only girl I ever took the +slightest fancy to is going to be your wife. Oh, I am not in love with +her! You stopped me in time. I really only tell you this to show you +how much I appreciate the excellence of your taste." + +Wyndham did not utter a word, and just then Helps came to say that Mr. +Paget would see Mr. Carr for a few moments. Carr instantly left the +room, and Wyndham went over to the dusty window, leant his elbow +against one of the panes, and peered out. + +Apparently there was nothing for him to see--the window looked into a +tiny square yard, in the centre of which was a table, which contained a +dish of empty peapods, and two cabbages in a large basin of cold water. +Not a soul was in the yard, and Wyndham staring out ought in the usual +order of things soon to have grown weary of the objects of his +scrutiny. Far from that, his fixed gaze seemed to see something of +peculiar and intense interest. When he turned away at last, his face +was ghastly white, and taking out his handkerchief he wiped some drops +of moisture from his forehead. + +"My master will see you now, sir," said Helps, in a quiet voice. He had +been watching Wyndham all the time, and now he looked up at him with a +queer significant glance of sympathy. + +"Oh, ain't you a fool, young man?" he said. "Why, nothing ain't worth +what you're a-gwine through." + +"Is Carr gone?" asked Wyndham. + +"Oh yes, sir, he's a gent as knows what he's after. No putting his foot +into holes with him. He knows what ground he'll walk on. Come along, +sir, here you are." + +Helps always showed Wyndham into the chief's presence with great +parade. Mr. Paget was in a genial humor. When he greeted the young man +he actually laughed. + +"Sit down, Gerald; sit down, my dear boy. Now, you'll never guess what +our friend Adrian Carr came to see me about. 'Pon my word, it's quite a +joke--you'll never guess it, Gerald." + +"I'm sure of that, sir, I never guessed a riddle in my life." + +Something in the hopeless tone in which these few words were uttered +made Mr. Paget cease smiling. He favored Gerald with a lightning +glance, then said quietly: + +"I suppose I ought not to have laughed, but somehow I never thought +Carr would have taken to the job. He wants me to introduce him to your +father, Gerald. He is anxious to be ordained for the curacy which you +have missed. Fancy a man like Carr in the Church! He says he never +thought of such a profession until you put it into his head--now he is +quite keen after it. Well, perhaps he will make an excellent +clergyman--I rather fancy I should like to hear him preach." + +"If I were you," said Gerald, "I would refuse to give him that +introduction." + +"Refuse to give it him! My dear boy, what do you mean? I am not quite +such a churl. Why, I have given it him. I wrote a long letter to your +excellent father, saying all sorts of nice things about Carr, and he +has taken it away in his pocket. Her Majesty's post has the charge of +it by this time, I expect. What is the matter, Wyndham? You look quite +strange." + +"I feel it, sir--I don't like this at all. Carr and I have got mixed +somehow. He takes my curacy, and he confessed that but for me he'd +have gone in for Val. Now you see what I mean. He oughtn't to have the +curacy." + +Mr. Paget looked really puzzled. + +"You are talking in a strange way, Gerald," he said. "If poor Carr was +unfortunate enough to fall in love with a girl whom you have won, +surely you don't grudge him that poor little curacy too. My dear lad, +you are getting positively morbid. There, I don't think I want you for +anything special to day. Go home to Val--get her to cheer your low +spirits." + +"She cannot," replied Gerald. "You don't see, sir, because you won't. +Carr is not in love with Valentine, and Valentine is not in love with +him, but they both might be. I have heard Val talk of him--once. I +heard him speak of her--to day. By-and-bye, sir--in the future, they +may meet. You know what I mean. Carr ought not to go to +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold--it is wrong. I will not allow it. I will myself +write to the rector. I will take the responsibility, whoever gets my +old berth it must not be Adrian Carr." + +Wyndham rose as he spoke--he looked determined, all trace of weakness +or irresolution left his face. Paget had never before seen this young +man in his present mood. Somehow the sight gave him intense pleasure. A +latent fear which he had scarcely dared to whisper even to his own +heart that Wyndham had not sufficient pluck for what lay before him +vanished now. He too rose to his feet, and laid his hand almost +caressingly on the lad's shoulder. + +"My boy, you have no cause to fear in this matter. In the future I +myself will take care of Valentine, but I love you for your +thoughtfulness, Gerald." + +"You need not, sir. I have something on my mind which I must say now. I +have entered into your scheme. I have----" + +"Yes, yes--let me shut and lock the door, my boy." + +Wyndham, arrested in his speech, drew one or two heavy breaths. + +He spoke again in a sort of panting way. His eyes grew bright and +almost wild. + +"I have promised you," he continued. "I'll go through with it. It's a +million times worse fate for me than if I had killed someone, and then +was hung up by the neck until I died. That, in comparison to this, +would be--well, like the sting of a gnat. I'll go through with it, +however, and you need not be afraid that I'll change my mind. I do it +solely and entirely because I love your daughter, because I believe +that the touch of dishonor would blight her, because unfortunately for +herself she loves you better than any other soul in the world. If she +did not, if she gave me even half of the great heart which she bestows +upon you, then I would risk all, and feel sure that dishonor and +poverty with me would be better than honor and riches with you. You're +a happy man during these last six weeks. Mr. Paget. You have found your +victim, and you see a way of salvation for yourself, and a prosperous +future for Valentine. She won't grieve long--oh, no, not long for the +husband she never loved--but look here, you have to guard her against +the possibility in the future of falling in love with another--of being +won by another man, who will ask her to be his wife and the mother of +his children. Though she does not love me, she must remain my widow all +her days, for if she does not, if I hear that she, thinking herself +free, is about to contract marriage with another, I will return--yes, I +will return from the dead--from the grave, and say that it shall not +be, and I will show all the world that you are--what you have proved +yourself to be to me--a devil. That is all. I wanted to say this to +you. Carr has given me the opportunity. I won't see Val to-day, for I +am upset--to-morrow I shall have regained my composure." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +Wyndham was engaged to Valentine Paget very nearly a year before their +wedding. One of the young lady's stipulations was that under no +circumstances would she enter into the holy estate of matrimony before +she was eighteen. Paget made no objection to this proviso on Val's +part. In these days he humored her slightest wish, and no happier pair +to all appearance could have been seen driving in the Park, or riding +in the Row, than this handsome father and daughter. + +"What a beautiful expression he has," remarked many people. And when +they said this to the daughter she smiled, and a sweet proud light came +into her eyes. + +"My father is a darling," she would say. "No one knows him as I do. I +believe he is about the greatest and the best of men." + +When Val made enthusiastic remarks of this kind. Wyndham looked at her +sorrowfully. She was very fond of him by this time--he had learned to +fit himself to her ways, to accommodate himself to her caprices, and +although she frankly admitted that she could not for an instant compare +him to her father, she always owned that she loved him next best, and +that she thought it would be a very happy thing to be his wife. + +No girl could look sweeter than Val when she made little speeches of +this kind, but they had always a queer effect upon her lover, causing +him to experience an excitement which was scarcely joy, for nothing +could have more fatally upset Mr. Paget's plans than Valentine really +to fall in love with Wyndham. + +The wedding day was fixed for the first week in July, and Valentine was +accompanied to the altar by no less than eight bridesmaids. It was a +grand wedding--quite one of the events of the season, and those who saw +it spoke of the bride as beautiful, and of the bridegroom as a grave, +striking-looking man. + +If a man constantly practises self-repression there comes a time when, +in this special art, he almost reaches perfection. Wyndham had come to +this stage, as even Lilias, who read her brother like a book, could see +nothing amiss with him on his wedding day. All, therefore, went merrily +on this auspicious occasion, and the bride and bridegroom started for +the continent amid a shower of blessings and good wishes. + +"Gerald, dear, I quite forgive you," said Lilias, as at the very last +minute she put her arms round her brother's neck. + +"What for, Lilly?" he asked, looking down at her. + +Then a shadow of great bitterness crossed the sunshine of his face. He +stooped and kissed her forehead. + +"You don't know my sin, so you cannot forgive it, Lilly," he continued. + +"Oh, my darling, I know you," she said. "I don't think you could sin. I +meant that I have learned already to love Valentine a little, and I am +not surprised at your choice. I forgive you fully, Gerald, for loving +another girl better than your sister Lilias. Good-bye, dear old Gerry. +God bless you!" + +"He won't do that, Lilly--he can't. Oh, forgive me, dear, I didn't mean +those words. Of course I'm the happiest fellow in the world." + +Gerald turned away, and Lilias kissed Valentine, and then watched with +a queer feeling of pain at her heart as the bridal pair amid cheers and +blessings drove away. + +Gerald's last few words had renewed Lilias' anxiety. She felt restless +in the great, grand house, and longed to be back in the rectory. + +"What's the matter, Lil?" said Marjory; "your face is a yard long, and +you are quite white and have dark lines under your eyes. For my part I +did not think Gerald's wedding would be half so jolly, and what a nice +unaffected girl Valentine is." + +"Oh, yes, I'm not bothering my head about her," said Lilias. "She's all +right, just what father said she was. I wish we were at home again, +Maggie." + +"Yes, of course, so do I," said Marjory. "But then we can't be, for we +promised Gerald to try and make things bright for Mr. Paget. Isn't he a +handsome man, Lilly? I don't think I ever saw anyone with such a +beaming sort of benevolent expression." + +"He is certainly very fond of Valentine, and she of him," answered +Lilias. "No, I did not particularly notice his expression. The fact is +I did not look at anyone much except our Gerald. Marjory, I think it is +an awful thing for girls like us to have an only brother--he becomes +almost too precious. Marjory, I cannot sympathize with Mr. Paget. I +wish we were at home. I know our dear old dad will want us, and there +is no saying what mess Augusta will put things into." + +"Father heard from Mr. Carr on the morning we left," responded Marjory. +"I think he is coming to the rectory on Saturday. If so, father won't +miss us: he'll be quite taken up showing him over the place." + +"I shall hate him," responded Lilias, in a very tart voice. "Fancy his +taking our Gerald's place. Oh, Maggie, this room stifles me--can't we +change our dresses, and go out for a stroll somewhere? Oh, what folly +you talk of it's not being the correct thing! What a hateful place this +London is! Oh, for a breath of the air in the garden at home. Yes, what +is it, Mrs. Johnstone?" + +Lilias' pretty face looked almost grumpy, and a decidedly discontented +expression lurked in the dark, sweet eyes she turned upon the good lady +of the establishment. + +"Lilly has an attack of the fidgets," said Marjory. "She wants to go +out for a walk." + +"You shall both come in the carriage with me, my dears. I was coming in +to propose it to you. We won't dine until quite late this evening." + +"Delightful," exclaimed Marjory, and the two girls ran out of the room +to get ready. Mrs. Johnstone followed them, and a few moments later a +couple of young men who were staying in the house sauntered lazily into +the drawing-room. + +"What do you think of Wyndham's sisters, Exham?" said one to the other. + +Exham, a delicate youth of about nineteen, gave a long expressive +whistle. + +"The girls are handsome enough," he said. "But not in my style. The one +they call Lilias is too brusque. As to Wyndham, well--" + +"What a significant 'well,' old fellow--explain yourself." + +"Nothing," returned Exham, who seemed to draw out of any further +confidences he was beginning to make. "Nothing--only, I wouldn't be in +Wyndham's shoes." + +The other man, whose name was Power, gave a short laugh. + +"You need not pretend to be so wise and close, Exham," he retorted. +"Anyone can see with half an eye that Wyndham's wife is not in love +with him. All the same. Wyndham has not done a bad thing for +himself--stepping into a business like this. Why, he'll have everything +by-and-bye. I don't see how he can help it." + +"Did you hear that funny story," retorted Exham, "about Wyndham's life +being insured?" + +"No, what?--Most men insure their lives when they marry." + +"Yes, but this is quite out of the common. At four offices, and +heavily. It filtered to me through one of the clerks at the office. He +said it was all Paget's doing." + +"What a villain that clerk must be to let out family secrets," +responded Power. "I don't believe there's anything in it, Exham. Ah, +here comes the young ladies. Yes, Mrs. Johnstone, I should like to go +for a drive very much." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +Some people concern themselves vey much with the mysteries of life, +others take what good things fall into their way without question or +wonder. These latter folk are not of a speculating or strongly +reasoning turn; if sorrow arrives they accept it as wise, painful, +inevitable--if joy visits them they rejoice, but with simplicity. They +are the people who are naturally endowed with faith--faith first of all +in a guiding providence, which as a rule is accompanied by a faith in +their fellow men. The world is kind to such individuals, for the world +is very fond of giving what is expected of it--to one hate and +distrust, to another open-handed benevolence and cordiality. People so +endowed are usually fortunate, and of them it may be said, that it was +good for them to be born. + +All people are not so constituted--there is such a thing as a noble +discontent, and the souls that in the end often attain to the highest, +have nearly suffered shipwreck, have spent with St. Paul a day and a +night in the deep--being saved in the end with a great +deliverance--they have often on the road been all but lost. Such people +often sin very deeply--temptation assails them in the most subtle +forms, many of them go down really into the deep, and are never in this +life heard of again--they are spoken of as "lost," utterly lost, and +their names are held up to others as terrible warnings, as examples to +be shunned, as reprobates to be spoken of with bated breath. + +It may be that some of these so-called lost souls will appear as +victors in another state; having gone into the lowest depths of all +they may also attain to the highest heights; this, however, is a +mystery which no one can fathom. + +Gerald Wyndham was one of the men of whom no one could quite say it was +good for him to have been born. His nature was not very easily read, +and even his favorite sister Lilias did not quite know him. From his +earliest days he was so far unfortunate as never to be able to take +things easily; even in his childhood this characteristic marked him. +Sorrows with Gerald were never trivial; when he was six years old he +became seriously ill because a pet canary died. He would not talk of +his trouble, nor wail for his pet like an ordinary child, but sat +apart, and refused to eat, and only his mother at last could draw him +away from his grief, and show him it was unmanly to be rebellious. + +His joys were as intense as his woes--he was an intense child in every +sense of the word; eager, enthusiastic, with many noble impulses. All +might have gone well with him but for a rather strange accompaniment to +his special character; he was as reserved as most such boys would be +open. It was only by the changing expression of his eyes that on many +occasions people knew whether a certain proposition would plunge him in +the depths of woe or raise him to the heights of joy. He was innately +very unselfish, and this characteristic must have been most strongly +marked in him, for his father and his mother and his seven sisters did +their utmost to make him the reverse. Lilias said afterwards that they +failed ignobly. Gerald would never see it, she would say. Talk of +easy-chairs--he would stand all the evening rather than take one until +every other soul in the room was comfortably provided. Talk of the best +in anything,--you might give it to Gerald, but in five minutes he would +have given it away to the person who wanted it least. It was +aggravating beyond words, Lilias Wyndham often exclaimed, but before +you could even attempt to make old Gerry decently comfortable you had +to attend to the wants of even the cats and dogs. + +Wyndham carrying all his peculiarities with him went to school and then +to Cambridge. He was liked in both places, and was clever enough to win +distinction, but for the same characteristic which often caused him at +the last moment to fail, because he thought another man should win the +honor, or another schoolboy the prize. + +His mother wished him to take holy orders, and although he had no very +strong leaning in that direction he expressed himself satisfied with +her choice, and decided for the first few years of his life as deacon +and priest to help his father at the dear old parish of +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. + +Then came his meeting with Valentine Paget, the complete upheaval of +every idea, the revolution which shook his nature to its depths. His +hour had come, and he took the malady of young love--first, earnest, +passionate love--as anyone who knew him thoroughly, and scarcely anyone +did know the real Wyndham, might have expected. + +One pair of eyes, however, looked at this speaking face, and one keen +mental vision pierced down into the depths of an earnest and chivalrous +soul. Mortimer Paget had been long looking for a man like Wyndham. It +was not a very difficult matter to make such a lad his victim, hence +his story became one of the most sorrowful that could be written, as +far as this life is concerned. Had his mother, who was now in her grave +for over seven years, known what fate lay before this bright beautiful +boy of hers, she would have cursed the day of his birth. Fortunately +for mothers, and sisters too, the future lies in darkness, for +knowledge in such cases would make daily life unendurable. + +Valentine and her husband extended their wedding tour considerably over +the original month. They often wrote home, and nothing could exceed +the cheerfulness of the letters which Mr. Paget read with anxiety and +absorbing interest--the rectory folks with all the interest minus the +anxiety. Valentine frankly declared that she had never been so happy in +her life, and it was at last, at her father's express request, almost +command, that the young couple consented to take up their abode in +Queen's Gate early in the November which followed their wedding. They +spent a fortnight first at the old rectory, where Valentine appeared in +an altogether new character, and commenced her career by swearing an +eternal friendship with Augusta. She was in almost wild spirits, and +they played pranks together, and went everywhere arm-in-arm, +accompanied by the entire bevy of little sisters. + +Lilias and Marjory began by being rather scandalized, but ended by +thoroughly appreciating the arrangement, as it left them free to +monopolize Gerald, who on this occasion seemed to have quite recovered +his normal spirits. He was neither depressed nor particularly exultant, +he did not talk a great deal either about himself or his wife, but was +full of the most delighted interest in his father's and sisters' +concerns. The new curate, Mr. Carr, was now in full force, and Gerald +and he found a great deal to say to one another. The days were those +delicious ones of late autumn, when nature quiet and exhausted, as she +is after her time of flower and fruit, is in her most soothing mood. +The family at the rectory were never indoors until the shades of night +drove them into the long, low, picturesque, untidy drawing-room. + +Then Gerald sang with his sisters--they had all sweet voices, and his +was a pure and very sympathetic tenor. Valentine's songs were not the +same as those culled from old volumes of ballads, and selected from the +musical mothers' and grandmothers' store, which the rectory folk +delighted in. Hers were drawing-room melodies of the present day, +fashionable, but short-lived. + +The first night the young bride was silent, for even Augusta had left +her to join the singers round the piano. Gerald was playing an +accompaniment for his sisters, and the rector, standing in the back +ground, joined the swell of harmony with his rich bass notes. Valentine +and Carr, who was also in the room, were the silent and only listeners. +Valentine wore a soft white dress, her bright wavy locks of golden hair +were a little roughened, and her starry eyes were fixed on her husband. +Carr, who looked almost monastic in his clerical dress, was gazing at +her--her lips were partly open, she kept gentle time to the music with +her little hand. A very spirited glee was in full tide, when there came +a horrid discordant crash on the piano--everyone stopped singing, and +Gerald, very white, went up to Val, and took her arm. + +"Come over here and join us," he said almost roughly. + +"But I don't know any of that music, Gerald, and it is so delicious to +listen." + +"Folly," responded her husband. "It looks absurd to see two people +gaping at one. I beg your pardon, Carr--I am positively sensitive, +abnormally so, on the subject of being stared at. Girls, shall we have +a round game? I will teach Val some of Bishop's melodies to-morrow +morning." + +"I am going home," said Carr, quietly. "I did not know that anyone was +looking at you except your wife. Wyndham. Good-night?" + +It was an uncomfortable little scene, and even the innocent, +unsophisticated rectory girls felt embarrassed without knowing why. +Marjory almost blamed Gerald afterwards, and would have done so +roundly, but Lilias would not listen to her. + +At the next night's concert, Valentine sang almost as sweetly as the +others, but Carr did not come back to the rectory for a couple of +days. + +"I evidently acted like a brute, and must have appeared one," said +Gerald to himself. "But God alone knows what all this means to me." + +It was a small jar, the only one in that happy fortnight, when the +girls seemed to have quite got their brother back, and to have found a +new sister in pretty, bright Valentine. + +It was the second of November when the bride and bridegroom appeared at +a big dinner party made in their honor at the house in Queen's Gate. + +All her friends congratulated Valentine on her improved looks, and told +Wyndham frankly that matrimony had made a new man of him. He was +certainly bright and pleasant, and took his part quite naturally as the +son of the house. No one could detect the shadow of a care on his face, +and as to Val, she sat almost in her father's pocket, scarcely turning +her bright eyes away from his face. + +"I always thought that dear Mr. Paget the best and noblest and most +Christian of men," remarked a certain Lady Valery to her daughter as +they drove home that evening. "I am now more convinced of the truth of +my views than ever." + +"Why so, mother?" asked her daughter. + +"My dear, can you not see for yourself? He gave that girl of his--that +beautiful girl, with all her fortune--to a young man with neither +position nor money, simply and entirely because she fell in love with +him. Was there ever anything more disinterested? Yes, my dear, talk to +me of every Christian virtue embodied, and I shall invariably mention +my old friend, Mortimer Paget." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +"Valentine," said her husband, as they stood together by the fire in +their bedroom that night, "I have a great favor to ask of you." + +"Yes, Gerald--a favor! I like to grant favors. Is it that I must wear +that soft white dress you like so much to-morrow evening? Or that I +must sing no songs but the rectory songs for father's visitors in the +drawing-room. How solemn you look, Gerald. What is the favor?" + +Gerald's face did look careworn. The easy light-hearted expression +which had characterized it downstairs had left him. When Valentine laid +her hand lovingly on his shoulder, he slipped his arm round her waist, +however, and drew her fondly to his side. + +"Val, the favor is this," he said. "You can do anything you like with +your father. I want you to persuade him to let us live in a little +house of our own for a time, until, say next summer." + +Valentine sprang away from Gerald's encircling arm. + +"I won't ask that favor," she said, her eyes flashing. "It is mean of +you, Gerald. I married you on condition that I should live with my +father." + +"Very well, dear, if you feel it like that, we won't say anything more +about it. It is not of real consequence." + +Gerald took a letter out of his pocket, and opening the envelope began +leisurely to read its contents. Valentine still, however, felt ruffled +and annoyed. + +"It is so queer of you to make such a request," she said. "I wonder +what father would say. He would think I had taken leave of my senses, +and just now too when I have been away from him for months. And when +it is such a joy, such a deep, deep joy, to be with him again." + +"It is of no consequence, darling. I am sorry I mentioned it. See, +Valentine, this letter is from a great friend of mine, a Mrs. +Price--she wants to call on you; she is coming to-morrow. You will be +at home in the afternoon, will you not?" + +Valentine nodded. + +"I will be in," she said. Then she added, her eyes filling with +tears--"You don't really want to take me away from my father, Gerald?" + +"I did wish to do so, dear, but we need not think of it again. The one +and only object of my life is to make you happy, Val. Now go to bed, +and to sleep, dearest. I am going downstairs to have a smoke." + +The next morning, very much to her surprise, Mr. Paget called his +daughter into his study, and made the same proposition to her which +Gerald had made the night before. + +"I must not be a selfish old man, Val," he said. "And I think it is +best for young married folks to live alone. I know how you love me, my +child, and I will promise to pay you a daily visit. Or at least when +you don't come to me, I will look you up. But all things considered, it +is best for your husband and you to have your own house. Why, what is +it, Valentine, you look quite queer, child." + +"This is Gerald's doing," said Valentine--her face had a white set +look--never before had her father seen this expression on it. "No, +father, I will not leave you; I refuse to do so; it is breaking our +compact; it is unfair." + +She went up to him, and put her arms round his neck, and again her +golden locks touched his silvered head, and her soft cheek pressed his. + +"Father darling, you won't break your own Val's heart--you couldn't; it +would be telling a lie. I won't live away from you--I won't, so +there." + +Just at this moment Wyndham entered the room. + +"What is it, sir?" he said, almost fiercely. "What are you doing with +Val? Why, she is crying. What have you been saying to her?" + +"My father said nothing," answered Valentine for him. "How dare you +speak to my father in that tone? It is you. Gerald; you have been mean +and shabby. You went to my father to try to get him on your side--to +try and get him--to try and get him to aid you in going away--to live +in another house. Oh, it was a mean, cowardly thing to do, but you +shan't have your way, for I'm not going; only I'm ashamed of you, +Gerald, I'm ashamed of you." + +Here Valentine burst into a tempest of angry, girlish tears. + +"Don't be silly, Val," said her husband, in a quiet voice. "I said +nothing about this to Mr. Paget. I wished for it, but as I told you +last night, when you disapproved, I gave it up. I don't tell lies. Will +you explain to Valentine, please, sir, that I'm guiltless of anything +mean, or, as she expresses it, shabby, in this matter." + +"Of course, Wyndham--of course, you are," said Paget. "My dear little +Val, what a goose you have made of yourself. Now run away, Wyndham, +there's a good fellow, and I'll soothe her down. You might as well go +to the office for me. Ask Helps for my private letters, and bring them +back with you. Now, Valentine, you and I are going to have a drive +together. Good-bye, Wyndham." + +Wyndham slowly left the room--Valentine's head was still on her +father's shoulder--as her husband went away he looked back at her, but +she did not return his glance. + +"The old man is right," he soliloquized bitterly. "I have not a chance +of winning her heart. No doubt under the circumstances this is the only +thing to be desired, and yet it very nearly maddens me." + +Wyndham did not return to Queen's Gate until quite late; he had only +time to run up to his room and change his dress hastily for dinner. +Valentine had already gone downstairs, and he sighed heavily as he +noticed this, or he felt that unwittingly he had managed to hurt her in +her tenderest feelings that morning. + +"If there is much of this sort of thing," he said to himself. "I shall +not be so sorry when the year is up. When once the plunge is over I may +come up another man, and anything is better than perpetually standing +on the brink." Yet half an hour later Wyndham had completely changed +his mind, for when he entered the drawing-room, a girlish figure jumped +up at once out of an easy-chair, and ran to meet him, and Valentine's +arms were flung about his neck and several of her sweetest kisses +printed on his lips. + +"Forgive me for being cross this morning, dear old darling. Father has +made me see everything in quite a new light, and has shown me that I +acted quite like a little fiend, and that you are very nearly the best +of men. And do you know, Gerry, he wishes us so much to live alone, and +thinks it the only right and proper thing to do, that I have given in, +and I quite agree with him, quite. And we have almost taken the +sweetest, darlingest little bijou residence in Park-lane that you can +imagine. It is like a doll's house compared to this, but so exquisite, +and furnished with such taste. It will feel like playing in a +baby-house all day long, and I am almost in love with it already. You +must come with me and see it the first thing in the morning. Gerry, for +if we both like it, father will arrange at once with the agent, and +then, do you know the very first thing I mean to do for you, Gerry? Oh, +you need not guess, I'll tell you. Lilias shall come up to spend the +winter with us. Oh, you need not say a word. I'm not jealous, but I can +see how you idolize Lilias, Gerry." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +At the end of a week the Wyndhams were settled in their new home, and +Valentine began her duties as wife and housekeeper in earnest. She, +too, was more or less impulsive, and beginning by hating the idea she +ended by adopting it with enthusiasm. After all it was her father's +plan, not Gerald's, and that in her heart of hearts made all the +difference. + +For the first time in her life, Valentine had more to get through than +she could well accomplish. Her days, therefore, just now were one long +delight to her, and even Gerald felt himself more or less infected by +her high spirits. It was pretty to see her girlish efforts at +housekeeping, and even her failures became subjects of good-humored +merriment. Mr. Paget came over every day to see her, but he generally +chose the hours when her husband was absent, and Wyndham and his young +wife were in consequence able to spend many happy evenings alone. + +By-and-bye this girlish and thoughtless wife was to look back on these +evenings, and wonder with vain sighs of unavailing regret if life could +ever again bring her back such sweetness. Now she enjoyed them +unthinkingly, for her time for wakening had not come. + +When the young couple were quite settled in their own establishment, +Lilias Wyndham came up from the country to spend a week with them. +Nothing would induce her to stay longer away from home. Although +Valentine pleaded and coaxed, and even Gerald added a word or two of +entreaty, she was quite firm. + +"No," she said, "nothing would make me become the obnoxious +sister-in-law, about whom so much has been written in all the story +books I have ever read." + +"Oh, Lilias, you darling, as if you could!" exclaimed Val, flying at +her and kissing her. + +"Oh, yes, my dear, I could," calmly responded Lilly--"and I may just as +well warn you at once that my ways are not your ways in a great many +particulars, and that you'd find that out if I lived too long with you. +No, I'm going home to-morrow--to my own life, and you and Gerald must +live yours without me. I am ready to come, if ever either of you want +me, but just now no one does that as much as Marjory and my father." + +Lilias returned to Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and Valentine for some days +continued to talk of her with enthusiasm, and to quote her name on all +possible occasions. + +"Lilias says that I'll never make a good housekeeper, unless I bring my +wants into a fixed allowance, Gerald. She says I ought to know what I +have got to spend each week, and not to exceed it, whether it is a +large or small sum. She says that's what she and Marjory always do. +About how much do you think I ought to spend a week on housekeeping, +Gerry?" + +"I don't know, darling. I have not the most remote idea." + +"But how much have we to spend altogether? We are very rich, are we +not?" + +"No, Valentine, we are very poor. In fact we have got nothing at all." + +"Why, what a crease has come between your brows; let me smooth it +out--there, now you look much nicer. You have got a look of Lilias, +only your eyes are not so dark. Gerald, I think Lilias so pretty. I +think she is the very sweetest girl I ever met. But what do you mean by +saying we are poor? Of course we are not poor. We would not live in a +house like this, and have such jolly, cosy, little dinners if we were +poor. Why, I know that champagne that we have a tiny bottle of every +evening is really most costly. I thought poor people lived in attics, +and ate bread and American cheese. What do you mean by being poor, +Gerald?" + +"Only that we have nothing of our own, dearest; we depend on your +father for everything." + +"You speak in quite a bitter tone. It is sweet to depend on my father. +But doesn't he give us an allowance?" + +"No, Valentine, I just take him all the bills, and he pays them." + +"Oh, I don't like that plan. I think it is much more important and +interesting to pay one's own bills, and I can never learn to be a +housekeeper if I don't understand the value of money. I'll speak to +father about this when he comes to-morrow. I'll ask him to give me an +allowance." + +"I wouldn't," replied Gerald. He spoke lazily, and yawned as he uttered +the words. + +"There's no use in taking up things that one must leave off again," he +added, somewhat enigmatically. Then he opened a copy of Browning which +lay near, and forgot Valentine and her troubles, at least she thought +he forgot her. + +She looked at him for a moment, with a half-pleased, half-puzzled +expression coming into her face. + +"He is very handsome and interesting," she murmured under her breath. +"I like him, I certainly do like him, not as well as my father of +course--I'm not sorry I married him now. I like him quite as well as I +could ever have cared for the other man--the man who wore white +flannels and had a determined voice, and now has been turned into a +dreadful prosy curate. Yes, I do like Gerald. He perplexes me a good +deal, but that is interesting. He is mysterious, and that is +captivating--yes, yes--yes. Now, what did he mean by that queer remark +about my housekeeping--'that it wasn't worth while?' I hope he's not +superstitious--if anything could be worth while it would be well for a +young girl like me to learn something useful and definite. I'll ask him +what he means." + +She drew a footstool to her husband's side, and taking one of his hands +laid her cheek against it. Wyndham dropped his book and smiled down at +her. + +"Gerry, do you believe in omens?" she asked. + +Gerald gave a slight start. Circumstances inclined him to +superstition--then he laughed. He must not encourage his wife in any +such folly. + +"I don't quite understand you, my love," he replied. + +"Only you said it was not worth my while to learn to housekeep. Why do +you say that? I am very young, you are young. If we are to go on always +together, I ought to become wise and sensible. I ought to have +knowledge. What do you mean, Gerald? Have you had an omen? Do you think +you will die? Or perhaps that I shall die? I should not at all like it. +I hope--I trust--no token of death has been sent to you about me." + +"None, my very dearest, none. I see before you a life of--of peace. +Peace and plenty--and--and--honor--a good life, Valentine, a guarded +life." + +"How white you are, Gerald. And why do you say 'you' all the time? The +life, the peaceful life, and it sounds rather dull, is for us both, +isn't it?" + +"I don't know--I can't say. You wouldn't care, would you, Val--I +mean--I mean----" + +"What?" + +Valentine had risen, her arms were thrown round Gerald's neck. + +"Are you trying to tell me that I could be happy now without you?" she +whispered. "Then I couldn't, darling. I don't mind telling you I +couldn't. I--I----" + +"What, Val, what?" + +"I like you, Gerald. Yes, I know it--I do like you--much." + +It ought to have been the most dreadful sound to him, and yet it +wasn't. Wyndham strained his wife to his heart. Then he raised his +eyes, and with a start Valentine and he stepped asunder. + +Mr. Paget had come into the room. He had come in softly, and he must +have heard Valentine's words, and seen that close embrace. + +With a glad cry the girl flew to his side, but when he kissed her his +lips trembled, he sank down on the nearest chair like a man who had +received a great shock. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +"I'm afraid I can't help it, sir," said Wyndham. + +Mr. Paget and his son-in-law were standing together in the very +comfortable private room before alluded to in the office of the former. + +Wyndham was standing with his back to the mantel-piece; Valentine's +lovely picture was over his head. Her eyes, which were almost dancing +with life, seemed to have something mocking in them to Mr. Paget, as he +encountered their gaze now. As eyes will in a picture, they followed +him wherever he moved. He was restless and ill at ease, and he wished +either that the picture might be removed, or that he could take up +Wyndham's position with his back to it. + +"I tell you," he said, in a voice that betrayed his perturbation, "that +you must help it. It's a clear breaking of contract to do otherwise." + +"You see," said Wyndham, with a slow smile, "you under-rated my +attractions. I was not the man for your purpose after all." + +"Sit down for God's sake, Wyndham. Don't stand there looking so +provokingly indifferent. One would think the whole matter was nothing +to you." + +"I am not sure that it is much; that is, I am not at all sure that I +shall not take my full meed of pleasure out of the short time allotted +to me." + +"Sit down, take that chair, no, not that one--that--ah, that's better. +Valentine's eyes are positively uncomfortable the way they pursue me +this evening. Wyndham, you must feel for me--you must see that it will +be a perfectly awful thing if my--my child loses her heart to you." + +"Well, Mr. Paget, you can judge for yourself how matters stand. I--I +cannot quite agree with you about what you fear being a catastrophe." + +"You must be mad, Wyndham--you must either be mad, or you mean to cheat +me after all." + +"No, I don't. I have a certain amount of honor left--not much, or I +shouldn't have lent myself to this, but the rag remaining is at your +service. Seriously now, I don't think you have grave cause for alarm. +Valentine is affectionate, but I am not to her as you are." + +"You are growing dearer to her every day. I am not blind, I have +watched her face. She follows you with her eyes--when you don't eat she +is anxious, when you look dismal--you have an infernally dismal face at +times, Wyndham--she is puzzled. It wasn't only what I saw last night. +Valentine is waking up. It was in the contract that she was not to wake +up. I gave you a child for your wife. She was to remain a child +when----" + +"When she became my widow," Wyndham answered calmly. + +"Yes. My God, it is awful to think of it. We must go in, we daren't +turn back, and she may suffer, she may suffer horribly, she has a great +heart--a deep heart. It is playing with edged tools to make it live." + +"Can't you shorten the time of probation?" asked Wyndham. + +"I wish to heaven I could, but I am powerless. Wyndham, my good friend, +my son--something must be done." + +"Don't call me your son," said the younger man, rising and shaking +himself. "I have a father who besides you is--there, I won't name what +I think of you. I have a mother--through your machinations I shall +never see her face any more. Don't call me your son. You are very wise, +you have the wisdom of a devil, but even you can overreach yourself. +You thought you had found everything you needed, when you found +me--the weak young fool, the despairing idiotic lover. Poor? Yes, +cursedly poor, and with a certain sense of generosity, but nothing at +all in myself to win the heart of a beautiful young girl. You should +have gone down to Jewsbury-on-the-Wold for a little, before you summed +up your estimate of my character, for the one thing I have always found +lying at my feet is--love. Even the cats and dogs loved me--those to +whom I gave nothing regarded me with affection. Alack--and alas--my +wife only follows the universal example." + +"But it must be stopped, Wyndham. You cannot fail to see that it must +be stopped. Can you not help me--can you not devise some plan?" + +Wyndham dropped his head on his hands. + +"Hasten the crisis," he said. "I want the plunge over; hasten it." + +There came a tap at the room door. Mr. Paget drew back the curtain +which stood before it, slipped the bolts, and opened it. + +"Ah, I guessed you were here!" said Valentine's gay voice; "yes, and +Gerald too. This is delightful," added she, as she stepped into the +room. + +"What is it, Val?" asked her father. "I was busy--I was talking to your +husband. I am very much occupied this afternoon. I forgot it was the +day you generally called for me. No, I'm afraid I can't go with you, my +pet." + +Valentine was looking radiant in winter furs. + +"I'll go with Gerald, then," she said. "He's not too busy." + +She smiled at him. + +"No, my dear, I'll go with you," said the younger man. "I don't think, +sir," he added, turning round, with a desperately white but smiling +face, "that we can advance business much by prolonging this interview, +and if you have no objection, I should like to take a drive with my +wife as she has called." + +Valentine instinctively felt that these smoothly spoken words were +meant to hide something. She glanced from the face of one man to +another; then she went up to her father and linked her hand in his arm. + +"Come, too, daddy," she said. "You used always to be able to make +horrid business wait upon your own Valentine's pleasure." + +Mr. Paget hesitated for a moment. Then he stooped and lightly kissed +his daughter's blooming cheek. + +"Go with your husband, dear," he said, gently. "I am really busy, and +we shall meet at dinner time." + +"Yes, we are to dine with you to-night--I've a most important request +to make after dinner. You know what it is, Gerry. Won't father be +electrified? Promise beforehand that you'll grant it, dad." + +"Yes, my child, yes. Now run away both of you. I am really much +occupied." + +Valentine and her husband disappeared. Mr. Paget shut and locked the +door behind them--he drew the velvet curtains to insure perfect +privacy. Then he sank down in his easy-chair to indulge in anxious +meditation. + +He thought some of those hard thoughts, some of those abstruse, +worrying, almost despairing thoughts, which add years to a man's life. + +As he thought the mask dropped from his handsome face; he looked old +and wicked. + +After about a quarter-of-an-hour of these meditations, he moved +slightly and touched an electric bell in the wall. His signal was +answered in about a minute by a tap at the room door. He slipped the +bolts again, and admitted his confidential clerk, Helps. + +"Sit down, Helps. Yes, bolt the door, quite right. Now, sit down. +Helps, I am worried." + +"I'm sorry to observe it, sir," said Helps. "Worries is nat'ral, but +not agreeable. They come to the good and they come to the bad alike; +worries is like the sun--they shines upon all." + +"A particularly agreeable kind of glare they make," responded Mr. +Paget, testily. "Your similes are remarkable for their aptitude, Helps. +Now, have the goodness to confine yourself to briefly replying to my +questions. Has there been any news from India since last week?" + +"Nothing fresh, sir." + +"No sign of stir; no awakening of interest--of--of--suspicion?" + +"Not yet, sir. It isn't to be expected, is it?" + +"I suppose not. Sometimes I get impatient, Helps." + +"You needn't now, sir. Your train is, so to speak, laid. Any moment you +can apply the match. Any moment, Mr. Paget. Sometimes, if you'll excuse +me for speaking of that same, I have a heart in my bosom that pities +the victim. You shouldn't have done it from among the clergy. Mr. +Paget, and him an only son, too." + +"Hush, it's done. There is no help now. Helps, you are the only soul in +the world who knows everything. Helps, there may be two victims." + +Helps had a sallow face. It grew sickly now. + +"I don't like it," he muttered. "I never did approve of meddling with +the clergy--he was meant for the Church, and them is the Lord's +anointed." + +"Don't talk so much," thundered Mr. Paget. "I tell you there are two +victims--and one of them is my child. She is falling in love with her +husband. It is true--it is awful. It must be prevented. Helps, you and +I have got to prevent it." + +Helps sat perfectly still. His eyes were lowered; they were following +the patterns of the carpet. He moved his lips softly. + +"It must be prevented," said Mr. Paget. "Why do you sit like that? Will +you help me, or will you not?" + +Helps raised his greeny-blue eyes with great deliberation. + +"I don't know that I will help you, Mr. Paget," he replied; and then he +lowered them again. + +"You won't help me? You don't know what you are saying, Helps. Did you +understand my words? I told you that my daughter was falling in love +with that scamp Wyndham." + +"He ain't a scamp," replied the clerk. "He's in the conspiracy, poor +lad, he's the victim of the conspiracy, but he's no scamp. Now I never +liked it. I may as well own to you, Mr. Paget, that I never liked your +meddling with the clergy. I said, from the first, as no good would come +of it. It's my opinion, sir--" here Helps rose, and raising one thin +hand shook it feebly at his employer, "it's my opinion as the Lord is +agen you--agen us both for that matter. We can't do nothing if He is, +you know. I had a dream last night--I didn't like the dream, it was a +hominous dream. I didn't like your scheme, Mr. Paget, and I don't think +I'll help you more'n I have done." + +"Oh, you don't? You are a wicked old scoundrel. You think you can have +things all your own way. You are a thief. You know the kind of +accommodation thieves get when their follies get found out. Of course, +it's inexpensive, but it's scarcely agreeable." + +Helps smiled slightly. + +"No one could lock me up but you, and you wouldn't dare," he replied. + +These words seemed somehow or other to have a very calming effect on +Mr. Paget. He did not speak for a full moment, then he said quietly-- + +"We won't go into painful scenes of the past, Helps. Yes; we have both +committed folly, and must stand or fall together. We have both got only +daughters--it is our life's work to shield them from dishonor, to guard +them from pain. Suppose, Helps, suppose your Esther was in the +position of my child? Suppose she was learning to love her husband, and +you knew what that husband had before him, how would you feel, Helps? +Put yourself in my place, and tell me how you'd feel." + +"It 'ud all turn on one point," said Helps. "Whether I loved the girl +or myself most. Ef I saw that the girl was going deep in love with her +husband--deep, mind you--mortal deep--so I was nothing at all to her +beside him, why then, maybe, I'd save the young man for her sake, and +go under myself. I might do that, it 'ud depend on how much I loved." + +"Nonsense; you would bring dishonor and ruin on her. How could she ever +hold up her head again?" + +"Maybe he'd comfort her through it. There's no saying. Love, deep love, +mind you, does wonders." + +Mr. Paget began to pace up and down the room. + +"You are the greatest old fool I ever came across," he said. "Now, mind +you, your sentiments with regard to your low-born daughter are nothing +at all to me. _Noblesse oblige_ doesn't come into the case with you as +it does with my child. Dishonor shall never touch her; it would kill +her. She must be guarded against it. Listen, Helps. We have talked +folly and sentiment enough. Now to business. That young man must not +rise in my daughter's esteem. There is such a thing--listen, Helps, +come close--such a thing as blackening a man's character. You think it +over--you're a crafty old dog. Go home and look at Esther, and think it +over. God bless me, I'd not an idea how late it was. Here's a five +pound note for your pretty girl, Helps. Now go home and think it +over." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +Helps buttoned on his great coat, said a few words to one of the +clerks, and stepped out into the foggy night. He hailed a passing +omnibus, and in the course of half-an-hour found himself fumbling with +his latch-key in the door of a neat little house, which, however, was +at the same moment thrown wide open from within, and a tall girl with a +pale face, clear grey eyes, and a quantity of dark hair coiled about +her head stood before him. + +"It's father, Cherry," she said to a little cousin who popped round the +corner. "Put the sausages on, and dish up the potatoes. Now don't be +awkward. I'm glad you're in good time, father--here, give us a kiss. Do +I look nice in this dress? I made it all myself. Here, come up to the +gas, and have a good look at it. How does it fit? Neat, eh?" + +The dress was a dark green velveteen, made without attempt at ornament, +but fitting the slim and lissom figure like a glove. + +"It's neat, but plain, surely," replied Helps, looking puzzled, proud, +and at the same time dissatisfied. "A bit more color now,--more +flouncing--Why, what's the matter, Essie? How you do frown, my girl." + +"Come in out of the cold, father. Oh, no, not the kitchen, I've ordered +supper to be laid in the dining-room. Well, perhaps the room it does +smoke, but that will soon clear off. Now, father, I want to ask you an +important question. Do I look like a lady in this dress?" + +She held herself very erect, the pure outline of her grand figure was +shown to the best advantage, her massive head had a queenly pose, and +the delicate purity of her complexion heightened the effect. Her accent +was wrong, her words betrayed her--could she have become dumb, she +might have passed for a princess. + +"Do I look like a lady?" she repeated. + +Little Helps stepped back a pace or two--he was puzzled and annoyed. + +"You look all right, Essie," he said. "A lady? Oh, well--but you ain't +a lady, my girl. Look here, Esther, this room is mortal cold--I'd a +sight rather have my supper cosy in the kitchen." + +"You can't then, father. You must take up with the genteel ways. After +supper we're going into the drawing-room, and I'll play to you on the +pianner, pa; I have been practising all day. Perhaps, too, we'll have +company--there's no saying." + +"Company?" repeated Helps. "Who--what?" + +"Oh, I'm not going to say, maybe he won't come. I met him in the +park--I was skating with the Johnsons, and I fell, and he picked me up. +I might have been hurt but for him. Then he heard George Johnson +calling me by my name, and it turned out that he knew you. Oh, wasn't +he a swell, and didn't he look it! And hadn't he a name worth boasting +of! 'Mr. Gerald Wyndham.' Why, what's the matter, father? He said that +he had often promised to look you up some evening, to bring you some +stupid book or other. He said maybe he would come to-night. That's why +I had the drawing-room and dining-room all done up. He said perhaps +he'd call, and took off his hat most refined. I took an awful fancy to +him--his ways was so aspiring. He said he might come to-night, but he +wasn't sure. I didn't know you had young men like that at your office, +father. And what is the matter?--why, you're quite white!" + +"I never talk of what goes on at the place of business," replied +Helps, in quite a brusque voice for him. "And as to that young gent, +Esther, he's our Miss Valentine's husband." + +"Married? Oh, lor, he didn't look it! And who is 'our Miss Valentine?' +if I may be bold enough to ask." + +"Mr. Paget's daughter. I said I didn't mention matters connected with +the place of business." + +"You always were precious close, father. But you're a dear, good, old +dad, all the same, and Cherry and I would sooner die than have you +scolded about anything. Cherry, my fine beau's a married man--pity, +aint it? I thought maybe he'd suit me." + +"Then you needn't have lit the fire in the drawing-room," answered +Cherry, a very practical and stoutly-built little maid of fifteen. + +"Maybe I needn't, but there's no harm done. I suppose I can talk to +him, even if he is married. Won't I draw him out about Miss Valentine, +and tell him how father always kept her a secret from us." + +"Supper's ready, uncle," said Cherry. "Oh, bother that fire! It's quite +out. Don't the sausages smell good, uncle? I cooked them myself." + +The three sat down to the table, poor Helps shivering not a little, and +casting more than one regretful glance at the warm and cosy kitchen. He +was feeling depressed for more than one reason this evening, and a +sense of dismay stole over him at Esther's having accidentally made +Wyndham's acquaintance. + +"It's a bad omen," he said, under his breath, "and Esther's that +contrary, and so taken up with making a lady of herself, and she's +beautiful as a picter, except when she talks folly. + +"I liked that young man from the first," he murmured. "I took, so to +speak, a fancy to him, and warned him, and I quoted scripter to him. +All to no good. The glint of a gel's eye was too much for him, he sold +himself for her--body and soul he sold himself for her. Still, I went +on keeping up a fancy for him, and I axed him to look me up some +evening, and have a pipe--he's wonderful on words too--he can derivate +almost as many as I can. I'm sorry now I asked him--Esther's that +wilful, and as beautiful as a picter. She talks too much to young men +that's above her. She's set on being a lady. Mr. Wyndham's married, of +course, but Esther wouldn't think nothing of trying to flirt with him +for all that." + +"Esther," he said, suddenly, raising his deep-set eyes, and fixing them +on his daughter, "ef the young man calls, it's to see me, mind +you--he's a married man, and he has got the most beautiful wife in the +world, and he loves her. My word, I never heard tell of nobody loving +their wife so much!" + +Esther's big grey eyes opened wide. + +"How you look at me, dad," she said. "One would think I wanted to steal +Mr. Wyndham from his wife! I'm glad he loves her, it's romantic, it +pleases me." + +"And there's his ring at the door," suddenly exclaimed Cherry. "Esther +was right to prepare the drawing-room. I'm glad he have come. I like to +look at handsome gents, particular when they are in love." + +Gerald's arrival was accidental after all. He and his wife were dining +in Queen's Gate, and after dinner he remembered his adventure on the +ice, and told the story in an amusing way. + +"A most beautiful girl, but with such an accent and manner," he said. +"And who do you think she turned out to be, sir?" he added, turning to +his father-in-law. "Why, your cracked clerk's daughter. She told me her +name was Esther Helps, and I found they were father and daughter." + +"Has old Helps got a daughter?" exclaimed Valentine. + +"How funny that I should never have known it. I have always been rather +fond of old Helps." + +"He has an only daughter, as I have an only daughter," replied Mr. +Paget. Valentine was sitting close to him; he put his arm around her +waist as he spoke. + +"How queer that I should never have known," continued Valentine. "And +her name is Esther? It is a pretty name. And you say that she is +handsome, Gerry? What is she like?" + +"Tall and pale, with an expressive face," replied Wyndham, lightly. +"She is lady-like, and even striking-looking until she opens her +lips--then----" he made an expressive grimace. + +"Poor girl, as if she could help that," replied Val. "She has never +been educated, you know. Her father is poor, and he can't give her +advantages. Does old Helps love his daughter very much, dad?" + +"I suppose so, Val. Yes, I think I may say I am sure he does." + +"I am so interested in only girls with fathers," continued Mrs. +Wyndham. "I wish I had seen Esther Helps. I hope you were kind to her, +Gerald." + +"I picked her up, dear, and gave her to her friends. By-the-way, I said +I'd call to see old Helps this evening. He has a passion for the +derivation of words, and I have Trench's book on the subject. Shall I +take Esther a message from you, Val?" + +"Yes, say something nice. I am not good at making up messages. Tell her +I am interested in her, and the more she loves her father, the greater +my interest must be. See, this is much better than any mere +message--take her this bunch of lilies--say I sent them. Now, Gerald, +is it likely I should be lonely? Father and I are going to have two +hours all to ourselves." + +But as Valentine said these light words, her hand lingered on her +husband's shoulder, and her full brown eyes rested on his face. +Something in their gaze made his heart throb. He put his arm round her +neck and kissed her forehead. + +"I shan't be two hours away," he said. + +He took up the flowers, put "Trench on Words" into his pocket, and went +out. + +Wyndham had a pleasant way with all people. His words, his manner, his +gentle courteous smile won for him hearts in all directions. He was +meant to be greatly beloved; he was born to win the most dangerous +popularity of all--that which brought to him blind and almost +unreasoning affection. + +He was received at No. 5 Acadia Terrace with enthusiasm. Esther and +Cherry were open-eyed in their admiration, and Helps, a little +sorrowful--somehow Helps if he wasn't cynical was always +sorrowful--felt proud of the visit. + +Gerald insisted on adjourning to the kitchen. He and Helps had a long +discussion on words--Cherry moved softly about, putting everything in +order--Esther sat silent and lovely, glancing up now and then at Gerald +from under her black eyelashes. Valentine's flowers lay in her lap. +They were dazzlingly white, and made an effective contrast to her dark +green dress. It was a peaceful little scene--nothing at all remarkable +about it. Gerald fell more contented than he had done for many a day. +Who would have thought that out of such innocent materials mischief of +the deadliest sort might be wrought to him and his. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +When Wyndham came back to Queen's Gate his wife met him with sparkling +eyes. + +"How much time can you give me to-morrow?" she said. "I want to go out +with you. I have been speaking to father, and he accedes to all our +wishes--he will give us an income. He says he thinks a thousand a year +will be enough. Oh, he is kind, and I feel so excited. Don't let us +drive, let us walk home, Gerry. I know the night is fine. I feel that +everything is bright just now, and you will come with me to-morrow, +won't you, Gerry? Father, could you spare Gerald from business +to-morrow? You know it is so important." + +Mr. Paget was standing a little in the shadow, his face was beaming, +his eyes smiling. When Valentine turned to him, he laid his hand +lightly on her shoulder. + +"You are an inconsistent little girl," he said. "You want to become a +business woman yourself. You want to be practical, and clever, and +managing, and yet you encourage that husband of yours to neglect his +work." + +Gerald flushed. + +"I don't neglect my work," he said. "My heavy work has never a chance +of being neglected, it is too crushing." + +Valentine looked up in alarm, but instantly Mr. Paget's smiling face +was turned to the young man, and his other hand touched his arm. + +"Your work to-morrow is to go with your wife," he said gently. "She +wants to shop--to spend--to learn saving by expenditure. You have to go +with her to give her the benefit of your experience. Look out for cheap +sales, my dear child--go to Whiteley's, and purchase what you don't +want, provided it is a remnant, and sold under cost price. Save by +learning, Val, and, Gerald, you help her to the best of your ability. +Now good-night, my children, good-night, both of you, bless you." + +"It almost seemed to me," said Valentine, as they walked home +together--it was a starry night and she clung affectionately to her +husband's arm--"it almost seemed to me that father was put out with +you, and you with him. He was so sweet while you were out, but although +he smiled all the time after you returned I don't think he was really +sweet, and you didn't speak nicely to him, Gerald, about the work I +mean. Is the work at the office very heavy. Gerald? You never spend +more than about two hours a day there." + +"The work is heavy, Val, and it will grow more so. I don't complain, +however--I have not the shadow of a right to complain. I am sorry I +spoke to your father so as to vex you, dearest----I won't do so again." + +"I want you to love him, Gerry; I want you to feel for him a little +bit, as I do, as if he were the first of men, you understand. Don't you +think you could try. I wish you would." + +"You see I have my own father, darling." + +"Oh yes, but really now--the rector is a nice old man, but, Gerry, if +you were to speak from your inmost heart, without any prejudice, you +know; if you could detach from your mind the fact that you are the son +of the rector, you would not compare them, Gerry, you could not." + +"As you say, Valentine, I could not. They stand on different pedestals. +Now let us change the subject. So you are the happy possessor of a +thousand a year." + +"We both possess that income, Gerry. Is not it sweet of father--he felt +for me at once. He said he was proud of me, that I was going to make a +capital wife--he said you were a lucky fellow, Gerry." + +"Yes, darling, so I am, so I am." + +"Then he spoke of a thousand a year to begin with. He mentioned a lot +more, but he said a thousand was an income on which I might begin to +learn to save. And he gave me a cheque for the first quarter to-night. +He said we had better open a banking account. As soon as we get in, I'm +going to give you the cheque, I'm afraid to keep it. Father said we +might open a separate account in his bank." + +"My father has always banked at the Westminster," said Gerald. "It +would suit me best to take the money there." + +They had reached the house by this time. Gerald opened the door with a +latch-key, and the two went into the pretty, cosy drawing-room. +Valentine threw off her white fur wrap, and sank down into an +easy-chair. Her dinner dress was white, and made in a very simple +girlish fashion--her hair, which was always short and curled in little +rings about her head and face, added to the extreme youth of her +appearance. She raised her eyes to her husband, who stood by the +mantel-piece. The expression she wore was that of a happy, excited, +half-spoiled child, a creature who had been somebody's darling from her +birth. This was the predominating expression of her face, and yet--and +yet--Gerald seemed to read something more in the gaze of the sweet eyes +to-night; a question was half coming into them, the dawn of a possible +awakening might even be discerned in them. + +"My darling," he said, suddenly coming up to her, putting his arm about +her, and kissing her with passion, "I love you better than my +life--better--better than my hope of heaven. Can you love me a little, +Valentine--just a little?" + +"I do love you, Gerald." But she spoke quietly, and without any +answering fire. + +His arms dropped, the enthusiasm went out of his face; he went back +again to his old position with his back to the fire. + +"What kind of girl is Esther Helps, Gerald?" + +"A beautiful girl." + +"As beautiful as I am?" + +"In her way quite as beautiful." + +"Why do you say 'in her way?' Beauty must always be beauty." + +"It has degrees, Esther Helps is not a lady." + +Valentine was silent for half a minute. + +"I should like to know her," she said then. "I wonder how much she +cares for old Helps." + +"Look here, Valentine, Esther Helps is not the least like you. I don't +know that she has any romantic attachment for that old man. She is a +very ordinary girl--a most commonplace person with just a beautiful +face." + +"How queerly you speak, Gerald. As if it were something strange for an +only daughter to be attached to her father." + +"The amount of attachment you feel, darling, is uncommon." + +"Is it? Well, I have got a very uncommon father." + +"My dear Valentine, God knows you have." + +Gerald sank down into a chair by the fire. He turned his face, dreary, +white and worn, to the blaze. Valentine detected no hidden sarcasm in +his tones. After a time she took the cheque out of her purse and handed +it to him. + +"Here, Gerry, you will put this into your bank to-morrow, won't you? We +will open an account in our joint names, won't we? And then we can +calculate how much we are to spend weekly and monthly. Oh, won't it be +interesting and exciting. So much for my clothes, so much for yours, so +much for servants, so much for food--we need not spend so much on food, +need we? So much for pleasures--I want to go to the theatre at least +twice a week--oh, we can manage it all and have something to spare. And +no debts, remember, Gerry--ready money will be our system. We'll go in +omnibuses, too, to save cabs--I shall love to feel that I am doing for +a penny what might cost a shilling. Gerald darling, do you know that +just in one way you have vexed my father a little?" + +"Vexed him--how, Valentine?" + +"He says it is very wrong of you to croak, and have gloomy +prognostications. You know you said it was not worth while for me to +learn to housekeep. Just as if you were going to die, or I were going +to die. Father was quite vexed when I told him. Now you look vexed, +Gerry. Really between such a husband and such a father, a poor girl may +sometimes feel puzzled. Well, have you nothing to say?" + +"I'm afraid I have nothing to say, Valentine." + +"Then you won't croak any more." + +"Not for you--I have never croaked for you." + +"Nor for yourself." + +"I cannot promise. Sometimes fits of depression come over me. There, +good-night, sweet. Go to bed. I am not sleepy. I shall read for a time. +Your future is all right, Valentine." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +"I don't like it," said Lilias. + +She was sitting in the sunny front parlor, the room which was known as +the children's room at the rectory. An open letter lay on her dark +winter dress; her sunny hair was piled up high on her shapely head, and +her eyes, wistful and questioning, were raised to Marjory's brisker, +brighter face, with a world of trouble in them. + +The snow lay thick outside, covering the flower beds and the grassy +lawn, and laying in piles against the low rectory windows. Marjory was +standing by a piled up fire, one of those perfect fires composed of +great knobs of sparkling coal and well dried logs of wood. She, too, +had on a dark dress, but it was nearly covered by a large holland apron +with a bib. Her sleeves were protected by cuffs of the same, on her +hands she wore chamois leather gloves with the tips cut off. She looked +all bright, and active, and sparkling, and round her on the table and +on the floor lay piles and bales of unbleached calico, of coarse red +flannel, of bright dark blue and crimson merino. In one of Marjory's +capable hands was a large pair of cutting-out scissors, and she paused, +holding this implement slightly open, to listen to Lilias' lugubrious +words. + +"If you must croak to-day," she said, "get it over quickly, and come +and help me. Twenty-four blue frocks and twenty-four red to be ready by +the time the girls come at four o'clock, besides the old women's +flannel and this unlimited supply of unbleached calico. If there is a +thing which ruffles my equanimity it is unbleached calico, it fluffs +so, and makes one so messy. Now, what do you want to say, Lilias?" + +"I'm troubled," said Lilias, "it's about Gerald. I've the queerest +feeling about him--three times lately I've dreamt--intangible dreams, +of course, but all dark and foreboding." + +"Is that a letter from Gerry in your lap, Lilias?" + +"No, it is from Val--a nice little letter, too, poor child. I am sure +she is doing her best to be a good wife to Gerald. Do you know that she +has taken up housekeeping in real earnest." + +"Does she say that Gerald is ill?" + +"No, she scarcely mentions his name at all." + +"Then what in the name of goodness are you going into the dismals for +on this morning of all mornings. Twenty-four blue frocks and +twenty-four red between noon and four o'clock, and the old women coming +for them to the moment. Really, Lilias, you are too provoking. You are +not half the girl you were before Gerald's marriage. I don't know what +has come to you. Oh, there's Mr. Carr passing the window, I'll get him +to come in and help us. Forgive me, Lil, I'll just open this window a +tiny bit and speak to him. How do you do, Mr. Carr? You can step in +this way--you need not go round through all the slush to the front +door. There, you can wipe your feet on that mat. Lilias, say 'how do +you do' to Mr. Carr, that is if you are not too dazed." + +"How do you do, Miss Wyndham? How do you do, Miss Lilias?" said Carr in +a brisk tone. "It is very good of you both to let me into this pleasant +room after the cold and snow outside. And how busy you are! Surely, +Miss Wyndham, your family don't require such a vast amount of +re-clothing." + +"Yes," said Marjory, "these bales of goods are for my shivering +widows," and she pointed to the red flannel and unbleached calico. "And +those are for my pretty orphans--our pretty orphans, Lilly darling, +twenty-four in the West Refuge, twenty-four in the East; the Easterns +are apparelled in red, the Westerns in blue. Now, Mr. Carr, I'll put it +to you as our spiritual pastor, is it right for Lilias to sit and croak +instead of helping me with all this prodigious work?" + +"But croaking for nothing is not Miss Lilias' way," said Carr, favoring +her with a quick glance, a little anxious, a little surprised. + +Lilias sprang up with almost a look of vexation. Valentine's letter +fell unheeded on the floor. + +"You are too bad, Maggie," she said, with almost a forced laugh. "I +suppose there are few people in this troublesome world who are not now +and then attacked with a fit of the blues. But here goes. I'll shake +them off. I'll help you all I can." + +"You must help, too," said Marjory in a gay voice, turning to Carr. +"Please take off your great coat--put it anywhere. Now then, are your +hands strong? are your arms steady? You have got to hold this bale of +red merino while Lilly cuts dress lengths from it. Don't forget, Lil, +nine lengths of three-and-a-half yards each, nine lengths of four yards +each, and six lengths of five yards each. Oh, thank you, Mr. Carr, that +will be a great assistance." + +Carr was a very energetic, wide-awake, useful man. He could put his +hands to anything. No work, provided it was useful, was derogatory in +his eyes--he was always cheerful, always bright and obliging. Even +Gerald Wyndham could scarcely have made a more popular curate at +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold than did this young man. + +"If anything could provoke me about him, it is that he is too sunny," +Marjory said one day to her sister. + +Lilias was silent. It occurred to her, only she was not sure, that in +those dark, quick, keen eyes there could come something which might +sustain and strengthen on a day of clouds as well as sunshine. + +It came now, when Marjory suddenly left the room, and Carr abruptly let +the great bale of merino drop at his feet. + +"Are you worried about anything?" he asked, in that direct fashion of +his which made people trust him very quickly. + +Lilias colored all over her face. + +"I suppose I ought not to be silly," she said, "but my brother--you see +he is my only brother--his marriage has made a great gulf between us." + +Carr looked at her sharply. + +"You are not jealous?" he said. + +"I don't know--we used to be great chums. I think if I were sure he was +happy I should not be jealous?" + +Carr walked to the fireplace. + +"It would not be folly if you were," he said. "All sisters must face +the fact of their brothers taking to themselves wives, and, of course, +loving the wives best. It is the rule of nature, and it would be +foolish of you to fret against the inevitable." + +He spoke abruptly, and with a certain coldness, which might have +offended some girls. Lilias' slow earnest answer startled him. + +"I don't fret against the inevitable," she said. "But I do fret against +the intangible. There is a mystery about Gerald which I can't attempt +to fathom. I know it is there, but I can't grapple with it in any +direction." + +"You must have some thought about it, though, or it would not have +entered into your head." + +"I have many thoughts, but no clues. Oh, it would take me a long, long +time to tell you what I fear, to bring my shadowy dread into life and +being. I have just had a letter from Valentine, a sweet nice letter, +and yet it seems to me full of mystery, although I am sure she does not +know it herself. Yes, it is all intangible--it is kind of you to listen +to me. Marjory would say I was talking folly." + +"You are talking as if your nerves were a little out of sorts. Could +you not have a change? Even granted that there is trouble, and I don't +suppose for an instant that anything of the kind is in store for your +brother, it is a great waste of life to meet it half way." + +Lilias smiled faintly. + +"I am silly," she said. And just then Marjory came into the room, +followed by Augusta, and the cutting out proceeded briskly. + +Carr was an invaluable help. Some people would have said that he was a +great deal too gay and cheerful--a great deal too athletic and +well-knit and keen-eyed for a curate. + +This was not the case; he made an excellent clergyman, but he had a +great sense of the fitness of things, and he believed fully in a time +for everything. + +Helping three merry girls to cut out red and blue merino frocks, on a +cold day in January, seemed to him a very cheerful occupation. Gay +laughter and light and innocent chatter filled the room, and Lilias +soon became one of the merriest of the party. + +In the midst of their chatter the rector entered. + +"I want you, Carr," he said, abruptly; he was usually a very polite +man, almost too ceremonious. Now his words came with a jerk, and the +moment he had uttered them he vanished. + +As Carr left the room in obedience to this quick summons. Lilias' face +became once more clouded. + +The rector was pacing up and down his study. When Carr entered he asked +him to bolt the door. + +"Is anything the matter, sir?" asked the young man. + +Mr. Wyndham's manner was so perturbed, so unlike himself, that it was +scarcely wonderful that Carr should ask this question. It received, +however, a short and sharp reply. + +"I hope to goodness, Carr, you are not one of those imaginative people +who are always foreboding a lion in the path. What I sent for you +was--well----" the rector paused. He raised his eyes slowly until they +rested upon the picture of Gerald's mother; the face very like Gerald's +seemed to appeal to him; his lips trembled. + +"I can't keep it up, Carr," he said, with an abandon which touched the +younger man to the heart. "I'm not satisfied about my son. Nothing +wrong, oh, no--and yet--and yet--you understand, Carr, I have only one +son--a lot of girls, God bless them all!--and only one son." + +Carr came over and stood by the mantel-piece. If he felt any surprise, +he showed none. His words came out gently, and in a matter-of-fact +style. + +"If you have any cause to be worried, Mr. Wyndham--and--and--you think +I can help you, I shall be proud to be trusted." Then his thoughts flew +to Lilias, and his firm, rather thin lips, took a faint smile. + +"I have no doubt I am very foolish," replied the rector. "I had a +letter this morning from Gerald. He tells me in it that he is going to +Australia in March, on some special business for his father-in-law's +firm--you know he is a partner in the firm. His wife is not to +accompany him." + +The rector paused. + +Carr made no answer for a moment. Then he said, feeling his way-- + +"This will be a trial for Mrs. Wyndham." + +"One would suppose so. Gerald doesn't say anything on the subject." + +"Well," said the rector, "how does it strike you? Perhaps I'm +nervous--Lilly, poor girl, is the same, and Marjory laughs at us both. +How does this intelligence strike you as an outsider, Carr? Pray give +me your opinion." + +"Yes," said Carr, simply. "I do not think my opinion need startle +anyone. Doubtless, sir, you know facts which throw a different +complexion on the thing. It all seems to me a commonplace affair. In +big business houses partners have often to go away at short notice. It +will certainly be a trial for Mrs. Wyndham to do without her husband. I +don't like to prescribe change of air for you, Mr. Wyndham, as I did +for Miss Lilias just now, but I should like to ask you if your nerves +are quite in order?" + +The rector laughed. + +"You are a daring fellow to talk of nerves to me, Carr," he said. "Have +not I prided myself all my life on having no nerves? Well, well, the +fact is, a great change has come over the lad's face. He used to be +such a boy, too light-hearted, if anything, too young, if anything, for +his years--the most unselfish fellow from his birth. Give away? Bless +you, there was nothing Gerald wouldn't give away. Why, look here, Carr, +we all tried to spoil the boy amongst us--he was the only one--and his +mother taken away when he so young--and he the image of her. Yes, all +the girls resemble me, but Gerald is the image of his mother. We all +tried to teach him selfishness, but we couldn't. Now. Carr, you will be +surprised at what I am going to say, but if a man can be unselfish to a +_fault_, to a fault mind you--to the verge of a crime--it's my son +Gerald. I know this. I have always seen it in him. Now my boy's +father-in-law. Mortimer Paget, is as selfish as my lad is the reverse. +Why did he want a poor lad like mine to marry his rich and only +daughter? Why did he make him a partner in his house of business, and +why did he insure my boy's life? Insure it heavily? Answer me that. My +boy would have taken your place here, Carr; humbly but worthily would +he have served the Divine Master, no man happier than he. Is he happy +now? Is he young for his years now? Tell me, Carr, what you really +think?" + +"I don't know, sir. I have not looked at things from your light. You +are evidently much troubled, and I am deeply troubled for you. I don't +know Wyndham very well but I know him a little. I think that marriage +and the cares of a house of business and all his fresh +responsibilities may be enough to age your son's face. As to the +insurance question, all business is so fluctuating that Mr. Paget was +doubtless right in securing his daughter and her children from possible +want in the future. See here, Mr. Wyndham, I am going up to town this +evening for two or three days. Shall I call at Park-lane and bring you +my own impressions with regard to your son?" + +"Thank you, Carr, that is an excellent thought, and what is more you +shall escort Lilias or Marjory up to town. They have a standing +invitation to my boy's house, and a little change just now would +do--shall I say Lilias?--good." + +"Miss Lilias wants a change, sir. She is affected like yourself with, +may I call it, an attack of the nerves." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +Valentine really made an excellent housekeeper. Nobody expected it of +her; her friends, the ladies, old and young, the girls, married or +otherwise, who knew Valentine as they supposed very intimately, +considered the idea of settling this remarkably ignorant young person +down with a fixed income and telling her to buy with it, and contrive +with it, and make two ends meet with it, quite one of the best jokes of +the day. + +Valentine did not regard it as a joke at all. She honestly tried, +honestly studied, and honestly made a success as housekeeper and +household manager. + +She was a most undeveloped creature, undeveloped both in mind and +heart; but she not only possessed intense latent affections, but latent +capacities of all sorts. She scarcely knew the name of poverty, she had +no experience with regard to the value of money, but nature had given +her an instinct which taught her to spend it wisely and well. She found +a thousand a year a larger income than she and Gerald with their modest +wants needed. She scarcely used half of what she received, and yet her +home was cheerful, her servants happy, her table all that was +comfortable. + +When she brought her housekeeping books to her husband to balance at +the end of the first month, he looked at her with admiration, and then +said in a voice of great sadness:-- + +"God help me, Valentine, have I made a mistake altogether about you? Am +I dreaming, Valentine, are you meant for a poor man's wife after all?" + +"For your wife, whether rich or poor," she said; and she knelt down by +his side, and put her hand into his. + +She had always possessed a sweet and beautiful face, but for the last +few weeks it had altered; the sweetness had not gone, but resolution +had grown round the curved pretty lips, and the eyes had a soft +happiness in them. + +"Pretty, charming creature!" people used to say of her. "But just a +trifle commonplace and doll-like." + +This doll-like expression was no longer discernible in Valentine. + +Gerald touched her hair tenderly. + +"My little darling!" he said. His voice shook. Then he rose abruptly, +with a gesture which was almost rough. "Come upstairs, Val; the +housekeeping progresses admirably. No, my dear, you made a mistake, you +were never meant for a poor man's wife." + +Valentine kissed his brow: she looked at him in a puzzled way. + +"Do you know," she said, laying her hands on his, with a gesture half +timid, half appealing; "don't go up to the drawing-room for a moment, +Gerald, I want to say a thing, something I have observed. I am loved by +two men, by my father and by you. I am loved by them very much--by both +of them very much. Oh, yes, Gerald, I know what you feel for me, and +yet I can't make either of them happy. My father is not happy. Oh, yes, +I can see--love isn't blind. I never remembered my father quite, quite +happy, and he is certainly less so than ever now. He tries to look all +right when people are by; even succeeds, for he is so unselfish, and +brave, and noble. But when he is alone--ah, then. Once he fell asleep +when I was in the room, he looked terrible in that sleep; his face was +haggard--he sighed--there was moisture on his brow. When he woke he +asked me to marry you. I didn't care for you then, Gerald, but I said +yes because of my father. He said if I married you he would be +perfectly happy. I did so--he is not happy." + +Gerald did not say a word. + +"And you aren't happy, dear," she continued, coming a little nearer to +him. "You used to be; before we were engaged you had such a gay face. I +could never call you gay since, Gerald. You are so thin, and sometimes +at night I lie awake, and I hear you sigh. Why, what is the matter. +Gerald? You look ghastly now. Am I hurting you? I wouldn't hurt you, +darling." + +Wyndham turned round quickly. He had been white almost to fainting, now +a great light seemed to leap out of his eyes. + +"What did you say? What did you call me? Say it again." + +"Darling." + +"Then I thank my God--everything has not been in vain." + +He sank down on the nearest chair and burst into tears. Tragedies go on +where least expected. The servants in the servants' hall thought their +young master and mistress quite the happiest people in the world. Were +they not gay, young, rich? Did they not adore one another? Gerald's +devotion to Valentine was almost a joke with them, and Valentine's +increasing regard for him was very observable to those watchful +outsiders. + +Certainly the pair stayed in a good deal in the evenings, and why +to-night in particular did they linger so long in the dining-room, +rather to the inconvenience of the kitchen regime. But presently their +steps were heard going upstairs, and then Valentine accompanied +Gerald's violin on the piano. + +Wyndham played very well for an amateur, so well that with a little +extra practice he might almost have taken his place as a professional +of no mean ability. He had exquisite taste and a sensitive ear. Music +always excited him, and perhaps was not the safest recreation for such +a highly strung nature. + +Valentine could accompany well; she, too, loved music, but had not her +husband's facility nor grace of execution. In his happiest moments +Gerald could compose, and sometimes even improvise with success. + +During their honeymoon it seemed to him one day as he looked at the +somewhat impassive face of the girl for whom he had sold himself body +and soul--as he looked and felt that not yet at least did her heart +echo even faintly to any beat of his, it occurred to him that he might +tell his story in its pain and its longing best through the medium of +music. He composed a little piece which, for want of another title, he +called "Waves." It was very sweet in melody, and had some minor notes +of such pathos that when Valentine first heard him play it on the +violin she burst into tears. He told her quite simply then that it was +his story about her, that all the sweetness was her share, all the +graceful melody, the sparkling joyous notes which coming from Gerald's +violin seemed to speak like a gay and happy voice, represented his +ideal of her. The deeper notes and the pain belonged to him; pain must +ever come with love when it is strongest, she would understand this +presently. + +Then he put his little piece away--he only played it once for her when +they were in Switzerland; he forgot it, but she did not. + +To-night, after her confession, when they went up to the drawing-room, +his heart immeasurably soothed and healed, and hers soft with a +wonderful joy which the beginning of true love can give, he remembered +"Waves," and thought he would play it for her again. It did not sound +so melancholy this time, but strange to say the gay notes were not +quite so gay, the warble of a light heart had deepened. As Wyndham +played and Valentine sat silent, for she offered no accompaniment to +this little fugitive piece, he found that he must slightly reconstruct +the melody. The minor keys were still minor, but there was a ring of +victory through them now; they were solemn, but not despairing. + +"He that loseth his life shall find it," Wyndham said suddenly, looking +full into her eyes. + +The violin slipped from his hand, coming down with a discordant crash, +the door was flung open by the servant, as Lilias Wyndham and Adrian +Carr came into the room. + +In a minute all was gay bustle and confusion. Gerald forgot his cares, +and Valentine was only too anxious to show herself as the hospitable +and attentive hostess. + +A kind of improvised meal between dinner and tea was actually brought +up into the drawing-room. Lilias ate chicken and ham holding her plate +on her lap. Carr, more of a stranger, was not allowed to feel this +fact. In short, no four could have looked merrier or more free from +trouble. + +"It is delightful to have you here--delightful, Lilias," said +Valentine, taking her sister-in-law's hand and squeezing it +affectionately. + +"Do you know, Lil," said Gerald, "that this little girl-wife of mine, +with no experience whatever, makes a most capable housekeeper. With all +your years of knowledge I should not like you to enter the lists with +her." + +"With all my years of failure, you mean," answered Lilias. "I always +was and always will be the most incompetent woman with regard to beef +and mutton and pounds, shillings and pence who walks this earth." + +She laughed as she spoke; her face was cloudless, her dark eyes serene. +For one moment before he went away Carr found time to say a word to +her. + +"Did I not tell you it was simply a case of nerves?" he remarked. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +Esther Helps was certainly neither a prudent nor a careful young woman. +She meant no harm, she would have shuddered at the thought of actual +sin, but she was reckless, a little defiant of all authority, even her +father's most gentle and loving control, and very discontented with her +position in life. + +Morning, noon, and night, Esther's dream of dreams, longing of +longings, was to be a lady. She had some little foundation for this +desire. The mother who had died at her birth had been a poor +half-educated little governess, whose mother before her had been a +clergyman's daughter. Esther quickly discovered that she was beautiful, +and her dream of dreams was to marry a gentleman, and so go back to +that station in life where her mother had moved. + +Esther had no real instincts of ladyhood. She spoke loudly, her +education had been of a very flashy and superficial order. From the +time she left the fourth-rate boarding-school where her father alone +had the means to place her, she had stayed at home and idled. Idling +was very bad for a character like hers; she was naturally active and +energetic--she had plenty of ability, and would have made a capital +shopwoman or dressmaker. But Esther thought it quite beneath her to +work, and her father, who could support her at home, was only too +delighted to have her there. He was inordinately proud of her--she was +the one sunbeam in his dull, clouded timorous life. He adored her +beauty, he found no fault with her Cockney twang, and he gave her in +double measure the love which had lain buried for many years with his +young wife. + +Esther, therefore, when she left school, sat at home, and made her own +dresses, and chatted with her cousin Cherry, who was an orphan, and +belonged to Helps' side of the house. Cherry was a very capable, +matter-of-fact hearty little girl, and Esther thought it an excellent +arrangement that she should live with them, and take the drudgery and +the cooking, and in short all the household work off her hands. Esther +was very fond of Cherry, and Cherry, in her turn, thought there was +never anyone quite so grand and magnificent as her tall, stately +cousin. + +"Well, Cherry," said Esther, as the two were going to bed on the night +after Wyndham's visit, "what do you think of him? Oh, I needn't ask, +there's but one thing to be thought of him." + +"Elegant, I say," interrupted Cherry. She was looking particularly +round and dumpy herself, and her broad face with her light grey eyes +was all one smile. "An elegant young man, Essie--a sort of chevalier, +now, wouldn't you say so?" + +"It's just like you, Cherry, you take up all your odd moments with +those poetry books. Mr. Wyndham ain't a chevalier--he's just a +gentleman, neither more nor less--a real gentleman, oh dear. I call it +a cruel disappointment. Cherry," and she heaved a profound sigh. + +"What's a disappointment?" asked unsuspicious Cherry, as she tumbled +into bed. + +"Why, that he's married, my dear. He'd have suited me fine. Well, +there's an end of that." + +Cherry thought there was sufficiently an end to allow her to drop off +to sleep, and Esther, after lying awake for a little, presently +followed her example. + +The next day she was more restless than ever, once or twice even openly +complaining to Cherry of the dullness of her lot, and loudly +proclaiming her determination to become a lady in spite of everybody. + +"You can't, Essie," said her father, in his meek, though somewhat +high-pitched voice, when he overheard some of her words that evening. +"It ain't your lot, child--you warn't born in the genteel line; there's +all lines and all grooves, and yours is the narrowing one of the +poverty-struck clerk's child." + +"I think it's mean of you to talk like that, father," said Esther, her +eyes flashing. "It's mean of you, and unkind to my poor mother, who was +a lady born." + +"I don't know much about that," replied Helps, looking more despondent +than ever. "She was the best of little wives, and if she was born a +lady, which I ain't going to deny, for I don't know she warn't a lady +bred, I mind me she thought it a fine bit of a rise to leave off +teaching the baker's children, and come home to me. Poor little +Essie--poor, dear little Essie. You don't take much after her, Esther, +my girl." + +"If she was spiritless, and had no mind for her duties, which were in +my opinion to uphold her station in life, I don't want to take after +her," answered Esther, and she flounced out of the room. + +Helps looked round in an appealing way at Cherry. + +"I don't want to part with her," he said, "but it will be a good thing +for us all when Essie is wed. I must try and find some decent young +fellow who will be likely to take a fancy to her. Her words fret me on +account of their ambition. Cherry, child." + +"I wouldn't be put out if I was you, uncle," responded Cherry in her +even, matter-of-fact voice. "Esther is took up with a whim, and it will +pass. It's all on account of the chevalier." + +"The what, child?" + +"The chevalier. Oh, my sakes alive, there's the milk boiling all over +the place, and my hearth done up so beautiful. Here, catch hold of this +saucepan, uncle, while I fetch a cloth to wipe up. My word, ain't this +provoking. I thought to get time to learn a verse or two out of the +poetry book to-night; but no such luck--I'll be brushing and blacking +till bed-time." + +In the confusion which ensued, Helps forgot to ask Cherry whom she +meant by the chevalier. + +A few days after this, as Helps was coming home late, he was rather +dismayed to find his daughter returning also, accompanied by a young +man who was no better dressed than half the young men with whom she +walked, but who had a certain air and a certain manner which smote upon +the father's heart with a dull sense of apprehension. + +"Essie, my girl," he said, when she had bidden her swain good-bye, and +had come into the house, with her eyes sparkling and her whole face +looking so bright and beautiful, that even Cherry dropped her poetry +book to gaze in admiration. "Essie," said Helps, all the tenderness of +the love he bore her trembling in his voice, "come here. Kiss your old +father. You love him, don't you?" + +"Why, dad, what a question. I should rather think I did." + +"You wouldn't hurt him now, Essie? You wouldn't break his heart, for +instance?" + +"I break your heart, dad? Is it likely? Now, what can the old man be +driving at?" she said, looking across at Cherry. + +"It's this," responded Helps, "I want to know the name of the +fellow--yes, the--the fellow, who saw you home just now?" + +"Now, father, mightn't he be Mr. Gray, or Mr. Jones, or Mr. Abbott; +some of those nice young men you bring up now and then from the city? +Why mightn't he be one of them, father?" + +"But he wasn't, my dear. The young men you speak of are honest lads, +every one of them. I wouldn't have no sort of objection to your +walking with them, Esther. It wasn't none of my friends from the city I +saw you with to-night. Essie." + +"And why shouldn't this be an honest fellow, too?" answered Esther, her +eyes sparkling dangerously. + +"I don't know, my dear. I didn't like the looks of him. What's his +name, Essie, my love?" + +"Captain Herriot, of the ---- Hussars." + +"There! Esther, you're not to walk with Captain Herriot any more. +You're not to know him. I won't have it--so now." + +"Highty-tighty!" said Esther. "There are two to say a word to that +bargain, father. And pray, why may I walk with Mr. Jones and not with +Captain Herriot? Captain Herriot's a real gentleman, and Mr. Jones +ain't." + +"And that's the reason, my child. If Jones walked with you, he'd +maybe--yes, I'm sure of it--he'd want all his heart and soul to make +you his honest wife some day. Do you suppose Captain Herriot wants to +make you his wife. Essie?" + +"I don't say. I won't be questioned like that." Her whole pale face was +in a flame. "Maybe we never thought of such a thing, but just to be +friends, and to have a pleasant time. It's cruel of you to talk like +that, father." + +"Well, then, I won't, my darling, I won't. Just promise you'll have +nothing more to say to the fellow. I'd believe your word against the +world, Essie." + +"Against the world? Would you really, dad? I wouldn't, though, if I +were you. No, I ain't going to make a promise I might break." She went +out of the room, she was crying. + +A short time after this, indeed the very day after Lilias Wyndham's +visit to London, Gerald noticed that Helps followed his every movement +as he came rather languidly in and out of the office, with dull +imploring eyes. The old clerk was particularly busy that morning, he +was kept going here, there, and everywhere. Work of all kinds, work of +the most unexpected and unlooked for nature seemed to descend to-day +with the force of a sledge hammer on his devoted head. + +Gerald saw that he was dying to speak to him, and at the first +opportunity he took him aside, and asked him if there was anything he +could do for him. + +"Oh, yes, Mr. Wyndham, you can, you can. Oh, thank the good Lord for +bringing you over to speak to me when no one was looking. You can save +Esther for me--that's what you can do, Mr. Wyndham. No one can save her +but you. So you will, sir; oh, you will. She's my only child, Mr. +Wyndham." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +"I will certainly do what I can," responded Wyndham, in his grave, +courteous voice. + +He was leaning against the window-ledge in a careless attitude; Helps, +looking up at him anxiously, noticed how pale and wan his face was. + +"Ah," he responded, rising from his seat, and going up to the younger +man. "'Tis them as bears burdens knows how to pity. Thank the Lord +there's compensation in all things. Now look here, Mr. Wyndham, this is +how things are. You have seen my Essie, she's troublesome and +spirited--oh, no one more so." + +Helps paused. + +"Yes," answered Gerald, in a quiet, waiting voice. He was not +particularly interested in the discussion of Esther Helps' character. + +"And she's beautiful, Mr. Wyndham. Aye, there's her curse. Beautiful +and hambitious and not a lady, and dying to be one. You understand, Mr. +Wyndham--you must understand." + +Wyndham said nothing. + +"Well, a month or so ago I found out there was a gentleman--at least a +man who called himself a gentleman--walking with her, and filling her +head with nonsense. His name was Herriot, a captain in the Hussars. I +told her she was to have nought to say to him, but I soon found that +she disobeyed me. Then I had to spy on her--you may think how I felt, +but it had to be done. I found that she walked with him, and met him at +all hours. I made inquiries about his character, and I found he was a +scoundrel, a bad fellow out and out. He'd be sure to break my Essie's +heart if he did no worse. Then I was in a taking, for the girl kept +everything in, and would scarcely brook me so much as to look at her. I +was that upset that I took Cherry into my confidence. She's a very good +girl, is Cherry--the Lord hasn't cursed her with no beauty. Last week +she brought me word that Esther was going to the Gaiety with Captain +Herriot, that he had taken two stalls and they were to have a fine +time. She said Esther was almost out of her mind with delight, as it +was always her dream to be seen at the theatre, beautifully dressed, +with a real gentleman. She had shown the tickets to Cherry, and Cherry +was smart enough to take the numbers and keep them in the back of her +head. She told me, and I can tell you, Mr. Wyndham, I was fit to kill +someone. I went straight off to the Gaiety office, and by good luck or +the grace of God, I found there was a vacant stall next to +Esther's--just one, and no more. I paid for that stall, here's the +ticket in my pocket." + +"Yes," said Wyndham, "and you mean to go with Esther to-night? A very +good idea--excellent. But how will she take it?" + +"How will she take it, Mr. Wyndham? I feel fit to pull my grey hairs +out. How would she have taken it, you mean? For it's all a thing of the +past, sir. Oh, I had it all planned fine. I was to wait until she and +that fellow had taken their places, and then I'd come in quite natural, +and sit down beside her, and answer none of her questions, only never +leave her, no, not for a quarter of a minute. And if he spoke up, the +ruffian, I had my reply for him. I'd stay quiet enough till we got +outside, and then just one blow in the middle of his face--yes, just +one, to relieve a father's feelings. Then home with my girl, and I +think it's more than likely we wouldn't have been troubled with no more +of Captain Herriot's attentions." + +Helps paused again. + +"You speak in the past tense," said Gerald. "Why cannot you carry out +this excellent programme?" + +"That's it, sir, that's what about maddens me. I came to the office +this morning, and what has happened hasn't happened this three months +past. There's business come in of a nature that no one can tackle but +myself. Business of a private character, and yet what may mean the loss +or gain of thousands. Oh, I can't explain it, Mr. Wyndham, even though +you are a partner; there are things that confidential clerks know that +are hid from junior partners. I can't leave here till eleven o'clock +to-night, Mr. Wyndham, and if you don't help me Esther may be a lost +girl. Yes, there's no mincing matters--lost, beyond hope. Will you help +me, Mr. Wyndham? I'll go mad if my only girl, my beautiful girl, comes +to that." + +"I? Can I help you?" asked Wyndham. There was hesitation and distress +in his voice. He saw that he was going to be asked to do something +unpleasant. + +"You can do this, sir. You can make it all right. Bless you, sir, who's +there to see? And you go with the best intentions. You go in a noble +cause. You can afford to risk that much, Mr. Wyndham. I want you to +take my place at the Gaiety to-night; take my ticket and go there. Talk +pleasant to Esther: not much, but just a little, nothing to rouse her +suspicions. Let her think it was just a coincidence your being there. +Then, just at the end, give her this letter from me. I've said a thing +in it that will startle her. She'll get a fright and turn to you. Put +her into a cab then, and bring her here. You can sit on the box if you +like. That's all. Put her into my arms and your task is done. Here's +the ticket and the letter. Do it, Mr. Wyndham, and God will bless you. +Yes, yes, my poor young sir--He'll bless you." + +"Don't talk of God when you speak of me," said Wyndham. "Something has +happened which closes the door of religion for me. The door between +God and me is closed. I am still open, however, to the call of +humanity. You want me to go to the Gaiety to-night to save your +daughter. It is very probable that if I went I should save her. I am +engaged, however, for to-night. My sister is in town. We are going to +make a party to the Haymarket." + +"Oh, sir, what of that? Send a telegram to say you have an engagement. +Think of Esther. Think what it means if you fail me now." + +"I do think of it, Helps. I will do what you want. Give me the letter +and the theatre ticket." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +Valentine was delighted to have Lilias as her companion. She was in +excellent spirits just now, and Lilias and she enjoyed going about +together. They had adventures which pleased them both, such simple +adventures as come to poorer girls every day--a ride in an omnibus to +Kew, an excursion up the river to Battersea in a penny steamer, and +many other mild intoxicants of this nature. Sometimes Gerald came with +them, but oftener they went alone. They laughed and chatted at these +times, and people looked at them, and thought them two particularly +merry good-looking school-girls. + +Valentine was very fond of going to the theatre, and of course one of +the principal treats in store for Lilias was a visit to the play. +Valentine decided that they would go to some entertainment of a +theatrical character nearly every evening. On the day of Helps' strange +request to Wyndham they were to see _Captain Swift_ at the Haymarket. +Mr. Paget had taken a box for the occasion, and Valentine's last +injunction to her husband was to beg of him to be home in good time so +that they might have dinner in peace, and reach the Haymarket before +the curtain rose. + +Lilias and she trotted about most of the morning, and sat cosily now in +the pretty drawing-room in Park-Lane, sipping their tea, examining +their purchases, or chatting about dress, and sundry other trivial +matters after the fashion of light-hearted girls. + +Presently Valentine pulled a tiny watch out of her belt. + +"Gerald is late," she said. "He promised faithfully to be in to tea, +and it is now six o'clock. We dine at half-past. Had we not better go +and dress, Lilias?" + +Lilias was standing on the hearthrug, she glanced at the clock, then +into the ruddy flames, then half-impatiently towards the door. + +"Oh, wait a moment or two," she said. "If Gerald promised to come he is +safe to be here directly. I never met such a painfully conscientious +fellow; he would not break his word even in a trifle like this for all +the world. Give him three minutes longer. You surely will not take +half-an-hour to dress." + +"How solemnly you speak, Lilias," responded Valentine. "If Gerald is +late, that could scarcely be considered a breaking of his word. I mean +in a promise of that kind one never knows how one may be kept. That is +always understood, of course." + +There came a pealing ring and a double knock at the door, and a moment +after the page entered with a telegram which he handed to his mistress. +Valentine tore the yellow envelope open, and read the contents of the +pink sheet. + +"No answer, Masters," she said to the boy. Then she she turned to +Lilias. "Gerald can't go with us to-night. He is engaged. You see, of +course, he would not break his word, Lilias. He is unavoidably +prevented coming. It is too bad." + +Some of the brightness went out of her face, and her spirits went down +a very little. + +"Well, it can't be helped," she said, "only I am disappointed." + +"So am I, awfully disappointed," responded Lilias. + +Then the two went slowly upstairs to change their dresses. + +When they came down again, Mr. Paget, who was to dine with them, was +waiting in the drawing-room. There was a suppressed excitement, a +suppressed triumph in his eyes, which, however, only made him look more +particularly bright and charming. + +When Valentine came in in the pure white which gave her such a girlish +and even pathetically innocent air, he went up and kissed her almost +fiercely. He put his arm round her waist and drew her close to him, and +looked into her eyes with a sense of possession which frightened her. +For the first time in all her existence she half shrank from the father +whom she idolized. She was scarcely conscious of her own shrinking, of +the undefinable something which made her set herself free, and stand on +the hearthrug by Lilias' side. + +"I don't see your husband, my pet," said Mr. Paget. "He ought to have +come home long before now, that is, if he means to come with us +to-night." + +"But he doesn't, father," said Valentine. "That's just the grief. I had +a telegram from him, half-an-hour ago; he is unavoidably detained." + +Mr. Paget raised his eyebrows. + +"Not at the office," he said, in a markedly grave voice, and with +another significant raise of his brows. "That I know, for he left +before I did. Ah, well, young men will be young men." + +Neither Valentine nor Lilias knew why they both flushed up hotly, and +left a wider space between them and Valentine's handsome father. + +He did not take the least notice of this movement on both their parts, +but went on in a very smooth, cheerful voice. + +"Perhaps Gerald does not miss as much as he thought," he said. "Since I +saw you this morning, Val, our programme has been completely altered. +We go to _Captain Swift_ to-morrow night. I went to the office and +exchanged the box. To-night we go to the Gaiety. I have been fortunate +in securing one of the best boxes in the whole house, and _Monte +Christo Junior_ is well worth seeing." + +"I don't know that I particularly care for the Gaiety, father," said +Valentine. "How very funny of you to change our programme." + +"Well, the fact is, some business friends of mine who were just passing +through town were particularly anxious to see _Captain Swift_, so as I +could oblige them, I did. It is all the better for your husband, +Valentine; he won't miss this fine piece of drama." + +"No, that is something to be thankful for," responded Valentine. "But +I'm sorry you selected the Gaiety as an exchange. I don't think Lilias +will care for _Monte Christo_. However, it can't be helped now, and +dinner waits. Shall we go downstairs?" + +Mr. Paget and his party were in good time in their places. Valentine +took a seat rather far back in the box, but her father presently coaxed +her to come to the front, supplied both her and Lilias with opera +glasses, and encouraged both girls to look about them, and watch the +different people who were gradually filing into their places in the +stalls. + +Mr. Paget himself neither wore glasses nor aided his vision with an +opera glass. His face was slightly flushed, and his eyes, keen and +bright, travelled round the house, taking in everything, not passing +over a single individual. + +Valentine was never particularly curious about her neighbors, and as +Lilias knew no one, they both soon leant back in their chairs, and +talked softly to one another. + +The curtain rose, and each girl bent forward to see and enjoy. The rest +of the house was now comparatively dark, but just before the lights +were lowered, Mr. Paget might have been heard to give a faint quick +sigh of relief. + +A tall girl in cream-color and soft furs walked slowly down the length +of stalls, and took her place in such a position that Valentine could +scarcely look down without seeing her. This girl's beauty was so marked +that many eyes were turned in her direction as she appeared. She was +very regal looking, very quiet and dignified in manner. Her features +were classical and pure in outline, and her head, with its wealth of +raven black hair, was splendidly set. + +She was accompanied by a tall, fairly good-looking man who sat next to +her. + +When the curtain rose and the lights were lowered the stall at her +other side was vacant. + +Mr. Paget felt his heart beat a trifle too fast. Would that stall be +full or empty when the curtain dropped at the close of the first act? +Would his heart's desire, his wicked and treacherous heart's desire be +torn from him in the very moment of apparent fruition. Suppose Gerald +did not put in an appearance at the Gaiety? Suppose at the eleventh +hour he changed his mind and resolved to leave Esther Helps to her +fate? Suppose--pshaw!--where was the use of supposing? To leave a girl +to her fate would not be his chivalrous fool of a son-in-law's way. No, +it was all right; even now he could dimly discern a faint commotion in +the neighborhood of Esther Helps--the kind of commotion incident on the +arrival of a fresh person, the gentle soft little movement made by the +other occupants of the stalls to let the new comer, who was both late +and tiresome, take his reserved seat in comfort. Mr. Paget sank back in +his seat with a sensation of relief; he had not listened for nothing +behind an artfully concealed curtain that morning. + +The play proceeded. Much as he had said about it beforehand, it had no +interest for Mr. Paget. He scarcely troubled to look at the stage. +There was no room in his heart that moment for burlesque: he was too +busily engaged over his own terrible life's drama. On the result of +this night more or less depended all his future happiness. + +"If she turns back to me after what she sees to-night then I can +endure," he said to himself. "I can go on to the bitter end--if +not--well, there are more expedients than one for a ruined man to throw +up the sponge." + +The curtain fell, the theatre was in a blaze of light; Valentine and +Lilias sank back in their seats and began to fan themselves. They had +been pleased and amused. Lilias, indeed, had laughed so heartily that +the tears came to her eyes. + +"I hate to cry when I laugh," she said, taking out her handkerchief to +wipe them away. "It's a tiresome trick we all have in our family, +Gerald and all." + +She had a habit of bringing in Gerald's name whenever she spoke of her +family, as if he were the topmost stone, the crowning pride and +delight. + +Mr. Paget had his back slightly turned to the girls. Once more he was +devouring the stalls with his eager bright eyes. Yes, Gerald Wyndham +was in his stall. He was leaning back, not exerting himself much; he +looked nonchalant and strikingly handsome. Mr. Paget did not wish him +to appear too nonchalant when Valentine first caught sight of him. +No--ah, that was better. Esther was turning to speak to him. By Jove, +what a face the girl had! + +Mr. Paget had often seen Helps' only daughter, for he found it +convenient occasionally to call to see Helps at Acadia Villa. But he +had never before seen her dress becomingly, and he was positively +startled at the pure, high type of her beauty. At this distance her +common accent, her poor uneducated words, could not grate. All her +gestures were graceful; she looked up at Gerald, said something, +smiled, then lowered her heavy black lashes. + +It was at that moment, just as Wyndham was bending forward to reply to +her remark, and she was leaning slightly away from her other cavalier, +so that he scarcely seemed to belong to her party, that Valentine, +tired of doing nothing, came close to her father, and allowed her eyes +to wander round the house. Suddenly she uttered a surprised +exclamation. + +"Look, father, look! Is that Gerald? Who is with him? Who is he talking +to? How is it that he comes to be here? Yes, it is Gerald! Oh, what a +lovely girl he is talking to!" + +Valentine's words were emphatic and slightly agitated, for she was +simply overpowered with astonishment, but they were spoken in a low +key. Lilias did not hear them. She was reading her programme over for +the twentieth time, and wondering when the curtain would rise and the +play go on. + +"Look, father," continued Valentine, clutching her father's arm. "Isn't +that Gerald? How strange of him to be here. Who can he be talking to? I +don't know her--do you? Do you see him, father? Won't you go down and +tell him we are here, and bring him up--and--and--the lady who is with +him. Go, please, father, you see where he is, don't you?" + +"I do, my child. I have seen him for some time past. Would you like to +come home, Valentine?" + +"Home! What in the world do you mean? How queer you look! Is there +anything wrong? Who is with Gerald? Who is he talking to? How lovely +she is. I wish she would look up again." + +"That girl is not a lady, Valentine. She is Esther Helps--you have +heard of her. Yes, now I understand why your husband could not come +with us to the Haymarket to-night. My poor child! Don't look at them +again, Valentine, my darling." + +Valentine looked full into her father's eyes; full, long, and steadily +she gazed. Then slowly, very slowly, a crimson flood of color suffused +her whole face; it receded, leaving her deathly pale. She moved away +from her father and took a back seat behind Lilias. + +The curtain rose again, the play continued. Lilias was excited, and +wanted to pull Valentine to the front. + +"No," she said. "My head aches; I don't care to look any more." + +She sat back in her seat, very white and very calm. + +"Would you like to come home?" said her father, bending across to her, +and speaking in a voice which almost trembled with the emotion he felt. + +"No," she said in reply, and without raising her eyes. "I will sit the +play out till the end." + +When the curtain fell again she roused herself with an effort and +coaxed Lilias to come into the back of the box with her. The only keen +anxiety she was conscious of was to protect her husband from Lilias' +astonished eyes. + +Mr. Paget felt well satisfied. He had managed to convey his meaning to +his innocent child's heart; an insinuation, a fall of the voice, a look +in the eyes, had opened up a gulf on the brink of which Valentine drew +back shuddering. + +"I was only beginning to love him; it doesn't so much matter," she said +many times to herself. Even now she thought no very bad things of her +husband; that is no very bad things according to the world's code. To +her, however, they were black. He had deceived her--he had made her a +promise and broken it. Why? Because he liked to spend the evening with +another girl more beautiful than herself. + +"Oh, no, I am not jealous," said Valentine, softly under her breath. "I +won't say anything to him either about it, poor fellow. It does not +matter to me, not greatly. I was only beginning to love him. Thank God +there is always my dear old father." + +When the curtain rose for the final act of the play. Valentine moved +her chair so that she could slightly lean against Mr. Paget. He took +her hand and squeezed it. He felt that he had won the victory. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + +Gerald had found his task most uncongenial. In the first place he was +disappointed at not spending the evening with Valentine and Lilias. In +the second the close proximity of such a girl as Esther Helps could not +but be repugnant to him. Still she was a woman, a woman in danger, and +her father had appealed to him to save her. Had he been ordained for +the Church, such work--ah, no, he must not think of what his life would +have been then. After all, it was good of the distracted father to +trust him, and he must not betray the trust. + +He went to the theatre and acquitted himself with extreme tact and +diplomacy. When Gerald chose to exert himself his manner had a quieting +effect, a compelling, and almost a commanding effect on women. Esther +became quiet and gentle; she talked to Captain Herriot, but not +noisily; she laughed, her laugh was low and almost musical. Now and +then her quick eyes glanced at Wyndham; she felt thirsty for even his +faintest approval--he bestowed it by neither word nor movement. + +As they were leaving the theatre, however, and the gallant captain, who +inwardly cursed that insufferable prig who happened to have a slight +acquaintance with his beautiful Esther, grew cheerful under the +impression that now his time for enjoyment was come, Gerald said in a +low, grave voice:-- + +"Your father has given me a letter for you. Pray be quiet, don't excite +yourself. It is necessary that you should go to your father directly. +Allow me to see you into a cab. Your father is waiting for you--it is +urgent that you should join him at once." + +Scarcely knowing why she did it, Esther obeyed. She murmured some eager +agitated words to Captain Herriot; she was subdued, frightened, shaken; +as Gerald helped her into a cab he felt her slim fingers tremble in +his. He took his seat upon the box beside the driver, and ten minutes +later had delivered Esther safely to her father. His task was done, he +did not wait to hear a word of Helps' profuse thanks. He drew a sigh of +relief as he hurried home. Soon he would be with his wife--the wife +whom he idolized--the wife who was beginning to return his love. +Suppose her passion went on and deepened? Suppose a day came when to +part from him would be a sorer trial than poverty or dishonor! Oh, if +such a day came--he might--ah, he must not think in that direction. He +pushed his hand through his thick hair, leant back in his cab, and shut +his eyes. + +When he reached the little house in Park-lane he found that the lights +in the drawing-room were out, and the gas turned low in the hall. He +was later even than he had intended to be. The other theatre-goers had +returned home and gone to bed. He wondered how they had enjoyed +_Captain Swift_. For himself he had not the least idea of what he had +been looking at at the Gaiety. + +He let himself in with a latch-key, and ran up at once to his room. He +wanted to kiss Valentine, to look into her eyes, which seemed to him to +grow sweeter and softer every day. He opened the door eagerly and +looked round the cheerful bedroom. + +Valentine was not there. + +He called her. She was not in the dressing-room. + +"She is with Lilias," he said to himself. "How these two young things +love to chatter." + +He sat down in an easy chair by the fire, content to wait until his +wife should return. He was half inclined to tell her what he had been +doing; he had a great longing to confide in her in all possible ways, +for she had both brains and sense, but he restrained himself. The +subject was not one he cared to discuss with his young wife, and, +besides, the secret belonged to Esther and to her father. + +He made up his mind to say nothing about it. He had no conception then +what this silence was to cost him, and how different all his future +life might have been had he told his wife the truth that night. + +Presently Valentine returned. Her face was flushed, and her eyes had an +unquiet troubled expression. She had been to Lilias with a somewhat +strange request. + +"Lilias, I want you to promise me something, to ask no questions, but +just like a kind and truthful sister to make me a faithful promise." + +"You look strange, Valentine; what do you want me to promise?" + +"_Will_ you promise it?" + +"If I can, I will promise, to please you; but I never make promises in +the dark." + +"Oh, there's Gerald's step, I must go. Lilias, I've a very particular +reason, I cannot explain it to you. I want you not to tell Gerald, now +or at any time, that we were at the Gaiety to-night." + +"My dear Val, how queer! Why shouldn't poor Gerald know? And you look +so strange. You are trembling." + +"I am. I'm in desperate earnest. Will you promise?" + +"Yes, yes, you silly child, if you set such store on an utterly +ridiculous promise you shall have it. Only if I were you, Valentine, I +wouldn't begin even to have such tiny little secrets as that from my +husband. I wouldn't, Val; it isn't wise--it isn't really." + +Valentine neither heard nor heeded these last words. She gave Lilias a +hasty, frantic kiss, and rushed back to her own room. + +"Now," she said to herself, "now--now--now--if he tells me everything, +every single thing, all may be well. I won't ask him a question; but +if he tells, tells of his own accord, all may be quite well yet. Oh, +how my heart beats! It is good I have not learned to love him any +better." + +Gerald rose up at her entrance and went to meet her eagerly. + +"Ah, here's my bright little wife," he said. "Give me a kiss, +Valentine." + +She gave it, and allowed him to fold her in his arms. She was almost +passive, but her heart beat hard--she was so eagerly waiting for him to +speak. + +"Sit down by the fire, darling. I don't like long evenings spent away +from you, Val. How did you enjoy _Captain Swift_?" + +"We didn't go to the Haymarket; no, we are going to-morrow. Father +thought it a pity you should miss such a good play." + +"Then where did you go? You and Lil did not stay at home the whole +evening?" + +"No, father took us to another theatre. I can't tell you the name; +don't ask me. I hate theatres--I detest them. I never want to go inside +one again as long as I live!" + +"How strongly you talk, my dear little Val. Perhaps you found it dull +to-night because your husband was not with you." + +She moved away with a slight little petulant gesture. When would he +begin to speak? + +Gerald wondered vaguely what had put his sweet-tempered Valentine out. +He stirred the fire, and then stood with his back to it. She looked up +at him, his face was very grave, very calm. Her own Gerald--he had a +nice face. Surely there was nothing bad behind that face. Why was he +silent? Why didn't he begin to tell his story? Well she would--she +would--help him a little. + +She cleared her throat, she essayed twice to find her voice. When it +came out at last it was small and timorous. + +"Was it--was it business kept you from coming with me to-night, Gerry?" + +"Business? Yes, my darling, certainly." + +Her heart went down with a great bound. But she would give him another +chance. + +"Was it--was it business connected with the office?" + +"You speak in quite a queer voice, Valentine. In a measure it was +business connected with the office--in a measure it was not. What is +it, Valentine? What is it, my dear?" + +She had risen from her seat, put her arms round his neck, and laid her +soft young head on his shoulder. + +"Tell me the business, Gerry, Tell your own Val." + +He kissed her many times. + +"It doesn't concern you, my dear wife," he said. "I would tell you +gladly, were I not betraying a trust. I had some painful work to do +to-night, Valentine. Yes, business, certainly. I cannot tell it, dear. +Yes, what was that you said?" + +For she had murmured "Hypocrite!" under her breath. Very low she had +said it, too faintly for him to catch the word. But he felt her loving +arms relax. He saw her face grow grave and cold, something seemed to go +out of her eyes which had rendered them most lovely. It was the wounded +soul going back into solitude, and hiding its grief and shame in an +inmost recess of her being. + +Would Gerald ever see the soul, the soul of love, in his wife's eyes +again? + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +A few days after the events related in the last chapter Mr. Paget asked +his son-in-law to have a few minutes' private conversation with him. +Once more the young man found himself in that inner room at the rich +merchant's office which represented more or less a torture-chamber to +him. Once more Valentine's untroubled girlish innocent eyes looked out +of Richmond's beautiful picture of her. + +Wyndham hated this room, he almost hated that picture; it had +surrounded itself with terrible memories. He turned his head away from +it now as he obeyed Mr. Paget's summons. + +"It's this, Gerald," said his father-in-law. "When a thing has to be +done the sooner the better. I mean nobody cares to make a long +operation of the drawing of a tooth for instance!" + +"An insufficient metaphor," interrupted Wyndham roughly. "Say, rather, +the plucking out of a right eye, or the cutting off a right hand. As +you say, these operations had better be got quickly over." + +"I think so--I honestly think so. It would convenience me if you sailed +in the _Esperance_ on the 25th of March for Sydney. There is a _bonâ +fide_ reason for your going. I want you to sample----" + +"Hush," interrupted Wyndham. "The technicalities and the gloss and all +that kind of humbug can come later. You want me to sail on the 25th of +March. That is the main point. When last you spoke of it, I begged of +you as a boon to give me an extension of grace, say until May or June. +It was understood by us, although there was no sealed bond in the +matter, that my wife and I should spend a year together before +this--this _temporary_ parting took place. I asked you at one time to +shorten my season of grace, but a few weeks ago I asked you to extend +it." + +"Precisely, Wyndham, and I told you I would grant your wish, if +possible. I asked you to announce to your own relatives that you would +probably have to go away in March, for a time; but I said I would do my +utmost to defer the evil hour. I am sorry to say that I cannot do so. I +have had news from India which obliges me to hasten matters. Such a +good opportunity as the business which takes you out in the _Esperance_ +will probably not occur again. It would be madness not to avail +ourselves of it. Do not you think so? My dear fellow, do take a chair." + +"Thank you, I prefer to stand. This day--what is this day?" He raised +his eyes; they rested on the office calendar. "This day is the 24th of +February. A spring-like day, isn't it? Wonderful for the time of year. +I have, then, one month and one day to live. Are these Valentine's +violets? I will help myself to a few. Let me say good-morning, sir." + +He bowed courteously--no one could be more courteous than Gerald +Wyndham--and left the room. + +His astonished father in-law almost gasped when he found himself alone. + +"Upon my word," he said to himself, "there's something about that +fellow that's positively uncanny. I only trust I'll be preserved from +being haunted by his ghost. My God! what a retribution that would be. +Wyndham would be awful as a ghost. I suppose I shall have retribution +some day. I know I'm a wicked man. Hypocritical, cunning, devilish. +Yes, I'm all that. Who'd have thought that soft-looking lad would turn +out to be all steel and venom. I hate him--and yet, upon my soul, I +admire him. He does more for the woman he loves than I do--than I could +do. The woman _we both love_. His wife--_my child_." + +"There, I'll get soft myself if I indulge in these thoughts any longer. +Now is the time for him to go. Valentine has turned from him; any fool +can see that. Now is the time to get him out of the way. How lucky that +I overheard Helps that day. Never was there a more opportune thing." + +Mr. Paget went home early that evening. Valentine was dining with him. +Lately, within the last few weeks, she often came over alone to spend +the evening with her father. + +"Where's your husband, my pet?" the old man used to say to her on these +occasions. + +And she always answered him in a bright though somewhat hard little +voice. + +"Oh, Gerald is such a book-worm--he is devouring one of those abstruse +treatises on music. I left him buried in it," or, "Gerald is going out +this evening," or, "Gerald isn't well, and would like to stay quiet, +so"--the end was invariably the same--"I thought I'd come and have a +cosy chat with you, dad." + +"And no one more welcome--no one in all the wide world more welcome," +Mortimer Paget would answer, glancing, with apparent pleased unconcern, +but with secret anxiety, at his daughter's face. + +The glance always satisfied him; she looked bright and well--a little +hard, perhaps--well, the blow must affect her in some way. What had +taken place at the Gaiety would leave some results even on the most +indifferent heart. The main result, however, was well. Valentine's +dawning love had changed to indifference. Had she cared for her husband +passionately, had her whole heart been given into his keeping, she must +have been angry; she must have mourned. + +As, evening after evening, Mr. Paget came to this conclusion, he +invariably gave vent to a sigh of relief. He never guessed that if he +could wear a mask, so also could his child. He never even suspected +that beneath Valentine's gay laughter, under the soft shining of her +clear eyes, under her smiles, her light easy words, lay a pain, lay an +ache, which ceased not to trouble her day and night. + +Mr. Paget came home early. Valentine was waiting for him in the +drawing-room. + +"We shall have a cosy evening, father," she said. "Oh, no, Gerald can't +come. He says he has some letters to write. I think he has a headache, +too. I'd have stayed with him, only he prefers being quiet. Well, we'll +have a jolly evening together. Kiss me, dad." + +He did kiss her, then she linked his hand in her arm, and they went +downstairs and dined together, as they used to do in the old days +before either of them had heard of Gerald Wyndham. + +"Let us come into the library to-night," said Valentine. "You know +there is no room like the library to me." + +"Nor to me," said Mr. Paget brightly. "It reminds me of when you were a +child, my darling." + +"Ah, well, I'm not a child now, I'm a woman." + +She kept back the sigh which rose to her lips. + +"I think I like being a child best, only one never can have the old +childish time back again." + +"Who knows, Val? Perhaps we may. If you have spoiled your teeth enough +over those filberts, shall we go into the library? I have something to +tell you--a little bit of news." + +"All right, you shall tell it sitting in your old armchair." + +She flitted on in front, looking quite like the child she more or less +still was. + +"Now isn't this perfect?" she said, when the door was shut, Mr. Paget +established in his armchair, and the two pairs of eyes fixed upon the +glowing fire. "Isn't this perfect?" + +"Yes, my darling--perfect. Valentine, there is no love in all the world +like a father's for his child." + +"No greater love has come to me," replied Valentine slowly; and now +some of the pain at her heart, notwithstanding all her brave endeavors, +did come into her face. "No greater love has come to me, but I can +imagine, yes. I can imagine a mightier." + +"What do you mean, child?" + +"For instance--if you loved your husband perfectly, and he--he loved +you, and there was nothing at all between--and the joy of all joys was +to be with him, and you were to feel that in thought--in word--in +deed--you were one, not two. There, what am I saying? The wildest +nonsense. There isn't such a thing as a love of that sort. What's your +news, father?" + +"My dear child, how intensely you speak!" + +"Never mind! Tell me what is your news, father." + +Mr. Paget laughed, his laugh was not very comfortable. + +"Has Gerald told you anything, Valentine?" + +"Gerald? No, nothing special; he had a headache this evening." + +"You know, Val--at least we often talked the matter over--that Gerald +might have to go away for a time. He is my partner, and partners in +such a firm as mine have often to go to the other side of the world to +transact important business." + +"Yes, you and Gerald have both spoken of it. He's not going soon, is +he?" + +"That's it, my pet. The necessity has arisen rather suddenly. Gerald +has to sail for Sydney in about a month." + +Valentine was sitting a little behind her father. He could not see the +pallor of her face; her voice was quite clear and quiet. + +"Poor old Gerry," she said; "he won't take me, will he, father?" + +"Impossible, my dear--absolutely. You surely don't want to go." + +"No, not particularly." + +Valentine yawned with admirable effect. + +"She really can't care for him at all. What a wonderful piece of luck," +muttered her father. + +"I daresay Gerald will enjoy Sydney," continued his wife. "Is he likely +to be long away?" + +"Perhaps six months--perhaps not so long. Time is always a matter of +some uncertainty in cases of this kind." + +"I could come back to you while he is away, couldn't I, dad?" + +"Why, of course, my dear one, I always intended that. It would be old +times over again--old times over again for you and your father, +Valentine." + +"Not quite, I think," replied Valentine. "We can't go back really. +Things happen, and we can't undo them. Do you know, father, I think +Gerald must have infected me with his headache. If you don't mind, I'll +go home." + +Mr. Paget saw his daughter back to Park-lane, but he did not go into +the house. Valentine rang the bell, and when Masters opened the door +she asked him where her husband was. + +"In the library, ma'am; you can hear him can't you? He's practising of +the violin." + +Yes, the music of this most soul-speaking, soul-stirring instrument +filled the house. Valentine put her finger to her lips to enjoin +silence, and went softly along the passage which led to the library. +The door was a little ajar--she could look in without being herself +seen. Some sheets of music were scattered about on the table, but +Wyndham was not playing from any written score. The queer melody which +he called Waves was filling the room. Valentine had heard it twice +before--she started and clasped her hands as its passion, its +unutterable sadness, its despair, reached her. Where were the triumph +notes which had come into it six weeks ago? + +She turned and fled up to her room, and locking the door, threw herself +by her bedside and burst into bitter weeping. + +"Oh, Gerald, I love you! I do love you; but I'll never show it. No, +never, until you tell me the truth." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +"Yes," said Augusta Wyndham, "if there is a young man who suits me all +round it's Mr. Carr. Yes," she said, standing very upright in her short +skirts, with her hair in a tight pig-tail hanging down her back, and +her determined, wide open, bright eyes fixed upon an admiring audience +of younger sisters. "He suits me exactly. He's a kind of +hail-fellow-well-met; he has no nonsensical languishing airs about him; +he preaches nice short sermons, and never bothers you to remember what +they are about afterwards; he's not bad at tennis or cricket, and he +really can cannon quite decently at billiards; but for all that, if +_you_ think, you young 'uns, that he's going to get inside of Gerry, or +that he's going to try to pretend to know better than Gerry what I can +or can't do, why you're all finely mistaken, so there!" + +Augusta turned on her heel, pirouetted a step or two, whistled in a +loud, free, unrestrained fashion, and once more faced her audience. + +"Gerry said that I _could_ give out the library books. Now is it likely +that Mr. Carr knows more of my capacities after six months' study than +Gerry found out after fifteen years?" + +"But Mr. Carr doesn't study _you_, Gus. It's Lilias he's always looking +at," interrupted little Rosie. + +"You're not pretty, are you, Gus?" asked Betty. "Your cheeks are too +red, aren't they? And nurse says your eyes are as round as an owl's!" + +"Pretty!" answered Augusta, in a lofty voice. "Who cares for being +pretty? Who cares for being simply pink and white? I'm for intellect. +I'm for the march of mind. Gerry believes in me. Hurrah for Gerry! Now, +girls, off with your caps, throw them in the air, and shout hurrah for +Gerry three times, as loud as you can!" + +"What an extraordinary noise the children are making on the lawn," said +Lilias to Marjory. "I hear Gerald's name. What can they be saying about +Gerald? One would almost think he was coming down the avenue to see the +state of excitement they are in! Do look, Meg, do." + +"It's only one of Gussie's storms in a tea-cup," responded Marjory, +cheerfully. "I am so glad, Lil, that you found Gerald and Val hitting +it off so nicely. You consider them quite a model pair for affection +and all that, don't you, pet?" + +"Quite," said Lilias. "My mind is absolutely at rest. One night Val +puzzled me a little. Oh, nothing to speak of--nothing came of it, I +mean. Yes, my mind is absolutely at rest, thank God! What are all the +children doing. Maggie? They are flying in a body to the house. What +can it mean?" + +"We'll know in less than no time," responded Marjory, calmly. And they +did. + +Four little girls, all out of breath, all dressed alike, all looking +alike, dashed into the drawing-room, and in one breath poured out the +direful intelligence that Augusta had mutinied. + +"Mr. Carr forbade her to give away the library books," they said, "and +she has gone up now to the school-room in spite of him. She's off; she +said Gerry said she might do it, long ago. Isn't it awful of her? She +says beauty's nothing, and she's only going to obey Gerry," continued +Betty. "What shall we do? She'll give all the books away wrong, and Mr. +Carr will be angry." + +They all paused for want of breath. Rosie went up and laid her fat red +hand on Lilias' knee. + +"I said it was you he stared at," she remarked. "_You_ wouldn't like +him to be vexed, would you?" + +The words had scarcely passed her lips before the door was opened, and +the object of the children's universal commiseration entered. A deep +and awful silence took possession of them. Lilias clutched Rosie's +hand, and felt an inane desire to rush from the room with her. + +Too late. The terrible infant flew to Adrian Carr, and clasping her +arms around his legs, looked up into his face. + +"Never mind," she said, "it _is_ wrong of Gussie, but it isn't Lilias' +fault. She wouldn't like to vex you, 'cause you stare so at her." + +"Nursie says that you admire Lilias; do you?" asked Betty. + +"Oh, poor Gussie!" exclaimed the others, their interest in Lilias and +Carr being after all but a very secondary matter. "We all do hope you +won't do anything dreadful to her. You can, you know. You can +excommunicate her, can't you?" + +"But what has Augusta done?" exclaimed Carr, turning a somewhat flushed +face in the direction not of Lilias, but of Marjory. "What a frightful +confusion--and what does it mean?" + +Marjory explained as well as she was able. Carr had lately taken upon +himself to overhaul the books of the lending library. He believed in +literature as a very elevating lever, but he thought that books should +not only be carefully selected in the mass, but in lending should be +given with a special view to the needs of the individual who borrowed. +Before Gerald's marriage Marjory had given away the books, but since +then, for various reasons, they had drifted into Augusta's hands, and +through their means this rather spirited and daring young lady had been +able to inflict a small succession of mild tyrannies. For instance, +poor Miss Yates, the weak-eyed and weak-spirited village dressmaker, +was dosed with a series of profound and dull theology; and Macallister, +the sexton and shoemaker, a canny Scot, who looked upon all fiction as +the "work of the de'il," was put into a weekly passion with the novels +of Charles Reade and Wilkie Collins. + +These were extreme cases, but Augusta certainly had the knack of giving +the wrong book to the wrong person. Carr heard mutterings and +grumbling. The yearly subscriptions of a shilling a piece diminished, +and he thought it full time to take the matter in hand. He himself +would distribute the village literature every Saturday, at twelve +o'clock. + +The day and the hour arrived, and behold Miss Augusta Wyndham had +forestalled him, and was probably at this very moment putting "The +Woman in White" into the enraged Macallister's hand. Carr's temper was +not altogether immaculate; he detached the children's clinging hands +from his person, and said he would pursue the truant, publicly take the +reins of authority from her, and send her home humiliated. He left the +rectory, walking fast, and letting his annoyance rather increase than +diminish, for few young men care to be placed in a ridiculous +situation, and he could not but feel that such was his in the present +instance. + +The school-house was nearly half a mile from the rectory, along a +straight and dusty piece of road; very dusty it was to-day, and a +cutting March east wind blew in Carr's face and stung it. He approached +the school-house--no, what a relief--the patient aspirants after +literature were most of them waiting outside. Augusta, then, could not +have gone into the school-room. + +"Has Miss Augusta Wyndham gone upstairs?" he asked of a rosy-cheeked +girl who adored the "Sunday At Home." + +"No, please, sir. Mr. Gerald's come, please, Mr. Carr, sir," raising +two eyes which nearly blazed with excitement. "He shook 'ands with me, +he did, and with Old Ben, there; and Miss Augusta, she give a sort of +a whoop, and she had her arms round his neck, and was a-hugging of him +before us all, and they has gone down through the fields to the +rectory." + +"About the books," said Carr; "has Miss Augusta given you the books?" + +"Bless your 'eart, sir," here interrupted Old Ben, "we ain't of a mind +for books to-day. Mr. Gerald said he'd come up this evening to the +Club, and have a chat with us all, and Sue and me, we was waiting here +to tell the news. Litteratoor ain't in our line to-day, thank you, +sir." + +"Here's Mr. Macallister," said Sue. "Mr. Macallister, Mr. Gerald's +back. He is, truly. I seen him, and so did Old Ben." + +"And he'll be at the Club to-night," said Ben, turning his wrinkled +face upwards towards the elongated visage of the canny Scot. + +"The Lord be praised for a' His mercies," pronounced Macallister, +slowly, with an upward wave of his hand, as if he were returning thanks +for a satisfying meal. "Na, na. Mr. Carr, na books the day." + +Finding that his services were really useless, Carr went away. The +villagers were slowly collecting from different quarters, and all faces +were broadening into smiles, and all the somewhat indifferent sleepy +tones becoming perceptibly brighter, and Gerald Wyndham's name was +passed from lip to lip. Old Miss Bates wiped her tearful eyes, as she +hurried home to put on her best cap. Widow Simpkins determined to make +up a good fire in her cottage, and not to spare the coals; the festive +air was unmistakeable. Carr felt smitten with a kind of envy. What +wonders could not Wyndham have effected in this place, he commented, as +he walked slowly back to his lodgings. Later in the day he called at +the rectory to find the hero surrounded by his adoring family, and +bearing his honors gracefully. + +Gerald was talking rather more than his wont; for some reason or other +his face had more color than usual, his eyes were bright, he smiled, +and even laughed. Lilias ceased to watch him anxiously, a sense of +jubilation filled the breast of every worshipping sister, and no one +thought of parting or sorrow. + +Perhaps even Gerald himself forgot the bitterness which lay before him +just then; perhaps his efforts were not all efforts, and that he really +felt some of the old home peace and rest with its sustaining power. + +You can know a thing and yet not always realize it. Gerald knew that he +should never spend another Saturday in the old rectory of +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. That Lilias' bright head and Lilias' tender, +steadfast earnest eyes would be in future only a memory. He could never +hope again to touch that hair, or answer back the smile on that beloved +and happy face. The others, too--but Lilias, after his wife, was most +dear of all living creatures to Gerald. Well, he must not think; he +resolved to take all the sweetness, if possible, out of this Saturday +and Sunday. He resolved not to tell any of his people of the coming +parting until just before he left. + +The small sisters squatted in a semicircle on the floor round their +hero; Augusta, as usual, stood behind him, keeping religious guard of +the back of his head. + +"If there is a thing I simply adore," that vigorous young lady was +often heard to say, "it's the back of Gerry's head." + +Lilias sat at his feet, her slim hand and arm lying across his knee; +Marjory flitted about, too restless and happy to be quiet, and the tall +rector stood on the hearthrug with his back to the fire. + +"It is good to be home again," said Gerald. Whereupon a sigh of content +echoed from all the other throats, and it was at this moment that Carr +came into the room. + +"Come in, Carr, come in," said the rector. "There's a place for you, +too. You're quite like one of the family, you know. Oh, of course you +are, my dear fellow, of course you are. We have got my son back, +unexpectedly. Gerald, you know Carr, don't you." + +Gerald stood up, gave Carr's hand a hearty grip, and offered him his +chair. + +"Oh, not that seat, Gerry," groaned Augusta, "it's the only one in the +room I can stand at comfortably. I can't fiddle with your curls if I +stand at the back of any other chair." + +Gerald patted her cheek. + +"Then perhaps, Carr, you'll oblige Augusta by occupying another chair. +I am sorry that I am obliged to withhold the most comfortable from +you." + +Carr was very much at home with the Wyndhams by now. He pulled forward +a cane chair, shook his head at Augusta, and glanced almost timidly at +Lilias. He feared the eight sharp eyes of the younger children if he +did more than look very furtively, but she made such a sweet picture +just then that his eyes sought hers by a sort of fascination. For the +first time, too, he noticed that she had a look of Gerald. Her face +lacked the almost spiritualized expression of his, but undoubtedly +there was a likeness. + +The voices, interrupted for a moment by the curate's entrance, soon +resumed their vigorous flow. + +"Why didn't you bring my dear little sister Valentine down, Gerald?" It +was Lilias who spoke. + +He rewarded her loving speech by a flash, half of pleasure, half of +pain in his eyes. Aloud he said:-- + +"We thought it scarcely worth while for both of us to come. I must go +away again on Monday." + +A sepulchral groan from Augusta. Rosie, Betty and Joan exclaimed almost +in a breath:-- + +"And we like you much better by yourself." + +"Oh, hush, children," said Marjory. "We are all very fond of Val." + +"You have brought a great deal of delight into the village. Wyndham," +said Carr, and he related the little scene which had taken place around +the school-house. "I'd give a good deal to be even half as popular," he +said with a sigh. + +"You might give all you possessed in all the world, and you wouldn't +succeed," snapped Gussie. + +"Augusta, you really are too rude," said Lilias with a flush on her +face. + +"No, I'm not, Lil. Oh, you needn't stare at me. I like him, and he +knows it," nodding with her head in the direction of Adrian Carr; "but +you have to be born in a place, and taught to walk in it, and you have +had to steal apples in it and eggs out of birds' nests, and to get +nearly drowned when fishing, and to get some shot in your ankle, and +you've got to know every soul in all the country round, and to come +back from school to them in the holidays, and for them first to see +your moustache coming; and then, beyond and above all that, you've got +just to be _Gerry_, to have his way of looking, and his way of walking, +and his way of shaking your hand, and to have his voice and his heart, +to be loved as well. So how _could_ Mr. Carr expect it?" + +"Bravo, Augusta," said Adrian Carr. "I'd like you for a friend better +than any girl I know." + +"Please, Gerry, tell us a story," exclaimed the younger children. They +did not want Augusta to have all the talking. + +"Let it be about a mouse, and a cricket on the hearth, and a white +elephant, and a roaring bull, and a grizzly bear." + +"And let the ten little nigger-boys come into it," said Betty. + +"And Bo-Peep," said Rosie. + +"And the Old Man who wouldn't say his prayers," exclaimed Joan. + +"And let it last for hours," exclaimed they all. + +Gerald begged the rest of the audience to go away, but they refused to +budge an inch. So the story began. All the characters appeared in due +order; it lasted a long time, and everybody was delighted. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +Lilias Wyndham never forgot that last Sunday with Gerald spent at +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. The day in itself was perfect, the air blew +softly from the west, the sun shone in a nearly cloudless heaven; the +gentle breezes, the opening flowers, the first faint buds of spring on +tree and hedge-row seemed all to give a foretaste of summer. Nobody +knew, none could guess, that in one sense they foretold the desolation +of dark winter. + +It was in this light that Wyndham himself regarded the lovely day. + +"I leap from calm to storm," he said to himself. "Never mind, I will +enjoy the present bliss!" + +He did enjoy it, really, not seemingly. He took every scrap of +sweetness out of it, almost forgetting Valentine for the time being, +and living over again the days when he was a light-hearted boy. + +He went to church twice, and sat in the corner of the square family pew +which had always been reserved for him. As of old, Lilias sat by his +side, and when the sermon came he lifted little Joan into his arms, and +she fell asleep with her golden head on his breast. The rector preached +and Gerald listened. It was an old-fashioned sermon, somewhat long for +the taste of the present day. It had been carefully prepared, and was +read aloud, for the benefit of the congregation, in a clear, +gentlemanly voice. + +Gerald almost forgot that he was a man with an unusual load of +suffering upon him, as he listened to the time-honored softly-flowing +sentences. + +"Blessed are the pure in heart," was the rector's text, and it seemed +to more than one of that little village congregation that he was +describing his own son when he drew his picture of the man of purity. + +In the evening Carr preached. He was as modern as the rector was the +reverse. He used neither M.S. nor notes, and his sermon scarcely +occupied ten minutes. + +"To die is gain" was his text. There were some in the congregation who +scarcely understood the vigorous words, but they seemed to one weary +man like the first trumpet notes of coming battle. They spoke of a +fight which led to a victory. Wyndham remembered them by-and-bye. + +It was the custom at the rectory to have a kind of open house on Sunday +evening, and to-night many of Gerald's friends dropped in. The large +party seemed a happy one. The merriment of the night before had +deepened into something better. Lilias spoke of it afterwards as bliss. + +"Do you remember," she said to Marjory, in the desolate days which +followed, "how Gerald looked when he played the organ in the hall? Do +you remember his face when we sang 'Sun of my soul?'" + +The happiest days come to an end. The children went to bed, the friends +one by one departed. Even Lilias and Marjory kissed their brother and +bade him good-night. He was to leave before they were up in the +morning. This he insisted on, against their will. + +"But we shall see you soon in London," they both said, for they were +coming up in a few weeks to stay with an aunt. Then they told him to +kiss Valentine for them, and went upstairs, chatting lightly to one +another. + +The rector and his son were alone. + +"We have had a happy day," said Gerald, abruptly. + +"We have, my son. It does us all good to have you with us, Gerald. I +could have wished--but there's no good regretting now. Each man must +choose his own path, and you seem happy, my dear son; that is the main +thing." + +"I never thought primarily of happiness," responded Gerald. "Did you +listen to Carr's sermon to-night? He proved his case well. To die _is_ +sometimes gain." + +The rector, who was seated by the fire, softly patted his knee with one +hand. + +"Yes, yes," he said, "Carr proved his case ably. He's a good fellow. A +_little_ inclined to the broad church, don't you think?" + +"Perhaps so." + +Gerald stood up. His face had suddenly grown deadly white. + +"Father, I kept a secret from you all day. I did not wish to do +anything to mar the bliss of this perfect Sunday. You--you'll break it +to Lilias and Maggie, and the younger children. I'm going to Sydney on +Wednesday. I came down to say good-bye." + +He held out his hand. The rector stood up and grasped it. + +"My dear lad--my boy. Well--well--you'll come back again. Of course, I +did know that you expected to go abroad on business for your firm. My +dear son. Yes, my boy--aye--you'll come back again soon. How queer you +look, Gerald. Sit down. I'm afraid you're a little overdone." + +"Good-bye, father. You're an old man, and Sydney is a long way off. +Good-bye. I have a queer request to make. Grant it, and don't think me +weak or foolish. Give me your blessing before I go." + +Suddenly Wyndham fell on his knees, and taking his father's hand laid +it on his head. + +"I am like Esau," he said. "Is there not one blessing left for me?" + +The rector was deeply moved. + +"Heaven above bless you, my boy," he said. "Your mother's God go with +you. There, Gerald, you are morbid. You will be back with me before +the snows of next winter fall. But God bless you, my boy, wherever you +are and whatever you do!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +Valentine was sitting in her pretty drawing-room. It was dinner time, +but she had not changed her dress. She was too young, too fresh, and +unused to trouble, for it yet to leave any strong marks on her face. +The delicate color in her cheeks had slightly paled, it is true, her +bright hair was in confusion, and her eyes looked larger and more +wistful than their wont, but otherwise no one could tell that her heart +was beating heavily and that she was listening eagerly for a footstep. + +Seven o'clock came--half-past seven. This was Gerald's last night at +home; he was to sail in the _Esperance_ for Sydney to-morrow. Valentine +felt stunned and cold, though she kept on repeating to herself over and +over:-- + +"This parting is nothing. He's sure to be home in six months at the +latest. Six months at the very latest. In these days there is really no +such thing as distance. What is a six months' parting? Besides, it is +not as if I were really in love with him. Father asked me the question +direct last night, and I said I wasn't. How could I love him with all +my heart when I remember that scene at the Gaiety? Oh, that scene! It +burns into me like fire, and father's look--I almost hated father that +night. I did really. Fancy, Valentine hating her father! Oh, of course +it passed. There is no one like my father. Husbands aren't like +fathers, not in the long run. Oh, Gerald, you might have told me the +truth? I'd have forgiven you, I would really, if you had told me the +truth. Oh, why don't you come? _Why_ don't you come? You might be in +time this last evening. It is a quarter to eight now. I am +impatient--I am frightened. Oh, there's a ring at the hall door. Oh, +thank God. No, of course, Gerald, I don't love you--not as I could have +loved--and yet I do--I _do_ love you--I _do_!" + +She clasped her hands--a footstep was on the stairs. The door was +opened, Masters brought her a thick letter on a salver. + +"Has not Mr. Wyndham come? Was not that ring Mr. Wyndham's?" + +"No, madam, a messenger brought this letter. He said there was no +answer." + +The page withdrew, and Valentine tore open the envelope. A letter +somewhat blotted, bearing strong marks of agitation, but in her +husband's writing, lay in her hand. Her eager eyes devoured the +contents. + + "I can't say good-bye, my darling--there are limits even to my + endurance--I can't look at you and hear you say 'Good-bye, Gerald.' + I bade you farewell this morning when you were asleep. I am not + coming home to-night, but your father will spend the evening with + you. You love him better than me, and I pray the God of all mercy + that he may soften any little pang that may come to you in this + separation. When you are reading this I shall be on my way to + Southampton. I have bid your father good-bye, and he will tell you + everything there is to tell about me. The _Esperance_ sails at noon + to-morrow, and it is a good plan to be on board in good time. I + cannot tell you. Valentine, what my own feelings are. I cannot + gauge my love for you. I don't think anything could probe it to its + depths. I am a sinful man, but I sometimes hope that God will + forgive me, because I have loved as much as the human heart is + capable of loving. You must remember that, dear. You must always + know that you have inspired in one man's breast the extreme of + love! + + "Good-bye, my darling. It is my comfort to know that the bitterness + of this six months' separation falls on me. If I thought otherwise, + if I thought even for a moment that you cared more for your husband + than you do for the world's opinion, or for riches, or for honor, + that you would rather have him with poverty and shame, that he was + more to you even than the father who gave you your being, then I + would say even now, at the eleventh hour, 'fly to me, Valentine. + Let us go away together on board the _Esperance_, and forget all + promises and all honor, and all truth.' Yes, I would say it. But + that is a mad dream. Forget this part of my letter. Valentine. It + has been wrung from a tortured and almost maddened heart. Good-bye, + my wife. Be thankful that you have not it in you to love + recklessly. + + "Your husband, + + "GERALD WYNDHAM." + + +"But I have!" said Valentine. She raised her eyes. Her father was in +the room. + +"Yes, I can love--I too can give back the extreme of love. Father, I am +going to my husband. I am going to Southampton. What's the matter? What +are you looking at me like that for? Why did you send Gerald away +without letting him come to say good-bye? Not that it matters, for I am +going to him. I shall take the very next train to Southampton." + +"My darling," began Mr. Paget. + +"Oh, yes, father, yes. But there's no time for loving words just now. +I've had a letter from my husband, and I'm going to him. I'm going to +Sydney with him. Yes--you can't prevent me!" + +"You are talking folly, Valentine," said Mr. Paget. "You are excited, +my child; you are talking wildly. Going with your husband? My poor +little girl. There, dear, there. He'll soon be back. You can't go with +him, you know, my love. Show me his letter. What has he dared to say +to excite you like this?" + +"No, you shan't see a word of his dear letter. No, not for all the +world. I understand him at last, and I love him with all my heart and +soul. Yes, I do. Oh, no, I don't love you as I love my husband." + +Mr. Paget stepped back a pace or two. There was no doubting Valentine's +words, no doubting the look on her face. She was no longer a child. She +was a woman, a woman aroused to passion, almost to fury. + +"I am going to my husband," she said. And she took no notice of her +father when he sank into the nearest chair and pressed his hand to his +heart. + +"I have got a blow," he said. "I have got an awful blow." + +But Valentine did not heed him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +"Yes, my darling," said Mr. Paget, two hours later; his arms were round +his daughter, and her head was on his shoulder. "Oh, yes, my dear one, +certainly, if you wish it." + +"And you'll go with me, father? Father, couldn't you come too? Couldn't +we three go? Yes, that would be nice, that would be happiness." + +"A good idea," said Mr. Paget, reflectively. "But really, Val, really +now, don't you think Wyndham and I rather spoil you? You discover at +the eleventh hour that you can't live without your husband, that as he +must cross to the other side of the world, you must go there too. And +now in addition _I_ have to accompany you. Do you think you are worth +all this? That any girl in the world is worth all this?" + +"Perhaps not, father." + +Valentine was strangely subdued and quiet. + +"I suppose it would be selfish to bring you," she said; "and we shall +be back in six months." + +"True," said Mr. Paget in a thoughtful voice; "and even for my +daughter's sake my business must not go absolutely to the dogs. Well, +child, a wilful woman--you know the proverb--a wilful woman must have +her way. I own I'm disappointed. I looked forward to six months all +alone with you. Six months with my own child--a last six months, for of +course I always guessed that when Wyndham came back you'd give yourself +up to him body and soul. Oh, no, my dear, I'm not going to disappoint +you. A wife fretting and mourning for her husband is the last person I +should consider a desirable companion. Run upstairs now and get your +maid to put your things together. I shall take you down to Southampton +by an early train in the morning, and in the meantime, if you'll excuse +me, Valentine, I'll go out and send a telegram to your husband." + +"To tell him that I'm coming?" + +"Yes, are you not pleased?" + +"No, don't do that. I will meet him on board the boat. I know exactly +what the scene will be. He'll be looking--no, I shan't say how he'll be +looking--but I'll steal up behind him, and slip my hand through his +arm, and then--and then! Father, kiss me. I love you for making me so +happy." + +Mr. Paget pressed his lips to his daughter's forehead. For a brief +moment his eyes looked into hers. She remembered by-and-bye their queer +expression. Just now, however, she was too overwrought and excited to +have room for any ideas except the one supreme longing and passion +which was drawing her to her husband. + +"Shall we have dinner?" said Mr. Paget after another pause. + +Valentine laughed rather wildly. + +"Dinner? I can't eat. Had not you better go home and have something? +Perhaps I did order dinner, but I can't remember. My head feels queer; +I can't think properly. Go home and have something to eat, father. You +can come back later on. I am going upstairs now to pack." + +She left the room without a word, and Mortimer Paget heard her light +step as she ran up to her bedroom. He began to talk vehemently to +himself. + +"Does that child, that little girl, whom I reared and fostered--that +creature whom I brought into existence--think she will checkmate me now +at the supreme moment. No, there are limits. I find that even my love +for Valentine has a bottom, and I reach it when I see the prisoner's +cell, solitary confinement, penal servitude, looming large on the +horizon. Even your heart must suffer, little Valentine, to keep such a +fate as that from my door. Poor little Val! Well, the best schemes, the +most carefully laid plans sometimes meet with defeat. It did not enter +into my calculations that Val would fall madly in love with that +long-faced fellow. Pah! where's her taste? What men women will admire. +Well, Valentine, you must pay the penalty, for my plans cannot be +disturbed at the eleventh hour!" + +Mr. Paget went softly out of the house, but he did not go, as Valentine +innocently supposed, home to dinner. No, he had something far more +important to attend to. Something in which he could be very largely +assisted by that confidential clerk of his, Jonathan Helps. + +Meanwhile, Valentine and her maid were having a busy time. Dresses were +pulled out, trunks dusted and brought into the middle of the room, and +hasty preparations were made for a journey. + +Valentine's low spirits had changed to high ones. She was as happy as +some hours ago she had been miserable. Her heart was now at rest, it +had acknowledged its own need--it had given expression to the love +which was fast becoming its life. + +"You are surprised, Suzanne," said Mrs. Wyndham to her maid. "Yes, it +is a hurried journey. I had no idea of going with Mr. Wyndham, but +he--poor fellow--he can't do without me, Suzanne, so I am going. I +shall join him on board the _Esperance_ in the morning. You can fancy +his surprise--his pleasure. Put in plenty of dinner dresses, Suzanne. +Those white dresses that Mr. Wyndham likes--yes, that is right. Of +course I shall dress every evening for dinner on board the _Esperance_. +I wonder if many other ladies are going. Not that it matters--I shall +have my husband. What are you saying, Suzanne?" + +"That it is beautiful to lof," replied the maid, looking up with +adoring eyes at her pretty animated young mistress. + +She was both young and pretty herself, and she sympathized with +Valentine, and admired her immensely for her sudden resolve. + +"Yes, love is beautiful," answered Valentine gravely. Her eyes filled +with sudden soft tears of happiness. "And there is something better +even than love," she said, looking at Suzanne, and speaking with a +sudden burst of confidence. "The highest bliss of all is to give joy to +those who love you." + +"And you will do that to-morrow, madame," replied Suzanne fervently. +"Oh, this lof, so beautiful, so rare--you will lay it at monsieur's +feet--he is goot, monsieur is, and how great is his passion for +madame." + +The young Swiss girl flitted gaily about, and by-and-bye the packing +even for this sudden voyage was accomplished. + +"You will take me with you, madame?" said Suzanne. + +"No, Suzanne, there is no time to arrange that, nor shall I really want +you. We may have to rough it a little, my husband and I; not that we +mind, it will be like a continual picnic--quite delicious." + +"But madame must be careful of her precious health." + +The color flushed into Valentine's cheeks. + +"My husband will take care of me," she said. "No. Suzanne, I shall not +take you with me. You will stay here for the present, and my father +will arrange matters for you. Now you can go downstairs and have some +supper. I shall not want you again to-night." + +The girl withdrew, and Valentine stood by the fire, gazing into its +cheerful depths, and seeing many happy dream pictures. + +"Yes, I shall certainly go with him. Even if what I dread and hope and +long for is the case, I shall be with him. I can whisper it first to +him. I ought to be with _him_--I ought to be with my husband then. Why +did Suzanne speak about my health? No one will take such care of me as +Gerald. Even my father cannot approach Gerald for tenderness, for +sympathy when one is out of sorts. How soothing is Gerald's hand; how +quieting. Once I was ill for a few hours. Only a bad headache, but it +went when he made me lie very still, and when he clasped my two hands +in one of his. Yes, I quite believe in Gerald. Even though I do not +understand that night at the Gaiety, still I absolutely believe in my +husband. He is too noble to tell a lie; he had a reason for not +explaining what looked so strange that night. He had a right reason, +probably a good and great one. Perhaps I'll ask him again some day. +Perhaps when he knows there's a little--little _child_ coming he'll +tell me himself. Oh, God, kind, good, beautiful God, if you are going +to give me a child of my very own, help me to be worthy of it. Help me +to be worthy of the child, and of the child's father." + +Mr. Paget's ring was heard at the hall door, and Valentine ran down to +meet him. He had made all arrangements he told her. They would catch +the 8.5 train in the morning from Waterloo, and he would call for her +in a cab at a sufficiently early hour to catch it. + +His words were brief, but he was quite quiet and business-like. He +kissed his daughter affectionately, told her to go to bed at once, and +soon after left the house. + +Valentine gave directions for the morning and went back to her room. +She got quickly into bed, for she was determined to be well rested for +what lay before her on the following day. She laid her head on the +pillow, closed her eyes, and prepared to go to sleep. Does not +everybody know what happens on these occasions? Does not each +individual who in his or her turn has especially desired for the best +and most excellent reason a long sleep, a deep sleep, an unbroken and +dreamless sleep found it recede further and further away--found eyes +more watchful--brain more active, limbs more restless, as the precious +moments fly by? How loud the watch ticks, how audible are the minutest +sounds! + +It was thus with Valentine Wyndham that night. No sleep came near her, +and by slow degrees as the fire grew faint and the night deepened in +silence and solemnity, her happy excitement, her childish joy, gave +place to vague apprehensions. All kinds of nameless terrors came over +her. Suppose an accident happened to the train? Suppose the _Esperance_ +sailed before its time? Above all, and this idea was agonizing, was so +repellant that she absolutely pushed it from her--suppose her father +was deceiving her. She was horrified as this thought came, and came. It +would come, it would not be banished. Suppose her father was deceiving +her? + +She went over in the silence of the night the whole scene of that +evening. Her own sudden and fierce resolve, her father's opposition, +his disappointment--then his sudden yielding. The more she thought, the +more apprehensive she grew; the more she pondered, the longer, the more +real grew her fears. At last she could bear them no longer. + +She lit a candle and looked at her watch. Three o'clock. Had ever +passed a night so long and dreadful? There would not be even a ray of +daylight for some time. She could not endure that hot and restless +pillow. She would get up and dress. + +All the time she was putting on her clothes the dread that her father +was deceiving her kept strengthening--strengthening. At last it almost +reached a panic. What a fool she had been not to go to Southampton the +night before. Suppose Gerald's ship sailed before she reached it or +him. + +Suddenly an idea came like a ray of light. Why should she wait for her +father? Why should she not take an earlier train to Southampton? The +relative depths of Valentine's two loves were clearly shown when she +did not reject this thought. It mattered nothing at all to her at this +supreme moment whether she offended her father or not. She determined +to go to Southampton by the first train that left Waterloo that +morning. She ran downstairs, found a time-table, saw that a train left +at 5.50, and resolved to catch it. She would take Suzanne with her, and +leave a message for her father; he could follow by the 8.5 train if he +liked. + +She went upstairs and woke her maid. + +"Suzanne, get up at once. Dress yourself, and come to me, to my room." + +In an incredible short time Suzanne had obeyed this mandate. + +"I am going to take you with me to Southampton. Suzanne. I mean to +catch the train which leaves here at ten minutes to six. We have plenty +of time, but not too much. Can you make some coffee for us both? And +then either you or Masters must find a cab." + +Suzanne opened her bright eyes wide. + +"I will go with you, my goot madam," she said to herself. "The early +hour is noting, the strangeness is noting. That olt man--I hate that +olt man! I will go alone with you, mine goot mistress, to find the goot +husband what is so devoted. Ach! Suzanne does not like that olt man!" + +Coffee was served in Valentine's bedroom. Mistress and maid partook of +it together. Masters was aroused, was fortunate enough in procuring a +cab, and at five o'clock, for Valentine's impatience could brook no +longer delay, she and Suzanne had started together for Waterloo. + +Once more her spirits were high. She had dared something for Gerald. It +was already sweet to her to be brave for his sake. + +Before she left she wrote a short letter to her father--a constrained +little note--for her fears stood between her and him. + +She and Suzanne arrived at Waterloo long before the train started. + +"Oh, how impatient I am!" whispered Mrs. Wyndham to her maid. "Will +time never pass? I am sure all the clocks in London must be wrong, this +last night has been like three." + +The longest hours, however, do come to an end, and presently Valentine +and Suzanne found themselves being whirled out of London, and into the +early morning of a bright clear March day. + +The two occupied a compartment to themselves. Suzanne felt wide awake, +talkative, and full of intense curiosity; but Valentine was strangely +silent. She ceased either to laugh or to talk. She drew down her veil, +and establishing herself in a corner kept looking out at the swiftly +passing landscape. Once more the fear which had haunted her during the +night returned. Even now, perhaps, she would not be in time! + +Then she set to work chiding herself. She must be growing silly. The +_Esperance_ did not leave the dock until noon, and her train was due at +Southampton soon after eight. Of course there would be lots of time. +Even her father who was to follow by the later train could reach the +_Esperance_ before she sailed. + +The train flew quickly through the country, the slow moments dropped +into space one by one. Presently the train slackened speed--presently +it reached its destination. + +Then for the first time Valentine's real difficulties began. She had +not an idea from which dock the _Esperance_ was to sail. A porter +placed her luggage on a fly. She and Suzanne got in, and the driver +asked for directions. No, the _Esperance_ was not known to the owner of +the hackney coach. + +When the porter and the cabman questioned Mrs. Wyndham she suddenly +felt as if she had come up against a blank wall. There were miles of +ships all around. If she could afford no clue to the whereabouts of the +_Esperance_ the noon of another day might come before she could reach +the dock where it was now lying at anchor. + +At last it occurred to her to give the name of her father's shipping +firm. It was a great name in the city, but neither the porter nor the +cabman had come under its influence. They suggested, however, that most +likely the firm of Paget Brothers had an office somewhere near. They +said further that if there was such an office the clerks in it could +give the lady the information she wanted. + +Valentine was standing by her cab, trying not to show the bewilderment +and distress which had seized her, when a man who must have been +listening came up, touched his hat, and said civilly:-- + +"Pardon, madam. If you will drive or walk down to the quay, this quay +quite close, there is an office, you cannot fail to see it, where they +can give you the information you desire, as they are always posted up +with regard to the out-going and in-coming vessels. That quay, quite +near, cabby. Messrs. Gilling and Gilling's office." + +He touched his hat again and vanished, being rewarded by Valentine with +a look which he considered a blessing. + +"Now," she said, "now, I will give you double fare, cabman, treble +fare, if you will help me to get to the _Esperance_ in time; and first +of all, let us obey that good man's directions and go to Messrs. +Gilling and Gilling." + +The quay was close, and so was the office. In two minutes Valentine was +standing, alas, by its closed doors. A sudden fierce impatience came +over her, she rang the office bell loudly. Three times she rang before +any one answered her summons. Then a rather dishevelled and +sleepy-looking boy opened the door wide enough to poke his head out and +asked her her business. + +"I want to get news of the ship called the _Esperance_." + +"Office don't open till nine." + +He would have pushed the door to, but Suzanne stepping forward deftly +put her foot in. + +"Mine goot boy, be civil," she said. "This lady has come a long way, +and she wants the tidings she asks very sore." + +The office boy looked again at Valentine. She certainly was pretty; so +was Suzanne. But the office really did not open till nine, and the boy +could not himself give any tidings. + +"You had better step in," he said. "Mr. Jones will be here at nine. No, +I don't know nothing about the ship." + +It was now twenty-five minutes past eight. Valentine sank down on the +dusty chair which the boy pushed forward for her, and Suzanne stood +impatiently by her side. + +Outside, the cabman whistled a cheerful air and stamped his feet. The +morning was cold; but what of that? He himself was doing a good +business; he was certain of an excellent fare. + +"Suzanne," said Valentine suddenly. "Do you mind going outside and +waiting in the cab. I cannot bear anyone to stare at me just now." + +Suzanne obeyed. She was not offended. She was too deeply interested and +sympathetic. + +The slow minutes passed. Nine o'clock sounded from a great church near, +and then more gently from the office clock. At three minutes past nine +a bilious-looking clerk came in and took his place at one of the desks. +He started when he saw Valentine, opened a ledger, and pretended to be +very busy. + +"Can you tell me, at once, please, from which dock the _Esperance_ +sails?" asked Mrs. Wyndham. + +Her voice was impressive, and sharp with pain and waiting. The clerk +thought he might at least stare at her. Things were slow and dull at +this hour of the morning, and she was a novelty. He could have given +the information at once, but it suited him best to dawdle over it. +Valentine could have stamped with her increasing impatience. + +The clerk, turning the leaves of a big book slowly, at last put his +finger on an entry. + +"_Esperance_ sails for Sydney 25th inst., noon. Albert and Victoria +Docks." + +"Thank you, thank you," said Valentine. "Are these docks far away?" + +"Three miles off, madam." + +"Thank you." + +She was out of the office and in the cab almost before he had time to +close his book. + +"Drive to the Albert and Victoria Docks, instantly, coachman. I will +give you a sovereign if you take me there in less than half an hour." + +Never was horse beaten like that cabby's, and Valentine, the most +tender-hearted of mortals, saw the whip raised without a pang. Now she +was certain to be in time; even allowing for delay she would reach the +_Esperance_ before ten o'clock, and it did not sail until noon. Yes, +there was now not the most remote doubt she was in good time. And yet, +and yet--still she felt miserable. Still her heart beat with a strange +overpowering sense of coming defeat and disaster. Good cabman--go +faster yet, and faster. Ah, yes, how they were flying! How pleasant it +was to be bumped and shaken, and jolted--to feel the ground flying +under the horse's feet, for each moment brought her nearer to the +_Esperance_ and to Gerald. + +At last they reached the dock. Valentine sprang out of the cab. A +sailor came forward to help with her luggage. Valentine put a sovereign +into the cabman's hand. + +"Thank you," she said, "oh, thank you. Yes, I am in good time." + +Her eyes were full of happy tears, and the cabman, a rather hardened +old villain, was surprised to find a lump rising in his throat. + +"Which ship, lady?" asked the sailor, touching his cap. + +"The _Esperance_, one of Paget Brothers' trading vessels. I want to go +on board at once; show it to me. Suzanne, you can follow with the +luggage. Show me the _Esperance_, good man, my husband is waiting for +me." + +"You don't mean the _Experiance_, bound for Sydney?" asked the man. +"One of Paget Brothers' big ships?" + +"Yes, yes; do you know her? Point her out to me." + +"Ay, I know her. I was helping to lade her till twelve last night." + +"Just show her to me. I am in a frightful hurry. She is here--this is +the right dock." + +"Ay, the Albert and Victoria. The _Experiance_ sailing for Sydney, +noon, on the 25th." + +"Well, where is she? I will go and look for her by myself." + +"You can't, lady, she's gone." + +"What--what do you mean? It isn't twelve o'clock. Suzanne, it isn't +twelve o'clock." + +"No, lady." + +The old sailor looked compassionate enough. + +"Poor young thing," he soliloquized under his breath, "some one has +gone and done her. The _Experiance_ was to sail at noon," he continued, +"and she's a bunny tidy ship, too. I was lading her up till midnight; +for last night there came an order, and the captain--Captain Jellyby's +is his name--he was all flustered and in a taking, and he said we was +to finish and lade up, and she was to go out of port sharp at eight +this morning. She did, too, sharp to the minute. I seen her weigh +anchor. That's her, lady--look out there--level with the horizon--she's +a fast going ship and she's making good way. Let me hold you up, +lady--now, can you see her now? _That's_ the _Experiance_." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +The _Esperance_ was a well-made boat; she was about four thousand tons, +with improved engines which went at great speed. She was a trading +ship, one of the largest and most important of those belonging to Paget +Brothers, but she sometimes took out emigrants, and had room for a few +saloon passengers; old travellers, who knew what comfort was, sometimes +preferred to go in such ships as the _Esperance_ to the more +conventional lines of steamers. There was less crowding, less fuss; +there was also more room and more comfort. The meals were good and +abundant, and the few passengers, provided they were in any sense of +the word congenial spirits, became quickly friends. + +Gerald, as one of the members of the firm, was of course accommodated +with the very best the _Esperance_ could offer. He had a large state +room, well furnished, to himself; he was treated with every possible +respect, and even consulted with regard to trivial matters. Only, +however, with regard to very trivial matters. + +When he arrived at Southampton on the evening of the 24th, he went at +once on board the _Esperance_. + +"We shall sail at noon to-morrow," he said to the captain. + +Captain Jellyby was a pleasant old salt, with a genial, open, sunburnt +face, and those bright peculiar blue eyes which men who spend most of +their lives on the sea often have, as though the reflection of some of +its blue had got into them. + +"At noon to-morrow," replied the captain. "Yes, and that is somewhat +late; but we shan't have finished coaling before." + +"But we stop at Plymouth surely?" + +"Well, perhaps. I cannot positively say. We may be able to go straight +on to Teneriffe." + +Gerald did not make any further comments. He retired to his cabin and +unpacked one or two things, then he went into the saloon, and taking up +a book appeared to be absorbed with its contents. + +In reality he was not reading. He had written a desperate letter that +morning, and he was upheld even now in this moment of bitterness by a +desperate hope. + +Suppose Valentine suddenly found her slumbering heart awake? Suppose +his words, his wild, weak and foolish words, stung it into action? +Suppose the wife cried out for her husband, the awakened heart for its +mate. Suppose she threw all prudence to the winds, and came to him? She +could reach him in time. + +He could not help thinking of this as he sat with his hand shading his +eyes, pretending to read in the state saloon of the _Esperance_, the +vessel which was to carry him away to a living death. + +If Valentine came, oh yes, if Valentine came, there would be no death. +There might be exile, there might be poverty, there might be dishonor, +but no death. It would be all life then--life, and the flush of a +stained victory. + +He owned to himself that if the temptation came he would take it. If +his wife loved him enough to come to him he would tell her all. He +would tell her of the cruel promise wrung from him, and ask her if he +must keep it. + +The hours flew by; he raised his head and looked at the clock. Nine, it +was striking nine. He heard a sound on board, and his pulses quickened. +It passed--it was nothing. The clock struck ten, it was a beautiful +starlight night. All the other passengers who had already come on board +were amusing themselves on deck. + +Gerald was alone in the saloon. Again there was a sound a little +different from the constant cries of the sailors. + +Captain Jellyby's name was shouted, and there was a rush, followed by +renewed activity. Gerald rose slowly, shut his book, and went on deck. +It was a dark night although the sky was clear and full of stars. A man +in an overcoat and collar turned well up over his ears brushed past +Wyndham, made for the gangway and disappeared. + +"Good heavens--how like that man was to old Helps," soliloquized +Gerald. + +He stayed on deck a little longer; he thought his imagination had +played him a trick, for what could bring Helps on board the +_Esperance_. Presently the captain joined him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +"I am sorry, Mr. Wyndham," said Captain Jellyby, "to have to offer you +on your very first night on board my good ship very broken slumbers. We +shall be lading with coals all night. Are you easily disturbed by +noise! But I need scarcely ask, for that noise would almost rouse the +dead." + +Gerald smiled. + +"A broken night is nothing," he said; "at least to me. I suppose there +always is a great commotion the last night before a vessel sails on a +long voyage." + +"Not as a rule--at least that isn't my way. We meant to break off and +have a quiet time at midnight, and start operations again at six +o'clock in the morning. But I've had directions from head quarters +which oblige me to quicken my movements. Doocid inconvenient, too!" + +"What do you mean?" said Gerald, the pulses round his heart suddenly +quickening. "We sail at noon to-morrow." + +"We sail at eight in the morning, my good sir, and I, for one, call it +doocid inconvenient. (Yes, Cadgers, what do you want? Get all hands +possible on board.) I beg your pardon, Mr. Wyndham. (Yes, Cadgers.) +Back with you presently, sir." + +The captain disappeared, and Wyndham went down to his cabin. + +What did this sudden change mean? Who had given the order? Was that +really Helps who had been on board? Well, Wyndham was in a manner +master on this vessel. It was his own, part of his property; he had +been told over and over again by his father-in-law that on this +voyage, this pleasant voyage, he could give his own orders, and short +of anything which would jeopardize the safety of the boat, the captain +would humor his wishes. He would countermand an order which was putting +everybody out; he did not choose to leave his native shore before the +time specified--noon on the following day. In such a short life as his +even four hours were of moment. He would not lose the four hours of +hope, of the possibility of hope yet left to him. + +He went on deck, sought out the captain where he was standing, shouting +out hoarse directions to gangs of energetic looking sailors. + +"A word with you, Captain Jellyby," he said. "There is some mistake in +the order which you have received. I mean that I am in a position to +cancel it. I do not wish the _Esperance_ to sail before noon +to-morrow." + +His voice was very distinct and penetrating, and the sailors stopped +work and looked at him. Astonishment was written legibly on their +faces. + +"Lade away boys, work with a will," said the captain. Then he put his +hand on Gerald's shoulder, turned him round, and walked a pace or two +away. + +"I quite understand your position, Mr. Wyndham," he said. "And in all +possible matters I shall yield you due deference. But----" + +"Yes," said Wyndham. + +"But--we sail at eight to-morrow morning, sharp." + +"What do you mean? Who has given you the order?" + +"I am not prepared to say. My orders are explicit. Another time, when +Captain Jellyby can meet the wishes of Mr. Wyndham with a clear +conscience, his orders shall also be explicit." + +The captain bowed, laid his hand across his heart and turned away. + +Wyndham went back to his own cabin, and was tortured all night by a +desire, sane or otherwise, he could not tell which, to leave the +_Esperance_ and return to London and Valentine. + +The lading of the vessel went on ceaselessly, and sharp at eight the +following morning she weighed anchor and steamed away. Wyndham had lain +awake all night, but at seven in the morning he fell into a doze. The +doze deepened into quietness, into peaceful and refreshing slumber: the +lines departed from his young face; he had not undressed, but flung +himself as he was on his berth. When the _Esperance_ was flying merrily +through the water, Captain Jellyby had time to give Wyndham a thought. + +"That is a nice lad," he said to himself. "He has a nice face, young +too. I don't suppose he has seen five-and-twenty, but he knows what +trouble means. My name is not Jack Jellyby if that young man does not +know what pretty sharp trouble means. Odd, too, for he's rich and has +married the chief's daughter, and what a fuss the chief made about his +reception here. No expense to be spared; every comfort given, every +attention shown, and his orders to be obeyed within reason. Ay, my +pretty lad, there's the rub--within reason. You looked keen and vexed +enough last night when I had to hasten the hour for the departure of +the _Esperance_. I wonder what the chief meant by that. Well, I'll go +and have a look at young Wyndham; he may as well come with me and see +the last of his native shore. As the morning is fine it will be a +pretty sight." + +The captain went and begged for admission to Wyndham's cabin. There was +no answer, so he opened the door and poked his red smiling face round. + +"Bless me, the boy's asleep," he said; and he came up and took a good +look at his new passenger. + +Gerald was dreaming now, and a smile played about his lips. Suddenly he +opened his eyes and said:-- + +"Yes, Valentine, yes, I'm coming!" and sprang to his feet. + +The captain was standing with his legs a little apart, looking at him. +The vessel gave a lurch, and Wyndham staggered. + +"Are we off?" he said. "Good God, are we really off?" + +"We were off an hour ago, young sir. Come up on deck and see what a +pretty coast line we have just here." + +Wyndham put his hand to his forehead. + +"I have been cheated," he said suddenly. "Yes. I've been cheated. I +can't speak about it; things weren't clear to me last night, but I had +a dream, and I know now what it all means. I woke with some words on my +lips. What did I say, captain?" + +"You called to some fellow of the name of Valentine--your brother, +perhaps." + +"I haven't a brother. The person to whom I called was a woman--my wife. +She was coming on board. She would have sailed with me if we had +waited. Now it is too late." + +The captain raised his shaggy brows the tenth of an inch. + +"They must be sending him on this voyage on account of his health," he +mentally soliloquized. "Now I see daylight. A little touched, poor +fellow. Pity--nice fellow. Well, the chief might have trusted me. Of +course I must humor him, poor lad. Come on deck," he said aloud. "It's +beastly close down here. You should have the porthole open, the sea is +like glass. Come on deck and get a breath of fresh air. Isn't Valentine +a rather uncommon name for a woman? Yes, of course, I heard you were +married. Well, well, you'll be home again in six months. Now come on +deck and look around you." + +"Look here, captain," said Gerald suddenly. "I can't explain matters. +I daresay you think me queer, but you're mistaken." + +"They all go on that tack," muttered the captain. "Another symptom. +Well, I must humor him. I don't think you queer," he said, aloud. +"You're finely mistaken. You had a dream, and you called on your wife, +whom you have just parted from. What more natural? Bless you. I know +all about it. I was married myself." + +"And you left your wife?" + +"I left her, and what is worse she left me. She went up to the angels. +Bless her memory, she was a young thing. I see her yet, as she bade me +good-bye. Come on deck, lad." + +"Yes; come on deck," said Gerald hoarsely. + +All that day he was silent, sitting mostly apart and by himself. + +But the captain had his eye on him. In the evening he came again to +Captain Jellyby. + +"You touch at Plymouth, don't you?" + +"Sometimes." + +"This voyage, I mean." + +"No." + +"I wish you to stop at Plymouth." + +"Look here, my lad. 'No' is the only word I can give you. We don't +touch land till we get to Teneriffe. Go and lie down and have a sleep. +We shall have a calm sea to-night, and you look fagged out." + +"Are you a man to be bribed?" began Wyndham. + +"I am ashamed of you. I am not." + +The captain turned his back on him. Wyndham caught him by his shoulder. + +"Are you a man to be moved to pity?" + +"Look here, my lad, I can pity to any extent; but if you think any +amount of compassion will turn me from my duty, you're in the wrong +box. It's my duty, clear as the sky above, to go straight on to +Teneriffe, and on I shall go. You understand?" + +"Yes," said Gerald, "I understand. Thank you, captain, I won't bother +you further." + +His voice had altered, his brow had cleared. He walked away to the +further end of the deck, whistling a light air. The captain saw him +stop to pay some small attention to a lady passenger. + +"Bless me, if I understand the fellow!" he muttered. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + +When a die has been cast--cast irrevocably--as a rule there follows a +calm. It is sometimes the calm of peace, sometimes that of despair; but +there is always a stillness, effort is over, words don't avail, actions +are paralyzed. + +Gerald Wyndham sat on deck most of that evening. There was a married +lady, a certain Mrs. Harvey, on board, she was going to Australia with +her husband and one little girl. She was about thirty, and very +delicate. Gerald's face took her fancy, and they struck up an +acquaintance. + +The evening was so calm, so mild, the water so still, the sky above so +clear that the passengers brought wraps and lingered long on deck. Mrs. +Harvey talked all the time to Gerald. He answered her not only politely +but with interest. She was an interesting woman, she could talk well, +she had great sympathy, and she wanted to draw Wyndham out. In this she +failed, although she imagined she succeeded. He learned much of her +history, for she was very communicative, but when she joined her +husband downstairs later that evening she could not tell him a single +thing about their fellow-passenger. + +"He has a nice face," they both remarked, and they wondered who he was. + +It did not occur to them to speak of him as sad-looking. On the +contrary, Mrs. Harvey spoke of his cheerful smile and of his strong +appreciation of humor. + +"It is delightful to meet a man who can see a joke," she said. "Most of +them are so dense." + +"I wonder which family of Wyndhams he belongs to," remarked the +husband. + +"I wonder if he is married," added the wife. + +Then they both resolved that they would find out to-morrow. But they +did not, for the next day Wyndham did not come on deck at all. He +stayed in his own cabin, and had one or two interviews with the +captain. + +"You know very little about me, Captain Jellyby," he said, once. + +"I know that you are married to Miss Paget," replied the captain, "and +I am given to understand that she is a very charming young lady." + +"I want you to keep the fact of my marriage to yourself." + +The captain looked a little surprised. + +"Certainly, if you wish it," he said. + +"I do wish it. I am knocked over to-day, for the fact is, I--I have +gone through some trouble, but I don't mean to inflict my troubles on +you or my fellow-passengers. I hope I shall prove an acquisition rather +than otherwise on board the _Esperance_. But what I do not want, what +would be particularly repellant to me, is that the other saloon +passengers should gossip about me. When they find that I don't talk +about myself, or my people, or my wife, they will become curious, and +ply you with questions. Will you be mum on the subject?" + +"Mum as the grave," said the captain rising and stretching himself. +"Lord, we'll have some fun over this. If there are a deadly curious, +gossiping, wrangling, hole-picking set in this wide world, it's the +saloon passengers on board a boat of this kind. I'll make up a +beautiful mystery about you, my fine fellow. Won't they enjoy it! Why, +it will be the saving of them." + +"Make up any mystery you like," replied Wyndham, "only don't tell them +the truth. That is, I mean, what you know of the truth." + +"And that's nothing," muttered the captain to himself as he went away. +"Bless me, he is a queer fellow. Touched--he must be touched." + +Gerald spent twenty-four hours in God only knows what deep waters of +mental agony. The other passengers thought he was suffering from an +attack of sea-sickness, for they were just now meeting the heavy +channel sea, and the captain did not undeceive them. They passed +Plymouth before Gerald again appeared on deck, and when he once more +joined his fellow-passengers they were outside the Bay of Biscay. + +Gerald had not suffered from any bodily discomfort, but others on board +the _Esperance_ were less fortunate, and when he once more took his +place in the saloon, and went up on deck, he found that work, which all +his life long seemed to fall to his share, once more waiting for him. +It was the work of making other people comfortable. The Harveys' little +girl was very weak and fretful. She had gone through a bad time, but +when Wyndham lifted her in his arms, sat down with her in a sheltered +part of the deck, and told her some funny fairy tales, his influence +worked like the wand of a good magician. She smiled, told Mr. Wyndham +he was a very nice man, gave him a kiss, and ran downstairs presently +to eat her supper with appetite. + +Little Cecily Harvey was not the only person who came under Wyndham's +soothing influence. During this first evening he found himself more or +less in the position of a sort of general sick-nurse. But the next day +people were better, and then he appeared in another _rôle_. He could +entertain, with stories, with music, with song. He could recite; above +all things he could organize, and had a knack of showing off other +people to the best advantage. Long before a week had passed, Wyndham +was the most popular person on board. He was not only popular with +saloon passengers, but with the emigrants. There were several on +board, and he often spent some hours with them, playing with the +children, and talking with the mothers, or, rather, getting the mothers +to talk to him. + +They were flying south now, and every day the air grew more balmy and +the sea smoother. The emigrants, boys and girls, fathers and mothers, +used to lie out on the deck in the sun, and a very pretty picture they +made; the children rolling about laughing and playing, and the mothers, +most of them were young mothers, looking on and regarding them with +pride. + +There was scarcely an emigrant mother on board that ship who had not +confided her story, her hopes and her fears to Wyndham, before the +voyage was over. + +Soon that thing happened which had happened long ago at +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, which had happened in the small house in +Park-lane, which had happened even with the odds against him to his +wife--everybody loved Wyndham. Hearts warmed as he came near, eyes +brightened when they looked at him. He was in the position of a +universal favorite. That sometimes is a dangerous position. But not in +his case, for he was too unselfish to make enemies. + +All this time, while his life was apparently drifting, while the hours +were apparently gliding on to no definite or especial goal, to a +landing at Melbourne--to a journey across a new Continent--while his +days were going by to all intents and purposes like anybody else's +days, he knew that between him and them lay an immeasurable gulf. He +knew that he was not drifting, but going very rapidly down a hill. The +fact is, Wyndham knew that the end, as far as he was concerned, was +near. + +His father-in-law had planned one thing, but he had planned another. He +told no one of this, he never whispered this to a living creature, but +his own mind was inexorably made up. He knew it when he bade his +father good-bye that last Sunday; when he looked at Lilias and +Marjory, and the other children, he knew it; he knew it when he kissed +his wife's cheek that last morning when she slept. In his own way he +could be a man of iron will. His will was as iron in this special +matter. Only once had his determination been shaken, and that was when +he pleaded with Valentine, and when he hoped against hope that she +would listen to his prayer. The last lingering sparks of that hope died +away when the captain refused to touch at Plymouth. After that moment +his own fixed will never wavered. + +His father-in-law had asked him for half a death; he should have a +whole one. That was all. Many another man had done what he meant to do +before. Still it was the End--the great End. No one could go beyond it. + +He made his plans very carefully; he knew to effect his object he must +be extremely careful. He would die, but it must never be supposed, +never breathed by mortal soul that he had passed out of this world +except by accident. He knew perfectly what the captain thought of him +during the first couple of days of his residence on board the +_Esperance_. + +"Captain Jellyby is positive that I am touched in the head," thought +Wyndham. "I must undo that suspicion." + +He took pains, and he succeeded admirably. Wyndham was not only a +favorite on board, but he was cheerful, he was gay. People remarked not +on his high but on his good spirits. + +"Such a merry, light-hearted fellow," they said of him. + +Wyndham overheard these remarks now and then. The captain openly +delighted in him. + +"The ship will never be lucky again when you leave her," he said. +"You're worth a free passage to any captain. Why you keep us all in +good humor. Passengers, emigrants, sailors and all. Here, come along. I +thought you rather a gloomy young chap when first I set eyes on you; +but now--ah, well, you were homesick. Quite accountable. Here, I have a +request from the second mate, and one or two more of the jack tars down +there. They want you to sing them a song after supper. They say it +isn't fair that we should have you to ourselves in the saloon." + +Gerald laughed, said he would be happy to oblige the sailors, and +walked away. + +"As jolly a chap as ever I laid eyes on," muttered the captain. "I +liked him from the first, but I was mistaken in him. I thought him +gloomy. Not a bit. I wonder his wife could bear to let him out of her +sight. I wouldn't if I were a lass. There, hark to him now! Bless me, +we are having a pleasant voyage this time." + +So they were. No one was ill; the amount of rough weather was decidedly +below the average, and cheerfulness and contentment reigned on board. + +The ship touched at Teneriffe, but only for a few hours, and then sped +on her way to the Cape. It was now getting very hot, and an awning was +spread over the deck. Under this the saloon passengers sat, and smoked +and read. No one suspected, no one had the faintest shadow of a +suspicion that black care lurked anywhere on board that happy ship, +least of all in the breast of the merriest of its crew, Gerald Wyndham. + +The _Esperance_ reached the Cape in safety, there some of the +passengers, Gerald amongst them, landed, for the captain intended to +lie at anchor for twenty-four hours. Then again they were away, and now +they were told they must expect colder weather for they were entering +the Southern Ocean, and were approaching high latitudes of polar cold. +They would have to go through the rough sea of the "Roaring Forties," +and then again they would emerge into tropical sunshine. + +Soon after they left the Cape, little Cecily Harvey fell ill. She +caught a chill and was feverish, and the doctor and her mother forbade +her to go on deck. She was only eight years old, a pretty, winsome +child. Gerald felt a special tenderness for her, for she reminded him +of his own little sister Joan. During this illness she often lay for +hours in his arms, with her little feverish cheek pressed against his, +and her tiny hot hand comforted by his firm cool clasp. + +"Mr. Wyndham," she said on one of these occasions. "I wish you wouldn't +do it." + +"Do what, Cecily?" + +"Run up the rigging as you do. I heard one of the sailors talking to +Mrs. Meyrich the other day, and he said you were too daring, and some +day you'd have a slip, and be overboard, if you did not look sharp." + +"Oh, I'll take care of myself, Cecily. At one time I thought of being a +sailor, and I was always climbing, always climbing at home. There isn't +the least fear. I'm not rash. I'm a very careful fellow." + +"Are you? I'm glad of that. Had you tall trees at your home?" + +Gerald gave the little hand a squeeze. + +"They were like other trees," he said. "Don't let us talk of them." + +"Mustn't we? I'm sorry. I wanted to hear all about your home." + +"I haven't a home, Cecily. Once I had one, but you can understand that +it is painful to speak of what one has lost." + +"I'm very sorry for you, dear Mr. Wyndham. Did you lose a little +sister, too? Is that why you squeeze me so tight?" + +"I have lost many little sisters; we won't talk of them, either. What +is the matter, Cecily? Do you feel faint?" + +"No, but I hate this rough, choppy sea. I want it to be smooth again as +it used to be. Then I can go on deck, and lie under the awning, and you +can sit near me, and tell me stories. Will you?" + +Gerald did not answer. + +"_Will_ you, Mr. Wyndham?" + +"I can lie to everyone else but not to the child," muttered Gerald. + +He roused himself, and sought to divert her attention. + +"We are in the 'Roaring Forties' now," he said. "Isn't that a funny +name? The sea is always very choppy and rough here, but it won't last +long. You will soon be in pleasant weather and smooth seas again." + +Cecily was not satisfied, and Gerald presently left her and went on +deck. + +The weather was not pleasant just now, it was cold and squally, always +veering about and causing a choppy and disagreeable motion with the +ship. Some of the ladies took again to their beds, and went through +another spell of sea-sickness; the more fortunate ones sat and chatted +in the great saloon--not one of them ventured on deck. Gerald, who was +not in the least indisposed in body, found plenty to do in his _rôle_ +of general cheerer and comforter. When he was not nursing little Cecily +he spent some time with the emigrants, amongst whom he was a great +favorite. + +On this particular day a round-faced young woman of five and twenty, a +certain Mrs. Notley, came up to him the moment he appeared on the lower +deck. + +"They do say it, sir, and I thought I'd speak to you, so that you +wouldn't mind. They do say you're over rash in helping the +sailors--over rash, and none so sure-footed as you think yourself." + +"Folly," said Gerald, laughing good-humoredly. "So I can't run up a +rope or tighten a rigging without people imagining that I am putting my +precious life in jeopardy. Don't you listen to any foolish tales, Mrs. +Notley. I'm a great deal too fond of myself to run any risks. I shan't +slip, if that's what you mean--for that matter I have always been +climbing, since I was a little chap no bigger than that urchin of yours +there." + +"Ay, sir, that's all very well, but it's different for all that on +board ship; there may come a lurch when you least look for it, and then +the surest-footed and the surest-handed is sometimes outwitted. You'll +excuse my mentioning of it, sir, but you're a bonny young gentleman, +and you has the goodwill of everyone on board." + +"Thank you, Mrs. Notley, I like to hear you say so. It is pleasant to +be liked." + +"Ah, sure you are that, and no mistake, and you'll forgive me +mentioning it, sir, but you'll be careful, won't you? You ain't married +for sure, for your face is too lightsome for that of a married man. But +maybe you has a mother and a sweetheart, and you might think of them, +sir, and not be over daring." + +Wyndham's face grew suddenly white. + +"As it happens I have neither a mother nor sweetheart," he said. Then +he turned away somewhat abruptly, and Mrs. Notley feared she had +offended him. + +The sailors prophesied "dirty weather;" they expected it, for this was +the roughest part of the voyage. Gerald was very fond of talking to the +sailors and getting their opinions. He strolled over to where a group +of them were standing now, and they pointed to some ugly looking +clouds, and told him that the storm would be on them by night. + +Nothing very bad, or to be alarmed at, they said, still a rough and +nasty sea, with a bit of a gale blowing. The women and children +wouldn't like it, poor things, and it would be a dark night too, no +moon. + +Gerald asked a few more questions. + +"I have a great anxiety to see a storm," he said. "If it gets really +stormy, I'll come up; I can shelter beside the man at the wheel." + +"Better not, sir," one or two said. "The vessel is sure to lurch over a +good bit, and it takes more sea-weather legs than yours to keep their +footing at such a time." + +"All the same," remarked a burly-looking sailor, who was to take his +place at the wheel for some hours that night, and thought Gerald's +company would be a decided acquisition, "I could put the gent into a +corner where he'd be safe enough round here, and it's something to see +a gale in these parts--something to live for--not that there'll be much +to-night, only a bit of a dirty sea; but still----" + +"Expect me, Loggan, if it does come," said Wyndham. He laughed and +turned away. He walked slowly along the upper deck. Captain Jellyby +came up and had a word with him. + +"Yes, we're in for a dirty night," he remarked. + +Then Wyndham went downstairs. He chatted for a little with the ladies +in the saloon. Then he went into his own cabin. He shut the door. The +time had arrived--the hour had come. + +He felt wonderfully calm and quiet; he was not excited, nor did his +conscience smite him with a sense of any special wrong-doing. Right or +wrong he was going to do something on which no blessing could be asked, +over which no prayer could be uttered. He had been brought up in a +house where prayers had been many; he had whispered his own baby +prayers to his mother when he was a little child. Well, well, he would +not think of these things now. The hour was come, the moment for action +was ripe. There was a little daylight, and during that time he meant to +occupy himself with one last task; he would write a letter to his wife, +a cheerful, bright everyday letter, to the wife for whose sake he was +about to rush unbidden into the arms of death. He had a part to act, +and this letter was in the programme. To make all things safe and above +suspicion he must write it, and leave it carelessly on his table, so +that the next ship they touched should convey it to her. + +He took out a sheet of foreign notepaper, and wrote steadily. His hand +did not shake, he covered the whole sheet of paper; his words were +bright, contented; no shadow of gloom touched them. They were full of +anticipation, of pleasure in the moment--of pleasure in the coming +reunion. + +The writing of this letter was the very hardest task of the man's whole +life. When it was over great drops of sweat stood on his forehead. He +read it steadily, from beginning to end, however, and his only fear was +that it was too bright, and that she might see through it, as in a +mirror, the anguish beneath. + +The letter was written, and now Wyndham had nothing to do. He had but +to sit with his hands before him, and wait for the gathering darkness +and the ever-increasing gale. + +He sat for nearly an hour in his own cabin, he was past any consecutive +thought now; still, so great was the constraint he was able to put over +himself that outwardly he was quite calm. Presently he went into the +saloon. Cecily Harvey alone was there, all the ladies having gone in to +dinner. She sprang up with a cry of delight when she saw Gerald. + +"Mr. Wyndham, have you come to stay with me? Why aren't you at dinner? +How white you look." + +"I am not hungry, Cecily. I thought you would be alone, and I came out +to see you. I wanted you to give me a kiss." + +"Of course I will--of course I will," said the affectionate child, +throwing her arms around his neck. + +"You remind me of one of the little sisters I have lost," he said +hurriedly. "Thank you, Cecily, thank you. Be a good child, always. I +would say 'God bless you' if I dared." + +"Why don't you dare? You are a good man, a very good man, the best I +know." + +"Hush, Cecily, you don't know what you are talking about. Give me +another kiss. Thank you sweet little girl." + +He went back again to his own cabin. The longing for compassion at this +crucial moment had made him run a risk in talking so to Cecily. He +blamed himself, but scarcely regretted the act. + +It was certainly going to be a dirty night, and already the sailors +were busy overhead. The good ship creaked and strained as she to fought +her way through the waters. The ladies loudly expressed their +uneasiness, and the gentleman-passengers fought down some qualms which +they considered unmanly. + +Wyndham rose from his seat in the dark, pressed his lips to the letter +he had written to his wife, suddenly he started, reeled a step and fell +back. + +There is no accounting for what happened--but happen it did. + +_Valentine herself stood beside him, stretched out her arms to him, +uttered a brief cry, and then vanished._ + +He felt like a madman; he pressed his hands to his head and rushed on +deck. + + * * * * * + +"Stand there, Mr. Wyndham, there," said the sailor Loggan. "You'll be +safe enough. Oh, yes, more than one wave will wash us. Shall I lash you +to the wheel, sir? Maybe it would be safer." + +"No, no, thank you." + +The voice was quite quiet and calm again. + +Certainly the night was a rough one, but between and under the loud +voice of the storm, Loggan and his companion exchanged some cheerful +phrases. + +"No, sir, I ain't never afeared." + +"What if you were to go to the bottom?" + +"The will of the good God be done, sir. I'd go a-doing of my duty." + +"You're an honest fellow, Loggan; shake hands with me." + +"That I will, Mr. Wyndham. What are you doing with that rope, sir? It's +cold, it's slippery--oh, the knot has got loose, I'll call a man to +tighten it, sir; let me--let me. You'll be over, sir, if you don't look +out; we're going to lunge this way. Take care, sir--take care--_for +God's sake, take care_!" + +Wyndham took care. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + +The summer came early that year. The rectory was a charming place in +the summer, and on this particular bright day in June one of the +numerous school-feasts was in course of preparation, and all the young +Wyndhams were working with a will and energy which could scarcely be +surpassed. The feast was in full progress; the village children +consumed tea and buns, as only village children can. Augusta was +refusing to help the babies to any more; Joan and Betty were +half-crying because she snatched the rich currant buns out of their +hands; Marjory was leading the most obstreporous members of her flock +away to the other end of the long meadow, where they could play orange +and lemons, nuts in May, and other festive games; and Lilias, as she +helped to pack away the remnants of the feast, was answering some +questions of Carr's. + +"We ought to have heard by now," she was saying. "My father is a little +uneasy, but I am not--at least, of course, I am anxious for Valentine. +The suspense must be very trying for her!" + +"When did your brother's ship sail?" + +"On the 25th of March." + +"And this is the 15th of June. The _Esperance_ must have been reported +at Lloyd's long ago." + +"How stupid of me never to think of that," said Lilias, her face +brightening. "But would they not put the arrivals in the papers? I have +certainly looked and never seen it." + +"You have probably overlooked it. I will write and inquire for you. The +_Esperance_, even allowing for delays, has probably reached its +destination some weeks ago. On the other hand it would be scarcely +possible for you to have had a letter from your brother. Yes, you are +right not to be anxious; I will go and have a chat with your father +presently. Is Mrs. Wyndham well?" + +"I think so--fairly well. She is coming to stay with us next week." + +Carr strolled away. + +"What a nice comfortable young man he is turning into," said Marjory, +who came up at that moment. "Ah, yes, your face is brighter already for +having had an interview with him. Whisper no secrets to me. I know--I +know." + +Lilias' clear brown skin was transfused with color. + +"Don't be silly, Marjory," she said. "I don't mind owning that Mr. Carr +_is_ a comfortable person to talk to. He has just been removing my +fears about Gerald." + +"Oh, I thought you had no fears." + +"Well, father's fears, then. He has been saying things to me which will +remove my father's fears completely." + +"That is right--Heaven be praised. You and the rector are nothing but a +pair of old croaks lately. Hey-ho! I am perfectly weary of your long +faces and your apprehensions. Thank goodness. Val is coming; she'll +wake us up a little." + +Lilias opened her dark eyes. + +"I did not know you cared so much for Valentine," she said. + +"I admired her very much the last time I saw her. That was a month +ago--she seemed so spirited and courageous. I used to think her +something of a doll, but she's a woman now, and a fine one. Perhaps +it's the thought of the baby coming." + +"Or perhaps," said Lilias, "she has found out at last what our Gerald +is." + +"Both, most likely," said Marjory. "Anyhow, she's changed; and the +funniest part is that that old man----" + +"What old man, Marjory?" + +"Don't interrupt me--her father. I always call him that old man--well, +I think he's afraid of her. She doesn't pet him the way she used, but +she's very gentle with him. Oh, she's a good bit altered; there's +something in her now." + +"I suppose there was always something in her," said Lilias. "For +Gerald"--her lips trembled--"gave up so much for her." + +"No more than any man gives up for any woman," said Marjory. "A man +shall leave his father and mother. Oh, yes, poor old Lil, I know how +you felt it. You always made an idol of Gerald. I suppose you'll marry +some day; you are so pretty--and h'm--h'm--there's somebody waiting for +somebody--there, I don't want to tease, only when you do marry, my +pretty sister, I wonder if he'll come inside Gerald in your heart." + +"I won't marry until I love some one even better than my only brother," +replied Lilias in a grave voice. "That time has not come yet," she +added, and then she turned away. + +The games went on as fast as ever; Marjory romped with the merriest. +Lilias was graver than her sister, not so fond of pastimes, perhaps not +quite so generally popular. She went into the house, sat down by the +organ in the hall and began to play. She had almost as much talent as +Gerald; her fingers wandered over the keys, she was in a dreamy mood, +and her thoughts were carrying her back to a bygone scene--to Gerald's +face on that Sunday night. She heard again the rich tones of his voice, +and heard his words:-- + + "Till in the ocean of Thy love + We loose ourselves in Heaven above." + +"Oh, Gerald," she said with a kind of sob, "things have been hard for +me since you went away. It was not your marriage alone, I had prepared +myself for that; but it was more--it was more. The Church of God--you +gave that up. Yes, yes. There has been a shut door between us. Gerald, +since you and Valentine first met; and where are you now--where are you +now?" + +"Lilias," said little Joan running in breathlessly, "father wants you +in his study, quickly. I don't think he's quite well. He has just had a +letter, and he looks so queer." + +"I'll go to him at once," said Lilias. + +She could be apprehensive enough, but in real danger, in times of real +anxiety, her head could be cool and her steps firm. + +"Yes, father," she said, motioning the frightened little Joan away. + +She shut the library door behind her. + +"Yes, father. What is it? Jo says that you have got a letter, and that +you want me." + +"Oh, I don't suppose it's anything," said the rector. "That is, I don't +mean to be uneasy. Here's the letter. Lilias. You ought to read it, +perhaps. It's from Paget. He is evidently nervous himself, but I don't +suppose there is any need. Read it, and tell me what you think." + +The rector thrust a sheet of paper into his daughter's hand. Then went +over to one of his book shelves and pretended to be busy rummaging up +some folios. Lilias read as follows:-- + + MY DEAR SIR,--I write on a subject of some little anxiety. I did + not wish to trouble you before it was necessary, but now I confess + that we--I refer to my house of business--have cause to feel + uneasiness with regard to the fate of the _Esperance_. She is quite + a month overdue at Sydney; even allowing for all possible delays, + she is at least that time overdue. The last tidings of her were + from the Cape, and it is feared from their date that she must have + encountered rough weather in the Southern Ocean. Nothing is known, + however, and every hour we look for a cable announcing her arrival + at Melbourne if not at Sydney. It is possible she may have been + injured, which will account for the delay, but I scarcely apprehend + anything worse. I ought scarcely to say that I am anxious; up to + the present there is no real cause to apprehend anything worse than + an accident to the vessel. Vessels are often a month behind their + time, and all is satisfactorily explained at the end. I am now + troubling you with regard to another matter. I do not want my + daughter and your son's wife to be needlessly alarmed. It is most + important that her mind should be kept free from apprehension until + after the birth of their child. You kindly asked her to go to see + you. Can you have her at the rectory at once? And will you send + Lilias to fetch her? I know you and yours will keep all fears from + her, and, poor child, she reads my face like a book. + + Yours faithfully, + + "MORTIMER PAGET." + + + +"Well, Lilias," said the rector. "Well? He's a little over nervous, +isn't he, eh? Vessels are often a month overdue. Eh, Lilias? But of +course they are. Somehow I'm not nervous since I got that letter. I was +before, but not now." + +He rubbed his hands together as he spoke. + +"It's summer now, and we'll have Gerald back before the next snow +comes. I told the boy so when he bid me good-bye; he was a bit upset +that night after you girls went to bed. Poor fellow, I had quite to +cheer him; he's a very affectionate lad. No, I'm not nervous, and I +wonder at Paget. But what do _you_ think, Lilias?" + +Lilias folded up the letter, and put it back in her old father's hand. +Then she stole her arm round his neck, and kissed him. + +"We will be brave," she said. "If we have fears we won't speak of them; +we have got to think of Valentine now, not of ourselves." + +The rector almost shook Lilias' hand from his neck. + +"Fears," he said, in a light and cheerful voice, a voice which was +belied by his tremulous hands, and by his almost petulant movement. +"Fears! my dear girl, they really don't exist. At this moment, were we +clairvoyant, we should see Gerald either rising leisurely from a good +night's rest, or sitting down to his breakfast in one of those +luxurious houses one reads of in Froude's 'Oceana.' Vessels like the +_Esperance_ don't go to the bottom. Now, Lil, at what hour will you go +to fetch Valentine? You will go up to town to-morrow, of course." + +"By the first train," replied Lilias. Her lips quivered. She turned +away; there was nothing more to be said. Her father's manner did not in +the least deceive her. + +"Dear old man!" she said to herself. "If he can be brave, so will I. +But oh, Gerald, does any heart ache more for you than the heart of your +sister Lilias?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + +Valentine had got a blow. The first real great blow which had ever been +dealt to her. It had a most curious effect. Instead of stunning or +rendering her weak and incapable, it suddenly changed her from a child +into a practical and clever and wide-awake woman. The very quality of +her voice changed. It became full, and inspired respect the moment she +spoke. She was quite aware that her father had deceived her, that he +did not mean her to accompany Gerald to Sydney. + +She said nothing about this knowledge--not even that evening when she +got home and found her father looking ten years older, but standing on +the step of her own little home waiting for her. + +"I was too late," she said, quietly. "The _Esperance_ sailed four hours +before its time. I must do without Gerald for six months; in six months +he will be home." + +"In six months," echoed Mr. Paget, following her upstairs to the +drawing-room. "Kiss me, my darling," he said. "Valentine, you will come +back to your own home to-morrow." + +Valentine raised her cheek to meet her father's lips. + +"I think I would rather remain here," she said. "This, after all, is my +only real home; you don't mind my keeping the house, do you, father?" + +"No, my dear, if you wish it. Only I thought----" His last words came +out almost tremulously. + +"Sometimes we are mistaken in our thoughts," responded Valentine. "I +should like best to stay on in my husband's house. Six months will not +be long passing; and--father, I have some news for you. In July--if I +live until July--God is going to give me a child--Gerald's child and +mine. I should like it to be born here." + +"Thank God," exclaimed Mr. Paget. "I am very glad of this, Valentine," +he said. "This--this--is an inestimable mercy. I hope your child will +be a son. My dear daughter, this news lifts a great weight off my +mind." + +He looked what he felt, delighted. + +"Of course you must live wherever you like best," he said. "July--this +is March--the child's father will be----" but he did not finish this +sentence. + +He went away soon afterwards. Ten years had been added to his life in +that one single day. + +He knew, one glance into Valentine's eyes told him, that she no longer +believed in him. What was any success with the heart of his darling +turned aside? + +He walked home feeling tottering and feeble; he had had a blow, but +also a strong consolation--his daughter's child--his grandson. Of +course the child should be a boy. There was something to live for in +such news as this. A boy to step into his shoes by-and-bye--to keep up +the credit of the old house; a boy who should have no shame on him, and +no dark history. Yes, yes, this was very good news, and unlooked for; +he had much to live for yet. + +After this Mr. Paget followed his daughter about like a shadow. Every +day her mind and her powers were developing in fresh directions. She +had certainly lost some of the charm of her childish ways, but her gain +had been greater than her loss. Her face had always been spirituelle, +the expression sprightly, the eyes under their arched brows full of +light. People had spoken of the girlish face as beautiful, but now that +it belonged to a grave and patient, in some respects a suffering woman, +they found that it possessed more than ordinary loveliness. The soul +had come back again into Valentine's eyes. She knew two things. She +was loved--her husband told her that no woman had ever been loved so +well before. She was also to become a mother. She considered herself, +notwithstanding her crosses, blessed among women, and she resolved to +live worthily. + +Patience and faith both were hers, and whenever she felt inclined to +rebel, to fret, to fume, she thought of the day when she should show +her baby to her husband, and tell him face to face that all her heart, +all her best affections were divided between him and their child. + +She kept to her resolution of living on in the little house in +Park-Lane. She led a busy life, interesting herself a good deal in the +anxieties and cares of others. When a woman takes up that _rôle_ she +always finds abundance to do, for there are few pairs of shoulders that +have not a burden to carry. She also wrote by every mail to her +husband. She had already received one letter from him, posted at +Teneriffe. This letter was affectionate--cheerful. Valentine read it +over and over. It was a very nice letter, but its words did not reach +down into her heart as that other letter of Gerald's, written before he +sailed, had done. She was puzzled by it. Still she owned to herself +that it was just the letter she ought to receive, just the pleasant +happy words of a man who was leading a busy and useful life; who was +going away for a definite object, and hoped soon to return to his wife +and his home. + +All went well with Valentine until a certain day. She rose as usual on +the morning of that day, went down to breakfast, opened one or two +letters, attended to a couple of domestic matters, and went slowly back +to the drawing-room. She liked to dust and tidy her little drawing-room +herself. She had put it in order this morning, had arranged fresh +flowers in the vases, and was finally giving one or two fresh touches +to Gerald's violin, which she always kept near her own piano, when she +was startled by the consciousness that she was not alone. + +She raised her head, turned quickly, a cold air seemed to blow on her +face. + +"Valentine!" said her husbands voice, in a tone of unspeakable agony. + +She fancied she even saw his shadowy outline. She stretched out her +arms to him--he faded away. + + * * * * * + +That afternoon Mrs. Wyndham paid her father a visit in the City. She +was shown into his private room by Helps, who eyed her from head to +foot with great anxiety. + +Mr. Paget looked into her face and grew perceptibly paler. He was +certainly nervous in these days--nervous, and very much aged in +appearance. + +"Is anything wrong, Valentine?" he could not help saying to his +daughter. It was the last sentence he wished to pass his lips--he bit +them with vexation after the words had escaped them. + +"Sit down, my dear; have you come to take me for a drive, +like--like--old times?" + +"I have not, father. I have come to know when you expect to hear +tidings of the arrival of the _Esperance_ at Sydney." + +"Not yet, Valentine. Impossible so soon. In any case we shall have a +cable from Melbourne first--the vessel will touch there." + +"When are you likely to hear from Melbourne?" + +"Not for some days yet." + +"But you know the probable time. Can you not ascertain it? Will you +hear in ten days? In a week? In three days?" + +"You are persistent, Valentine." + +Mr. Paget raised his eyes and looked at her from head to foot. + +"I will ascertain," he said in an almost cold voice, as he sounded an +electric bell by his side. + +Helps answered the summons. + +"Helps, when is the _Esperance_ due at Melbourne?" + +Again Helps glanced quickly at Mrs. Wyndham; he was standing rather +behind her, but could catch a glimpse of her face. + +"By the end of May," he said, speaking slowly. His quick eyes sought +his chief's; they took their cue. "Not sooner," he continued. "Possibly +by the end of May." + +"Thank you," said Valentine. + +The man withdrew. + +"I have nearly a month to wait," she said, rising and looking at her +father. "I did not know that the voyage would be such a lengthy one. +When you do hear the news will be bad, father; yes, the news will be +bad. I have nothing to say about it, no explanation to offer, only I +know." + +Before Mr. Paget could make a single reply, Valentine had left him. He +was decidedly alarmed about her. + +"Can she be going out of her mind?" he soliloquized. "Women sometimes +do before the birth of their children. What did she mean? It is +impossible for her to know anything. Pshaw! What is there to know? I +verily believe I am cultivating that abomination of the age--nerves!" + +Whatever Valentine did mean, she met her father that evening as if +nothing had happened. She was bright, even cheerful; she played and +sang for him. He concluded that she was not out of her mind, that she +had simply had a fit of the dismals, and dismissed the matter. + +The month passed by, slowly for Valentine--very slowly, also, for her +father. It passed into space, and there was no news of the _Esperance_. +More days went by, no news, no tidings of any sort. Valentine thought +the vessel was a fortnight overdue. Her father knew that it was at +least a month behind its time. When he wrote his letter to the rector +of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold he felt even more anxious than his words seemed +to admit. + +The day after the receipt of this letter Lilias came to town and took +Valentine home with her. The next morning Mr. Paget went as usual to +his office. His first inquiry was for news of the _Esperance_. The +invariable answer awaited him. + +"No tidings as yet." + +He went into the snug inner room where he lunched, where Valentine's +picture hung, and where he had made terms with Gerald Wyndham. He sank +down into an easy-chair, and covered his face with his hands. + +"Would to God this suspense were at an end," he said. + +The words had scarcely passed his lips when Helps knocked for admission +at the inner door, he opened it, caught a glimpse of his servant's +face, and fell back. + +"You heard," he said. "Come in and tell me quick. The _Esperance_ is +lost, and every soul on board----" + +"Hush, sir," said Helps. "There's no news of the _Esperance_. Command +yourself, sir. It isn't that--it's the other thing. The young gentleman +from India, he's outside--he wants to see you." + +"Good God, Helps. Positively I'm faint. Shut the door for a moment; he +has come, then. You are sure?" + +"This is his card, sir. Mr. George Carmichael." + +"Give me a moment's time, Helps. So he has come. It would have been all +right but for this confounded uncertainty with regard to the +_Esperance_. But it is all right, of course. Plans such as mine don't +fail, they are too carefully made. All the same, I am shaken, Helps. +Helps, I am growing into an old man." + +"You do look queer, Mr. Paget; have a little brandy, sir; you'd +better." + +"Thank you; a little, then. Open that cupboard, you will find the +flask. Brandy steadies the nerves. Now I am better. Helps, it was in +this room I made terms with young Wyndham." + +"God forgive you, sir, it was." + +"Why do you say that? You did not disapprove at the time." + +"I didn't know Mr. Wyndham, sir; had I known, I wouldn't have allowed +breathing man to harm a hair of his head." + +"How would you have prevented it?" + +"How?" + +The old clerk's face took an ugly look. + +"Split on you, and gone to prison, of course," he said. "Now, shall I +send Mr. George Carmichael in? It was for his sake you did it. My God, +what a sin you sinned! I see Mr. Wyndham's face every night of my life. +Good God, why should men like him be hurled out of the world because of +sinners like you and me?" + +"He's not hurled out of the world," exclaimed Mr. Paget. + +He rose and swore a great oath. Then he said in a quieter voice:-- + +"Ask Mr. Carmichael to step into my office." + +"Into this room, sir?" + +"Into this room. Go, fool." + +Certainly Mr. Paget had some admirable qualities. By the time a +pale-faced, slight, languid-looking man made his appearance, he was +perfectly calm and self-possessed. He spoke in a courteous tone to his +visitor, and bade him be seated. + +They exchanged a few common-places. Then Mr. George Carmichael, who +showed far more uneasiness than his host, explained the motive of his +visit. + +"You knew my father," he said. "Owing to a strange circumstance, which +perhaps you are aware of, but which scarcely concerns the object of +this call, certain papers of importance did not come into my hands +until I was of age. These are the papers." + +He placed two yellow documents on the table. + +"I find by these that I am entitled to money which you hold in trust." + +"You are," said Mr. Paget, with a kindly smile. + +"I am puzzled to know why I was never made aware of the fact. I was +brought up as a poor man. I had no expectations. I have not been +educated to meet the position which in reality awaited me. Somebody has +done me a wrong." + +"I assure you not me, Mr. Carmichael. Perhaps, however, I can throw +some light on the subject. If you will do me the favor of dining with +me some evening we can talk the matter over at our leisure." + +"Thank you, I have very little leisure." + +The stranger was wonderfully restless. + +"After a struggle I have succeeded in obtaining a good post in +Calcutta. I hurried over to see you. I must hurry back to my work. Oh, +yes, thanks, I like India. The main point is, when can you hand me over +my money. With interest it amounts to----" + +"Including interest it amounts to eighty thousand pounds, Mr. +Carmichael. Allow me to congratulate you, sir, as a man of fortune. +There is no need to hurry back to that beggarly clerkship." + +"It's not a clerkship, Mr. Paget, nor beggarly. I'm a partner in a +rising concern. The other man's name is Parr; he has a wife and +children, and I wouldn't desert him for the world. Eighty thousand +pounds! By Jove, won't Parr open his eyes." + +Mr. George Carmichael was now so excited that his shyness vanished. + +"When can I have my money, sir?" + +"In a month's time." + +"Not until then? I wanted to go back to India next week." + +"It can be sent after you." + +A slow suspicious smile crept round the young man's lips; he looked +more well-bred than he was. + +"None of that," he said. "I don't stir until I get the cheque. I say, +can't you give it me at once? It's mine." + +"Not a day sooner than a month. I must take that time to realize so +large a sum. You shall have it this day month." + +"Beastly inconvenient. Parr will be in no end of a taking. I suppose +there's no help for it, however." + +"None." + +"This is the 17th of June. Now you're not playing me a trick, are you? +You'll pay me over that money all square on the 17th of July." + +Mr. Paget had an imposing presence. He rose now, slowly, stood on the +hearthrug, under his daughter's picture, and looked down at his guest. + +"I am sorry for you," he said. "Your education has certainly been +imperfect. Your father was a gentleman, and my friend. You, I regret to +say, are not a gentleman. I don't repeat my invitation to dine at my +house. With regard to the money it shall be in your hands on the 17th +July. I am rather pressed for time this morning, Mr. Carmichael, and +must ask you to leave me. Stay, however, a moment. You are, of course, +prepared to give me all proofs of identity?" + +"What do you mean, sir?" + +"What I say. The certificate of the marriage of your parents and +certificate of the proof that you are the person you represent yourself +to be must be forthcoming. I must also have letters from your friends +in India. No doubt, of course--no doubt who you are, but these things +are necessary." + +Notwithstanding that he was the owner of eighty thousand pounds, Mr. +George Carmichael left the august presence of the head of Paget +Brothers feeling somewhat crestfallen. + +He had scarcely done so before Helps rushed in. + +"A cable, sir! Praise the Lord, a cable at last!" + +He thrust the sheet of paper into his employer's hands. It came from +Melbourne, and bore the date of the day before. + + "_Esperance_ arrived safely. Delay caused by broken machinery. + Accident of a painful nature on board. Full particulars by mail. + + "JELLYBY." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + +Mr. Paget was most careful that the full contents of the cable did not +go to his daughter at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. He read it three or four +times, then he took up a telegraph form and wired to her as follows:-- + + "_Esperance_ arrived safely. Delay caused by injury to machinery." + +This telegram caused intense rejoicing at the rectory, and Mr. Paget +had his gloomy part to himself. He conned that part over and over. + +A serious accident. To whom? About whom? What a fool that Jellyby was +not to have given him more particulars. Why did that part of the +cablegram fill him with consternation? Why should he feel so certain +that the accident in question referred to his son-in-law? Well, he must +wait over a month for news, and during that month he must collect +together eighty thousand pounds. Surely he had enough to think of. Why +should his thoughts revert to Wyndham with an ever-increasing dread? + +"Wyndham is safe enough," he said. "Jolly enough, too, I make no doubt. +His money waits for him at Ballarat. Of course bad news will come, but +_I_ shall see through it. Oh, yes, _I_ shall see through it fast +enough." + +Days of suspense are hard days--long and weary days. As these days +crept one by one away Mr. Paget became by no means an easy person to +live with. His temper grew morose, he was irritable, manifestly ill at +ease, and he would often for hours scarcely utter a word. + +The 17th of July passed. Mr. Carmichael again called for his money. A +part was paid to him, the balance the head of the great shipping firm +assured the young man could not possibly be forthcoming for another +month or six weeks. + +"I am sorry," Mr. Paget said, "extremely sorry not to be able to fulfil +my word to the letter. But I must have time to realize such a large +sum, and I greatly fear I must claim it." + +Mr. Carmichael had a cheque in his hand for ten thousand pounds. He +could scarcely feel discontented at such a moment, and took his +departure grumbling but elated. + +"Helps," said Mr. Paget, "I have taken that ten thousand pounds out of +the business, and it can ill afford to lose it. If news does not come +soon we are undone, and all our plotting and planning won't save the +old place nor the honor of the old house." + +"No fear," muttered Helps. "The news will come. I have bad dreams at +night. The house will be saved. Don't you fret, Mr. Paget." + +He went out of the room looking as morose and ugly as possible, and +Mortimer Paget hurled no blessings after him. + +The next day was fraught with tidings. A thick packet lay on the +chief's desk, bearing the imprint of the _Esperance_ on it. By the side +of the packet was a telegram. He opened the telegram first:-- + + Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, 10 a.m. + + "Valentine had a son this morning. Both doing well." + +The tears absolutely sprang to Mr. Paget's eyes. His hands trembled; he +looked round furtively; there was no one by. Then he raised the +telegram to his lips and kissed it. Valentine had a son--he had a +grandson. Another head of the old house had arisen on the horizon. + +He rang his electric bell; he was so excited that he could not keep +these tidings to himself. + +"I have sent for you to receive your congratulations, Helps," he said; +"and--and here's a cheque for ten pounds. You must go home early and +have a good supper--champagne and all that sort of thing. Not a word, +Helps, my good fellow, you deserve it. You quite deserve it!" + +"May I ask what for, Mr. Paget? Forgive me, sir. I see that the packet +from the _Esperance_ has come." + +"So it has. It can wait. Take your money, Helps, and drink my +grandson's health. He arrived this morning, bless him--my daughter had +a son this morning." + +"Indeed, sir. It's a pity the father isn't there. It would have been +pretty to have seen Mr. Wyndham as a father. Yes, sir. I'm glad your +young lady is doing well. Babes come with trouble, and it seems to me +they mostly go with trouble. All the same, we make a fuss of them--and +the world's too full as it is." + +"This child supplies a long felt need," replied the baby's grandfather, +frowning. "He is the future head of the house." + +"Poor innocent. Yes, sir, I congratulate you as in duty bound. You'll +soon read that packet, won't you, sir. It seems a sort of a coincidence +like, getting news of the father and the babe in one breath." + +"I'll read the packet presently," said Mr. Paget. "Go away now, Helps; +don't disturb me." + +Left alone, the pleased man spread out the pink sheet of paper in such +a position that his eye could constantly rest on it. Then he broke the +seal of Captain Jellyby's yarn, and began to read. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + + + _Esperance_, April 10. + + "MY DEAR SIR,-- + + "I begin a letter to you under peculiarly afflicting circumstances. + Your son-in-law, the favorite of every one on board, one of the + nicest young gentlemen I have had the luck to meet, fell overboard + last night, between nine and ten o'clock, when a very heavy sea was + running. He was standing at the wheel, talking to a sailor of the + name of Loggan. Loggan said he was very cheerful and keen to watch + the storm. He was helping to tighten up a bit of rope when the boat + gave a lurch. Loggan shouted to him to take care, but he was taken + off his feet, and the next moment was in the water. We put out the + boats and did all in our power, but in addition to the storm the + night was very dark, and we never saw nor heard anything more of + the unfortunate young gentleman. The night was so rough he must + have gone to the bottom almost directly. I cannot express to you, + sir, what a gloom this has cast upon all on board. As I said + already, your son-in-law was beloved by passengers and sailors + alike. His death was due to the most ordinary accident. + + "Well, sir, regrets are useless, but if regrets would bring Mr. + Wyndham back, he would be safe and well now; he was one of the most + taking young men I ever came across, and also one of the best. + Please give my respectful condolences to his poor young widow----" + +Here there was a break in the narrative. It was taken up some days +later. + + "I had scarcely written the last when an awful thing happened. + There was a fearful crash on board, and in short, sir, our funnel + was blown down. I can scarcely go into particulars now, but for + many days we lay at the mercy of the waves, and I never thought to + see land any more. It speaks well for the worthiness of the + _Esperance_ that she weathered such a gale. But for many days and + nights the destruction to your property, for the water poured in in + all parts, and the miserable state of the passengers, baffles + description. The ship was in such a condition that we could not use + steam, and when the storm abated had to drift as best we could. + For our main masts were also broken, and we could put on scarcely + any sail. Our provisions were also becoming short. + + "A week ago, by the mercy of God, we came within hail of the + steamer _Salamanca_, which towed us into port, and the _Esperance_ + has been put into dock at Melbourne for repairs. + + "Under these appalling circumstances, Mr. Wyndham's loss has not + been forgotten, but to a certain extent cast on one side. Perhaps I + ought to say here; sir, that when your son-in-law commenced his + voyage to Sydney under my auspices, he appeared to be in such a + state of agitation, and in such distress of mind, that I feared for + his brain, and wondered if you had sent him on this voyage by a + doctor's orders. He made also a request to me which seemed to + confirm this view. He begged me not to let out to anyone on board + the smallest particulars (I really did not know any) of his + history. In especial he did not wish his wife spoken of. He looked + strange when he made these requests, and even now I can see the + despair in his eyes when I refused--you will remember, sir, by your + express desire--to touch at Plymouth. I may as well say frankly, + that had Mr. Wyndham continued as depressed as he was the first few + days of the voyage, I should have scarcely considered his untimely + end altogether due to accident. But I am happy to be able to + reassure your mind on that point. That he felt the separation from + his wife terribly at first there is no doubt, but there is also no + doubt that he got over this feeling, that he was healthily happy, + and altogether the brightest fellow on board. In short, sir, he was + the life of the ship; even now we are never done lamenting him. + Untimely as his fate was, no one could have been more ready to rush + suddenly into the presence of his Maker. I enclose with this a + formal certificate of Mr. Wyndham's death, with the latitude and + longitude of the exact spot where he must have gone down accurately + described. This certificate is duly attested by the Consul here, + and I delayed one day in writing to you in order that it should go. + + "I remain, sir, + + "Yours respectfully, + + "HARRY JELLYBY." + + "P.S.--I forgot to mention that two of our boats have been absolutely + lost; but I will send you a full list of casualties by next mail." + + +Helps had never felt more restless than he did that morning; he could +not attend to his ordinary avocations. Truth to tell, Helps' position +in the house of Paget Brothers had always been more or less a dubious +one. It was patent to all that he was confided in to a remarkable +degree by the head of the house. It was also observed that he had no +special or defined post. In short that he did a little of everybody's +work, and seemed to have nothing absolutely depending on himself. + +All the same, when Helps was away the whole establishment felt a loss. +If the old clerk was useful for no other purpose, he was at least +valuable as a scape-goat. He could bear blame which belonged to others. +It was convenient to make excuses, and to shift uncomfortable omissions +of all sorts from one's own shoulders. + +"Oh, I thought Helps would have seen to that." + +Helps saw to a great deal, and was perfectly indifferent to these +inuendoes. Of one thing he was certain, that they would never reach the +chief's ears. + +On this particular morning Helps would assist no one; he had ten pounds +in his pocket, and he knew that the future owner of the great business +lay in his cradle at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. Little cared he for that. + +"What news of Mr. Wyndham?" This was his thought of thoughts. "What +secret lies hidden within that sealed packet? What is my master doing +now? When will he ring for me? How soon shall I know the best and the +worst? Oh, God, why did I let that young man go? Why didn't I split? +What's prison, after all? My God, what _is_ prison compared to a heart +on fire!" + +Helps pottered about. He was a very wizened grey little fellow. The +clerks found him decidedly in the way. They muttered to one another +about him, and Mr. Manners, one of the juniors, requested him in a very +cutting voice to shut the door and go away. + +Helps obeyed the command to the very letter. By this time his state of +mind might have been described as on the rack. For two hours Mr. Paget +had been reading that letter. Impossible; no letter would take that +time to read. Why had he not rung? Surely he must know what Helps was +enduring. Surely at this crisis of his fate--at this crisis of both +their fates--he must want to see his faithful servant. Why then did he +not ring? + +At last in despair Helps knocked at the door of the outer office. There +was no answer. He turned the handle, pushed the door ajar and went in. +The room was empty. Mr. Paget's pile of ordinary business letters lay +unopened on his desk. Helps went up to the door of the inner room, and +pressed his ear against the keyhole. There was not a stir within. He +knocked against a chair, and threw down a book on purpose. If anything +living would bring Mr. Paget out it was the idea of anyone entering, or +disarranging matters in his office. Helps disarranged matters wildly; +he threw down several books, he upset more than one chair; still the +master did not appear. At last he knocked at the door of the inner +room. There was no response. Then he knocked again, louder. Then he +hammered with his fists. Then he shook the door. No response. The inner +room might as well have been a grave. He rushed away at last for tools +to break open the door. He was terribly frightened, but even now he had +sufficient presence of mind not to bring a third person to share his +master's secret. He came back with a pick-lock, a hammer and one or two +other implements. He locked the door of the outer office, and then he +set boldly to work. He did not care what din he made; he was past all +thought of that now. The clerks outside got into a frantic state of +excitement; but that fact, had he known it, would have made no +difference to Helps. + +At last his efforts were crowned with success. The heavy door yielded, +and flew open with a bang. Helps fell forward into the room himself. He +jumped up hastily. A quiet, orderly, snug room! The picture of a fair +and lovely girl looking down from the wall! a man with grey hair +stretched on the hearthrug under the picture! a man with no life, nor +motion, nor movement. Helps flew to his master. Was he dead? No, the +eyes were wide open; they looked at Helps, and one of the hands was +stretched out, and clutched at Helps' arm, and pulled it wildly aside. + +"What is it, my dear master?" said the man, for there was that in the +face which would have melted any heart to pity. + +"Don't! Stand out of my light," said Mr. Paget. "Hold me--steady +me--let me get up. He's there--there by the window!" + +"Who, my dear sir? Who?" + +"The man I've murdered! He's there. Between me and the light. It's +done. He's standing between me and the light. Tell him to move away. I +have murdered him! I know that. Between me and the light--the _light_! +Tell him to move away--tell him--tell him!" + +Mortimer Paget gave a great shriek, and covered his terrified eyes with +his trembling hands! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + + +"What is the matter, Lilias? I did not do anything wrong." + +The speaker was Augusta Wyndham. + +Three years have passed away since she last appeared in this story; she +is grown up now, somewhat lanky still, with rather fierce dark eyes, +and a somewhat thin pronounced face. She is the kind of girl who at +eighteen is still all angles, but there are possibilities for her, and +at five and twenty, if time deals kindly with her, and circumstances +are not too disastrous, she might be rounded, softened, she might have +developed into a handsome woman. + +"What is it, Lilias?" she said now. "Why do you look at me like that?" + +"It is the same old story, Gussie," replied Lilias, whose brown cheeks +were paler, and her sweet eyes larger than of old; "you are always +wanting in thought. It was thoughtless of you to make Valentine walk +home, and with little Gerry, too. She will come in fagged and have a +headache. I relied on your seeing to her, Gussie; when I asked you to +take the pony chaise I thought of her more than you, and now you've +come back in it all alone, without even fetching baby." + +"Well, Lilias." Augusta paused, drew herself up, leant against the +nearest paling, crossed her legs, and in a provokingly petulant voice +began to speak. + +"With how much more of all that is careless and all that is odious are +you going to charge me?" she said. "Oh, of course, 'Gussie never can +think.' Now I'll tell you what this objectionable young woman Augusta +did, and then you can judge for yourself. I drove to Netley Farm, and +got the butter and the eggs, and then I went on to see old James Holt, +the gardener, for I thought he might have those bulbs we wanted ready. +Then I drew up at the turnstile, and waited for that precious Mrs. Val +of yours." + +"Don't," said Lilias. "Remember whose----" + +"As if I ever forget--but he--he had others beside her--he never had +any Augusta except me," two great tears gathered in the great brown +eyes; they were dashed hastily aside, and the speaker went on. + +"There's twice too much made of her, and that's a fact. You live for +her, you're her slave, Lilias. It's perfectly ridiculous--it's absurd. +You have sunk your whole life into hers, and since Marjory's wedding +things have been worse. You simply have no life but in her. He wouldn't +wish it; he hated anyone to be unselfish except himself. Well, +then--oh, then, I won't vex the dear old thing. Have you forgiven me, +Lil? I know I'm such a chatter-pate. I hope you have forgiven me." + +"Of course I have, Gussie. I'm not angry with you, there's nothing to +be angry about. You are a faulty creature, I admit, but I also declare +you to be one of the greatest comforts of my life." + +"Well, that's all right--that's as it should be. Now for my narrative. +I waited by the turnpike. Valentine and baby were to meet me there. No +sign of them. I waited a long time. Then I tied Bob to the gate, and +started on discovery bent. You know it is a pretty lane beyond the +turnpike, the hedges hid me. I walked along, whistling and shaking my +whip. Presently I was assailed by the tuneful duet of two voices. I +climbed the hedge and peeped over. I looked into a field. What did I +see? Now, Lilias the wise, guess what I saw?" + +"Valentine and our little Gerald," responded Lilias. "She was talking +to him; she has a sweet voice, and surely there never was a dearer +little pipe than wee Gerry's. They must have looked pretty sitting on +the grass." + +"They looked very pretty--but your picture is not quite correct. For +instance, baby was sound asleep." + +"Oh, then, she had him in her arms, and was cooing to him. A lovelier +scene than ever, Augusta." + +"A very lovely scene, Lilias; only, one woman's voice would not make a +duet." + +Something in Augusta's eyes caused Lilias to droop her own. She turned +aside to pick a spray of briony. + +"Tell me what you saw," she said abruptly. + +"I saw Valentine and Adrian Carr. They were sitting close together, and +baby was asleep on _his_ breast, not on hers, and he was comforting +her, for when I peeped over I saw him touch her hand, and then I saw +her raise her handkerchief and wipe away some tears. Crocodile's tears, +I call them. Now, Lilias, out of my way. I mean to vault over this +gate." + +"What for, dear?" + +"To relieve my feelings. Now I'm better. Won't you have a try?" + +"No, thank you, I don't vault gates." + +"Aren't you going to show anything? Good gracious, I should simply +explode if I had to keep in things the way you do. Now, what's the +matter? You look white all the same; whiter than you did ten minutes +ago. Oh, if it was me, I couldn't keep still. I should roar like a +wounded lion." + +"But I am not a wounded lion, Augusta, dear." + +Lilias laid her hand on her sister's shoulder. + +"I am older than you," she continued, "and perhaps quieter. Life has +made me quieter. We won't say anything about what you saw, Augusta. +Perhaps none of us have such a burden to bear as Valentine." + +"Now, Lilias, what stuff you talk. Oh, she's a humbug, and I hate her. +There, I will say it, just for once. She took Gerald away, and now she +wants to take Adrian from you. Oh, I know you're an angel--you'd bear +anything, but I'm not quite a fool." + +"They are coming; you _must_ hush," said Lilias, putting her hand +across her young sister's lips. + +Augusta cast two wrathful eyes behind her, lightly vaulted back over +the gate, and vanished from view round the first corner. Lilias opened +the gate, and went slowly to meet the group who were coming down the +dusty country road. + +Valentine was in black, but not in widow's weeds. She had a shady hat +over her clustering bright hair, and round this hat, the baby, little +Gerry, had stuck quantities of leaves and grasses and what wild flowers +his baby fingers could clutch. With one hand she was holding up her +long dress; her other held a basket of primroses, and her face, bright +now with color in the cheeks, laughter on the lips, and the fire of +affection in the eyes, was raised to where her sturdy little son sat on +Carr's broad shoulder. + +The child was a handsome little fellow, cast in a far more masculine +mould than his father, to whom he bore scarcely any resemblance. + +As Lilias, in her dark grey dress, approached, she looked altogether a +more sorrowful and grief-touched figure than the graceful, almost +childish young widow who came to meet her. + +So Carr thought, as with a softened light in his eyes he glanced at +Lilias. + +"A certain part of her heart was broken three years ago," he inwardly +commented. "Can I--is it in my power--will it ever be in my power to +comfort her?" + +But Lilias, knowing nothing of these feelings, only noted the +happy-looking picture. + +"Here we are!" said Carr, catching the boy from his shoulder and +letting him jump to the ground. "Run to your auntie now, little man." + +Off waddled the small fat legs. Lilias stooped and received the +somewhat dusty embrace of two rounded arms, while cherub lips were +pressed on hers. + +"You do comfort me, little Gerry," she gasped under her breath. + +Then she rose, almost staggering under his weight. + +"Let me carry him for you," said Carr, coming up to her. + +"No, thank you, I like to have him," she said; and she turned and +walked by Valentine's side. + +"Are you tired, Val? I did not mean you to walk home. I sent Augusta +with Bob and the basket chaise. I thought you knew they were to meet +you at the turnpike." + +"I'm afraid I forgot," answered Valentine. "I met Mr. Carr, and we came +to a delicious field, full of primroses, and baby wanted to pick lots, +didn't you, treasure? We sat and had a rest; I am not very tired, and +Mr. Carr carried this big boy all the way home. Hey-ho," she continued, +throwing off her hat, and showing a head as full of clustering +richly-colored hair as of old, "what a lovely day it is, it makes me +feel young. Come along, baby, we'll race together to the house. It's +time for you to go to sleep, little master. Now, then--baby first, +mother after--one, two, three and away!" + +The child shouted with glee, the mother raced after him, they +disappeared through the rose-covered porch of the old rectory. Lilias +raised two eyes full of pain to Carr's. + +"Is she beginning to forget?" she asked. + +"No; why should you say so? She will never forget." + +"She looked so young just now--so like a child. Poor Val! She was only +twenty-two her last birthday. Mr. Carr. I don't want her to forget." + +"In one sense rest assured she never will--in another--would you wish +her to endure a life-long pain?" + +"I would--I would. It was done for her--she must never forget." + +"You always allow me to say plain words, don't you?" said Carr. "May I +say some now?" + +"Say anything you please, only don't teach her to forget." + +"What do you mean?" + +The man's eyes blazed. Lilias colored all over her face. + +"I mean nothing," she said hurriedly. "Come into the flower-garden. We +shall have a great show of roses this year. Come and look at the buds. +You were going to say something to me," she added presently. + +"Yes. I was going to prepare you for what may come by-and-bye. It is +possible that in the future--remember. I don't know anything--but it is +possible that in the future your young sister-in-law may once more be +happy. I don't know how--I am not going to prognosticate anything, but +I think as a rule one may safely infer that the very bitterest grief, +the most poignant sorrows which come before twenty are not abiding. +Mrs. Wyndham has her child. It would not do for the child to associate +only sorrow with the mother's face. Some time in the future she will be +happy again. It is my opinion that your brother would be glad of this." + +"Hush; you don't know. My brother--my only brother! I at least can +never be the Lilias of old." + +"I believe you," said Carr much moved by her tone. "You, too, are very +young; but in your heart, Miss Wyndham, in your heart, you were an +older woman, a woman more acquainted with the grave side of life, than +that poor young thing was when the blow fell." + +Lilias did not answer for a moment or two. + +"I am glad Marjory is out of it all," she said then. "You know what a +long nervous illness she had at the time. Dear old Marjory, she was +such a tempestuous darling." + +"But she is happy now." + +"Oh, yes, she has her husband. Philip is very good, he suits Marjory. +Yes, she is quite happy now, and I am not miserable--you mustn't think +it. I know in whom I have believed." + +Her eyes were raised to the sky overhead. + +"I know He won't fail me. Some day Gerald and I shall meet." + +"Some day, assuredly," answered Carr. + +"And in the meantime, I am not unhappy, only I don't intend ever to +forget. Nor shall she." + +"One question," said Carr. "Have you heard news lately of Mrs. +Wyndham's father?" + +"I believe he has recovered. He never comes here. I must own I have a +great antipathy to Valentine's father. I don't want to hear of him nor +to think of him." + +"I can understand that. Still, if it will not trouble you greatly I +should like to ask you a question or two with regard to him. He was +very ill, at the--at the time, wasn't he?" + +"He was very ill, mentally, he was quite off his head for several +months." + +"Don't you think that was rather strange?" + +"I never thought much about it, as far as he was concerned. Of course +he must have had a dreadful shock." + +"But not such a shock as you had. Not a shock to be named with what +that poor girl, his daughter, went through. Your brother was not his +own son, and--and----" + +"I never thought about it, Mr. Carr. I heard that he was ill, and that +the illness was mental. He has been quite well again for some time." + +"I assure you you're mistaken. I met him a fortnight ago in town. I +never saw a man so completely altered in the whole course of my life." + +"Please don't tell me about him. It never was, nor could be, an +interesting subject. Ah, there is my dear father calling me. I must run +to him." + +The rector was seen approaching. His figure was slightly more bent, and +his hair whiter than of old. Lilias linked her hand within his arm, and +Carr turned away. + +"I can never have it out with her," he said to himself. "I never seem +to have the courage when I'm with her. And besides, I don't believe +she'd leave her father. But if she did--if I ever could hope to win her +for my wife, then I might venture to whisper to her some of my +suspicions. How little she guesses what my thoughts are. Can I act in +any way without consulting her? I have a good mind to try." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + + +The house of Paget Brothers was never more flourishing than during the +spring and summer of 18--. It was three years since the death of its +junior partner, Gerald Wyndham, and three years since Mortimer Paget +had paid away in full the trust money of eighty thousand pounds which +he owed to George Carmichael, of the firm of Carmichael, Parr and Co., +Calcutta. Although none of the parties concerned quite intended it, +certain portions of the story of this trust got abroad, and became the +subject of a nine days' gossip in the City and elsewhere. It had never +even been whispered that Paget Brothers were in difficulties. Still +such a sum would not be easy to find even in the wealthiest concern. +Then the fact also trickled out that Wyndham's life had been insured, +heavily insured, in three or four different offices. His death must +have come in handily, people said, and they said no more--just then. + +The fact was, that had one been even inclined to suspect foul play, Mr. +Paget's dangerous illness at the time would have prevented their doing +so. Surely no man ever before grieved so bitterly for a dead son-in-law +as did this man. The blow had felled him with a stroke. For many months +his mind gave way utterly. The words spoken in delirium are seldom +considered valuable. What Mr. Paget did or said during the dark summer +which followed Wyndham's death never got known. In the autumn he was +better; that winter he went abroad, and the following spring he once +more was seen in the City. + +He looked very old, people said, but he was as shrewd and careful a +business man as ever. + +"I have to put things in order for my grandson," he would say. + +Nobody ever saw him smile just then, but a light used to come into his +sunken dark eyes when the child's name was mentioned. + +Valentine and the boy spent most of their time in the old house in +Park-Lane. She was very gentle with her father, but the relations they +had once borne to each other were completely altered. He now rather +shrank from her society. She had to seek him, not he her. He was +manifestly ill at ease when in her presence. It was almost impossible +to get him to come to see her in her own house. When he did so he was +attacked by a curious nervousness. He could seldom sit still; he often +started and looked behind him. Once or twice he perceptibly changed +color, and on all occasions he gave a sigh of relief when he said +good-bye. + +The child visited his grandfather oftener than the mother did. With the +child Mortimer Paget was absolutely at home and happy. + +The third summer after Wyndham's death passed away. Valentine spent +most of the time at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. Mr. Paget went abroad, as he +always did, during August and September. In October he was once more in +town. Valentine came back to London, and their small world settled down +for its usual winter routine. + +On all sides there were talks of this special winter proving a hard +one, the cold commenced early and lasted long. In all the poorer +quarters of the great city there were signs of distress. Want is a +haggard dame. Once known her face is dreaded. As the days grew short, +the darkness deepened, and the fogs became frequent, she was often seen +stalking about the streets. Poorly clad children, shivering women, +despairing defiant-looking men all trembled and fled before her. The +cold was intense, work became slack, and then, to increase all other +evils, the great cruel monster, Strike, put down his iron heel. Want is +his invariable handmaid. Between them they did much havoc. + +It was on a certain short November day of this special winter that +Mortimer Paget arrived early at his office. He drove there in his +comfortable brougham, and stepped out into the winter cold and fog, +wrapped up in his rich furs. As he did so a woman with two small +children came hastily up, cast a furtive glance to right and left, saw +no policeman near, and begged in a high piteous whining voice for alms. + +Mr. Paget had never been known to give alms indiscriminately. He was +not an uncharitable man, but he hated beggars. He took not the least +notice of the woman, although she pushed one of the hungry children +forward who raised two piteous blue eyes to the hard man's face. + +"Even a couple of pence!" she implored. "The father's on strike, and +they've had nothing to eat since yesterday morning." + +"I don't give indiscriminate charity," said Mr. Paget. "If your case is +genuine, you had better apply at the nearest office of the Charity +Organization." + +He was pushing open the outer office door when something arrested his +attention. + +A man came hurriedly up from a side street, touched the woman on the +shoulder, lifted one of the hungry children into his arms, and the +whole party hurried away. The man was painfully thin, very shabbily +dressed, in a long frock coat, which was buttoned tight. He had a beard +and moustache, and a soft slouch hat was pushed well forward over his +eyes. + +The woman's face lit up when she saw him. Both the children smiled, and +the whole group moved rapidly away. + +The effect of this shabby man's presence on those three helpless and +starving creatures was as if the sun had come out. Mr. Paget staggered +to his office, walked through the outer rooms as if he were dazed, +sought his sanctum, and sat down shaking in every limb. + +Since his strange illness of three years ago, Helps had been more like +a servant and nurse to him than an ordinary clerk. It was his custom to +attend his master on his first arrival, to see to his creature +comforts, to watch his moods. + +Helps came in as usual this morning. Mr. Paget had removed his hat, and +was gazing in a dull vacant way straight before him. + +"You are not yourself this morning, sir," said the clerk. + +He pushed a footstool under the old man's feet, removed the fur-lined +overcoat and took it away. Then standing in front of him he again +said:-- + +"Sir, you are not yourself to-day." + +"The old thing, Helps," said Mr. Paget. He shook himself free of some +kind of trance with an effort. "The doctors said I should be quite well +again, as well as ever. They are mistaken, I shall never be quite well. +I saw him in the street just now, Helps." + +"Indeed, sir?" + +It was Helps' _rôle_ as much as possible to humor his patient. + +"Yes, I saw him just now--he takes many guises; he was in a new one +to-day--a starved clerk out of employment. That was his guise to-day. I +should not have recognized him but for his hand. Perhaps you remember +Wyndham's hand, Helps? Very slender, long and tapered--the hand of a +musician. He took a ragged child in his arms, and his hand--there was +nothing weak about it--clasped another child who was also starved and +hungry. Undoubtedly it was Wyndham--Wyndham in a new guise--he will +never leave me alone." + +"If I were you, Mr. Paget," said Helps after a pause. "I'd open the +letters that are waiting for replies. You know what the doctor said, +that when the fancy came you mustn't dwell on it. You must be sure and +certain not to let it take a hold on you, sir. Now you know, just as +well as I do, that you didn't see poor Mr. Wyndham--may Heaven preserve +his soul! Is it likely now, sir, that a spirit like Mr. Wyndham's, +happy above the sky with the angels, would come down on earth to +trouble and haunt you? Is it likely now, sir? If I were you I'd cast +the fancy from me!" + +Mr. Paget raised his hand to sweep back the white hair from his hollow, +lined face. + +"You believe in heaven then, Helps?" + +"I do for some folks, sir. I believe in it for Mr. Gerald Wyndham." + +"Fudge; you thought too well of the fellow. Do you believe in heaven +for suicides?" + +"Sir--no, sir--his death came by accident." + +"It did not; he couldn't go through with the sacrifice, so he ended his +life, and he haunts me, curse him!" + +"Mr. Paget, I hope God will forgive you." + +"He won't, so you needn't waste your hopes. A man has cast his blood +upon my soul. Nothing can wash the blood away. Helps, I'm the most +miserable being on earth. I walk through hell fire every day." + +"Have your quieting mixture, sir; you know the doctor said you must not +excite yourself. There, now you are better. Shall I help you to open +your letters, sir?" + +"Yes, Helps, do; you're a good soul, Helps. Don't leave me this +morning; he'll come in at the door if you do." + +There came a tap at the outer office. Some one wanted to speak to the +chief. A great name was announced. + +In a moment Mr. Paget, from being the limp, abject wretch whom Helps +had daily to comfort and sustain, became erect and rigid. From head to +foot he clothed himself as in a mask. Erect as in his younger days he +walked into the outer room, and for two hours discussed a matter which +involved the loss or gain of thousands. + +When his visitor left him he did so with the inward remark:-- + +"Certainly Paget's intellect and nerve may be considered colossal." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + + +Esther Helps still took charge of her father's house in Acacia Villas. +She was still Esther Helps. Perhaps a more beautiful Esther than of +old; a little steadier, too, a little graver--altogether a better girl. + +For some unaccountable reason, after that night at the theatre when +Wyndham had sat by her side and taken her back from destruction to her +father's arms, she had almost ceased to flirt. She said nothing now +about marrying a gentleman some day, and as the men who were not +gentlemen found she would have nothing to do with them, it began to be +an almost understood thing among her friends that Esther, lovely as she +was, would not marry. This resolve on her part, for it amounted to an +unspoken resolve, was followed by other changes. She turned her +attention to her hitherto sadly neglected mind. She read poetry with +Cherry, and history and literature generally by herself. Then she tried +to improve her mode of speech, and studied works on etiquette, and for +a short time became frightfully stilted and artificial. This phase, +however, did hot last long. The girl had really a warm and affectionate +heart, and that heart all of a sudden had been set on fire. The flame +never went out. It was a holy flame, and it raised and purified her +whole nature. + +She loved Wyndham as she might have loved Christ had He been on earth. +Wyndham seemed to her to be the embodiment of all nobility. He had +saved her, none knew better than she did from how much. It was the +least she could do to make her whole life worthy of her savior. She +guessed by instinct that he liked refinement, and gentle speech, and +womanly ways. So it became her aim in life to seek after those things, +and as far as possible to acquire them. + +Then the news of his death reached her. Only Cherry knew how night +after night Esther cried herself to sleep. Only Cherry guessed why +Esther's cheeks were so sunken and her eyes so heavy. Her violent +grief, however, soon found consolation. Gerald had always been only a +star to be gazed at from a distance; he was still that. When she +thought of heaven she pictured seeing him there first of all. She +thought that when the time came for her to go there he might stand +somewhere near the gates and smile to see how she, too, had conquered, +and was worthy. + +Now she turned her attention to works of charity, to a life of +religion. It was all done for the sake of an idol, but the result had +turned this flippant, worldly, vain creature into a sweet woman, strong +in the singleness of her aim. + +Esther cared nothing at all about dress now. She would have joined a +Deaconess' Institution but she did not care to leave her father. She +did a great deal of work, however, amongst the poor, and at the +beginning of this severe winter she joined a band of working sisters in +East London as an associate. She usually went away to her work +immediately after breakfast, returning often not until late at night, +but as she wore the uniform of the association, beautiful as she was +she could venture into the lowest quarters, and almost come home at any +hour without rendering herself liable to insult. + +One night as Cherry was preparing supper she was surprised to hear +Esther's step in the passage two or three hours before her usual time +of returning. Cherry was still the same strange mixture of poet and +cook that she had ever been. With the "Lays of Ancient Rome" in one +hand and her frying-pan held aloft in the other, she rushed out to know +what was the matter. + +"Why, Essie," she exclaimed, catching sight of her cousin's face. +"You're ill, Essie; come in and sit down by the fire. I do hope to +goodness you haven't gone and caught nothing." + +"I have caught nothing," said Esther. "I am not ill." + +She untied her bonnet strings and loosened her long straight cloak. + +"Is father in, Cherry? I want to see him the minute he returns." + +"You'll have to wait then," said Cherry, turning away in a half +offended manner. If Esther did not choose to confide in her she was not +going to force confidence. + +She resumed her cooking with vigor, reading aloud portions from the +volume on her knees as she did so. + + "The Lady Jane was tall and slim; + The Lady Jane was fair----" + +"Essie, I wish you wouldn't fidget so. Whatever is the matter?" + +"I want my father," repeated Esther. + +"Well, he's not in. Uncle's never back till an hour after this. I tell +him he's more and more of a nurse and less and less of a clerk every +day of his life; he don't like it, but it's true. That old Mr. Paget is +past bearing." + +Esther rose with a sigh, folded her cloak, laid it on a chair, placed +her bonnet on top of it, and going over to the fireplace gazed into the +flames. + +Cherry's cooking frizzled and bubbled in the pan, Cherry's own head was +bent over her book. + +"This is the rarest fun," she exclaimed suddenly. "Didn't Lady Jane pay +Sir Thomas out? Lord, it were prime. You never will read the 'Ingoldsby +Legends,' Esther. Now I call them about the best things going. How +white you do look. Well, it's a good thing you are in time for a bit of +supper. I have fried eggs and tomatoes to-night, browned up a new way. +Why don't you take your cloak and bonnet upstairs, Essie, and sit down +easy like? It fidgets one to see you shifting from one foot to another +all the time." + +"I'm going out again in a minute," said Esther. "I came in early +because I wanted my father. Oh, there's his latch-key in the door at +last. Don't you come, Cherry. I want to speak to him by myself." + +Cherry's hot face grew a little redder. + +"I like that," she said to herself. "It's drudge, drudge with +me--drudge, drudge from morning till night; and now she won't even tell +me her secrets. I never has no livening up. I liked her better when she +was flighty and flirty, that I did--a deal better. We'll, I'll see what +comes of that poor Sir Thomas." + +Meanwhile Esther, with one hand on her father's shoulder, was talking +to him earnestly. + +"I want you to come back with me, father--back this very minute." + +"Where to, child?" + +"To Commercial Road. There's to be a big meeting of the unemployed, and +the Sisters and I, we was to give supper to some of the women and +children. The meeting will be in the room below, and the supper above. +I want you to come. Some gentlemen are going to speak to them; it won't +be riotous." + +Helps drew a deep sigh. It was a damp drizzling night, and he was +tired. + +"Can't you let me be this time, Essie?" he said. + +"No, father, no, you must come to-night." + +"But I can't do nothing for the poor fellows. I pity them, of course, +but what can I do?" + +"Nothing, only come to the meeting." + +"But what for, Essie?" + +"To please me, if for no other reason." + +"Oh, if you put it in that way." + +"Yes, I put it that way. You needn't take off your great coat. I'll +have my cloak and bonnet on again in a jiffy." + +"What, child, am I to have no supper?" + +Poor Helps found the smell from the kitchen very appetising. + +"Afterwards, when you come back. Everything good when you come back. +Now, do come. It is so important." + +She almost dragged him away. Cherry heard the house door bang after the +two. + +"Well, I'm done," she exclaimed! "See if I'll cook for nobody another +time." + +Esther and her father found an omnibus at the corner of their street. +In a little over half-an-hour they were in Commercial Road; a few +minutes later they found themselves in the large barn-like building +which was devoted to this particular mission. + +The ground floor consisted of one huge room, which was already packed +with hungry-looking men and half-grown boys. + +"Stand near the door," said Esther, giving her father explicit +directions. "Don't stay where the light will fall on your face. Stand +where you can look but can't be seen." + +"You don't want me to be a spy, child. What is the meaning of all +this?" + +"You can put any meaning you like on it. Only do what I tell you. I +want you to watch the men as they come in and out of the room. Watch +them all; don't let one escape you. Stay until the meeting is over. +Then tell me afterwards if there is any one here whom you know." + +"What is the girl up to?" muttered Helps. + +But Esther had already slipped upstairs. He heard sounds overhead, and +women and children going up the stairs in groups; he saw more than one +bright-looking Sister rushing about, busy, eager, and hopeful. Then the +sounds within the large lower room showed him that the meeting had +begun, and he turned his attention to the task set him by his daughter. + +Certainly Esther was a queer girl, a dear, beautiful girl, but queer +all the same. In what a ridiculous position she had placed him in; a +tired elderly clerk. He was hungry, and he wanted his supper; he was +weary, and he sighed for his pipe and his easy-chair. What had he in +common with the men who filled this room. Some of them, undoubtedly, +were greatly to be pitied, but many of them only came for the sake of +making a fuss and getting noticed. Anyhow, _he_ could not help them, +and what did Esther mean by getting him to stand in this draughty +doorway on the chance of seeing an old acquaintance; he was not so much +interested in old acquaintances as she imagined. + +The room was now packed, and the gentleman who occupied the platform, a +very earnest, energetic, thoughtful speaker, had evidently gained full +attention. Helps almost forgot Esther in the interest with which he +listened. One or two men offered to make way for him to go further into +the room; but this he declined. He did not suppose any friend of +Esther's would appear; still he must be true to the girl, and keep the +draughty post she had assigned him. + +At the close of the first address, just when a vociferous clapping was +at its height, Helps observed a tall very thin man elbowing his way +through the crowd. This crowd of working men and boys would not as a +rule be prepared to show either forbearance or politeness. But the +stranger with a word whispered here, or a nod directed there, seemed to +find "open sesame" wherever he turned. Soon he had piloted his way +through this great crowd of human beings almost to the platform. +Finally he arrested his progress near a pillar against which he leaned +with his arms folded. He was more poorly dressed than most of the men +present, but he had one peculiarity which rendered him distinguishable; +he persistently kept his soft felt hat on, and well pushed forward over +his eyes. + +Helps noticed him, he could scarcely himself tell why. The man was +poor, thin. Helps could not get a glimpse of his face, but there was +something in his bearing which was at once familiar and bespoke the +gentleman. + +"Poor chap, he has seen better days," muttered Helps. "Somehow, he +don't seem altogether strange, either." + +Then he turned his attention once more to watch for the acquaintance +whom Esther did not want him to miss. + +The meeting came to an end and the men began to stream out. Helps kept +his post. Suddenly he felt a light hand touch his arm; he turned; his +daughter, her eyes gleaming with the wildest excitement, was standing +by his side. + +"Have you seen him, father?" + +"Who, child--who? I'm precious hungry, and that's the truth, Esther." + +"Never mind your hunger now--you have not let him escape--oh, don't +tell me that." + +"Essie, I think you have taken leave of your senses to-night. Who is it +that I have not let escape?" + +"A tall man in a frock coat, different from the others; he has a beard, +and he wears his hat well pushed forward; his hands are white. You must +have noticed him; he is certain to be here. You did not let him go?" + +"I know now whom you mean," said Helps. "I saw the fellow. Yes, he is +still in the room." + +"You did not recognize him, father?" + +"No, child. That is, I seem to know something about him. Whatever are +you driving at, Esther?" + +"Nothing--nothing--nothing. Go, follow the man with the frock coat. +Don't let him see you. Find out where he lives, then bring me word. +Go. Go. You'll miss him if you don't." + +She disappeared, flying upstairs again, light as a feather. + +Helps found himself impelled against his will to obey her. + +"Here's a pretty state of things," he muttered. "Here am I, faint for +want of food, set to follow a chap nobody knows nothing about through +the slums." + +It never occurred to Helps, however, not to obey the earnest dictates +of his daughter. + +He was to give chase. Accordingly he did so. He did so warily. Dodging +sometimes into the road, sometimes behind a lamp post in case the tall +man should see him. Soon he became interested in the work. The figure +on in the front, which never by any chance looked back, but pursued its +course undeviatingly, struck Helps once more with that strange sense of +familiarity. + +Where had he seen a back like that? Those steps, too, the very way the +man walked gave him a queer sensation. He was as poor looking a chap as +Helps had ever glanced at, and yet the steps were not unknown--the +figure must have haunted the little clerk in some of his dreams. + +The pursuer and pursued soon found themselves in quarters altogether +new to Helps. More and more squalid grew the streets, more and more +ruffianly grew the people. There never was a little man less likely to +attract attention than this clerk with his humble unpretentious dress +and mien. But in these streets he felt himself remarkable. A whole +coat, unpatched trousers, were things to wonder at here. The men and +the women, too, took to jostling him as he passed. One bold-faced girl +tilted his hat well forward over his eyes, and ran away with a loud +laugh. + +Helps felt that even for Esther's sake he could not proceed any +further. He was about to turn back when another glance at the figure +before him brought such a rush of dazed wonderment, of uncanny +familiarity, that all thought of his own possible danger deserted him, +and he walked on, eager as Esther herself now in pursuit. + +All this time they had been going in the direction of the docks. +Suddenly they turned down a very badly lighted side street. There was a +great brewery here, and the wall of the brewery formed for a long way +one side of the street. It was so narrow as to be little better than a +lane, and instead of being a crowded thoroughfare was now almost +deserted. Here and there in the brewery wall were niches. Not one of +these niches was empty. Each held its human being--man, woman, or +child. It seemed to be with a purpose that the tall stranger came here. +He slackened his pace, pushed his hat a little back, and began to +perform certain small ministrations for the poor creatures who were to +pass the night on the cold damp pavement. + +A little girl was asleep in one of the niches; he wrapped her shawl +more closely round her, tucking it in so as to protect her feet. Her +hair hung in a tangled mass over her forehead. He pushed it back with a +tender hand. Finally he pressed into the little thin palm two +lollypops; they would give comfort to the child when she awoke. + +Helps kept behind, well in the shadow; he was absolutely trembling now +with suppressed excitement. He had seen by the glitter of the flaring +gas the white hand of the man as he pushed back the child's elf-locks. +The two went on again a few steps. The man in front stopped +suddenly--they were passing another niche. It had its occupant. A girl +was stretched prone on the ground--a girl whose only covering was rags. +As they approached, she groaned. In an instant the stranger was bending +over her. + +"You are very ill, I fear. Can I help you?" + +"Eh? What's that?" exclaimed the girl. + +She raised her head, stretching out something which was more like a +claw than a hand. + +"What's that noise?" she repeated. + +The noise had been made by Helps. It was an amazed terrified outcry +when he heard the voice of the man who was bending over the girl. The +man himself had observed nothing. + +"You are very ill," he repeated. "You ought to be in a hospital." + +"No, no, none of that," she said, clutching hold of his hand. "I ha' +lain down to die. Let me die. I wor starving--the pain wor awful. Now +I'm easy. Don't touch me--don't lift me; I'm easy--I'm a-goin' to die." + +The stranger knelt a little lower. + +"I won't hurt you," he said. "I will sit here by your side. Don't be +frightened. I am going to raise your head--a little--a very little. Now +it rests on my knee. That is better." + +"Eh, you're a good man; yes, that's nice." + +Her breath came in great pants. Presently she began to wander. + +"Is that you, mother? Mother, I've been such a bad gel--bad every way. +The Almighty's punishing me. I'm dying, and He's a sending me to hell." + +"No," said the quiet voice of the man. "No; _you_ are the one He wants. +He is seeking _you_." + +"Eh?" she said. Once more her clouded brain cleared. "Eh, how my breath +does go. I'm a-going to hell!" + +"No. He has sent me to find you; you are not going there." + +"How do you know?" + +She turned herself an inch or two in her astonishment and stared up at +him. + +Something in his face seemed to fill her with astonishment. + +"Take off your hat," she said. "Are you Jesus Christ?" + +It was at this juncture that Helps turned and fled. + +He ran as he never ran before in the whole course of his life. Nobody +saw him go, and nobody obstructed him in his headlong flight. Presently +he got back to the Mission Hall. The place was closed and dark. He was +turning away when a woman came out of the deep shelter of the doorway +and touched his arm. + +"Essie, is that you? My God, Essie, I've seen a ghost!" + +"No, father, no--a living man." + +"This is awful, child. I'm shaking all over. I'd sooner be in my grave +than go through such a thing again." + +"Lean on me, father. We'll walk a bit, and soon find a cab-stand. We'll +have a cab home. It's about time you had your supper. Don't talk a bit. +Get back your poor breath." + +As they were driving home a few minutes later, in a hansom, she turned +suddenly. + +"And you've got Mr. Wyndham's address?" + +"Good heavens, Essie, don't say his name like that! I suppose it's a +sign of the end that I should have seen a spirit." + +"Nonsense, father, you saw no spirit. That's Mr. Gerald Wyndham in the +flesh, as much as you and I are in the flesh. You saw no spirit, but a +living man. I recognized him this morning, but I wasn't going to take +my own word for it, so I got you to look him up. They call him Brother +Jerome down here. Nobody knows anything at all about him, how he lives, +nor nothing; only that he goes in and out amongst the people, and is +always comforting this one or cheering that, and quieting down rows, +and soothing people, and--and--doing more in a day than the Sisters or +I could do in a week. I've heard of him for a month past, but I only +saw him to-day. He's a mystery, and people wonder about him, and no one +can tell how he lives, nor where he sleeps. _I_ know, though. He sleeps +out of doors, and he starves. He shan't starve any longer." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + + +"Esther," said Helps, late that night, after Cherry, in a very sulky +humor, had gone to bed, "Esther, this is a very terrible, a very awful +thing for me!" + +"How so, father!" + +She was kneeling by his side. Now she put her arm round his neck, and +looked into his face. Her beating, throbbing, exulting heart told her +that her discovery of that day was new life to her. + +"I am glad," she continued, after a solemn pause; "yes. I don't mind +owning I am very glad that a good man like Mr. Wyndham still lives." + +"Child, you don't know what you are talking about. It is +awful--awful--his coming back. Even if he is alive he ought to have +stayed away. His coming back like this is terrible. It means, it +means----" + +"What, father?" + +"Child, it must never be known: he must be warned; he must go away at +once. Suppose anybody else saw him?" + +"Father," said Esther. + +She rose and stood over the shrinking old man. + +"You have got to tell me the meaning of those queer words of yours. I +guessed there was a mystery about Mr. Wyndham; now I am certain. If I +don't know it before I leave the room to-night, I'll make mischief. +There!" + +"Essie--Essie--I thought you had turned into a good girl." + +"I'll turn bad again. Listen. I love that man. Not as a girl loves her +lover--not as a wife cares for her husband. He is married, and I +should not be ashamed to tell his wife how I love him. I glory in my +love; he saved me. Father, I wasn't coming home at all that night. He +saved me; you can understand how I feel for him. My life wouldn't be a +great deal to give up for him. There has been mischief done to him, +that I am sure. Now tell me the truth; then I'll know how to act. Oh, +father, you're the dearest and the kindest. Tell me the truth and you +won't repent it." + +"No, Essie, child, I don't suppose I shall repent. Sit there. You know +too much, you may as well know all. Mr. Wyndham's life was insured." + +"Yes?" + +"Heavily, mark you, heavily." + +"Yes." She covered her face with her hands. "Let me think. Say, +father"--she flung her hands into her lap--"was this done on purpose?" + +"Ay, child, ay; and a better man never lived. Ay, it was done on +purpose." + +"He was meant not to come back?" + +"That's it, Essie, my dear. That's it." + +"I see; yes, I see. Was the insurance money paid?" + +"Every farthing of it, child. A large sum paid in full." + +"If he appeared again it would have to be refunded?" + +"If it could be, child." + +"If it couldn't?" + +"Then the story, the black story of why it was wanted, would have to +come out; and--and--Esther, is the door locked? Come close, Essie. Your +old father and my master would end our days in penal servitude." + +"Now I see," said Esther. + +She did not scream nor utter any loud exclamation, but began to pace +softly up and down the room. Mentally she was a strong girl; her calm +in this emergency proved her mettle. + +After a few moments Helps began to speak; his words were wild and +broken. + +"Over and over I thought I'd rather," he said. "Over, and over, and +over--when I saw what it meant for him, poor young gentleman. But I +can't, Essie, I can't. When it comes to the pinch I can't do it. We +thought he was dead, my master and I, and my master he went off his +head. And over he said, yes, over and over--'Helps, a clean cell and a +clean heart would be heaven to this.' But, bless you, Essie, he +couldn't stand it either at the pinch. We thought Mr. Wyndham lying +under the sea. Oh, poor young gentleman, he had no right to come back." + +"No right? He has a wife and a child." + +"A widow and orphan, you mean. No, Esther, he should have stayed away. +He made a vow, and he should have stuck to it." + +"He has not broken his vow, father. Oh, father, what a wicked thing you +have done; you and that master to whom you have given your life. Now +let me think." + +"You won't send me to prison, Esther?" + +"No, no. Sit down. I must think things out. Even now I don't know +clearly about Mr. Wyndham; you have only treated me to +half-confidences. Stay, though, I don't wish to hear more. You mustn't +go to prison. Mr. Wyndham mustn't starve. I have it. Mr. Wyndham shall +come here." + +"Esther!" + +Poor old Helps uttered a shriek, which caused Cherry to turn uneasily +on her pillow. + +"Keep yourself quiet, father. I'm a determined woman, and this thing +shall be. Mr. Wyndham shall eat of our bread, and we will shelter him; +and I--I, Esther Helps--will undertake to guard his secret and yours. +No one living shall guess who he is." + +"You forget--oh, this is an awful thing to do. You forget--there's +Cherry." + +"I'll blind Cherry. If I can't, she must go. I shall bring Mr. Wyndham +home to-morrow night!" + +"Esther, this will kill me." + +"No, it won't. On the contrary, you'll be a better and a happier man. +You wouldn't have him starve, when through him you have your liberty? +I'm ashamed of you." + +She lit her candle and walked away. + +Old Helps never went to bed that night. + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + + +Esther did not go out next morning. Cherry was surprised at this. Helps +went off at his usual hour. Cherry noticed that he ate little or no +breakfast; but Esther did not stir. She sat quietly by the breakfast +table. She ate well and deliberately. Her eyes were bright, her whole +face was full of light and expression. + +"Ain't you going down as usual to these dirty slums?" quoth Cherry. +"I'm sick of them. You and your clothes both coming in so draggled like +at night. I'm sick of the slums. But perhaps you mean to give them up." + +"Oh, no," said Esther, waking from a reverie into which she had fallen, +"but I'm not going this morning. I've something else to attend to." + +"Then perhaps, Esther," said Cherry, with her round eyes sparkling, +"you'd maybe think to remember your promise of getting that pink gauze +dress out of your trunk; you know you promised it to me, and I've a +mind to make it up with yellow bows. I'm sure to want it for something +about Christmas." + +"You shall have it," said Esther, in a sharp, short voice. + +The abstracted look returned to her face. She gazed out of the window. + +"Law, Essie, ain't you changed, and for the worse, I take it!" remarked +Cherry. "I liked you a sight better when you were flighty and +frivolous. Do you remember the night you went to the theatre with that +Captain something or other? My word, wasn't uncle in a taking. 'Twas I +found your tickets, and put uncle up to getting a seat near you. +Weren't you struck all of a heap when you found him there? I never +heard how you took it." + +"Hush," said Esther, rising to her feet, her face growing very white. +"I was mad, then, but I was saved. That's enough about it. Cherry, you +know the box-room?" + +"Yes," said Cherry. "It's stuffed pretty well, too. Mostly with your +trunks, what you say belonged to your mother." + +"So they did. Well, they must go downstairs." + +"Wherever to? There isn't a corner for them in this scrap of a house." + +"Corners must be found. Some of the trunks can go in our bedroom--some +into father's; some into the passage, some into the drawing-room if +necessary. You needn't stare, it has got to be done." + +Esther stamped her foot and looked so imperious that Cherry shrank +away. + +"I suppose you're a bit mad again," she muttered, and she began to +collect the breakfast things on a tray. + +"Stop, Cherry, we may as well talk this out. I'll go upstairs now and +help you with the boxes. Then we'll clean out the attic; if I had time +I'd paper it, but there ain't. Then I'm going out to buy a bedstead and +bedding, and a table and washhand stand. The attic is to be made into a +bedroom for----" + +Here she paused. + +"Well," said Cherry, "for whom, in the name of goodness?" + +Esther gulped something down in her throat. + +"There's a good man in the East of London, a very good man; he has no +money, and he's starving, and he has to sleep out of doors; and--and--I +can't stand it, Cherry--and I spoke to father, and we have agreed that +he shall have the attic and his food. That's it, his name is Brother +Jerome; he's a sort of an angel for goodness." + +"Slums again," said Cherry; "I'll have nothing to do with it." + +She took up her tray and marched into the kitchen. Esther waited a +minute or two, then she went to her room, put on a coarse check apron, +and mounted the narrow attic stairs. She commenced pulling the trunks +about; she could not lift them alone, but she intended to push them to +the head of the stairs and then shove them down. + +Presently a thumping step was heard, and Cherry's round face appeared. + +"Disgusting job, I call it," she said; "but if I must help you, I +suppose I must. I was going to learn 'Lord Tom Noddy' this morning. I +thought I might wear the pink gauze with yellow bows, and recite it at +Uncle Dan's Christmas party. Cousin Tom says I'm real dramatic when I'm +excited, and that's a beautiful piece, so rhythmic and flowing. But +then we all have to bend to you, Esther, and if I must help you I +suppose I must." + +"I think you had better, dear, and some day perhaps you won't be sorry. +He's a good man, Brother Jerome is, he won't be no trouble. I'll clean +his room for him myself once it's put in order, and he's sure to go out +early in the morning. He'll breakfast upstairs, and I'll take him his +breakfast, and his supper shall be ready for him here at night. We must +see if that chimney will draw, Cherry, for of course he'll want his bit +of fire." + +After this the two girls worked with a will; they cleaned and polished +the tiny window, they scrubbed the floor and brushed down the walls, +and polished the little grate. Then Esther went out and made her +purchases. The greater part of a five pound note was expended, and by +the afternoon Gerald Wyndham's room was ready for him. + +"Brother Jerome will come home with me to-night. Cherry," said Esther. +"I may be late--I'm sure to be late--you needn't sit up." + +"But I'd like to see him. Slums or no slums, he has given me a pair of +stiff arms, and I want to find out if he's worth them." + +"Oh, he's nothing to look at. Just a tall, thin, starved-looking man. +He'll be shy, maybe, of coming, and you'd much better go to bed. You'll +leave some supper ready in his room." + +"What shall I leave?" + +"Oh, a jug of beer and some cheese, and the cold meat and some bread +and butter. That's all, he's accustomed to roughing it." + +"My word, you call that roughing. Then the slums can't be so bad. I +always thought there was an uncommon fuss made about them. Now I'll get +to 'Lord Tom Noddy,' and learn off a good bit before tea time; you +might hear me recite if you had a mind, Essie." + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + + +"Oh, yes, she's the sweetest missus in the world!" + +That was the universal opinion of the servants who worked for Valentine +Wyndham. They never wanted to leave her, they never grumbled about her, +nor thought her gentle orders hard. The nurse, the cook, the housemaid, +stayed on, the idea of change did not occur to them. + +Valentine and her little son came back to the house in town at the end +of October. Lilias came with them, and Adrian Carr often ran up to town +and paid a visit to the two. + +One day he came with a piece of news. He had got the offer of an +incumbency not very far from Park-Lane. A fashionable church wanted a +good preacher. Carr had long ago developed unusual powers as a pulpit +orator, and the post, with a good emolument, was offered to him. He +came to consult Lilias and Valentine in the matter. + +"Of course you must go," said Lilias. "My father will miss you--we +shall all--but that isn't the point. This is a good thing for you--a +great thing--you must certainly go." + +"And I can often see you," responded Carr, eagerly. "Mrs. Wyndham will +let me come here, I hope, and you will often be here." + +"I wish you would spend the winter with me, Lilias," said Valentine. +She had interpreted aright the expression in Carr's eyes, and soon +afterwards she left the room. + +She went up to her own room, shut and locked the door, and then stood +gazing into the fire with her hands tightly locked together. She +inherited one gift from her father. She, too, could wear a mask. Now +it dropped from her, and her young face looked lined and old. + +"It isn't the grief of losing him," she murmured under her breath. +"It's the pain--the haunting fear--that things are wrong. Have I known +my father all these years not to note the change in him? He shrinks +from me--he dreads me. Why? His conscience is guilty. Oh, Gerald, if I +had only let you look into my heart, perhaps you would not have gone +away. Oh, if only I had been in time to go on board the _Esperance_ you +would have been living now. Yes, Gerald, the terror never leaves me day +and night; you are dead, but God did not mean you to die. My own +Gerald--my heart would have been broken, or I should have lost my +reason, if I had not confided my fears to Mr. Carr. Some people perhaps +think I have forgotten--some again that I have ceased to love my +husband. How little they know! Of course I am bright outwardly. But my +heart is old and broken. I have had a very sad life--I am a very +unhappy woman. Only for little Gerry I couldn't live. He is sweet, but +I wish he were more like his father. Ah, there is nurse's knock at the +door. Coming, nurse. Is baby with you?" + +Mrs. Wyndham unlocked her door, and a little round, dimpled, +brown-tinted child scampered in. He was followed by his nurse, a grave, +nice-looking woman of about thirty. She was a widow, and had a son of +her own. + +"Has baby come to say good-night, Annette? Come here, sweet. Come into +mother's arms." + +She sat down on a low chair by the fire, and the little man climbed on +her knee. + +"I don't _'ike_ oo. I _'ove_ oo," he said. + +"He's always saying that, ma'am," remarked the nurse. "He likes his +toys--he loves his mother." + +"Course I 'ove my mother." + +He laid his brown curly head on her breast. + +"Nurse, is anything the matter? You don't look well." + +"That's it, madam. I'm not ill in body, but I'm sore fretted in mind. +Now, baby, darling, don't you pull your dear ma to bits! The fact is, +ma'am, and sore I am to say it, I'm afraid I must leave this precious +child." + +"Nurse!" + +Valentine's arms dropped away from baby; baby raised his own curly +head, and fixed his brown eyes on the woman, his rosy lips pouted. + +"Sore I am to say it, ma'am," repeated Annette, "but there's no help. +I've put off the evil day all I could, ma'am; but my mother's old, and +my own boy has been ill, and she says I must go home and see after them +both. Of course, madam, I'll suit your convenience as to the time of my +going, and I hope you'll get some one else as will love the dear child. +Come to bed, master baby, dear; your mother wants to go down to +dinner." + + * * * * * + +A few days after this, as Helps was taking his comfortable breakfast, +cooked to perfection by Cherry's willing hands, he raised his eyes +suddenly, looked across at his daughter Esther, and made a remark. + +"I'm told poor young madam is in no end of a taking." + +"What young madam, father?" + +"Mrs. Wyndham. The nurse is going and the child has got whooping cough. +He's bad, too, poor little 'un, and frets about the nurse like +anything. My master's in a way, too; he's wrapped up in that little +lad. It was he told me; he said perhaps you'd know of a nurse as would +suit, Esther." + +"Don't stare so, Cherry," said Esther. "Anybody would think father was +talking of ghosts, to see the bigness of your eyes. Well, father, yes, +I'll think about a nurse. I'm sorry the child is ill." + +"Don't you go and get a nurse from the slums," retorted Cherry. "You're +all slums, you are. My word, I am having a time since that new lodger +took possession." + +Here Cherry paused to pour fresh water into the tea-pot. Esther and her +father exchanged frightened glances. + +"Brother Jerome, indeed!" proceeded this energetic young person. "He's +a mighty uneasy sort of Brother Jerome. His good deeds don't seem to +quieten him, anyway. And why does he always keep a hat stuck on his +head, and never raise it when he passes me on the stairs. I know I'm +broad and I'm stout, and I've no looks to boast of, but it's meant for +men to raise their hats to women, and I don't see why he shouldn't. +Then at night he walks the boards overhead fit to work on anybody's +nerves. I don't recite half so dramatic as I did, because I can't get +my sleep unbroken." + +"Your tongue ain't stopped, anyway," said her uncle, almost crossly. +"Esther, you'll think about the nurse for young madam." + +He rose and left the room. + +Esther sat still a little longer. She heard Cherry rattling the plates +in the kitchen. Presently, she got up, put on her bonnet and cloak, +called good-bye to her cousin, and went out. There could scarcely be a +better Sister of the Poor than Esther Helps. She was near enough to +them socially to understand their sorrows. She had never known +starvation, but she could take in what tiny means meant--their mode of +speech was comprehensible to her, she was sufficiently unfastidious to +go into their dirty rooms, to witness their uncouth, semi-savage ways +without repulsion. She liked the life, it suited her, and her it. She +was the kind of woman to be popular as a district visitor. She had +abundance of both sympathy and tact. When her sympathies were aroused, +her manners could be affectionate. In addition, she had a very lovely +face. The poor of East London adore beauty; it comes so rarely near +them in any case that they look upon it as an inestimable treasure. The +women and children liked to watch Esther when she talked and when she +smiled. The men treated her with the respect due to a regal presence. + +Esther went down as usual to her mission work to-day. Sister Josephine, +the head of this branch of work, greeted the handsome girl with a smile +when she came in, drew her aside, and spoke to her about a particularly +difficult undertaking which was soon to be commenced. This undertaking +would require the utmost tact and talent; the sister asked Esther if +she would be willing to become the head of the movement. + +"I don't know anyone more suitable," she said in conclusion. "Only if +you come, you must consent to sleep away from home. Some of our +work--our principal work--will take place at night." + +Esther's clear ivory-tinted skin became a shade paler. She looked full +at the sister with troubled but unshrinking eyes. + +"You do me a great honor," she said. "But I am afraid I must decline +it. At present I cannot sleep away from home. It is also possible--yes, +it is quite possible--that I may have to give up the work altogether +for a time." + +"Esther, are you putting your hand to the plough and looking back?" + +"I don't know, Sister Josephine. Perhaps I am." + +The sister laid her hand solemnly on the girl's arm. + +"Esther, if you love anyone better than God, you have no right to come +here," she said. + +Then she turned away and walked sorrowfully down the long mission room. +She was disappointed in Esther Helps, and though Esther's own heart +never faltered, she felt a sharp pang pierce it. + +That night she came home late. + +"Has Brother Jerome come in?" she asked Cherry. + +"No. How you do fash about that man! His supper's waiting for him, and +I saw to his fire. Now I'm going to bed. I'm dead tired." + +"Do, Cherry. I'll sit up for Brother Jerome." + +"Ask him, for goodness sake, not to march the boards so frequent. He'll +have my grey hairs to account for. He's picked up a cough, too, and +between the creaking of the boards, and the coughing, I have nice +nights lately." + +"You study too much, Cherry, or you wouldn't mind such little noises. +Now go to bed, dear. I'll give Brother Jerome a hint." + +"Good-night, Esther. Uncle's been in bed an hour or more. I hope that +brother of the slums won't keep you long." + +Cherry ran upstairs, and Esther went into the bright warm little +kitchen. She left the door wide open, and then she sat and waited. + +The substance of Sister Josephine's words rang in her ears. + +"If you love another better than God, you have no right to come here." + +Did she love another better than God? No, no, impossible. A man had +influenced her life, and because of his influence she had given herself +up, soul and body, to God's service. How could she love the man best? +He had only pointed to the higher way. + +Then she heard his step outside; his latch-key in the door, and she +felt herself tremble. He went straight upstairs, never glancing in the +direction of the kitchen; as he went he coughed, and his cough sounded +hollow. His figure, never remarkably upright, was much bent. + +Esther waited a few minutes; then, her heart going pit-a-pat, she crept +very softly upstairs, passed her own room and Cherry's, and knocked at +Wyndham's door. + +He came and opened it. + +"Can I speak with you, brother?" + +"Certainly. Come in, Esther?" + +The attic had been converted into a wonderfully snug apartment. The bed +and washing apparatus were curtained off, and the part of the room +which surrounded the hearth revealed a bright fire, a little table on +which a tempting cold supper was spread, and a deep easy chair. + +"Sit down, brother," said Esther, "and eat. Let me help you. I can talk +while you eat your supper. Are you very tired to-night? Yes, I am +afraid you are dreadfully tired." + +"I am always tired, Esther. That is in the condition of things." + +He sank back into his chair as if he were too weary to keep out of it. +Then, with a flash of the old Gerald Wyndham in his eyes and manner, he +sprang up. + +"I was forgetting myself. Will you sit here!" + +"What do you take me for, Mr.--Brother Jerome, I mean. I have come up +here to see you eat, to see you rest, and to--to--talk to you." + +"Esther, I have no words to thank you. You are, yes, you are the +noblest woman I know." + +She flushed all over; her eyes shone. + +"And isn't that thanks for ever and ever?" she said in a voice in which +passion trembled. + +Wyndham did not notice. He had taken off his hat, and Cherry's good +supper stood by his side. He ate a little, then put down his knife and +fork. + +"Ain't you hungry, sir?" + +"No. At first, when I came here, I was so starved that I never could +eat enough. Now I am the other way, not hungry at all." + +"And, sir, you have got a cough." + +"Yes, I had a very bad wetting last week, and a cough is the result. +Strange. I had no cough when I slept out of doors." + +"Mr. Wynd--Brother Jerome, I mean, you wouldn't go back to that old +life? Say you wouldn't go back." + +The almost anguish in her voice penetrated for the first time to +Wyndham's ear. He gave her a startled glance, then said with warmth:-- + +"Esther, you and your father have been good Samaritans to me; as long +as it is safe I will stay with you." + +"It shall and must be safe. Who would look for you here, of all places, +when they think you are buried under the waves of the sea?" + +"That is true. I expect it is perfectly safe for me to stay." + +He lay back in his chair, and gazed into the fire; he had almost +forgotten Esther's presence. + +"And you like it--you feel happier since you came?" she asked, +presently, in a timid voice. + +"What did you say?" + +"Mr. Wyndham," the forbidden name came out with a burst, "do tell poor +Esther Helps that you are happier since she found you." + +She had fallen on her knees, the tears were streaming from her eyes; +she held out her hands to him. + +"Oh," she said, "I would give my life for yours." + +In a moment Wyndham's dreamy attitude left him; he sprang to his feet, +all alive and keen and watchful. He was the old Wyndham; his eyes were +full of pity, which made his whole face radiant. + +"Hush," he said. "Get up. Don't say any more. Not another word--not a +syllable. You forget yourself. Esther. I saved you once--I must save +you again. Sit there, yes, there; I am quite strong. I must tell you +the truth. Esther, I said just now that you were the noblest woman I +know. You must go on being noble. I will stay here on that condition." + +"Oh, sir, will you?" Poor Esther would have liked to shrink through the +very boards. "Will you forgive me, sir?" + +"Hush; don't talk about forgiveness. There is nothing to forgive. +Esther, I will show you how much I trust you. I will talk to you about +my wife. I will tell you a little of my story; I mean the part I can +tell without implicating others." + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + + +Esther was now seated in the easy-chair; Wyndham stood by the +mantel-piece. He had got a shock, and that shock had given him +strength, and a good deal of his old manner. + +"Esther," he said, "I cannot tell you all the story, but some of it I +should like you to hear. You are a friend to me, Esther, and the part +that relates to myself I will confide to you." + +"Sir, I know the other part; you have been the victim of a wicked man." + +"Hush; I don't wish to speak about anyone but myself. I don't blame +anyone but myself. I loved a woman, Esther Helps, so much better than +myself that for her sake I resolved to die to the world. I need not +give you the reason of this. It seemed to me necessary for her +happiness that I should do this; and I did not think it too much to do. +I married my wife knowing that the great love I had for her was not +returned. This seemed all for the best, as when I died, as die to all +appearance I should, her heart would not be broken. She could continue +to live happy and honored. Do you follow me?" + +"Yes, sir, yes. Are you tired? Will you sit, Mr. Wyndham?" + +"I was never less tired. When I speak of my wife I feel as if a fresh +vigor were coming into me. We were married, and I soon found that I had +overtaxed my own resolve. In one particular I could not complete the +sacrifice I had undertaken. I tried to make her love me, and for a +time--a short time--I thought I had succeeded." + +The speaker paused, and the eagerness of his tone changed. + +"I failed. The heart that I most craved for was not to be mine. I +tested it, but it did not respond. This was best, no doubt, but the +fact preyed on me dreadfully. I went on board the _Esperance_, and, +then, God forgive me, the thought took possession of me, the idea +overmastered me, that I would make my fictitious death real. Everything +had been carefully arranged with regard to my apparent death. That part +implicates others, so I will not touch upon it. I resolved to make +certainty doubly certain by dying in earnest. Thus my wife's future +would be assured. My death would be real, the thing that might come +upon her would be averted for ever. I was in a condition when I could +not balance right and wrong; but my intellect was sufficiently keen and +sensible to make me prepare for the deed I contemplated. I took steps +which would prevent anyone on board thinking that I had fallen +overboard by design. My death would be attributed to the merest +accident. Thus all was made absolutely safe. What is the matter, +Esther?" + +"Oh, Mr. Wyndham! Oh, you frighten me. Did you--did you think of your +soul, sir?" + +"I did, Esther. But I loved my wife better than my hope of heaven. I +resolved to risk even that for her. As I tell you, I had no sense of +personal right or wrong at that time. You see that I am a very wicked +man, Esther--no hero--a man who yielded to a dire temptation. I won't +talk about this. The night came, and I dropped into the water. There +was a storm that night. It was dark, but now and then the stars could +be seen through the rifts of the clouds. As I leapt overboard I looked +up, and saw the brightness of the Southern Cross. Then I went under. +The great waves closed over my head. The next instant I came to the +surface only possessed with one fierce frantic desire, to save the life +I meant to throw away. Better be a living dog than a dead lion, I said +to myself. Yes, I would live--if only like the miserable dogs of +Eastern towns, w ould live as the outcast, as the scum of the earth--I +would live. I had done a horrible thing in seeking to throw away my +life. I cried aloud in an anguish of terror:--'God spare me! God leave +my breath in my body! Don't take my spirit before the judgment seat!' +Through the rifts in the clouds I saw a boat at a little distance +manned by some of the sailors who were looking for me. I shouted, but +no living voice could be heard in the gale. Then I resolved to husband +my strength. I was an excellent swimmer, and I could always float like +a cork. I could not swim in that sea, but I could lie quite passive on +the waves. I turned on my back, and waited for the issue of events. I +closed my eyes and felt myself being moved up and down. The motion in +itself was not unpleasant. The waves were wonderfully buoyant. Instead +of losing my strength I was rested. My heart beat steadily. I knew that +my chance of life depended on my keeping very cool. Presently something +struck me. I put out my hand and grasped a floating oar. By means of +the oar I knew that unless I froze with the cold I could keep above the +water for hours. I placed it under my arms and kept above the water +with very little effort. + +"The cold, however, was intense, and I doubt that I could have lived +till morning had not another chance of deliverance just then appeared. +The clouds had almost cleared from the sky, and by the brightness of +the southern constellations I saw something gleaming white a little +further off. It was not the ship, which must have been a league or two +away by now, but something I could see in my present horizontal +position. I ventured to raise my head a very little, and saw a boat--a +boat painted white--which, strange to say, had not been overturned by +the roughness of the waves. It was gently floating onwards in my +direction. The name _Esperance_ was painted in gold letters on the +outside of the boat, near the bow. I guessed at once what had +happened. One of the ships' boats had got loose from its moorings in +the gale, and was now sent to me as an ark of deliverance. It was +evidently on one of the ship's oars, too, that I was supporting my +head. + +"Then I saw that God did not mean me to die, and a great glow of +gratitude and even happiness ran through me. You will wonder at this, +but you don't know how horrible death looked in the jaws of that angry +sea. + +"The boat came nearer, and nearer and my happiness and sense of relief +grew to almost rapture. I cried aloud:--'God. I thank Thee! Take the +life you have thought worth preserving almost through a miracle, as +your own absolutely. Take my body, take my spirit, to spend, to +worship, to lose myself in Thee!' Then the boat came up, and I had to +duck under to avoid being stunned by her. + +"It is no easy matter to get into an empty boat in a rough sea. My +hands were almost numb, too, for I had been a couple of hours in the +water. I felt, however, quite cool, self-possessed and quiet. I could +think clearly, and bring my little knowledge of boats to my aid. I knew +my only chance of not upsetting the boat was to climb over by the +stern. This, after tremendous difficulties, I accomplished. I lay in +the bottom of the boat for some time quite unconscious. When at last I +was able to rouse myself, daylight had come and the storm had gone +down. My clothes were drenched through with salt water. I could not +keep from shivering, and every bone ached. I was not the least hungry, +but I was consumed with thirst. There were two or three oars lashed to +the side of the boat. I could row, therefore, and the exercise warmed +me. Presently the sun came up in the heavens. I was glad of this, but +its rays beating on my uncovered head soon produced headache, which in +its turn brought on a queer giddiness and a feeling of sickness. I saw +now that I was going to be very ill, and I wondered how long I should +retain my senses. I knew that it behoved me to be very careful. I was +alive, but for my wife's sake I must appear to be dead. I saw that I +had taken the very best possible step to insure this end, and if I +could only carry on my purpose to its conclusion I should have adopted +a far better plan for securing the establishment of my own apparent +death than the one originally devised for me. + +"Aching as I did from head to foot I found it difficult to keep my +thoughts collected. I managed, however, to do so, and also to scratch +out the name of the _Esperance_ from the bows of the boat. This I +accomplished with my pocket knife. I also cut away my own name from my +linen, and from two handkerchiefs which I found in my pockets. These +handkerchiefs had been marked by my wife. After this I knew there was +no more I could do. I must drift along and take my chance of being +picked up. I cannot recall how I passed the day. I believe I rowed a +little when I felt cold; but the greater part of the time I simply +allowed the boat to drift. + +"That evening I was picked up by a trading vessel bound for the Cape. +Its crew were mostly Dutch, and several of the sailors were black. I +faintly remember going on board the vessel. Then all memory leaves me. +I had a long illness--a fever which changed me, turning my hair very +grey. I grew a beard in my illness, and would not allow it to be +removed when I got better, as I knew that in the future I must live +under the shadow of death, I must completely sink the identity which +made life of value. + +"I was put into hospital when we arrived at Cape Town, and when I got +better was given a small purse of money, which had been collected by +some people who professed to take an interest in me. On the day I left +the hospital I really commenced my new life. + +"It is unnecessary to tell you all that followed. I had not forgotten +my vow--the vow I made to God verily out of the deeps. I determined, +as far as it was in me, absolutely to renounce myself and to live for +God as He reveals himself in suffering man. I did not resolve to do +this with any ulterior motive of saving my own soul, and atoning for +the sin of the past. I felt that God deserved all that I could possibly +give Him, and to give it absolutely and without reservation kept me, I +believe, from losing my senses. For a time all went well. Then the +hunger which had been my curse came back. You will ask what that was. +It was a sense of utter starvation which no physical food could +satisfy, which no mental food could appease. I _must_ get near my wife. +I had sinned for her, and now I could not keep away from her. I must at +least live in the same country. I prayed against this hunger; I fought +with it. I struggled with it, but I could not beat it down. A year ago +I came back to England. I came to London, to the safest place for a man +who must hide. Willing hands are always needed to help to lighten some +of the load of misery in this great city. I called myself Brother +Jerome, and presently I found my niche. I worked, and I could have been +happy. Yes, starving in body, with nowhere to lay my head, I could have +been happy following _The_ Blessed example, but for the hunger which +always drove me mad, which was gnawing at my heart, which gnaws there +still--which--Esther--Esther Helps--is--killing me!" + +Wyndham dropped his head on his hands. He uttered one groan. When he +raised his head again his eyes were wet. + +"I am close to my wife," he said; "but I have never heard of her +once--not once since I returned." + +Then he sat down in the chair which Esther rose from. He began to cough +again, and Esther saw the drops of sweat standing large on his +forehead. + +It was now her turn to speak. She stood upright--a tall, slim woman--a +woman who had gone through a change so great as almost to amount to a +new birth--while Wyndham had been telling his story. + +"Now," she said, "I am happy. I praise God for His mercies, for it is +given to me to comfort you." + +Wyndham raised his head; he was too exhausted to ask her what she +meant, except with his eyes. + +"Your wife is well, and from this day forth you shall hear news of her, +fresh news, once a week. Every Sunday you shall hear." + +"Esther, don't torture me. Are you telling me truth?" + +"I am telling you the solemn truth. Would I lie to a man like you? Mr. +Wyndham, do you know, has anyone ever told you that you have a child?" + +"Nobody. Is this the case? My God, a child!" + +"Yes, sir, a little boy; he is called after you. He is three years old. +You'd like to see him, maybe?" + +"Good heavens, Esther, this is like new wine to me. I have a son of my +own--Valentine's son!" + +He began to pace the floor. + +"And you would like to see him, wouldn't you, sir?" + +"Yes--no--the joy might kill me. People have died of joy." + +"You wouldn't die of joy, sir. It has always been the other way with +you. Joy would make you live, would cure that cough, and that sinking +feeling you have told me of." + +"And the hunger, Esther--the hunger which gnaws and gnaws. Esther, you +are a wonderful woman." + +"Sit down, Mr. Wyndham. Keep quiet. Don't get excited. I'll do this for +you. I made up the plan this morning. It was about that I came to speak +to you. The baby wants a new nurse. To-morrow I am going to offer for +the place. I shall get it, too, no fear of that. I shall live in the +same house as your wife, every night your son will sleep in my arms. +Each Sunday I come here with my news--my weekful of news. Some day I +bring your son. What more natural than that I should come to my father +once a week. Who will suspect? Mr. Wyndham, that hunger of yours shall +have one weekly meal. No fear, no fear. And now, sir, go to bed, and +may God Almighty bless you!" + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + + +Valentine Wyndham had often said that no greater treasure of a nurse +could be found than the one who came to her when little Gerald was a +month old. When she saw Esther, however, she changed her mind. Esther +was superior to Annette in personal appearance, in intellect, and in a +curious unspoken intangible sympathy which brought a strange sense of +comfort to Valentine's strained and worn heart. Esther was full of +tact. She was not demonstrative, but her every look and word expressed +loving interest. Baby very soon ceased to fret for Annette. With a +child's fickleness he boldly declared that he liked "noo nurse better +than old nurse." His most loving word for Esther was "noo nurse," and +he was always contented and happy when he lay in noo nurse's arms and +listened to her stories. She had wonderful stories for him, stories +which she never dreamt of telling in his mother's presence, stories +which always led to one termination--a termination which had a +wonderful fascination for baby. They were about little fatherless boys, +who in the most unlooked for ways found their fathers. Baby revelled in +these tales. + +"I'se not got a farwer, noo nursie," he would generally end +sorrowfully. + +Then Esther would kiss him, and tell him to wait, and to watch for the +good fairies who were so kind to little boys. + +His whooping cough soon got better, and he was able to go out. One day +Esther took him early into the Park. He was dressed all in white fur. +Esther told him he looked like Baby Bunting. + +"But I haven't got a farwer to buy me a wabbit-skin," quoth baby. + +That day, however, the father he did not know pressed two or three +burning kisses on his round cheek. Esther sat down on a chair near a +very worn and shabby-looking man. His back was partly to her. She said +a word and he turned round. He looked at the child. Suddenly a light +filled his sunken eyes--a beautiful light. He stretched out his arms, +and straight as an arrow from a bow, Baby Bunting found a shelter in +their close embrace. + +"Kiss me," said the man. + +The little lips pressed his cheek. + +"I 'ove oo," said baby, in his contented voice. "Has 'oo little boys of +'oo own?" + +"One little boy." + +"Oo 'ove him, I pose?" + +"Ay." + +Three kisses were pressed on baby's face and he was returned to Esther. + +"Nice man," he said patronizingly, by-and-bye. "But he gived raver hard +kisses when he crunched me up." + +That evening baby told his mother that a man met him in the Park, who +kissed him and looked sad, and said he had a little boy of his own. + +"And he crunched me up with kisses, mover," concluded baby. + +"Was this man a friend of yours, Esther?" queried Mrs. Wyndham. + +"Yes, madam, a friend of mine, and of my father's. A gentleman with a +very sorrowful story. I think it comforted him to kiss master baby." + +Esther was a woman of acute observation. It seemed to her that if there +was an individual on earth to be envied it was Valentine Wyndham. What +matter though she thought herself a widow? Still she had won a love of +a quality and depth which surely must satisfy the most exacting heart. +Esther often said to herself that if she were Valentine she must surely +rest content. As to her forgetting Wyndham that could surely, surely +never be. + +These were Esther's thoughts, always supposing the case to be her own; +but she had not been many weeks in the house in Park-Lane before she +began to open her eyes and to suspect that matters were otherwise with +her young mistress. Valentine, although still a wife, supposed herself +a widow. All the world thought her such. What more natural than that +she should turn her thoughts once more to love. At the time of her +supposed widowhood she was under twenty years of age. Why should she +mourn for her young husband all her days? Surely there was somebody who +considered that she ought not to mourn--somebody who came almost daily +to the house, whom Mrs. Wyndham liked to talk to. For Esther noticed +that her eyes were bright after Adrian Carr went away. She did not +guess that their brightness was generally caused by the shedding of +tears. + +Esther began to feel very uncomfortable. Should she or should she not +tell Wyndham of the danger which was threatening Valentine? + +There came a Sunday when Mrs. Wyndham entered her nursery with a +request. + +"Nurse, my head aches dreadfully. I know you stipulated to have every +Sunday afternoon to yourself, but if you could stay at home to-day I +should be grateful." + +No one could make requests more sweetly than Valentine, and Esther felt +herself coloring up with the pain of refusing. + +"I am very sorry, madam," she said in a low constrained voice; +"but--but--my father will expect me. You know it was an understood +thing, madam, that I was to see him once a week. You remember my +telling you I am his only child." + +"Yes, yes," said Valentine, "and I have thought of that. If you will +take care of Gerry this one afternoon I will send the page in a cab to +your home to fetch your father here." Esther changed color, from red to +white. + +"I am more sorry than I can express, my dear madam, but it would make +all the difference to my father seeing me in my own little home and +here. My father is very humble in his ways, dear madam. I think, +perhaps, if you have a headache, Jane, the under housemaid, might be +trusted for once with master baby." + +"Jane has already gone out," replied Valentine coldly. Then with an +effort she swallowed down her resentment. "I will be frank with you, +Esther," she said. "If it was simply a headache I could certainly take +care of my little boy, even at some inconvenience. But there is more +behind. I promised Miss Wyndham, who is now in town, to meet her this +afternoon at Mr. Carr's new church. She is most anxious to hear him +preach, and I should be sorry to disappoint her." + +"You mean _you_ are anxious to hear him preach," quoth Esther, under +her breath. "And is it on that account I will leave a hungry heart to +starve?" Aloud she said: "Do you object to my taking master baby with +me, madam?" + +"I do object. The child must not be out so late. Then you distinctly +refuse to accommodate me, Esther?" + +"I am obliged to adhere to our arrangement, Mrs. Wyndham. I am truly +sorry." + +Valentine held out her hand to her little boy. + +"Come, then, Baby Bunting," she said. "Mother will play with her boy; +and poor Aunt Lilias must go to church alone." + +She did not look at Esther, but went quietly away, holding the child's +hand. + +"What a brute I am," soliloquized the nurse. "And yet, she, poor young +lady, how can she--how can she forget?" + +Esther's home was in all its Sunday quiet when she reached it. Helps +was having his afternoon siesta in the kitchen. Cherry was spending the +day with the cousins who admired her recitations. Helps started out of +his slumbers when his daughter came in. + +"Essie," he said, "I'm glad you've come. That young man upstairs is +very ill." + +Esther felt her heart sinking down. She pressed her hand to her side. + +"Is he worse, father?" she gasped. + +"Oh, I don't know that he's worse; he's bad enough as it is, without +going in for being worse. He coughs constant, and Cherry says he don't +eat enough to keep a robin going. Esther, I wish to goodness we could +get him out of this." + +"Why so, father? He doesn't hurt you. Even Cherry can't name any fault +in him." + +"No, but suppose he was to die here. There'd be an inquest, maybe, and +all kinds of questions. Well, I'm not hard-hearted, but I do wish he'd +go." + +Esther sank down into the nearest chair. + +"You speak cruel words now and then, father," she said. "Who talks of +dying? _He_ won't die. If it comes to that, or any chance of it, I'll +come back and nurse him to life again." + +"Essie, you think a sight of that young man." + +"Well, I do. I'm not going to deny it. I'm going upstairs to see him +now." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +AT THE SOUND OF THE CLOCK. + + +She left the room, tripping lightly upstairs in her neat nurse's dress. +When she got to Wyndham's door and knocked gently for admission her +heart, however, was beating so wildly that she feared he might notice +it. + +"Come in," said his voice; she entered. + +He was lying back in his easy-chair. When he saw Esther he took off the +soft hat which he always wore in Cherry's presence, and greeted her +with that brightness in his eyes which was the greatest reward he could +possibly offer her. + +"You are a little late," he said; "but I thought you would not fail +me." + +"I won't ever fail you, Mr. Wyndham; you know that." + +"Esther, it is safer to call me Brother Jerome." + +"Not at the present moment. The house is empty but for my father. +Still, if you wish it, sir." + +"I think I do wish it. A habit is a habit. The name may slip out at a +wrong moment, and then--my God, think what would happen then!" + +"Don't excite yourself, sir. Esther Helps is never likely to forget +herself. Still I see the sense of your wishes. You are Brother Jerome +to me always from this out. And now, before I go any further, I want to +state a fact. Brother Jerome, you are ill." + +"I am ill, Esther. Ill, nigh unto death." + +"My God, you shan't die!" + +"Hush; the question of dying does not rest with you or me. I want to +die, so probably I shall live." + +"You look like dying. Does Cherry feed you well?" + +"Better than well. I want for nothing." + +"Is your fire kept up all night?" + +"Esther, I have not come to requiring a night nurse yet. My fire goes +out in the early hours before the dawn." + +"The coldest part of the twenty-four hours. Brother Jerome, you must +give up visiting in East London at present." + +"No, not while I can crawl. You forget that on a certain night I +surrendered my body as well as my spirit to the service of comfort. +While I can comfort others I will. There is nothing else left to me." + +"Then, sir, you will die--you will deliberately kill yourself." + +"No, I tried that once. I won't again. Esther, what is the matter? You +are a good girl. It is a mistake for you to waste your pity on me." + +"You must forgive me, sir. Pity comes to one unbidden. Pity--and--and +sympathy. If you get worse, I shall leave my situation and come home +and nurse you." + +"Then you will indeed kill me. You will take away my last hope. My one +goblet of new wine will be denied me. Then I shall truly die. Esther, +what is your budget of news? How is my wife? Begin--go on--tell me +everything." + +"Mrs. Wyndham is well, sir." + +"Well? Do you mean by that that she is happy? Does she laugh much? Does +she sing?" + +"Sometimes she laughs. Once I heard her sing." + +"Only once, Esther? She had a very sweet voice. I used sometimes to +tell her that it was never silent." + +"Once, sir, I heard her sing." + +"Oh, once? Was it a cheerful song?" + +"It was on a Sunday evening. She was singing to your little boy. I +think she sang the 'Happy Land.' I don't quite remember. I came to +fetch the boy to bed, and she was singing to him. She took her hands +off the piano suddenly when I came in, and there were tears in her +eyes." + +"Tears? She was always sensitive to music. And yet you say she does not +look sad." + +"I should not call her sad, Brother Jerome. Her face is calm and quiet. +I think she is a very good young lady." + +"You need not tell me that, Esther; you managed very well about the +boy." + +"Thank you, sir. I think I did. What did you feel when you saw him, +sir?" + +"Rapture. All my blood flowed swiftly. I lived and breathed. I had an +exquisite five minutes." + +"The boy is not like his mother, sir." + +"No, nor like me. He resembles my sister Lilias. Esther, I must see him +again." + +"You shall, by-and-bye, but not too soon. We must not run any risks." + +"Certainly not. I will have much patience. Hold out the hope only, and +I will cling to it indefinitely." + +"You shall see the child again, Brother Jerome." + +"God abundantly bless you. Now go on. Tell me more. How does my wife +spend her time? Has she many visitors?" + +"Sometimes her father." + +"Only sometimes? They used to be inseparable." + +"Not now, sir. There is something wrong between them. When they meet +they are constrained with one another, and they don't meet very often. +I have orders, though, to take the child every morning to see Mr. +Paget." + +"Have you? I am sorry for that. He kisses my son, does he?" + +"Yes, sir. He seems wrapped up in him; he----" + +"Don't talk of him. That subject turns my blood into vinegar. Go on. +Tell me more. What other visitor has my wife?" + +"Sometimes your sister, Miss Lilias Wyndham." + +"My sister? Esther, you don't know what that name recalls. All the old +innocent days; the little hymns before we went to bed, and the little +prayers at our mother's knee. I don't think I can bear to hear much +about Lilias; but I am glad she loves my wife." + +"She does, sir. She is devoted to Mrs. Wyndham. I don't think any other +visitors come except Mr. Carr." + +"Adrian Carr, a clergyman?" + +Wyndham's tone had suddenly become alert and wakeful. + +"I believe the gentleman's name is the Rev. Adrian Carr, Brother +Jerome." + +"Why do you speak in that guarded voice, Esther? Have you anything to +conceal?" + +"No, sir, no. Don't excite yourself. I conceal nothing; he comes, that +is all." + +"But surely, not often? He is my father's curate; he cannot often come +to London." + +"He is not Mr. Wyndham's curate now, sir; he has a church of his own, +St. Jude's they call it, at the corner of Butler-street." + +"And he comes constantly to my house? To--to see my wife?" + +"Your--your widow, sir." + +"God help me, Esther! God help me! How am I to endure this! My poor--my +beloved--my sweet--and are you exposed to this? Esther, Esther, this +care turns me into a madman." + +"You must stay quiet, Brother Jerome. Mr. Carr comes, and your--your +widow sees him." + +"Do you think she likes him?" + +"Oh, sir, I would rather die than have to tell it to you." + +"I cannot listen to your sentimentalisms. Does my wife seem happy when +Adrian Carr calls upon her?" + +"I think she is interested in him, Brother Jerome." + +"Does she see him alone?" + +"Often alone." + +"And you say she seems pleased?" + +"I think so. It is incomprehensible to me." + +"Never mind whether you understand it or not. Do you know that by this +news you are turning me into a devil? I'll risk everything--everything. +I'll expose the whole vile conspiracy if my wife is entrapped into +engaging herself to Adrian Carr." + +Brother Jerome was no longer a weak-looking invalid; he began to pace +his attic floor; a fire burnt in his sunken eyes, and he clenched his +thin hands. For the time he was strong. + +"Listen to me, Esther Helps. My wife shall run no risk of that kind. It +was in the contract that _that_ should be prevented. I sinned for +her--yes, I willingly sinned for her--but she shall never sin for me. +Rather than that we'll all go to penal servitude. I, and your father, +and her father." + +"Do quiet yourself, Mr. Wyndham. There may be nothing in what I told +you." + +Esther felt really frightened. + +"Perhaps the gentleman comes to see your sister, Miss Wyndham. He +certainly comes, but--but----" + +"Esther, the whole thing must be put a stop to--the faintest shadow of +risk must not be run. My wife thinks herself a widow, but she must +retain the feelings of a wife. It must be impossible for her, while I +live, to think of another man." + +"Can you not bring yourself back to her memory, sir? Is there no way?" + +"That is a good thought. Don't speak for a little. Let me think." + +Wyndham continued to pace the floor. Esther softly built up the fire +with trembling fingers. In this mood she was afraid of Wyndham. That +fire in his eyes was new to her. She was cowed--she shivered. With her +mental vision she already saw her grey-headed father in the prisoner's +dock. + +"Esther," said Wyndham, coming up to her suddenly. "I have thought of a +plan. It won't implicate anyone, and if a chord in Valentine's heart +still beats true to me this must touch it. At what hour does Carr +generally call to see my wife?" + +"He is a busy man; he comes mostly at night, about nine o'clock. He has +a cup of tea, and goes away at ten. When Miss Wyndham is there he +sometimes stays on till nearly eleven." + +"He comes every night?" + +"Almost every night." + +"And he leaves at ten?" + +"A few minutes after ten. When the clock strikes ten it seems to be a +sort of a signal to him, and he gets up and goes away." + +"Thank you. Ten, then, will be the hour. Esther, something else may +happen at ten of the clock. You need not look so white. I said no risk +would be run. It is possible, however, that my wife may be agitated. +No, you don't suppose I am going to reveal myself to her--nothing of +the sort. Still, something will happen which may break down her nerve +and her calm. In that case she may even appeal to you, Esther, you will +be very guarded. You must remember that on the success of this scheme +of mine depends your father's safety, for if she engages herself to +Carr I swear by the God above me that we three, Paget, your father, and +I, go to prison." + +"Sir, I must own that I feel dreadfully frightened." + +"Poor Esther! And you don't deserve it, for you are the best of girls +and quite innocent. But that is ever the way. The innocent bear the +sins of the guilty. In this matter, however, Esther, you must trust +me, and keep your own counsel. Now, I want to know if you have any +money you can lend me?" + +"I have two sovereigns in my purse, sir. Will that do?" + +"Plentifully. I will tell you what I want the money for. I want to hire +a violin--a good one. Once, Esther, I used to express my feelings +through the violin. It talked for me. It revealed some of the tortures +of my soul. The violin shall speak again and to my wife. Now you are +prepared at all points. Good-bye. Be as brave as you are good, and the +worst may be averted." + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + + +On the following night, as Esther was preparing to go to bed, the +nursery door was suddenly opened and Mrs. Wyndham entered. + +"Esther," she said, "I want baby." + +"He is sound asleep, madam. You would not wake him?" + +"He can be moved without disturbing him. I want him to sleep in my bed. +I want his company. My little child?" + +She was trembling. She caught hold of the rails of the baby's cot. + +"Little children are sacred innocent things, aren't they, nurse? I want +my little child to-night." + +"Strange," thought Esther. "I listened with all my might, and I could +not hear anything except the usual barrel organs and German bands in +the street. But she has heard something, there isn't a doubt. How queer +and shaken she looks. Poor young thing, I do pity her; she can't help +thinking she is a widow when she is a wife." + +Aloud Esther complied with Mrs. Wyndham's request cheerfully. + +"Certainly, madam. The child will never know that we are moving him. If +you will go on to your room, ma'am, I'll follow with master baby." + +Mrs. Wyndham turned away at once. + +When the nurse entered her mistress' room with the child, there was a +soft nest made in the big bed to receive him, and the fire in the grate +cast a cheerful glow over everything. + +"Let me kiss him," said the mother. "My darling, my beloved. I'll take +him into my arms presently, nurse, and then all fears will fly away." + +"Fears, Mrs. Wyndham? No one ought to fear in this cheerful room." + +"Perhaps not, nurse; but sometimes I am superstitious--painfully so. +Yes, put baby there. Is he not a handsome boy? Although I could wish he +were more like his father." + +"He seems to feature your sister-in-law, Miss Lilias Wyndham, madam." + +"How queer that you should find that out! He is not like what Lilias is +now, but they all say she was just such another little child. Nurse, I +hate high winds--there is going to be a storm to-night." + +"Would you like me to sleep on the sofa in your room, madam?" + +"Yes, no--yes, oh, yes." + +"I will bring a shawl, and wrap it round me and lie down." + +"No, don't, nurse, don't. I must not yield to this nameless thing. I +must--I will be brave. And the child, my own little child, will comfort +me." + +"What is the nameless thing, dear madam?" + +"I cannot--I won't speak of it. Esther, are you--are you _going_?" + +"Certainly not, Mrs. Wyndham. I mean, not yet." + +"That is right. Take this chair; warm yourself. Esther. I don't look on +you as an ordinary nurse. Long ago I used to be so much interested in +you." + +"It was very kind of you, madam; young ladies, as a rule, have no time +to interest themselves in poor girls." + +"But I had plenty of time, and did interest myself. My father was +always so much attached to yours. I was an only child and you were an +only child. I used to wonder if you and your father cared for each +other as passionately, as loyally, as I and my father cared." + +"I don't know that, madam; we did love each other. Our love remains +unchanged. True love ought never to change, ought it?" + +"It ought never to change," repeated Mrs. Wyndham. Her face grew white, +her lips trembled. "Sometimes true love is killed by a blow," she said +suddenly. Then her expression changed again, she tried to look +cheerful. "I won't talk any more. I am sleepy, and that nest near baby +looks inviting. Good-night, dear nurse." + +"Let me undress you, ma'am. Let me see you in your nest beside the +child." + +"No. Go now. Or rather--rather--_stay a moment or two longer_. Esther, +had you ever the heartache?" + +"There are a few women, madam, who don't know what the heartache +means." + +"I suppose that is true. Once I knew nothing about it. Esther, you are +lucky never to have married." + +Esther Helps made no response. + +"To marry--to love--and then to lose," dreamily murmured Mrs. Wyndham. +"To love, and then to lose. Esther, it is a dreadful thing to be a +widow, when you are young." + +"But the widow can become a wife again," suddenly replied Esther. + +The words seemed forced from her lips; she was sorry the moment she had +uttered them. + +Mrs. Wyndham opened her big eyes wide. + +"I suppose the widows who can become wives again have not lost much," +she responded in a cold voice. + +Then she moved over to the bedside and began to undress. + +A few moments later Esther left her. She felt puzzled, perplexed, +unhappy. She had no key to the thoughts which were passing in her +mistress' mind. Her impression was that Valentine loved Carr, but felt +a certain shame at the fact. + +The next evening the vicar of St. Jude's called again. He came +hurriedly to the door, ran up the stairs without being shown the way, +and entered Valentine's presence with a brisk step. Esther leant over +the banisters to watch him as he entered the drawing-room. It was +half-past nine when he arrived; he had been conducting a prayer meeting +and was later than usual. + +The drawing-room door was shut on the two, and Esther, who had been +sitting with the child, now crept softly downstairs and entered a small +bedroom at the back of the drawing-room. This bedroom also looked on +the street. It was the room occupied by Lilias when she visited her +sister-in-law. Esther closed the door softly behind her. The room was +dark. She went up to the window and looked eagerly up and down the +gaily-lighted street. + +She could distinguish no words, but the soft murmur of voices came to +her through the drawing-room wall. + +"You are better to-night?" said Carr, in a cheery, confident tone; +"although you took it upon yourself to disobey me." + +"I could not go to the prayer-meeting. I could not." + +"Well, well, you must act as you think best; only I don't think staying +at home is the best thing for you." + +"Oh, I shan't get over-nervous; and Lilias is coming to me next week." + +Carr's eyes brightened. + +"That is good," he said. "Well, I must not stay. I just looked in for a +moment. I knew you would not let these superstitious fears get the +better of you. Good-night." + +He held out his hand. Valentine put hers behind her. + +"No," she said; "you always stay until past ten. It was at ten o'clock +last night----" She trembled--more words would not come. + +"And I will stay until past ten to-night," responded Carr resuming his +seat. "Now, don't look at the clock. Turn your thoughts to me and my +affairs. So Miss Wyndham comes here next week?" + +"She does." + +"Shall I put everything to the test, then?" + +Valentine's face grew bright. + +"Oh how earnestly I wish you would," she cried, clasping her hands. + +"Do you, indeed? Then you must think there is some chance for me. The +fact is, Mrs. Wyndham, I am the veriest coward that ever breathed. If I +win, I win for ever. I mean that I am made, body, soul, and spirit. If +I lose, I think morally I shall go under. A main spring will be broken +which has kept me right, kept my eyes looking upwards ever since I knew +your sister Lilias." + +"But even if she refuses you, you will live on," said Valentine, in a +dreamy voice. "We often have to live on when the main spring is broken. +We creep instead of running, that is all." + +"Now you are getting gloomy again. As your spiritual adviser I cannot +permit it. You have put a daring thought into my head, and you are +bound to think of me, not yourself, at present. Will you sing something +to me before I go? You know Lilias' song of triumph; you taught it to +her. Sing it to me to-night, it will be a good omen." + +Valentine hesitated for a moment. Then she went over to the piano and +opened it. Her fingers touched one or two chords tremblingly. Suddenly +she stopped, her face worked. She looked at Carr with a piteous +expression. + +"I cannot sing the triumph song," she said, "it is not in me. I should +do it no justice. This must take its place. But it is not for you, +remember. Oh, no, I pray God never for you. Listen, don't scold me +afterwards. Listen." + +Her fingers ran over the keys, her voice swelled and filled the room:-- + + "The murmur of the mourning ghost + That keeps the shadowy kine. + Oh, Keith of Ravelston. + The sorrows of thy line! + + Ravelston, Ravelston. + The merry path that leads + Down the golden morning hill. + And through the silver meads. + + Ravelston, Ravelston. + The stile beneath the tree. + The maid that kept her mother's kine. + The song that sang she. + + She sang her song, she kept her kine. + She sat beneath the thorn. + When Andrew Keith of Ravelston + Rode through the Monday morn. + + His henchmen sing, his hawk bells ring. + His belted jewels shine-- + O, Keith of Ravelston. + The sorrows of thy line!" + +"Now, good-night," said Valentine, springing to her feet. "Don't +question me about the song. I sang it, but I cannot speak of it. The +clock is about to strike. It is your hour for farewell. Oh, yes, I wish +you all luck--all luck. The clock is striking----! Oh, what a noise +there is in the street!" + +"What a silence you mean," said Carr, as he took her hand. + +It was true. The thunderous rattle of a heavy waggon, the discordant +notes of a brass band, the din of a hurdy-gurdy frightfully out of +tune, suddenly stopped. It was as if a wave of sound had been arrested, +and in the quiet floated up the passionate wail of a soul. There are +no other words to describe what the sound meant. It had a voice and an +interpretation. It was beautiful, but its beauty was torture. Trembling +in every limb, Valentine sprang away from Carr, flew to one of the +French windows, wrested it open, and stepped on to the balcony. She was +in white, and the people in the street could see her. She pressed to +the front of the balcony and looked eagerly up and down. + +The wailing of the lost soul grew more feeble--more faint. It stopped. +There was a pause of half a minute, and then the waggon lumbered on, +and the hurdy-gurdy crashed out its discordant notes. + +"I saw nothing," said Carr, who had followed Mrs. Wyndham on to the +balcony and now led her back to the drawing-room. "I saw nothing," he +repeated. "I mean, I did not see the man who played." + +"But you heard?" + +"Oh, yes, I heard." + +"You could not see. That was spirit music. My husband played. Don't +speak to me; don't touch me; you tried to argue me out of my belief +last night, but even _you_ heard to-night. My husband has come back in +the spirit, and he has played for me. Only _he_ knows that air--only he +in all the world. That was 'Waves.' Once I told you the story of 'Music +waves.'" + +She did not faint, she crouched down by the fire; but no face to be +alive could be whiter than hers. + +"What is the matter, Mr. Carr?" she said suddenly. "Why cannot my +husband's spirit rest? They say that those spirits that are hurried out +of life before their time cannot rest. O, tell me what you think. O, +tell me what it means. You heard the music yourself to-night." + +"I did. I certainly heard it." + +"And at the same hour. When the clock struck." + +"That is a mere coincidence, not worth considering." + +"I don't believe in its being a coincidence." + +She beat her hands passionately together. + +"The thing was planned--he planned it. He will come again to-morrow +night when the clock strikes ten." + +Again she beat her hands together; then she covered her face with them. + +Carr looked at her anxiously. The weird soft wailing music had affected +even his nerves. Of course he did not believe in the supernatural +element, but he was touched by the distress of the woman who was +crouching at his feet. This mental unrest, this superstitious terror, +might have a disastrous effect. He must do his utmost to check it. If +necessary he must even be cruel to be kind. + +"Mrs. Wyndham," he said, "you must go away to-morrow; you must go into +the country for a few days." + +"I will not. I won't stir a step." + +"You ought, your nerves are shaken. There is nothing for shaken nerves +like change of air. Go to Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and talk to Lilias. +She, too, loved your husband; she will sympathize, but she will not +lose sight of common-sense." + +"I will not stir from here." + +"I think for your child's sake you ought. The child belongs to your +husband as well as you, to your dead husband. The child is fatherless +as far as this world is concerned. You have no right--it is very, very +wicked of you to do anything to make him motherless." + +"What do you mean? Why do you speak to me in that tone? I don't deserve +it." + +"You do." + +"I think you are cruel." + +Valentine's eyes filled with sudden tears. + +"What do you mean by saying that I will leave baby motherless?" + +"I mean that if you encourage the fancy which has now taken possession +of you you are extremely likely to lose your senses--to become, in +short, insane. How can you train your child if you are insane?" + +Valentine shuddered. + +"But I did hear the music," she said. "The old story music that he only +played. How can I doubt the evidence of my senses? Last night at ten +o'clock I heard 'Waves' played on the violin, my husband's favorite +instrument--the melody which he made, the harmony and melody with all +the passion and its story, which he made about himself and me. No one +else could produce those sounds. I heard them last night at ten +o'clock, you were here, but you heard nothing. To-night there was +silence in the street, and we both heard--we both heard." + +"I certainly heard some very melancholy music." + +"Played on the violin?" + +"Yes, played on the violin." + +"In short, you heard 'Waves.'" + +"I heard something which I never heard before. I cannot tell the name." + +"No. What you heard was 'Waves,' in other words the cry of a soul." + +"Mrs. Wyndham, get up. Give me your hand. Look me in the face. Now, +that is better. I am going to talk common-sense to you. You have been +from the first impressed with the idea that foul play was done to your +husband. For a time I own I shared your apprehension. I discovered one +or two things in connection with his death which far more than your +words inclined me to this belief. Since I came to London I have thought +a great deal over the matter. Last week a lucky chance brought me in +communication with Captain Jellyby of the _Esperance_. Ah, you start. I +saw him. I think you would like me to bring him here some night. He +entered into minute particulars of Wyndham's last days. He would like +to tell you the story himself. I can only say that a fairer story could +not be recorded of any man. He was beloved by every one on board the +ship. 'We all loved him,' said Captain Jellyby. 'Emigrants, passengers, +sailors, all alike. Sir,' he said, 'when Mr. Wyndham was washed over, +there wasn't a dry eye on board. But if ever a man humbly and +cheerfully went forth to meet his Creator, he was the man, sir. He met +his death trying to help the man at the wheel. Bless his heart, he +spent all his life trying to help other people.'" + +Valentine was silently crying. + +"You comfort me," she said; "you comfort me much. Go on." + +"That is all, my dear friend, that is all. It set my mind at rest with +regard to your husband. It ought to set yours at rest also. He is a +glorious, and happy spirit in heaven now. Is it likely that he would +come back from there to frighten you for no object or purpose? No, you +must dismiss the idea from your mind." + +"But the music--the unearthly music." + +"Played by a strolling musician with a talent for the thing. That was +all." + +"His air and mine--'Waves.' The air that no one else knew, that was +never written down." + +"You imagined the likeness to the air you mention. Our imaginations +play strange tricks with us. The air played to-night was of a very +minor character, and had notes in common with the one your husband +composed. Hence a fleeting resemblance. It is more natural and in +accordance with sense to believe this than to suppose that your husband +came back from heaven to torture you. Now, good-night. You are good. +You will try and be brave. I ask you to be brave for the sake of your +noble husband's child." + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + + +As Carr was leaving the house he came across Esther, who, very white, +but with a resolute look on her face, met him on the stairs. + +"How is my mistress, sir?" + +Carr felt nettled at her tone. + +"Why do you ask?" he said shortly; "when last you saw her I presume she +was well." + +"No, sir." + +"No?" + +Carr paused. He gave Esther a quick piercing look, and his manner +changed. Her face was strong, it could be relied on. + +"You are the little boy's nurse, are you not?" + +"I am, Mr. Carr." + +"And you are attached to your mistress?" + +Esther hesitated. + +"I--I am," she said, but her voice trembled. + +"Mrs. Wyndham wants some one who can be kind and sympathetic near her. +Some one who can be tactful, and full of common-sense. Her nerves are +greatly shaken. For instance she was much agitated at some music she +heard in the street to-night." + +"I heard it, sir. I was surprised. It wasn't like ordinary music." + +"Oh, you thought so, did you? For heaven's sake don't repeat your +thoughts to Mrs. Wyndham. You look a sensible young woman." + +Esther dropped a curtsey. + +"I hope I am," she said in a demure voice. + +"Has your mistress a maid--a maid she likes?" + +"No. I render her what little services are necessary." + +"Can you stay in her room to-night? She ought not to be alone." + +"I will sleep on the sofa in my mistress' room." + +"That is right. Don't allude to the music in the street if you can help +it." + +Carr ran downstairs and went away, and Esther, slowly and hesitatingly, +entered the drawing-room. + +Mrs. Wyndham was standing with her two arms clasped round her husband's +violin. The tears were raining from her eyes. Before she could +disengage herself Esther saw the action, and a queer pang, half of +pleasure, half of pain, shot through her. She saw at a glance that +Gerald Wyndham's wife cared for no one but her husband. She stepped +across the room quickly, and without any thought of the familiarity of +the action put her hand through her mistress' arm, and led her towards +the door. + +"Come," she said, "you are tired and weak. Master baby is in his nest, +and he wants you. Come, I am going to put you to bed." + +Valentine raised no objection. She was trembling and cold. The tears +were undried on her cheeks; the look of infinite pathetic patience in +her eyes almost crushed Esther Helps. + +"What a fool I was to suppose she didn't love her husband," she +murmured. "As if any woman could be much with him and not love him. Ah, +lucky Mrs. Wyndham--notwithstanding all your sorrow you are the woman I +envy most on earth." + +Valentine did not object to her maid's attentions. She felt shaken and +worn out, and was glad passively to submit. When she was in bed she +spoke for the first time. + +"Esther, get a shawl, and lie here, outside the clothes. It comforts me +to have you near." + +Esther obeyed without any comment. She wrapped a thick shawl around +her, and lay down near the edge of the big bed. Valentine took her +little rosy boy into her arms. + +"Now you must go to sleep, Mrs. Wyndham," said the maid, and she +resolutely shut her own dark eyes. + +For an hour she lay motionless, every nerve keenly awake, and on +tension. For an hour she never lifted her eyelids. At the end of that +time she opened them, and glanced at her mistress. Valentine was lying +as still as if she were carved in marble. Her eyes were wide open. They +were looking straight before her out into the big room. She scarcely +seemed to breathe, and never saw Esther when she glanced at her. + +"This won't do," thought the maid. "Poor little soul, she has got an +awful shock. She will be very ill if I don't do something to rouse and +interest her. I know she loves her husband--I will speak of him." + +Esther moved on purpose somewhat aggressively. Valentine's wide-open +eyes never flinched or changed their expression. The maid touched her +mistress on the shoulder. + +"This isn't good of you," she said; "you ought to be asleep." + +Valentine started and shivered violently. + +"I thought I was asleep," she said. "At any rate I was far away." + +"When people sleep they shut their eyes," quoth Esther. + +"Were mine open? I did not know it. I was looking at a picture--a +picture in real life. It was lovely." + +"I like beautiful pictures," said Esther. "Tell me what you saw." + +By this time these two women had forgotten the relative positions they +bore to each other. Valentine observed no familiarity in Esther's tone. +Esther spoke and thought as though she were Valentine's social equal. +She knew she was above her mentally just then; it was necessary for her +to take the lead. + +"Tell me what you saw, madam," she said. "Describe your beautiful +picture." + +Valentine obeyed with the docility of a child. + +"It was a seaside picture," she began. "The sun was setting, and there +was a path of light across the waters. The path seemed to go right up +into the sky, and melt, and end there. And I--I thought of Jacob's +ladder, from earth to heaven, and the angels walking up and down. On +the shore a man and a girl sat. He had his arm round her waist; and she +was filling her hands with the warm soft sand and letting it dribble +away through her fingers. She was happy. She felt warm and contented, +and protected against the whole world. Although she did not know that +she loved it so much, it was the arm that encircled her that gave her +that feeling." + +Valentine stopped suddenly. + +"That was a pretty picture, madam," said Esther. "A pretty picture, and +you described it well. I suppose the gentleman was the girl's lover or +husband." + +"Her lover and husband in one. They were married. They sat like that +once during their honeymoon. Presently he, the husband, took up his +violin, which he had beside him, and began to play." + +"Don't go into the music part, please, Mrs. Wyndham. I want just to +keep to the picture alone. I want to guess something. I am good at +guessing. You were the happy young girl." + +"I was; oh, I was." + +"And the gentleman was your husband; yes, your husband, whom you dearly +loved." + +"Don't talk of him, he is lost, gone. Esther, I'm a miserable, +miserable woman." + +Her icy quiet was broken up. Long-drawn sobs escaped her; she shivered +as she wept. + +"It is an awful thing to love too late--to love loo late," she moaned. + +"Madam, I'm going to give you some sal-volatile and water: when you +have taken it you shall tell me the whole story from first to last. +Yes, you had better; you have said too much or too little. I may be +able to comfort you if I know all." + +Esther administered the restorative. When the distressful sobs were +quieted, and Mrs. Wyndham lay back exhausted on her pillow, she took +her hand, and said with infinite tact and tenderness:-- + +"You love him you have lost very deeply. Is that not so?" + +"Beyond words to describe." + +"You were young when you were married, Mrs. Wyndham; you are a very +young woman still. Perhaps, as a young girl, as almost a child-girl, +you did not know what great love meant." + +"I always knew what great love meant. As a little girl I used to +idolize my father. I remember when I was very young, not much older +than baby here, lying down on the floor and kissing the carpet over +which his steps had walked. I used to steal into his study and sit like +a mouse; perfectly happy while I was watching him. When I saw his face +that was bliss; when he took me in his arms I thought Heaven could give +me no more. You are an only child, Esther Helps. Did you feel like that +for your father?" + +"No, madam, I always loved my father after a quiet fashion; I love him +after a quiet fashion still. That kind of intense love I did not know. +And you feel it still for Mr. Paget? I suppose it is natural. He is a +handsome gentleman; he has a way about him that attracts people. For +instance, my father would do anything for him. It is still bliss to +you, Mrs. Wyndham, to watch your father's face." + +"Come near to me, Esther; let me whisper to you. That love which I +thought unquenchable is--dead!" + +"Madam, you astonish me! Dead?" + +"It died, Esther Helps, on the morning my husband sailed away." + +"Then you only love your husband now?" + +"I love many people. For instance, this little child; for instance, my +sister Lilias. What I feel for my husband is high above all these +things. I cannot describe it. It lies here--in my heart--and my heart +aches, and aches." + +"It would make Mr. Wyndham very happy to hear you," said Esther. + +Her words were unguarded. Valentine began to sob feebly. + +"He can never hear me," she said. "That is the dreadful part. I loved +him when we were married, but I did not know it. Then the knowledge +came to me, and I was so happy. One evening I told him so. I said, 'I +love you!' I shall never forget his face. Often he was sad, but his +face seemed to shine when I said those words, and he took me in his +arms, and I saw a little way into the depth of his great heart. Soon +after that something happened--I am not going to tell it, it doesn't +matter--please don't hold my hand, Esther. It is very queer that _you_ +should be with me to-night." + +"Why, dear madam? Don't you like to have me with you?" + +"I think I do. I really quite think I do. Still it is strange that you +should be here." + +"Your story interests me wonderfully, Mrs. Wyndham. Will you tell me +more?" + +"There is not a great deal to tell. For a time I misunderstood my +husband, and the love which really filled my heart seemed to go back +and back and back like the waves when the tide is going out. Then the +time came for him to go to Sydney. He could not say good-bye; he wrote +good-bye. He said a strange thing in the middle of the letter; he asked +me if I really loved him to join him the next morning on board the +_Esperance_. Loved him! Of course I loved him! I was so relieved. +Everything was made clear to me. He was first--all others everywhere +were second. My father came in, and I told him what I meant to do. He +was angry, and tried to dissuade me. When he saw that I would not yield +he appeared to consent, and promised to go with me the next morning to +Southampton. The _Esperance_ was not to sail until noon. There seemed +lots of time. Still, for the first time, I began to doubt my father. I +determined not to wait for the train he had arranged to travel by with +me, but to go down by a much earlier one. I went to Southampton with a +German maid I had at the time. We arrived there at eight in the +morning, we reached the docks soon after nine, the _Esperance_ was +away--she had sailed at eight. Don't question me about that day, Esther +Helps. It was on that day my love for my father died." + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + + +It was nearly morning before Mrs. Wyndham fell asleep. Before then, +Esther had said a good deal. + +"I am not surprised at your loving your husband," she began. "Men like +your husband are worth loving. They are loyal, true, and noble. They +make the world a better place. Once your husband helped me. I am going +to tell you the story. + +"Three years ago, Mrs. Wyndham, I was a very different girl from the +one who now is by your side. I was handsome, and vain, and +empty-headed. I thought most of dress and of flirting. I had the +silliest form of ambition. I wanted to be a gentleman's wife. My mother +had been a lady by birth, and I thought it was only due to me to be the +same. My only chance of becoming a lady was by marrying a gentleman, +and I thought surely someone would be found who would make me his wife +for the sake of my handsome face. I had nothing else to recommend me, +Mrs. Wyndham, for I was empty-headed and untrained, and I had a +shallow, vulgar soul. + +"One day I was skating in Regent's Park with some friends. I fell on +the ice and hurt my foot. A gentleman picked me up. I looked into his +face in the bold way I had, and then all of a sudden I felt ashamed of +myself, and I looked down, and a modest, humble womanly feeling crept +over me. The gentleman was your husband, Mr. Wyndham; the expression on +his face impressed me, and I could not forget it. He came to our house +that evening and brought a book to my father, and a present of flowers +from you to me. I felt quite silent and queer when he was in the room; +I did not talk, but I listened to every word he said. He was so +uncommon. I thought what a clergyman he'd make, and how, if he were as +eloquent in his words as in his looks, he might make us all good in +spite of ourselves. He made a great impression on me, and I did not +like to think my low silly thoughts after he had gone. + +"Soon afterwards I made the acquaintance of a Captain Herriot, in +the --th Hussars; he was a very fine gentleman, and had very fine words, +and although I did not love him a bit nor a scrap, he turned my head +with his flattery. He did go on about my face--I don't know how I ever +was goose enough to believe him. He managed to get my secrets out of me +though, and when I told him that I meant to be a gentleman's wife some +day, he said that he was the gentleman, and that I should marry him, +and him alone. I thought that would be fine, and I believed him. He +made all arrangements--oh, how I hate to think of what I afterwards saw +was his real meaning. + +"I was not to let out a thing to my father, and on a certain night we +were to go together to the Gaiety, and he was to take me home +afterwards, and the next morning we were to go to church and be +married. He showed me the license and the ring, and I believed +everything, and thought it would be fine to be the wife of Captain +Herriot. + +"I kept my secret from my father, but Cherry, a cousin who lives with +us, got some of it out of me, for I was mad with vain triumph, and it +was indirectly through her that I came to be delivered. The night +arrived, and I went away from my home thinking how proudly I'd come +back to show myself in a day or two; and how Cherry would open her eyes +when I told her I was the wife of Captain Herriot, of the --th Hussars. +I reached the theatre, and Captain Herriot gave me his arm, and led me +into the house, and we took our places in the stalls. People turned and +looked at me, and Captain Herriot said it was no wonder, for I was the +most beautiful woman in the Gaiety that night. + +"Then the curtain rose, the house was darkened, and some one took the +empty stall at my other side. I turned my head, Mr. Wyndham was sitting +near me. He said a courteous word or two. I bowed my head; I could not +speak. Madam, I did not see that play; I was there, looking on, but I +saw nothing. Captain Herriot whispered in my ear; I pushed away from +him. Suddenly he was horrible to me. I felt like a girl who was placed +between an angel and a devil. Instantly the mask fell from my eyes. +Captain Herriot meant to ruin me, never to marry me. Mr. Wyndham +scarcely said a word to me till the play was over, then he spoke. + +"'Your father wants you,' he said. 'Here is a cab, get into it. I will +take you to your father.' + +"He spoke out, quite loud and clear. I thought Captain Herriot would +have fought him. Not a bit of it. His face turned an ugly color. He +took off his hat to me, and slunk away through the crowd. That was the +last straw. He had not even spirit to fight for the girl who thought +she was about to become his wife. + +"Mr. Wyndham got on the box of the cab, and took me to Mr. Paget's +offices. My old father came out, and helped me out of the cab, and put +his arms round me. He wrung Mr. Wyndham's hand, and said 'God bless +you, sir;' and then he led me inside, and told me how Cherry had +betrayed me, and how he (my father) had taken that stall ticket +intending to sit beside me that night, and give Captain Herriot a blow +in his face afterwards, as he was known to be one of the greatest +scoundrels going. Pressing business kept my father at the office that +night, and Mr. Wyndham promised to go in his place. + +"'There isn't another young gentleman who would do it,' said my father. +'No not another.' + +"After that, madam, I was changed; yes, a good bit. I thought I'd live +more worthy. Mr. Wyndham's face used to come between me and frivolous +ways and vain sins. It seemed as if his were the hand to lead me up. +You don't mind, do you, madam, that he should have rescued one poor +girl from the pit of destruction, and that she should love him--yes, +love him for what he has done?" + +"Oh, Esther, do I mind? Come here, Esther, come here. Let me put my +arms round you. Kiss me. You have lifted something from my heart--how +much you can never know. Esther, _I_ was at the Gaiety that night, and +I saw my husband with you, and I--I doubted him." + +"Madam--_you_?" Esther sprang away--her whole face became crimson. + +"I did, Esther; and that was when my love went away like the tide going +out; but now--now----Esther, lie down. Let me hold your hand. I am +sleepy. I can sleep sweetly now." + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + + +When the wandering minstrel, with his violin under his arm, left the +neighborhood of Park-lane, he walked with a somewhat feeble and +faltering step through Grosvenor-square and into Bond-street. A few +people looked at him as he passed, and a hungry-looking girl who was +leaning against a wall suddenly asked him to play for her. He stopped +at the sound of her voice and said a word or two. + +"I am sorry my violin only knows one air, and I have played it." + +"Can you not play it again?" + +"It is not meant for you, poor girl. Good-night." + +"Good-night, kind sir. I'll say a prayer for you if you like; you look +miserable enough." + +The minstrel removed his soft hat, made a gesture of thanks, and +hurried on. He was going to Queen's Gate. The walk was long, and he was +very feeble. He had a few coins in his pocket from the change of +Esther's sovereigns; he determined to ride, and mounted on the roof of +a Hammersmith omnibus in Piccadilly. + +By-and-bye he reached his destination, and found himself in familiar +ground. He walked slowly now, hesitating--sometimes inclined to turn +back. Presently he reached a house; he went up the steps, and took +shelter for a moment from the biting east winds under the portico. It +was late, but the lights were still shining in the great mansion. + +He was glad of this; he could not have done what he meant to do except +under strong excitement, and sheltered by the friendly gas light. He +turned and gave the visitor's bell a full peal. The door was opened +almost instantly by a liveried footman. + +"Is Mr. Paget within?" + +The man stared. The voice was not only refined, but to a certain extent +familiar. The voice, oh, yes; but then the figure, the thin, long +reed-like figure, slouching forward with weakness, buttoned up tight in +the seedy frock coat whose better days must have been a matter of the +very distant past. + +"Is Mr. Paget within?" + +The tone was so assured and even peremptory that the servant, in spite +of himself, was overawed. + +"I believe so, sir," he said. + +"Ask if I can see him." + +"Mr. Paget is not very well, sir, and it is late." + +"Ask if I can see him." + +The footman turned a little surly. + +"I'll inquire," he said; "he's sure to say no, but I'll inquire. Your +name, if you please. My master will require to know your name." + +"I am known as Brother Jerome. Tell your master that my business is +urgent. Go; I am in a hurry." + +"Rum party, that," murmured the servant. "Don't understand him; don't +like him. All the same, I can't shut the door in his face. He's the +sort of party as has seen better days; 'ope as the umbrellas is safe." + +Then he walked across the hall and entered his master's study. + +The room, with its old oak and painted glass, and electric light, +looked the perfection of comfort. The tall, white-headed man who sat +crushed up in the big armchair was the envied of many. + +"If you please, sir," said the servant. + +"Yes; don't leave the door open. Who were you chatting to in the +hall?" + +"A man who has called, and wants to see you very particular, sir." + +"I can't see him." + +"He says his name is Brother Jerome." + +"I can't see him. Go away, and shut the door." + +"I knew it would be no use," muttered the footman. "Only he seems a +sort of a gentleman, sir, and in trouble like." + +"I can't see him. Shut the door and go away!" + +"Yes, you can see me," said a voice. + +The minstrel walked into the room. + +"Good heavens!" + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + + +At the sound of his voice the footman fell back as white as a sheet. +Mr. Paget rose, walked over to him, took him by the shoulders, and +pushed him out of the room. He locked the door behind him. Then he +turned, and backing step by step almost as far as the window, raised +his hands, and looked at his forbidden visitor with a frozen expression +of horror. + +Wyndham took his hat off and laid it on the table. Mr. Paget raised his +hands, covered his face with them, and groaned. + +"Spirit!" he said. "Spirit, why have you come to torment me before the +time?" + +"I am no spirit," replied Wyndham, "I am a living man--a defrauded and +injured man--but as much alive as you are." + +"It is false--don't touch me--don't come a step nearer--you are +dead--you have been dead for the last three years. On the 25th April, +18--, you committed suicide by jumping into the sea; you did it on +purpose to revenge yourself, and since then you have haunted me, and +made my life as hell. I always said, Wyndham, you would make an awful +ghost--you do, you do." + +"I am not a ghost," said Wyndham. "Touch me, and you will see. This +wrist and hand are thin enough, but they are alive. I fell into the +sea, but I was rescued. I came to you to-night--I troubled you to-night +because you have broken our contract, because----What is the matter? +Touch me, you will see I am no ghost." + +Wyndham came nearer; Mr. Paget uttered a piercing shriek. + +"Don't--don't!" he implored. "You are a lying spirit; you have often +lied--often--to me. You want to take me with you; you know if you touch +me I shall have to go. Don't--oh, I beseech of you, leave me the little +time longer that I've got to live. Don't torment me before the time." + +He dropped on his knees; his streaming white hair fell behind him, his +hands were raised in supplication. + +"Don't," said Wyndham, terribly distressed. "You have wronged me +bitterly, but I, too, am a sinner; I would not willingly hurt mortal on +this earth. Get up, don't degrade yourself. I am a living man like +yourself. I have come to speak to you of my wife--of Valentine." + +"Don't breathe her name. I lost her through you. No, you are dead--I +have murdered you--your blood is on my soul--but I won't go with you +yet, not yet. Ha! ha! I'll outwit you. Don't touch me!" + +He gave another scream, an awful scream, half of triumph, half of +despair, sprang to the door, unlocked it and vanished. + +Wyndham took up his violin and left the house. + +"Mad, poor fellow!" he muttered to himself. "Who'd have thought it? +Even from a worldly point of view what fools people are to sin! What +luck does it ever bring them? He made me his accomplice, his victim, in +order to keep his daughter's love, in order to escape dishonor and +penal servitude. He told me the whole story of that trust money--to be +his if there was no child--to be kept for a child if there was. He was +a good fellow before he got the trust money I have no doubt. The friend +died, and soon afterwards Paget learned that he had left a son behind +him. Mr. Paget told me--how well I remember his face when he told me +how he felt about the son, who was then only an infant, but to whom he +must deliver the trust money when he came of age. 'I wanted that money +badly,' he said, 'and I resolved to suppress the trust papers and use +the money. I thought the chances were that the child would never +know.'" + +The chances, however, were against Mr. Paget. The friend who had left +him the money in trust had not so absolutely believed in him as he +supposed. He had left duplicate papers, and these papers were in the +boy's possession. One day Mr. Paget learned this fact. When he knew +this he knew also that when his friend's son came of age he should have +to repay the trust with interest; in short, he would have to give the +young man the enormous sum of eighty thousand pounds or be branded as a +thief and a criminal. + +"I remember the night he told me this story," concluded Wyndham with a +sigh. + +He was walking slowly now in the direction of the Embankment. + +"So the plot was made up," he continued. "The insurance on my life was +to pay back the trust. Valentine would never know her father's +dishonor. She would continue to love him best of all men, and he would +escape shame, ruin--penal servitude. How have matters turned out? For +the love of a woman I performed my part: for the love of a woman and +self combined, he performed his. How has he fared? The woman ceases to +love him, and he is mad. I--how have matters fared with me? How? The +wages of sin are hard. I saw a sight to-night which might well turn a +stronger brain than mine. I saw my wife, and the man who may soon be +her husband. I must not dwell on that, I dare not." + +Wyndham walked on, a burning fever gave him false strength. He reached +the Embankment and presently sat down near a girl who looked even +poorer and more miserable than himself. There were several men and +girls occupying the same bench. It was a bitter cold, frosty night; +all the seats along the Embankment were full, some poor creatures even +lay about on the pavement. Wyndham turned to look at the slight young +creature by his side. She was very young, rather fair in appearance, +and very poorly clad. + +"You are shivering," said Wyndham, in the voice which still could be +one of the kindest in the world. + +The poor worn young face turned to look at him in surprise and even +confidence. + +"Yes," said the girl. "I'm bitter cold, and numb, and starved. It's a +cruel world, and I hate God Almighty for having made me." + +"Hush, don't say that. It does no good to speak against the one who +loves you. Lean against me. Let me put my arm round you. Think of me as +a brother for the next hour or two. I would not harm a hair of your +head." + +"I believe you," said the girl, beginning to sob. + +With a touching movement of absolute confidence she laid her faded face +against his shoulder. + +"That is better, is it not?" said Wyndham. + +"Yes, thank you, sir. I'm desperate sleepy, and I shan't slip off the +bench now. I was afraid to go to sleep before, for if I slipped off +somebody else would get my seat, and I know I'd be dead if I lay on the +pavement till morning." + +"Well, go to sleep, now. I shan't let you slip off." + +"Sir, how badly you are coughing." + +"I am sorry if my cough disturbs you. I cannot help giving way to it +now and then." + +"Oh, sir, it is not that; you seem like a good angel to me. I even love +the sound of your cough, for it is kind. But have you not a home, sir?" + +"I certainly have a shelter for the night. Not a home in the true sense +of the word." + +"Ought you not to go to your shelter, sir?" + +"No, I shall stay here with you until you have had a good sleep. Now +shut your eyes." + +The girl tried to obey. For about ten minutes she sat quiet, and +Wyndham held her close, trying to impart some of the warmth from his +own body to her frozen frame. Suddenly the girl raised her eyes, looked +him in the face, and smiled. + +"Sir, you are an angel." + +"You make a great mistake. On the contrary I have sinned more deeply +than most." + +"Sir?" + +"It is true." + +"I don't want you to preach to me, sir; but I know from your face +however you have sinned you have been forgiven." + +"You make another mistake; my sin is unabsolved." + +"Sir?" + +The girl's astonishment showed itself in her tone. + +"Don't talk about me," continued Wyndham. "It is a curious fact that I +love God, although it is impossible for Him to forgive me until I do +something which I find impossible to do. I go unforgiven through life, +still I love God. I delight in His justice, I glory in the love He has +even for me, and still more for those who like you can repent and come +to Him, and be really forgiven." + +He paused, he saw that he was talking over the girl's head. Presently +he resumed in a very gentle pleading voice:-- + +"I don't want to hear your story, but----" + +The girl interrupted him with a sort of cry. + +"It is the usual story, sir. There is nothing to conceal. Once I was +innocent, now I am what men and women call _lost_. Lost and fallen. +That's what they say of girls like me." + +"God can say something quite different to you. He can say found and +restored. Listen. No one loves you like God. Loving He forgives. All +things are possible to love." + +"Yes, sir; when you speak like that you make me weep." + +"Crying will do you good. Poor little girl, we are never likely to meet +again in this world. I want you to promise me that you won't turn +against God Almighty. He is your best friend." + +"Sir! And He leaves me to starve. To starve, and sin." + +"He wants you not to sin. The starving, even if it must come, is only a +small matter, for there is the whole of eternity to make up for it. Now +I won't say another word, except to assure you from the lips of a dying +man, for I know I am dying, that God is your best friend, and that He +loves you. Go to sleep." + +The girl smiled again, and presently dropped off into an uneasy slumber +with her head on Wyndham's shoulder. + +By-and-bye a stout woman, with a basket on her arm, came up. She looked +curiously at Wyndham. He saw at a glance that she must have walked from +a long distance, and would like his seat. He beckoned her over. + +"You are tired. Shall I give you my seat?" + +"Eh, sir, you are kind. I have come a long way and am fair spent." + +"You shall sit here, if you will let this tired girl lay her head on +your breast." + +"Eh, but she don't look as good as she might be!" + +"Never mind. Jesus Christ would have let her put her head on His +breast. Thank you, I knew you were a kind hearted woman. She will be +much better near you than near me. Here is a shilling. Give it her when +she wakes. Good-night." + + + + +CHAPTER L. + + +Esther longed to go to Acacia Villas during the week. She often felt on +the point of asking Mrs. Wyndham to give her leave, but then again she +felt afraid to raise suspicions; and besides her mistress was ill, and +clung to her. Although Esther listened with a kind of terror on the +following evening, the sound of the violin was not again heard. + +Sunday came at last, and she could claim her privilege of going home. +She arrived at Acacia Villas with her heart in a tumult. How much she +would have to tell Wyndham! It was in her power to make him happy, to +relieve his heart of its worst load. + +Cherry alone was in the kitchen when she arrived, and Cherry was in a +very snappish humor. + +"No, Esther, I don't know where uncle is. He's not often at home now. I +hear say that Mr. Paget is very bad--gone in the head you know. They'll +have to put him into an asylum, and that'll be a good thing for poor +uncle. Take off your bonnet and cloak, Esther, and have a cup of tea +cosy-like. I'm learning one of Macaulay's Lays now for a recitation. +Maybe you'd hear me a few of the stanzas when you're drinking your +tea." + +"Yes, Cherry, dear, but I want to go up to Brother Jerome first. I can +see him while you're getting the kettle to boil. I've a little parcel +here which I want him to take down to Sister Josephine to the Mission +House to-morrow." + +Cherry laughed in a half-startled way. + +"Don't you know?" she said. + +"Don't I know what?" + +"Why Brother Jerome ain't here; he went out on Tuesday evening and +never came home. I thought, for sure, uncle would have gone and told +you." + +"Never came home since Tuesday? No, I didn't hear." + +Esther sat down and put her hand to her heart. Her face was ghastly. + +"I knew it," murmured Cherry under her breath. "She have gone and +fallen in love with a chap from one of them slums." + +Aloud she said in a brisk tone:-- + +"Yes, he's gone. I don't suppose there's much in it. He were tired of +the attic, that's all. I sleep easy of nights now. No more pacing the +boards overhead, nor hack, hack, hack coughing fit to wake the seven +sleepers. What's the matter, Esther?" + +"You are the most heartless girl I ever met," said Esther. "No, I don't +want your tea." + +She tied her bonnet strings and left the house without glancing at her +crestfallen cousin. + + * * * * * + +That very same afternoon, as Mrs. Wyndham was sitting in her bedroom, +trying to amuse baby, who was in a slightly refractory humor, there +came a sudden message for her. One of the maids came into the room with +the information that Helps was downstairs and wanted to speak to her +directly. + +Mrs. Wyndham had not left her room since Tuesday evening. There was +nothing apparently the matter with her, and yet all through the week +her pulse had beat too quickly, and a hectic color came and went on her +cheeks. She ate very little, she slept badly, and the watchful +expression in her eyes took from their beauty and gave them a strained +appearance. She did not know herself why she was watchful, or what she +was waiting for, but she was consciously nervous and ill at ease. + +When the maid brought the information that Helps was downstairs, her +mistress instantly started to her feet, almost pushing the astonished +and indignant baby aside. + +"Take care of Master Gerry," she said to the girl. "I will go and speak +to Mr. Helps; where is he?" + +"I showed him into the study, ma'am." + +Valentine ran downstairs; her eagerness and impatience and growing +presentiment that something was at hand increased with each step she +took. She entered the study, and said in a brusque voice, and with a +bright color in her cheeks:-- + +"Well?" + +"Mr. Paget has sent me to you, Mrs. Wyndham," said Helps, in his +uniformly weak tones. "Mr. Paget is ill, and he wants to see you at +once." + +Valentine stepped back a pace. + +"My father!" she said. "But he knows I do not care to go to the house." + +"He knows that fact very well, Mrs. Wyndham." + +"Still he sent for me?" + +"He did, madam." + +"Is my father worse than usual?" + +"In some ways he is worse--in some better," replied Helps in a dubious +sort of voice. "If I were you I'd come. Miss Valentine--Mrs. Wyndham, I +mean." + +"Yes, Helps, I'll come; I'll come instantly. Will you fetch a cab for +me?" + +"There's one waiting at the door, ma'am." + +"Very well. I won't even go upstairs. Fetch me my cloak from the stand +in the hall, will you? Now I am ready." + +The two got into the cab and drove away. No one in the house even knew +that they had gone. + +When they arrived at Queen's Gate, Helps still took the lead. + +"Is my father in the library?" asked the daughter. + +"No, Mrs. Wyndham. Mr. Paget has been in his room for the last day or +two. I'll take you to him, if you please, at once." + +"Thank you, Helps." + +Valentine left her cloak in the hall, and followed the old servant +upstairs. + +"Here's Mrs. Wyndham," said Helps, opening the door of the sick man's +room, and then shutting it and going away himself. + +"Here's Valentine," said Mrs. Wyndham, coming forward. "I did not know +you were so ill, father." + +He was dressed, and sitting in a chair. She went up to him and laid her +hand gravely on his arm. + +"You have come, Valentine, you have come. Kneel down by me. Let me look +at you. Valentine, you have come." + +"I have come." + +Never did hungrier eyes look into hers. + +"Kiss me." + +She bent forward at once, and pressed a light kiss on his cheek. + +"Don't do it again," he said. + +He put up his hand and rubbed the place that her lips had touched. + +"There's no love in a kiss like that. Don't give me such another." + +"You are ill, father; I did not know you were so very ill," replied his +daughter in the quiet voice in which she would soothe a little child. + +"I am ill in mind, Valentine, and sometimes my mind affects my body. It +did for the last few days. This afternoon I'm better--I mean I am +better in mind, and I sent for you that I might get the thing over." + +"What thing, father?" + +"Never mind for a moment or two. You used to be so fond of me, little +Val." + +"I used--truly I used!" + +The tears filled her eyes. + +"I thought you'd give me one of the old kisses." + +"I can't. Don't ask it." + +"Is your love dead, child, quite dead?" + +"Don't ask." + +"My God," said the sick man; "her love is dead before she knows--even +before she knows. What a punishment is here?" + +A queer light filled his eyes; Valentine remembered that whispers had +reached her with regard to her father's sanity. She tried again to +soothe him. + +"Let us talk common-places; it does not do every moment to gauge one's +feelings. Shall I tell you about baby?" + +"No, no; don't drag the child's name into the conversation of this +hour. Valentine, one of two things is about to happen to me. I am +either going to die or to become quite hopelessly mad. Before either +thing happens I have a confession to make." + +"Confession? Father!" + +Her face grew very white. + +"Yes. I want to confess to you. It won't pain me so much as it would +have done had any of your love for me survived. It is right you should +know. I have not the least doubt when you do know you will see justice +done. Of late you have not troubled yourself much about my affairs. +Perhaps you do not know that I have practically retired from my +business, and that I have taken steps to vest the whole concern +absolutely in your hands. When you know all you will probably sell it; +but that is your affair. I shall either be in my grave or a madhouse, +so it won't concern me. If any fragment of money survives +afterwards--I mean after you have done what you absolutely consider +just--you must hold it in trust for your son. Now I am ready to begin. +What is the matter, Valentine?" + +"Only that you frighten me very much. I have not been quite--quite well +lately. Do you mind my fetching a chair?" + +"I did not know you were ill, child. Yes, take that chair. Oh, +Valentine, for you my love was true." + +"Father, don't let us go back to that subject. Now I am ready. I will +listen. What have you got to say?" + +"In the first place, I am perfectly sane at this moment." + +"I am sure of that." + +"Now listen. Look away from me, Valentine, while I speak. That is all I +ask." + +Valentine slightly turned her chair; her trembling and excitement had +grown and grown. + +"I am ready. Don't make the story longer than you can help," she said +in a choked voice. + +"Years and years ago, child, before you were born, I was a happy man. I +was honorable then and good; I was the sort of man I pretended to be +afterwards. I married your mother, who died at your birth. I had loved +your mother very dearly. After her death you filled her place. Soon you +did more than fill it; you were everything to me; you gave early +promise of being a more spirited and brilliant woman than your mother. +I lived for you; you were my whole and entire world. + +"Before your birth, Valentine, a friend, a great friend of mine, left +me a large sum of money. He was dying at the time he made his will; his +wife was in New Zealand; he thought it possible that she might soon +give birth to a child. If the child lived, the money was to be kept in +trust for it until its majority. If it died it was to be mine +absolutely. I may as well tell you that my friend's wife was a very +worthless woman, and he was determined she should have nothing to say +to the money. He died--I took possession--a son was born. I knew this +fact, but I was hard pressed at the time, and I stole the money. + +"My belief was that neither the child nor the mother could ever trace +the money. Soon I was disappointed. I received a letter from the boy's +mother which showed me that she knew all, and although not a farthing +could be claimed until the lad came of age, then I must deliver to him +the entire sum with interest. + +"From that moment my punishment began. The trust fund, with interest, +would amount to eighty thousand pounds. Even if I made myself a beggar +I could not restore the whole of this great sum. If I did not restore +it at the coming of age of this young man, I should be doomed to a +felon's cell, and penal servitude. I looked into your face; you loved +me then; you worshipped me. I idolized you. I resolved that disgrace +and ruin should not touch you. + +"Helps and I between us concocted a diabolical plot. Helps was like wax +in my hands; he had helped me to appropriate the money; he knew my +secrets right through. We made the plot, and waited for results. I took +you into society, I wanted you to marry. My object was that you should +marry a man whom you did not love. Wyndham came on the scene; he seemed +a weak sort of fellow--weak, pliable--passionately in love with +you--cursedly poor. Did you speak, Valentine?" + +"No; you must make this story brief, if you please." + +"It can be told in a few more words. I thought I could make Wyndham my +tool. I saw that his passion for you blinded him to almost everything. +Otherwise, he was the most selfless person I ever met. I saw that his +unselfishness would make him strong to endure. His overpowering love +for you would induce him to sacrifice everything for present bliss. +Such a combination of strength and weakness was what I had been +looking for. I told Helps that I had found my man. Helps did not like +it; he had taken an insane fancy for the fellow. What is the matter, +Valentine? How you fidget." + +"You had better be brief. My patience is nearly exhausted." + +"I am very brief. I spoke to Wyndham. I made my bargain; he was to +marry you. Before marriage, with the plausible excuse that the +insurance was to be effected by way of settlement, I paid premiums for +insurances on the young man's life for eighty thousand pounds. I +insured his life in four offices. You were married. He knew what he had +undertaken, and everything went well, except for one cursed fact--you +learned to love the fellow. I nearly went mad when I saw the love for +him growing into your eyes. He was to sail on board the _Esperance_. He +knew, and I knew that he was never coming back. He was to feign death. +Our plans were made carefully. I was to receive a proper certificate, +and with that in my hand I could claim the insurance money. Thus he was +to save you and me from dishonor, which is worse than death. + +"All our plans were laid. I waited for news. Valentine, you make me +strangely nervous. What is the matter with you, child? Are you going to +faint?" + +"No--no--no! Go on--go on! Don't speak to me--don't address me again by +my name. Just go on, or I----Oh, God, I am a desperate woman! Go on, I +must hear the end."yourefforts + +As Valentine grew excited her father became cool and quiet: he waited +until she had done speaking, then dropping his head he continued his +narrative in a dreary monotone. + +"I waited for news--it was long in coming. At last it arrived on the +day my grandson was born. Wyndham had outwitted me. He could not bear +the load of a living death. Shame on him. He could take his bliss, but +not his punishment. He leaped overboard the _Esperance_--he committed +suicide." + +"What? No, never. Don't dare to say such words." + +"I must say them, although they are cruel. He committed suicide, and +then he came to haunt me; he knew that his blood would rest on my soul; +he knew how best to torture me for what I had done to him." + +"One question. Was the insurance money paid?" + +"Was it? Yes. I believe so. That part seemed all of minor importance +afterwards. But I believe it was paid. I think Helps saw to it." + +"You believe that my husband committed suicide, and yet you allowed the +insurance offices to pay." + +"What of that? No one else knew my thoughts." + +"As you say, what of that? Is your story finished?" + +"Nearly. I lost your love, and for the last three years I have been +haunted by Wyndham. I see his shadow everywhere. Once I met him in the +street. A few nights ago he came into the library and confronted me; he +spoke to me and tried to touch me; he pretended he was not dead." + +"What night was that?" + +Valentine's voice had changed; there was a new ring in it. Her father +roused himself from his lethargic attitude to look into her face. "What +night did my husband come to you?" + +"I forget--no, I remember. It was Tuesday night." + +"Did he carry a violin? Speak--did he?" + +"He carried something. It may have been a violin. Do they use such +instruments in the other world? He was a spirit, you know, child. How +queer, how very queer you look!" + +"I feel queer." + +"He wanted me to touch him, child, but I wouldn't. I was too knowing +for that. If you touch a spirit you must go with him. No, no, I knew a +thing worth two of that. He went on telling me he was alive. But I knew +better, he couldn't take me in. Valentine, everything seems so far +away. Valentine, I am faint, faint. Ah, there he is again by the door. +Look! No, he must not touch me--he must not!" + +Valentine glanced round. There was no one present. Then she rang the +bell. It was answered by the old housekeeper. + +"Mrs. Marsh, my father is ill. Will you give him some restorative at +once? And send for the doctor, if necessary. I must go, but I'll come +back if possible to-night." + +She left the room without glancing at the sick man, who followed her to +the door with his dim eyes. She went downstairs, put on her cloak and +left the house. + +She had to walk a little distance before she met a hansom, and one or +two people stared at the tall, slim figure, which was still young and +girlish, but which bore on its proud face such a hard expression, such +a burning defiant light in the eyes. Valentine soon reached home. +Everything was in a whirl in her brain. Esther Helps was standing on +the steps. She flew to Esther, clasped her hands in a grasp of iron, +and said in a husky choked voice:-- + +"Esther, my husband is alive!" + +"He is, dear madam, he is, and I have come to take you to him!" + +"Oh, Esther, thank God!" + +"Come indoors, madam, you have not a moment to lose. We will keep that +cab, if you please. I have only just come back. I was going to seek +you. Stay one moment, Mrs. Wyndham. You are in black; will you put on +your white dress--the one you wore on Tuesday night." + +"Oh, what does it matter? Let me go to him." + +"Little things sometimes matter a great deal; he saw you last in your +white dress." + +"He was really there on Tuesday night?" + +"He was there. Come, I will fly for the dress and put it on you." + +She did so. Valentine put her cloak over it, and the two drove away in +the hansom. Valentine had no ears for the direction given to the +cabman. + +"I am in heaven," she said once, under her breath. "He lives. Now I can +forgive my father!" + +"Madam, your husband is very ill." + +Valentine turned her great shining eyes towards Esther. + +"All the better. I can nurse him," she said, with a smile, and then she +pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and did not speak another +word. + +The cab drew up at one of the entrances to St. Thomas' Hospital. + + + + +CHAPTER LI. + + +"What place is this?" asked the wife. + +She was unacquainted with hospitals and sickness. + +"This is a place where they cure the sick, and succour the dying, dear +Mrs. Wyndham," gently remarked Esther Helps. + +"They cure the sick here, do they? But I will cure my husband myself. I +know the way." She smiled. "Take me to him, Esther. How slow you are. +Beloved Esther--I don't thank you--I have no words to say thank +you--but my heart is so happy I think it will burst." + +The porter came forward, then a nurse. Several ceremonies had to be +gone through, several remarks made, several questions asked. Valentine +heard and saw nothing. Esther helped Valentine to take off her cloak; +and she stood in her simple long plain white dress, with her bright +hair like a glory round her happy face. + +The nurse who finally conducted them to the ward where Wyndham lay +looked at her in a sort of bewilderment. Esther and the nurse went +first, and Valentine slowly followed between the long rows of beds; +some of the men said afterwards that an angel had gone through the ward +on the night that the strolling minstrel, poor fellow, died. The sister +who had charge of the ward turned and whispered a word to Esther, then +she pushed aside a screen which surrounded one of the beds. + +"Your husband is very ill," she said, looking with a world of pity into +Valentine's bright eyes. "You ought to be prepared; he is _very_ ill." + +"Thank you, I am quite prepared. I have come to cure him." + +Then she went inside the screen, and Esther and the nurse remained +without. + +Wyndham was lying with his eyes closed; his sunken cheeks, his deathly +pallor, his quick and hurried breath might have prepared the young wife +for the worst. They did not. She stood for a moment at the foot of the +bed, her hands clasped in ecstasy, her eyes shining, a wonderful smile +bringing back the beauty to her lips. Then she came forward and lay +gently down by the side of the dying man. She slipped her hand under +his head and laid her cheek to his. + +"At last, Gerald," she said, "at last you have come back! You didn't +die. You are changed, greatly changed; but you didn't die, Gerald." + +He opened his eyes and looked her full in the face. + +"Valentine!" + +"Hush, you are too weak to talk. Stay quiet, I am with you. I will +nurse you back to strength. Oh, my darling, you didn't die." + +"Your darling, Valentine? Did you call me your darling?" + +"I said it. I say it. You are all the world to me; without you the +world is empty. Oh, how I love you--how I have loved you for years." + +"Then it was good I didn't die," said Wyndham, he raised his eyes, +looked up and smiled. His smile was one of ecstasy. + +"Of course it was good that you didn't die, and now you are going to +get well. Lie still. Do you like my hand under your head?" + +"Like it?" + +"Yes; you need not tell me. Let me talk to you; don't answer me. +Gerald, my father told me. He told me what he had done; he told me what +you had done. He wants me to forgive him, but I'm not going to forgive +him. I'll never forgive him, Gerald. I have ceased to love him, and +I'll never forgive him; all my love is for you." + +"Not all, wife--not quite all. Give him back a little, and--forgive." + +"How weak you are, Gerald, and your voice sounds miles away." + +"Forgive him, Valentine." + +"Yes, if you wish it. Lie still, darling." + +"Valentine--that money." + +"I know about it--that blood-money. The price of your precious life. It +shall be paid back at once." + +"Then God will forgive me. I thank Him, unspeakably." + +"Gerald, you are very weak. I can scarcely hear your words. Does it +tire you dreadfully to talk? See, I will hold your hand; when you are +too tired to speak your fingers can press mine. Gerald, you were +outside our house on Tuesday night. Yes, I feel the pressure of your +hand; you were there. Gerald, you were very unhappy that night." + +"But not now, darling," replied Wyndham. He had found his voice; his +words came out with sudden strength and joy. "I made a mistake that +night, wife. I won't tell it to you. I made a mistake." + +"And you are really quite, quite happy now." + +"Happy! Sorrow is put behind me--the former things are done away." + +"You will be happier still when you come home to baby and me." + +"You'll come to me, Val; you and the boy." + +"What do you say? I can't hear you." + +"You'll come to me." + +"I am with you." + +"You'll come--_up_--to me." + +Then she began to understand. + +Half-an-hour later the nurse and Esther drew the screen aside and came +in. Valentine's face was nearly as white as Wyndham's. She did not see +the two as they came in. Her eyes were fixed on her husband's, her hand +still held his. + +"He wants a stimulant," said the nurse. + +She poured something out of a bottle and put it between the dying man's +lips. He opened his eyes when she did this, and looked at Valentine. + +"Are you still there? Hold my hand." + +"Do you think I would let it go? I have been wanting this hand to clasp +mine for _so_ long, oh, for _so_ long." + +The nurse again put some stimulant between Gerald's lips. + +"You must not tire his strength, madam," she said. "Even emotion, even +joyful emotion is more than he can bear just now." + +"Is it, nurse? Then I will sit quiet, and not speak. I don't mind how +long I stay, nor how quiet I keep, if only I can save him. Nurse, I +know he is very ill, but, but----" + +Her lips quivered, and her eyes, dry and bright and hungry, were fixed +on the nurse. Wyndham, too, was looking at the nurse with a question +written on his face. She bent down low, and caught his faint whisper. + +"Your husband bids you hope," she said then, turning to Valentine. "He +bids you take courage; he bids you to have the best hope of all--the +hope eternal. Madam, when you clasp hands up there you need not part." + +"Did you tell her to say that to me, Gerald?" asked the wife. "Oh, no, +you couldn't have told her to say those words. Oh, no, you love me too +well to go away." + +"God loves you, Valentine," suddenly said Gerald. "God loves _you_, and +He loves me, and His eternal love will surround us. I up there, you +here. In that love we shall be one." + +Only the nurse knew with what difficulty Wyndham uttered these words, +but Valentine saw the light in his eyes. She bowed her head on his thin +hand, her lips kissed it--she did not speak. + +To the surprise of the sister who had charge of the ward. Wyndham +lingered on for hours--during the greater part of the night. Valentine +and Esther never left him. Esther sat a little in the shadow where her +pale face could scarcely be seen. If she felt personal grief she kept +it under. The chief actors in the tragedy, the cruelly-wronged husband +and wife, absorbed all her thoughts. No, she had no time, no room, to +think of herself. + +Wyndham was going--Brother Jerome would no longer be known in the +streets of East London; the poor, the sorrowful, would grieve at not +seeing his face again. The touch of his hand could no longer +comfort--the light in his eyes could no longer bless. The Mission would +have to do without Brother Jerome--this missioner was about to render +up his account to the Judge of all. + +The little attic in Acacia Villas would also be empty; the tired man +would not need the few comforts that Esther had collected round +him--the tiresome cough, the weary restless step would cease to disturb +Cherry's rest, and Esther's chief object in life would be withdrawn. + +He who for so long was supposed to be dead would be dead in earnest. +Valentine would be a real widow, little Gerald truly an orphan. + +All these thoughts thronged through Esther's mind as she sat in the +shadow behind the screen and listened to the chimes outside as they +proclaimed the passing time, and the passing away also of a life. + +Every moment lives of men go away--souls enter the unknown country. +Some go with regret, some with rejoicing. In some cases there are many +left behind to sorrow--in other cases no one mourns. + +Wyndham had sinned, he had yielded to temptation; he had been weak--a +victim it is true--still a victim who with his eyes open had done a +great wrong. Yet Esther felt that for some at least it was a good thing +that Wyndham was born. + +"I, for one, thank God that I knew him," she murmured. "He has caused +me suffering, but he has raised me. I thank God that I was permitted to +know such a man. The world would, I suppose, speak of him as a sinner, +but to my way of thinking, if ever there was a saint he is one." + +So the night passed on, and Valentine remained motionless by the dying +man's bed. What her thoughts were, none might read. + +At last, towards the break of day, the time when so many souls go away, +Wyndham stirred faintly and opened his eyes. Valentine moved forward +with an eager gesture. He looked at her, but there was no comprehension +in his glance. + +"What is the matter?" said Valentine to the nurse. "I scarcely know +him--his face has altered." + +"It looks young, madam. Dying faces often do so. Hark, he is saying +something." + +"Lilias," said Wyndham. "Lilly--mother calls us--we are to sing our +evening hymn." + + 'Bright in the happy land!' + +"Lilias, do you _hear_ mother; she is calling? Kneel down--our evening +prayers--by mother--we always say our prayers by mother's knee. Kneel, +Lilias, see, my hands are folded--'Our Father'----" + +There was a long pause after the last words, a pause followed by one +more breath of infinite content, and then the nurse closed the dead +man's eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER LII. + +TWO YEARS AFTER. + + +Augusta Wyndham was pacing up and down the broad gravel walk which ran +down the centre of the rectory garden in a state of great excitement. +She was walking quickly, her hands clasped loosely before her, her tall +and rather angular figure drawn up to its full height, her bright black +eyes alert and watchful in their expression. + +"Now, if only they are not interrupted," she said, "if only I can keep +people from going near the rose-walk, he'll do it--I know he'll do +it--I saw it in his eyes when he came up and asked me where Lilias was. +He hasn't been here for six months, and I had given up all hope; but +hope has revived to-day--hope springs eternal in the human breast. Tra +la, la--la, la. Now, Gerry, boy, what do you want?" + +A sturdy little fellow in a sailor suit stood for a moment in the porch +of the old rectory, then ran with a gleeful shout down the gravel walk +towards Augusta. She held out her arms to detain him. + +"Well caught, Gerry," she said. + +"It isn't well caught," he replied with an angry flush. "I don't want +to stay with you, Auntie Gussie; I want to go to my--my own auntie. Let +me pass, please." + +"You saucy boy, auntie's busy; you shall stay with me." + +"I won't. I'll beat you--I won't stay." + +"If I whisper something to you, Gerry--something about Auntie Lil. Now +be quiet, mannikin, and let me say my say. You love Auntie Lil, don't +you?" + +"You know that; you do talk nonsense sometimes. I love father in +heaven, and mother, and Auntie Lil." + +"And me, you little wretch." + +"Sometimes. Let me go to Auntie Lil now." + +"I want to whisper something to you, Gerry. Auntie Lil is talking to +someone she loves much better than you or me or anyone else in the +world, and it would be very unkind to interrupt her." + +Gerry was sitting on Augusta's shoulder. From this elevated position he +could catch a glimpse of a certain grey dress, and a quick flash of +chestnut hair, as the sun shone on it--that dress and that hair +belonged to Auntie Lil. It was no matter at all to Gerry that someone +else walked by her side, that someone was bending his dark head +somewhat close to hers, and that as she listened her steps faltered and +grew slow. + +Gerry's whole soul was wounded by Augusta's words. His Aunt Lilias did +not love anyone better than him. It was his bounden duty, his first +duty in life, to have such an erroneous statement put right at once. + +He put forth all his strength, struggled down from Augusta's shoulders, +and before she was aware of it was speeding like an arrow from a bow to +his target, Lilias. + +"There, now, I give it up," said Augusta. "Awful child, what mischief +may he not make? Don't I hear his shrill voice even here! Oh, I give it +up now; I shall go into the house. The full heat of the sun in July +does not suit me, and if in addition to all other troubles Lilias is to +have a broken heart, I may as well keep in sufficient health to nurse +her." + +Meanwhile Gerry was having a very comfortable time on Carr's shoulder; +his dark eyes were looking at his Aunt Lilias, and his little fat, hot +hand was clasped in hers. + +"Well," he said suddenly, "which is it?" + +"Which is what, Gerry? I don't understand." + +"I think you are stoopid, Auntie Lil. Is it him or me?" + +Then he laid his other fat hand on Carr's forehead. + +"Is it him or me?" said Gerry, "that you love the most of all the +peoples in the world?" + +"It's me, Gerry, it's me," suddenly said Adrian Carr; "but you come +next, dear little man. Kiss him, Lilias, and tell him that he comes +next." + +"Gerald's dear little boy," said Lilias. She took him in her arms and +pressed her head against his chubby neck. + +"Dear, dear little boy," she said. "I think you'll always come second." + +She looked so solemn when she spoke, and so beautiful was the light in +her eyes when she raised her face to look at Gerry, that even he, most +despotic of little mortals, could not but feel satisfied. + +He ran away presently to announce to all and everyone within reach that +Mr. Carr had kissed Auntie Lil like anything, and the newly-betrothed +pair were left alone. + +"At last, Lilias," said Carr. + +She looked shyly into his face. + +"I thought I should never win you," he continued. "I have loved you for +years, and I never had courage to tell you so until to-day." + +"And I have loved you for years," replied Lilias Wyndham. + +"But not best, Lilly. Oh, I have read you like a book. I never came +before Gerald in your heart." + +"No," she said letting go his hand, and moving a step or two away, so +that she should face him. "I love you well, beyond all living men, but +Gerald stands alone. His place can never be filled." + +The tears sprang into her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. + +"And I love you better for loving him so, my darling," answered her +lover. He put his arms round her, and she laid her head on his breast. + +For a long time they paced up and down the Rose-walk. They had much to +say, much to feel, much to be silent over. The air was balmy overhead, +and the rose-leaves were tossed by the light summer breeze against +Lilias' grey dress. + +Presently she began to talk of the past. Carr asked tenderly for +Valentine. + +"Valentine is so noble," replied her sister-in-law. "You don't know +what she has been to me since that day when she and I looked together +at Gerald's dead face. Oh, that day, that dreadful day!" + +"It is past, Lilias. Think of the future, the bright future, and he is +in that brightness now." + +"I know." + +She wiped the tears again from her eyes. Then she continued in a +changed voice:-- + +"I will try and forget that day, which, as you say, is behind Gerald +and me. At the time I could scarcely think of myself. I was so overcome +with the wonderful brave way in which Valentine acted. You know her +father died a month afterwards, and she was so sweet to him. She nursed +him day and night, and did all that woman could do to comfort and +forgive him. His brain was dreadfully clouded, however, and he died at +last in a state of unconsciousness. Then Valentine came out in a new +light. She went to the insurance offices and told the whole story of +the fraud that had been practised on them, and of her husband's part in +it. She told the story in such a way that hard business men, as most of +these men were, wept. Then she sold her father's great shipping +business, which had all been left absolutely to her, and paid back +every penny of the money. + +"Since then, as you know, she and Gerry live here. She is really the +idol of my old father's life; he and she are scarcely ever parted. +Yes, she is a noble woman. When I look at her I say to myself, Gerald, +at least, did not love unworthily." + +"Then she is poor now?" + +"As the world speaks of poverty she is poor. Do you think Valentine +minds that? Oh, how little her father understood her when he thought +that riches were essential to her happiness. No one has simpler tastes +than Valentine. Do you know that she housekeeps now at the rectory, and +we are really much better off than we used to be. Alack and alas! +Adrian, you ought to know in time, I am such a bad housekeeper." + +Lilias laughed quite merrily as she spoke, and Carr's dark face glowed. + +"It is a bargain," he said, "that I take you with your faults and don't +reproach you with them. And what has become of that fine creature, +Esther Helps?" he asked presently. + +"She works in East London, and comes here for her holidays. Sometimes I +think Valentine loves Esther Helps better than anyone in the world +after Gerry." + +"That is scarcely to be wondered at, is it?" + +Just then their conversation was interrupted by some gleeful shouts, +and the four little girls, no longer so very small, came flying round +the corner in hot pursuit of Gerry. + +"Here they is!" exclaimed the small tyrant, gazing round at his devoted +subjects, and pointing with a lofty and condescending air to Adrian and +Lilias. "Here they is!" he said, "and I 'spose they'll do it again if +we ask them." + +"Do what again?" asked Lilias innocently. + +"Why, kiss one another," replied Gerry. "I saw you do it, so don't tell +stories. Joan and Betty they wouldn't believe me. Please do it again, +please do. Mr. Carr, please kiss Auntie Lil again." + +"Oh, fie, Gerry," replied Lilias. She tried to turn away, but Carr went +up to her gravely, and he kissed her brow. + +"There's nothing in it," he continued, looking round at the astonished +little girls. "We are going to be husband and wife in a week or two, +and husbands and wives always kiss one another." + +"Then I was right," said Betty. "Joan and Rosie wouldn't believe me, +but I was right after all. I am glad of that." + +"I believed you, Betty. I always believed you," said Violet. + +"Well, perhaps you did. The others didn't. I'm glad I was right." + +"How were you right, Betty?" asked Carr. + +"Oh, don't ask her, Adrian. Let us come into the house," interrupted +Lilias. + +"Yes, we'll come into the house, of course. But I should like to know +how Betty was right." + +"Why you wanted to kiss her years ago. I knew it, and I said it. Didn't +you, now?" + +"Speak the trufe," suddenly commanded Gerry. + +"Yes, I did," replied Carr. + +When Adrian Carr left the rectory that evening he had to walk down the +dusty road which led straight past the church and the little village +school-house to the railway station. This road was full of associations +to him, and he walked slowly, thinking of past scenes, thanking God for +his present blessings. + +"It was here, by the turnstile, I first saw Lilias," he said to +himself. "She and Marjory were standing together, and she came forward +and looked at me, and asked me in that sweet voice of hers if I were +not Mr. Carr. She reminded me of her brother, whom I just barely knew. +It was a fleeting likeness, seen more at first than afterwards. + +"Here, by this little old school-house the villagers stood and rejoiced +the last day Gerald came home. Poor Wyndham--most blessed and most +miserable of men. Well, he is at rest now, and even here I see the +cross which throws a shadow over his grave!" + +Carr looked at his watch. There was time. He entered the little +church-yard. A green mound, a white cross, several wreaths of flowers, +marked the spot where one who had been much loved in life lay until the +resurrection. The cross was so placed as to bend slightly over the +grave as though to protect it. It bore a very brief inscription:-- + + IN PEACE. + + GERALD WYNDHAM. + AGED 27. + + +THE END. + + + + +JELLY OF CUCUMBER AND ROSES. + + +MADE BY W.A. DYER & CO., MONTREAL, is a delightfully fragrant Toilet +article. 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Bowels and Blood, carrying off all humors and impurities from +the entire system, correcting Acidity, and curing Biliousness, +Dyspepsia, Sick Headache. Constipation, Rheumatism, Dropsy, Dry Skin, +Dizziness, Jaundice, Heartburn, Nervous and General Debility, Salt +Rheum, Erysipelas. Scrofula, etc. It purifies and eradicates from the +Blood all poisonous humors, from a common Pimple to the worst +Scrofulous Sore. + + * * * * * + +DYSPEPSINE! + +The Great American Remedy + +FOR DYSPEPSIA + +In all its forms. + +As =Indigestion=, =Flatulency=, =Heartburn=, =Waterbrash=, +=Sick-Headache=, =Constipation=, =Biliousness=, and all forms of +=Dyspepsia=; regulating the action of the stomach, and of the digestive +organs. + + Sold by all druggist, 5Oc. a bottle. + + =Sole Proprietor, WALLACE DAWSON.= + + MONTREAL, CAN., ROUSES POINT, N.Y. + + +BOOKS IN "STAR" SERIES. + + 107. LUCK IN DISGUISE, BY WM. J. ZEXTER .30 + 108. THE BONDMAN, BY HALL CAINE .30 + 109. 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COX ALLEN.) + + In Paper Cover, 30 Cents, + In Cloth Cover, 50 Cents, + +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 personæ_, 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. + + + * * * * * + + +Transcriber's Note: Punctuation has been normalized. + +Page 66; removed extra "one" (Wyndham was one one). +Page 336; inserted "be" (lawfully be sold in Canada). + +The list of titles on page 336 is incomplete in the original, +i.e. mlssing: 52, 50, etc. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Life For a Love, by L. T. 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T. Meade + +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: A Life For a Love + A Novel + +Author: L. T. Meade + +Release Date: August 16, 2011 [EBook #37107] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LIFE FOR A LOVE *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Ron Stephens and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions +(www.canadiana.org)) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + + + + + + +<h1>A LIFE FOR A LOVE.</h1> + +<p class="center">A NOVEL</p> + +<h5>BY</h5> + +<h2>L.T. MEADE,</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Author of "Heart of Gold," "A Girl of the People," +etc., etc.</i><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<p class="center"><br /><br /><br /><br /><span class="smcap">Montreal</span>:</p> + +<p class="center">JOHN LOVELL & SON,</p> + +<p class="center">23 <span class="smcap">St. Nicholas Street</span>.<br /><br /></p> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<p class="center">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.<br /><br /><br /></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>JOHN LOVELL & SON'S PUBLICATIONS.</h2> + + +<div><big><b>April's Lady.</b></big></div><div class="author">By<span class="smcap"> The Duchess.</span></div> + + +<p>A story written in the author's most striking vein, highly +original and deeply interesting, and certainly not the least entertaining +of her works.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>By Order of the Czar.</b></big></div><div class="author">By<span class="smcap"> Jos. Hatton.</span></div> +<p>A thrilling story of Russian outrages on the Jews, of Nihilistic +plotting and revenge. It admirably supplements the papers +of George Kennan, which have filled so much of the public eye of +late.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>The Lady Egeria.</b></big></div><div class="author">By <span class="smcap">John Berwick Howard.</span></div> + +<p>This book is avowedly of the sensational kind, and of a different +class of fiction from the author's previous story of "Paul Knox. +Pitman;" the dramatic passages and vivid description of Indian +life and scenery are exceptionally fine.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>Syrlin.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">Ouida</span>.</div> + +<p>A tale of London social and political life. A characteristic +Ouida novel, not too highly spiced, and holds the attention +throughout.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>The Burnt Million.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">James Payn</span>.</div> + +<p>The delicate suggestive humor and quiet sarcasm, combined +with a good plot, makes every chapter of this book a delight. +</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>Her Last Throw.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">The Duchess</span>.</div> + +<p>Like all the works from the pen of this popular author, this +little book is a gem in the ocean of fiction. </p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>A Scarlet Sin.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">Florence Marryat</span>.</div> + +<p>An exceedingly interesting and readable book. +</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + + +<div><big><b>The Haute Noblesse.</b></big></div><div class="author">By <span class="smcap">Geo. Manville Fenn</span>.</div> + +<p>A cleverly written book, with exceptional characters. The +plot and description of scenery are alike inimitable.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>Buttons and Bootles' Baby.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">John Strange Winter</span>.</div> + +<p>Two military tales, abounding in the most grotesque situations +and humorous touches, which will greatly amuse the +reader.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>Mount Eden.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">Florence Marryat</span>.</div> + +<p>A charming romance of English life, and probably the +greatest effort of this popular authoress.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>Hedri, or Blind Justice.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">Helen Mathers</span>.</div> + +<p>An exciting story in which love plays only a secondary part. +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.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>Joshua.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">Georg Ebers</span>.</div> + +<p>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.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> + +<div><big><b>Hester Hepworth.</b></big></div><div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">Kate Tannatt Woods</span>.</div> + +<p>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.</p><div><span class="price">Price 30 cents.</span><br /></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + +<h2>LOVELL'S</h2> +<h1>CANADIAN COPYRIGHT SERIES</h1> +<h3>OF CHOICE FICTION.</h3> + + +<p>The Series now numbers over 60 books, and contains the latest +jewels of such well-known authors as</p> + +<p> +<b>Ouida, The Duchess, Geo. Manville Fenn.<br /> + Rosa Nouchette Carey, Florence Marryat,<br /> + A. Conan Doyle, Georg Ebers, James Payn,<br /> + Miss Braddon, Frank Barrett, Mrs. Alexander,<br /> +Edna Lyall, Katherine S. Macquoid, G.M. Robins,<br /> + G.A. Henty, Adeline Sergeant, Mona Caird,<br /> + John Strange Winter, Joseph Hatton,<br /> + Dora Russell, Julian Sturgis,<br /> + Kate Tannatt Woods,<br /> +Florence Warden, Annie Thomas,<br /> + W.E. Norris, Helen Mathers,<br /> + Jessie Fothergill, Hall Caine,<br /> + Oswald Crawfurd, Rhoda Broughton,<br /> + F.C. Phillips, Robert Buchanan,<br /> +Charles Gibbon, L.T. Meade, John Berwick Harwood,<br /></b> +</p> + +<p>From whose pens books have been issued during the past year, and +others now in preparation, make the Series the best in the Dominion.</p> + +<p>The books are printed on good paper with new type.</p> + +<p>All the books are published by arrangement with the authors, +to whom a royalty is paid, and are issued simultaneously with +their publication in England.</p> + +<p>For sale at all Bookstores.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + +<h2>COVERNTON'S SPECIALTIES.</h2> + +<div class="bbox"><p class="center"><big><b>Good Morning!</b></big></p></div> + +<p class="center">HAVE you used <span class="smcap">Covernton's</span> Celebrated</p> + +<p class="center"><big>FRAGRANT CARBOLIC TOOTH WASH.</big></p> + +<p class="center">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.</p> + +<p class="center"><big>COVERNTON'S SYRUP OF WILD CHERRY.</big></p> + +<p class="center">For Coughs, Colds, Asthma, Bronchitis, etc. Price <b>25c.</b></p> + +<p class="center"><big>COVERNTON'S AROMATIC BLACKBERRY +CARMINATIVE.</big></p> + +<p class="center">For Diarrhœa, Cholera Morbus, Dysentery, etc. Price <b>25c.</b></p> + +<p class="center"><big>COVERNTON'S NIPPLE OIL.</big></p> + +<p class="center">For Cracked or Sore Nipples. Price <b>25c.</b></p> + + +<div class="bbox"><p class="center"><big><b>GOOD EVENING!</b></big></p></div> + +<p class="center">USE</p> + +<p class="center">COVERNTON'S ALPINE CREAM</p> + +<p class="center">for Chapped Hands, Sore Lips, Sunburn, Tan, Freckles, +etc. A most delightful preparation for the Toilet. Price <b>25c.</b></p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p class="center"> +<big><b>C.J. COVERNTON & CO.,</b></big><br /> +<b>Dispensing Chemists.<br /> +CORNER OF BLEURY AND DORCHESTER STREETS,</b><br /> +<i>Branch, 469 St. Lawrence Street,</i>,<br /> +<b>MONTREAL</b>.<br /></p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + + + +<h1>A LIFE FOR A LOVE.</h1> + + + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + + +<p>The time was July, and the roses were out in great profusion +in the rectory garden. The garden was large, +somewhat untidily kept, but it abounded in all sweet old-fashioned +flowers; there was the invariable tennis-court, +empty just now, and a sweet sound of children laughing and +playing together, in a hay-field near by. The roses were +showering their petals all over the grass, and two girls, +sisters evidently, were pacing up the broad walk in the +centre of the garden arm-in-arm. They were dark-eyed +girls, with chestnut, curling hair, rosy lips full of curves +and smiles, and round, good-humored faces. They were +talking eagerly and excitedly one to the other, not taking +the smallest notice of the scene around them—not even +replying when some children in the hay-field shouted their +names, but coming at last to a full stand-still before the +open window of the old-fashioned rectory study. Two +men were standing under the deep-mullioned window; one +tall, slightly bent, with silvery-white hair, aquiline features, +and dark brown eyes like the girls. He was the Rector of +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and the man he was addressing was +his only son, and the brother of the eager bright-looking +girls.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can't understand it, Gerald," he was saying. "No, +don't come in at present, my dears;" he waved his white, +delicate hand to his daughters. "We'll join you in the +tennis-court presently. Yes, Gerald, as I was saying, it +seems the most incomprehensible and unheard-of arrangement."</p> + +<p>The girls smiled gently, first into their brother's face, +then at one another. They moved away, going through a +little shrubbery, and passing out into a large kitchen garden, +where Betty, the old cook, was now standing, picking +raspberries and currants into a pie-dish.</p> + +<p>"Betty," said Lilias, the eldest girl, "has Martha dusted +our trunks and taken them upstairs yet? And has Susan +sent up the laces and the frilled things? We want to set +to work packing, as soon as ever the children are in bed."</p> + +<p>"Bless your hearts, then," said old Betty, laying her pie-dish +on the ground, and dropping huge ripe raspberries into +it with a slow deliberate movement, "if you think that +children will go to bed on the finest day of the year any +time within reason, you're fine and mistook, that's all. +Why, Miss Joey, she was round in the garden but now, +and they're all a-going to have tea in the hay-field, and no +end of butter they'll eat, and a whole batch of my fresh +cakes. Oh, weary, weary me, but children's mouths are +never full—chattering, restless, untoward things are children. +Don't you never go to get married, Miss Marjory."</p> + +<p>"I'll follow your example, Betty," laughed back Marjory +Wyndham. "I knew that would fetch the old thing," +she continued, turning to her sister. "She does hate to +be reminded that she's an old maid, but she brings it on +herself by abusing matrimony in that ridiculous fashion."</p> + +<p>"It's all because of Gerald," answered Lilias—"she is +perfectly wild to think of Gerald's going away from us, and +taking up his abode in London with those rich Pagets. I +call it odious, too—I almost feel to-night as if I hated Va<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>lentine. +If Gerald had not fallen in love with her, things +would have been different. He'd have taken Holy Orders, +and he'd have been ordained for the curacy of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, +and then he need never have gone away. Oh. +I hate—I detest to think of the rectory without Gerald."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lilias," replied Marjory, "you really are—you +really—you really are——"</p> + +<p>"What, miss? Speak out, or I'll shake you, or pinch +you, or do something malicious. I warn you that I am +quite in the mood."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll stand here," said Marjory, springing to the +other side of a great glowing bed of many-colored sweet-williams. +"Here your arm can't reach across these. I +will say of you, Lilias Wyndham, that you are without exception +the most contradictory and inconsistent person of +my acquaintance. Here were you, a year ago, crying and +sobbing on your knees because Gerald couldn't marry +Valentine, and now, when it's all arranged, and the wedding +is to be the day after to-morrow, and we have got our promised +trip to London, and those lovely brides-maid dresses—made +by Valentine's own express desire at Elise's—you +turn round and are grumpy and discontented. Don't you +know, you foolish silly Lilias, that if Gerald had never +fallen in love with Valentine Paget he'd have met someone +else, and if he was father's curate, those horrid Mortimer +girls and those ugly Pelhams would have one and all tried +to get him. We can't keep Gerald to ourselves for ever, +so there's no use fretting about the inevitable, say I."</p> + +<p>Lilias' full red lips were pouting; she stooped, and recklessly +gathering a handful of sweet-williams, flung them at +her sister.</p> + +<p>"I own to being inconsistent," she said, "I own to +being cross—I own to hating Valentine for this night at +least, for it just tears my heart to give Gerald up."</p> + +<p>There were real tears now in the bright, curly-fringed +eyes and the would-be-defiant voice trembled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> + +<p>Marjory shook the sweet-william petals off her dress.</p> + +<p>"Come into the house," she said in a softened tone. +"Father and Gerald must have finished that prosy discussion +by now. Oh, do hark to those children's voices; +what rampageous, excitable creatures they are. Lilly, did +we ever shout in such shrill tones? That must be Augusta: +no one else has a voice which sounds like the scraping of +a coal-scoop in an empty coal-hod. Oh, of course that +high laugh belongs to Joey. Aren't they feeding, and +wrangling, and fighting? I am quite sure, Lil, that Betty +is right, and they won't turn in for hours; we had better +go and do our packing now."</p> + +<p>"No, I see Gerald," exclaimed Lilias. And she flew up +the narrow box-lined path to meet her brother.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + + +<p>Gerald Wyndham was not in the least like his rosy, +fresh-looking sisters. He was tall and slenderly made, with +very thick and rather light-brown hair, which stood up +high over his low, white forehead—his eyes were large, but +were deeply set, they were grey, not brown, in repose were +dreaming in expression, but when he spoke, or when any +special thought came to him, they grew intensely earnest, +luminous and beautiful. The changing expression of his +eyes was the chief charm of a highly sensitive and refined +face—a face remarkable in many ways, for the breadth of +his forehead alone gave it character, but with some weak +lines about the finely cut lips. This weakness was now, +however, hidden by a long, silken moustache. Lilias and +Marjory thought Gerald's face the most beautiful in the +world, and most people acknowledged him to be handsome, +although his shoulders were scarcely broad enough for his +height, and his whole figure was somewhat loosely hung +together.</p> + +<p>"Here you are at last," exclaimed Lilias, linking her +hand in her brother's arm. "Here, take his other arm. +Maggie. Oh, when, and oh, when, and oh, when shall we +have him to ourselves again, I wonder?"</p> + +<p>"You little goose," said Gerald. He shook himself as +if he were half in a dream, and looked fondly down into +Lilias' pretty dimpled, excitable face. "Well, girls, are the +trunks packed, and have you put in plenty of finery? I +promise you Mr. Paget will give a dinner-party every night—you'll +want heaps of fine clothes while you stay at +Queen's Gate."</p> + +<p>Marjory began to count on her fingers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We arrive on Wednesday," she said. "On Wednesday +evening, dinner number one, we wear our white Indian +muslins, with the Liberty sashes, and flowers brought up +from the dear old garden. Thursday evening, dinner number +two, and evening of wedding day, our bridesmaids' +toggery must suffice; Friday, dinner number three, those +blue nun's veiling dresses will appear and charm the eyes. +That's all. Three dresses for three dinners, for it's home, +sweet home again on Saturday—isn't it, Lilias?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Lilias, "that is, I suppose so," she +added, glancing at her brother.</p> + +<p>"Valentine wanted to know if you would stay in town +for a week or ten days, and try to cheer up her father," +said Gerald. "Mr. Paget and Valentine have scarcely +been parted for a single day since she was born. Valentine +is quite in a state at having to leave him for a month, +and she thinks two bright little girls like you may comfort +him somewhat."</p> + +<p>"But we have our own father to see to," pouted Marjory; +"and Sunday school, and choir practising, and the library +books——"</p> + +<p>"And I don't see how Valentine can mind leaving her +father—if he were the very dearest father in the world—when +she goes away with you," interrupted Lilias.</p> + +<p>Gerald sighed, just the faintest shadow of an impatient +sigh, accompanied by the slightest shrug of his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Augusta can give out the library books," he said. +"Miss Queen can manage the choir. I will ask Jones to +take your class, Lilias, and Miss Peters can manage yours +with her own, Marjory. As to the rector, what is the use +of having five young daughters, if they cannot be made +available for once in a way? And here they come, and +there's the governor in the midst of them. He doesn't +look as if he were likely to taste the sweets of solitude, eh. +Marjory?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + +<p>Not at that moment, certainly, for a girl hung on each +arm, and a smaller girl sat aloft on each square shoulder, +while a fifth shouted and raced, now in front, now behind, +pelting this moving pyramid of human beings with flowers, +and screaming even more shrilly than her sisters, with eager +exclamation and bubbling laughter.</p> + +<p>"There's Gerry," exclaimed Augusta.</p> + +<p>She was the tallest of the party, with a great stretch of +stockinged legs, and a decided scarcity of skirts. She flew +at her brother, flung her arms round his neck and kissed +him rapturously.</p> + +<p>"You darling old Gerry—don't we all just hate and +detest that horrible Valentine Paget."</p> + +<p>"Hush, Gussie," responded Gerald, in his quiet voice. +"You don't know Valentine, and you pain me when you +talk of her in that senseless fashion. Here, have a race +with your big brother to the other end of the garden. +Girls," turning to his elder sisters—"seriously speaking I +should like you to spend about a fortnight with the Pagets. +And had you not better go and pack, for we must catch +the eleven o'clock train to-morrow morning. Now, Gussie—one, +two, three, and away."</p> + +<p>Two pairs of long legs, each working hard to come off +victorious in the race, flew past the group—the rector and +the little girls cheered and shouted—Marjory and Lilias, +laughing at the sight, turned slowly and went into the +house; Gerald won the race by a foot or two, and Gussie +flung herself panting and laughing on the grass at the other +end of the long walk.</p> + +<p>"Well done, Augusta," said her brother. "You study +athletics to a purpose. Now, Gussie, can't you manage to +give away the library books on Sunday?"</p> + +<p>"I? You don't mean it?" said Augusta. Her black +eyes sparkled; she recovered her breath, and the full +dignity of her five feet five and a-half of growth on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +instant. "Am I to give away the library books, Gerry?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I want Lilias to stay in London for a few days +longer than she intended."</p> + +<p>"And Marjory too?"</p> + +<p>"Of course. The girls would not like to be parted."</p> + +<p>"Galuptions! Won't I have a time of it all round! +Won't I give old Peters a novel instead of his favorite +Sunday magazines? And won't I smuggle Pailey's Evidences +of Christianity into the hand of Alice Jones, the +dressmaker. She says the only books she cares for are +Wilkie Collins 'Woman in White,' and the 'Dead Secret,' +so she'll have a lively time of it with the Evidences. Then +there's 'Butler's Analogy,' it isn't in the parish library, +but I'll borrow it for once from father's study. That will +exactly suit Rhoda Fleming. Oh, what fun, what fun. I +won't take a single story-book with me, except the 'Woman +in White,' for Peters. He says novels are 'rank poison,' so +he shall have his dose."</p> + +<p>"Now look here, Gussie," said Gerald, taking his sister's +two hands in his, and holding them tight—"you've got to +please me about the library books, and not to play pranks, +and make things disagreeable for Lilias when she comes +back. You're thirteen now, and a big girl, and you ought +to act like one. You're to make things comfortable for the +dear old pater while we are all away, and you'll do it if +you care for me, Gussie."</p> + +<p>"Care for you!" echoed Augusta. "I love you, Gerry. +I love you, and I hate——"</p> + +<p>"No, don't say that," said Gerald, putting his hand on +the girl's mouth.</p> + +<p>Gussie looked droll and submissive.</p> + +<p>"It is so funny," she exclaimed at length.</p> + +<p>"You can explain that as we walk back to the house," +responded her brother.</p> + +<p>"Why, Gerry, to see you so frightfully in love! You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[ 13]</a></span> +are, aren't you? You have all the symptoms—oh, before +I——"</p> + +<p>"I love Valentine," responded Gerald. "That is a subject +I cannot discuss with you, Augusta. When you know +her you will love her too. I am going to bring her here in +the autumn, and then I shall want you all to be good to her, +and to let her feel that she has a great number of real sisters +at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, who will be good to her if she +needs them, by-and-bye."</p> + +<p>"As if she ever could need us," responded Gussie. +"She'll have you. Yes, I'll do my best about the books—good-night. +Gerald. Good-night, dear old darling king. +That's Miss Queen's voice. Coming, Miss Queen, coming! +Good-night, old Gerry. My love to that Val of yours. Oh, +what a nuisance it is to have ever to go to bed."</p> + +<p>Gussie's long legs soon bore her out of sight, and Gerald +stepped into the silent and now empty study. To an +initiated eye this room bore one or two marks of having +lately witnessed a mental storm. Close to the rector's +leather armchair lay a pile of carefully torn-up papers—the +family Bible, which usually occupied a place of honor on +his desk, had been pushed ruthlessly on one side, and a +valuable work on theology lay wide open and face downwards +on the floor. Otherwise the room was in perfect +order—the only absolutely neat apartment in the large old +house. Not the most daring of all the young Wyndhams +would disturb a volume here, or play any wild pranks in +the sacred precincts of the rector's study. As Gerald now +entered the room and saw these signs of mental disquiet +round Mr. Wyndham's chair, the pleasant and somewhat +cheerful look left his face, his eyes grew dark, earnest and +full of trouble, and flinging himself on the sofa, he shaded +them with his white long fingers. There was an oil painting +of a lady over the mantel-piece, and this lady had +Gerald's face. From her he inherited those peculiar and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +sensitive eyes, those somewhat hollow cheeks, and that +noble and broad white brow. From her, too, came the lips +which were curved and beautiful, and yet a little, a little +wanting in firmness. In Mrs. Wyndham the expressive +mouth only added the final touch of womanliness to a +beautiful face. In her son it would have revealed, could it +have been seen, a nature which might be led astray from +the strictest paths of honor.</p> + +<p>Wyndham sat motionless for a few moments, then springing +to his feet, he paced restlessly up and down the empty +study.</p> + +<p>"Everything is fixed and settled now," he said, under +his breath. "I'm not the first fellow who has sold himself +for the sake of a year's happiness. If my mother were +alive, though, I couldn't have done it, no, not even for +Valentine. Poor mother! She felt sure I'd have taken +Holy Orders, and worked on here with the governor in this +sleepy little corner of the world. It's a blessing she can't +be hurt by anything now, and as to the governor, he has +seven girls to comfort him. No, if I'm sorry for anyone +it's Lilias, but the thing's done now. The day +after to-morrow Val will be mine. A whole year! My +God, how short it is. My God, save and pity me, for +afterwards comes hell."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> + + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + + +<p>The human face has been often spoken of as an index of +the mind. There are people who boldly declare that they +know a man by the height of his forehead, by the set of +his eyes, by the shape of his head, and by the general expression +of his countenance. Whether this rule is true or +not, it certainly has its exceptions. As far as outward +expression goes some minds remain locked, and Satan himself +can now and then appear transformed as an angel of +light.</p> + +<p>Mortimer Paget, Esq., the head and now sole representative +of the once great ship-broking firm of Paget Brothers, +was one of the handsomest and most striking-looking +men in the city. On more than one occasion sculptors +of renown had asked to be permitted to take a cast of his +head to represent Humanity, Benevolence, Integrity, or +some other cardinal virtue. He had a high forehead, calm +velvety brown eyes, perfectly even and classical features, +and firm lips with a sweet expression. His lips were perfectly +hidden by his silvery moustache, and the shape of +his chin was not discernible, owing to his long flowing +beard. But had the beard and moustache both been removed, +no fault could have been found with the features +now hidden—they were firmly and well-moulded. On this +beautiful face no trace of a sinister cast lurked.</p> + +<p>Mortimer Paget in his business transactions was the +soul of honor. No man in the city was more looked up to +than he. He was very shrewd with regard to all money +matters, but he was also generous and kind. The old +servants belonging to the firm never cared to leave him;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +when they died off he pensioned their widows and provided +for their orphans. He was a religious man, of the +evangelical type, and he conducted his household in every +way from a religious point of view. Family prayers were +held night and morning in the great house in Queen's +Gate, and the servants were expected each and all to +attend church twice on Sundays. Mr. Paget had found a +church where the ritual was sufficiently low to please his +religious views. To this church he went himself twice on +Sundays, invariably accompanied by a tall girl, richly +dressed, who clung to his side and read out of the same +book with him, singing when he sang, and very often slipping +her little hand into his, and closing her bright eyes +when he napped unconsciously during the prosy sermon.</p> + +<p>This girl was his only child, and while he professed to +be actuated by the purest love for both God and his fellow +creatures, the one being for whom his heart really beat +warmly, the one being for whom he could gladly have +sacrificed himself was this solitary girl.</p> + +<p>Valentine's mother had died at her birth, and since that +day Valentine and her father had literally never been +parted. She was his shadow, like him in appearance, and +as far as those who knew her could guess like him in +character.</p> + +<p>The house in Queen's Gate was full of all the accompaniments +of wealth. It was richly and splendidly furnished; +the drawing-rooms were spacious, the reception +rooms were all large. Valentine had her own boudoir, +her own special school-room, her own bedroom +and dressing-room. Her father had provided a suite +of rooms for her, each communicating with the other, +but except that she tossed off her handsome dresses in the +dressing-room, and submitted at intervals during the day +with an unwilling grace to the services of her maid, and +except that she laid her bright little curling head each<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +evening on the softest of down-pillows, Valentine's suite of +rooms saw very little of their young mistress.</p> + +<p>There was an old library in the back part of the house—an +essentially dull room, with windows fitted with +painted glass, and shelves lined with books, most of them +in tarnished and worm-eaten bindings, where Mr. Paget +sat whenever he was at home, and where in consequence +Valentine was to be found. Her sunny head, with its +golden wavy hair, made a bright spot in the old room. +She was fond of perching herself on the top of the step-ladder, +and so seated burrowing eagerly into the contents +of some musty old volume. She devoured the novels of +Smollett and Fielding, and many other books which were +supposed not to be at all good for her, in this fashion—they +did her no harm, the bad part falling away, and not +touching her, for her nature was very pure and bright, and +although she saw many shades of life in one way or +another, and with all her expensive education, was allowed +to grow up in a somewhat wild fashion, and according to +her own sweet will, yet she was a perfectly innocent and +unsophisticated creature.</p> + +<p>When she was seventeen, Mr. Paget told her that he +was going to inaugurate a new state of things.</p> + +<p>"You must go into society, Val," he said. "In these +days the daughters of city men of old standing like myself +are received everywhere. I will get your mother's third +cousin, Lady Prince, to present you at the next Drawing-room, +and then you must go the usual round, I suppose. +We must get some lady to come here to chaperon you, +and you will go out to balls and assemblies, and during the +London season turn night into day."</p> + +<p>Val was seated on the third rung of the step-ladder +when her father made this announcement. She sprang +lightly from her perch now, and ran to his side.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I won't go anywhere without you, dad; so that's +settled. Poor old man!—dear old man!"</p> + +<p>She put her arms round his neck, and his white moustache +and beard swept across her soft, peach-like cheek.</p> + +<p>"But I hate going out in the evening, Val. I'm getting +an old man—sixty next birthday, my dear—and I work +hard all day. There's no place so sweet to me in the +evening as this worm-eaten, old armchair;—I should find +myself lost in a crowd. Time was when I was the gayest +of the gay. People used to speak of me as the life and +soul of every party I went to, but that time is over for me. +Val; for you it is beginning."</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken, father. I perch myself on the arm +of this wretched, worm-eaten, old chair, and stay here with +you, or I go into society with you. It's all the same to +me—you can please yourself."</p> + +<p>"Don't you know that you are a very saucy lass, miss?"</p> + +<p>"Am I? I really don't care—I go with you, or I stay +with you—that's understood. Dad—father dear—that's +always to be the way, you understand. You and I are to +be always together—all our lives. You quite see what I +mean?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my darling. But some day you will have a husband. +Val. I want you to marry, and have a good husband, +child; and then we'll see if your old father still comes +first."</p> + +<p>Valentine laughed gaily.</p> + +<p>"We'll see," she repeated. "Father, if you are not +awfully busy, I must read you this bit out of Roderick +Random—listen, is not it droll?"</p> + +<p>She fetched the volume with its old-fashioned type and +obsolete s'es, and the two faces so alike and so beautiful, +and so full of love for one another, bent over the page.</p> + +<p>Valentine Paget had her way, and when she made her +<i>début</i> in the world of fashion she was accompanied by no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +other chaperon than her handsome father. A Mrs. Johnstone, +a distant relative of Valentine's mother had been +asked to come to drive with the young lady in the Parks, +and to exercise a very mild surveillance over her conduct +generally, when she received her visitors at five o'clock +tea, but in the evenings Mr. Paget alone took her into +society. The pair were striking enough to make an instant +success. Each acted as a foil and heightener to the beauty +of the other. Mortimer Paget was recognized by some of +his old cronies—fair ladies who had known him when he +was young, reproached him gently for having worn so well, +professed to take a great interest in his girl, and watched +her with narrow, critical, but not unkindly eyes. The girl +was fresh and <i>naïve</i>, perfectly free and untrammelled, a +tiny bit reckless, a little out of the common. Her handsome +face, her somewhat isolated position, and her reputed +fortune, for Mortimer Paget was supposed to be one of the +richest men in the city, soon made her the fashion. Valentine +Paget, in her first season, was spoken about, talked +over, acknowledged to be a beauty, and had, of course, +plenty of lovers.</p> + +<p>No one could have taken a daughter's success with +more apparent calmness than did her father. He never +interfered with her—he never curbed her light and graceful, +although somewhat eccentric, ways; but when any particular +young man had paid her marked attention for more +than two nights running, had anyone watched closely they +might have seen a queer, alert, anxious look come into the +fine old face. The sleepy brown eyes would awake, and +be almost eagle-like in the keenness of their glance. No +one knew how it was done, but about that possible suitor +inquiries of the closest and most delicate nature were +instantly set on foot; and as these inquiries, from Mr. +Paget's point of view, in each case proved eminently +unsatisfactory, when next the ardent lover met the beauti<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>ful +Miss Paget, a thin but impenetrable wall of ice seemed +to have started up between them. Scarcely any of Valentine's +lovers came to the point of proposing for her; +they were quietly shelved, they scarcely knew how, long +before matters arrived at this crisis. Young men who in +all respects seemed eligible of the eligible—men with good +names and rent-rolls, alike were given a sort of invisible +<i>congé</i>. The news was therefore received as a most startling +piece of information at the end of Valentine's first season, +that she was engaged, with the full consent and approval +of her most fastidious father, to about the poorest man of +her acquaintance.</p> + +<p>Gerald Wyndham was the only son of a country clergyman—he +was young, only twenty-two; he was spoken about +as clever, but in the eyes of Valentine's friends seemed to +have no one special thing to entitle him to aspire to the +hand of one of the wealthiest and most beautiful girls of +their acquaintance.</p> + +<p>It was reported among Mr. Paget's friends that this +excellent, honorable and worthy gentleman must surely +have taken leave of his senses, for Gerald Wyndham had +literally not a penny, and before his engagement to Valentine, +the modest career opening up before him was that of +Holy Orders in one of its humblest walks.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> + + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + + +<p>Wyndham before his engagement was one of the most +boyish of men. All the sunshine, the petting, the warmth, +the love, which encircled him as the prime favorite of many +sisters and an adoring father at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, +seemed to have grown into his face. His deep grey-blue +changeful eyes were always laughing—he was witty, and he +said witty and laughable things by the score. The young +man had plenty of talent, and a public school and university +education had developed these abilities to a fine point of +culture. His high spirits, and a certain Irish way which he +inherited from his mother, made him a universal favorite, +but at all times he had his grave moments. A look, a word +would change that beaming, expressive face, bring sadness +to the eyes, and seriousness to the finely curved lips. The +shadows passed as quickly as they came. Before Wyndham +met Valentine they were simply indications of the +sensitiveness of a soul which was as keenly strung to pain +as to joy.</p> + +<p>It is a trite saying that what is easily attained is esteemed +of little value. Valentine found lovers by the score; in +consequence, the fact of a man paying her attention, looking +at her with admiration, and saying pretty nothings in +her ear, gave her before her first season was over only a +slightly added feeling of ennui. At this juncture in her +life she was neither in love with her lovers nor with society. +She was younger than most girls when they make their +entrance into the world, and she would infinitely have +preferred the sort of half school-room, half nursery existence +she used to lead. She yawned openly and wished for bed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +when she was dragged out night after night, and when fresh +suitors appeared she began really to regard them as a +weariness to the flesh.</p> + +<p>Gerald Wyndham did not meet Valentine in quite the +ordinary fashion.</p> + +<p>On a certain hot day in July, she had been absolutely +naughty, the heat had enervated her, the languor of summer +was over her, and after a late dinner, instead of going dutifully +upstairs to receive some final touches from her maid, +before starting for a great crush at the house of a city +magnate near by, she had flown away to the library, turned +on the electric light, and mounting the book-ladder +perched herself on her favorite topmost rung, took down +her still more favorite "Evelina," and buried herself in its +fascinating pages. Past and present were both alike forgotten +by the young reader, she hated society for herself, +but she loved to read of Evelina's little triumphs, and Lord +Orville was quite to her taste.</p> + +<p>"If I could only meet a man like him," she murmured, +flinging down her book, and looking across the old library +with her starry eyes, "Oh, father, dear, how you startled +me! Now, listen, please. I will not go out to-night—I am +sleepy—I am tired—I am yawning dreadfully. Oh, what +have I said?—how rude of you, sir, to come and startle +me in that fashion!"</p> + +<p>For Valentine's light words had not been addressed to +Mr. Paget, but to a young man in evening dress, a perfect +stranger, who came into the room, and was now looking up +and actually laughing at her.</p> + +<p>"How rude of you," said Valentine, and she began hastily +to descend from her elevated position. In doing so she +slipped, and would have fallen if Wyndham had not come +to the rescue, coolly lifting the enraged young lady into his +arms and setting her on the floor.</p> + +<p>"Now I will beg your pardon as often as you like," he +said. "I was shown in here by a servant. I am waiting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +for Mr. Paget—I was introduced to him this morning—my +father turns out to be an old friend, and he was good enough +to ask me to go with you both to the Terrells to-night."</p> + +<p>"Delightful!" said Valentine. "I'll forgive you, of +course; you'll take the dear old man, and I'll stay snugly +at home. I'm so anxious to finish 'Evelina.' Have you +ever read the book?—Don't you love Lord Orville?"</p> + +<p>"No, I love Evelina best," replied Gerald.</p> + +<p>The two pairs of eyes met, both were full of laughter, and +both pairs of lips were indulging in merry peals of mirth +when Mr. Paget entered the room.</p> + +<p>"There you are, Val," he said. "You have introduced +yourself to Wyndham. Quite right. Now, was there ever +anything more provoking? I have just received a telegram." +Here Mr. Paget showed a yellow envelope. "I +must meet a business man at Charing Cross in an hour, on +a matter of some importance. I can't put it off, and so. +Val, I don't see how I am to send you to the Terrells all +alone. It is too bad—why, what is the matter, child?"</p> + +<p>"Too delightful, you mean," said Valentine. "I wasn't +going. I meant to commit high treason to-night. I was quite +determined to—now I needn't. Do you mean to go to the +Terrells by yourself, Mr. Wyndham?"</p> + +<p>"The pleasure held out was to go with you and your +father," responded Wyndham, with an old-fashioned bow, +and again that laughing look in his eyes.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget's benevolent face beamed all over.</p> + +<p>"Go up to the drawing-room, then, young folks, and +amuse yourselves," he said. "Our good friend, Mrs. Johnstone, +will bear you company. Val, you can sing something +to Wyndham to make up for his disappointment. +She sings like a bird, and is vain of it, little puss. Yes, go +away, both of you, and make the best of things."</p> + +<p>"The best of things is to remain here," said Valentine. +"I hate the drawing-room, and that dear, good Mrs. Johnstone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +if she must act chaperon, can bring her knitting down +here. I am so sorry for you, Mr. Wyndham, but I don't +mean to sing a single song to-night. Had you not better +go to the Terrells?"</p> + +<p>"No, I mean to stay and read 'Evelina,'" replied the +obdurate young man.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget laughed again.</p> + +<p>"I will send our good friend, Mrs. Johnstone, to make +tea for you," he said, and he hurried out of the room.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></p> + + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + + +<p>This was the very light and airy beginning of a friendship +which was to ripen into serious and even appalling results. +Wyndham was a man who found it very easy to make girls +like him. He had so many sisters of his own that he understood +their idiosyncrasies, and knew how to humor their +little failings, how to be kind to their small foibles, and how +to flatter their weaknesses. More than one girl had fallen +in love with this handsome and attractive young man. +Wyndham was aware of these passionate attachments, but +as he could not feel himself particularly guilty in having +inspired them, and as he did not in the slightest degree +return them, he did not make himself unhappy over what +could not be cured. It puzzled him not a little to know +why girls should be so silly, and how hearts could be so +easily parted with—he did not know when he questioned +his own spirit lightly on the matter that the day of retribution +was at hand. He lost his own heart to Valentine without +apparently having made the smallest impression upon +this bright and seemingly volatile girl.</p> + +<p>On that very first night in the old library Wyndham left +his heart at the gay girl's feet. He was seriously in love. +Before a week was out he had taken the malady desperately, +and in its most acute form. It was then that a +change came over his face, it was then for the first time +that he became aware of the depths of his own nature. +Great abysses of pain were opened up to him—he found +himself all sensitiveness, all nerves. He had been proud +of his rather athletic bringing-up, of his intellectual training. +He had thought poorly of other men who had given<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +up all for the sake of a girl's smile, and for the rather +doubtful possession of a girl's fickle heart. He did not +laugh at them any longer. He spent his nights pacing his +room, and his days haunting the house at Queen's Gate. If +he could not go in he could linger near the house. He could +lounge in the park and see Valentine as she drove past, +and nodded and smiled to him brightly. His own face +turned pale when she gave him those quick gay glances. +She was absolutely heart-whole—a certain intuition told him +this, whereas he—he found himself drivelling into a state +bordering on idiotcy.</p> + +<p>Almost all men have gone through similar crises, but +Wyndham at this time was making awful discoveries. He +was finding out day by day the depths of weakness as well +as pain within him.</p> + +<p>"I'm the greatest fool that ever breathed," he would say +to himself. "What would Lilias say if she saw me now? +How often she and I have laughed over this great momentous +matter—how often we have declared that we at least +would never lose ourselves in so absurd a fashion. Poor +Lilias, I suppose her turn will come as mine has come—I +cannot understand myself—I really must be raving mad. +How dare I go to Mr. Paget and ask him to give me Valentine? +I have not got a halfpenny in the world. This +money in my pocket is my father's—I have to come to him +for every sixpence! I am no better off than my little sister +Joan. When I am ordained, and have secured the curacy +of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, I shall have exactly £160 a +year. A large sum truly. And yet I want to marry Valentine +Paget—the youngest heiress of the season—the most +beautiful—the most wealthy! Oh, of course I must be mad—quite +mad. I ought to shun her like the plague. She +does not in the least care for me—not in the least. I often +wonder if she has got a heart anywhere. She acts as a sort +of siren to me—luring me on—weakening and enfeebling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +my whole nature. She is a little flirt in her way, but an +unconscious one. She means nothing by that bright look +in her eyes, and that sparkling smile, and that gay clear +laugh. I wonder if any other man has felt as badly about +her as I do. Oh, I ought to shun her—I am simply mad +to go there as I do. When I get an invitation—when I have +the ghost of a chance of seeing her—it seems as if thousands +of invisible ropes pulled me to her side. What is to come +of it all? Nothing—nothing but my own undoing. I can +never marry her—and yet I must—I will. I would go +through fire and water to hold her to my heart for a moment. +There, I must have been quite mad when I said that—I +didn't mean it. I'm sane now, absolutely sane. I know +what I'll do. I won't dine there to-night. I'll send an +excuse, and I'll run down to the old rectory until Monday, +and get Lilias to cure me."</p> + +<p>The infatuated young man seized a sheet of notepaper, +dashed off an incoherent and decidedly lame excuse to +Mr. Paget, and trembling with fear that his resolution +would fail him even at the eleventh hour, rushed out and +dropped the letter into the nearest pillar-box. This action +was bracing, he felt better, and in almost gay spirits, for +his nature was wonderfully elastic. He took the next train +to Jewsbury, and arrived unexpectedly at the pleasant old +rectory late on Saturday evening.</p> + +<p>The man who is made nothing of in one place, and finds +himself absolutely the hero of the hour in another, cannot +help experiencing a very soothed sensation. Valentine +Paget had favored Gerald with the coolest of nods, the +lightest of words, the most indifferent of actions. She met +him constantly, she was always stumbling up against him, +and when she wanted him to do anything for her she issued +a brief and lordly command. Her abject slave flew to do +her bidding.</p> + +<p>Now at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold the slave was in the position +of master, and he could not help enjoying the change.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Augusta, wheel that chair round for Gerald. Sit there. +Gerald, darling—oh, you are in a draught. Shut the door, +please, Marjory. Joan, run to the kitchen, and tell Betty +to make some of Gerald's favorite cakes for supper. Is +your tea quite right, Gerry; have you sugar enough—and—and +cream?"</p> + +<p>Gerald briefly expressed himself satisfied. Lilias was +superintending the tea-tray with a delicate flush of pleasure +on her cheeks, and her bright eyes glancing moment by +moment in admiration at her handsome brother. Marjory +had placed herself on a footstool at the hero's feet, and +Augusta, tall and gawky, all stockinged-legs, and abnormally +thin long arms, was standing at the back of his +chair, now and then venturing to caress one of his crisp +light waves of hair with the tips of her fingers.</p> + +<p>"It is too provoking!" burst from Marjory,—"you +know, Lilias, we can't put Gerald into his old room, it is +being papered, and you haven't half-finished decorating the +door. Gerry, darling, you might have let us know you +were coming and we'd have worked at it day and night. +Do you mind awfully sleeping in the spare room? We'll +promise to make it as fresh as possible for you?"</p> + +<p>"I'll—I'll—fill the vases with flowers—" burst spasmodically +from Augusta. "Do you like roses or hollyhocks +best in the tall vases on the mantel-piece, Gerry?"</p> + +<p>"By the way, Gerald," remarked the rector, who was +standing leaning against the mantel-piece, gazing complacently +at his son and daughters, "I should like to ask +your opinion with regard to that notice on Herring's book +in the <i>Saturday</i>. Have you read it? It struck me as over +critical, but I should like to have your opinion."</p> + +<p>So the conversation went on, all adoring, all making much +of the darling of the house. Years afterwards, Gerald +Wyndham remembered that summer's evening, the scent +of the roses coming in at the open window, the touch of +Marjory's little white hand as it rested on his knee, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +kind of half-irritated, half-pleased thrill which went through +him when Augusta touched his hair, the courteous and +proud look on the rector's face when he addressed him, +above all the glow of love in Lilias' beautiful eyes. He +remembered that evening—he was not likely ever to forget +it, for it was one of the last of his happy boyhood, before +he took upon him his manhood's burden of sin and sorrow +and shame.</p> + +<p>After tea Lilias and Gerald walked about the garden arm-in-arm.</p> + +<p>"I am going to confess something to you," said the +brother. "I want your advice, Lilly. I want you to cure +me, by showing me that I am the greatest fool that ever +lived."</p> + +<p>"But you are not, Gerald; I can't say it when I +look up to you, and think there is no one like you. You +are first in all the world to me—you know that, don't +you?"</p> + +<p>"Poor Lil, that is just the point—that is where the arrow +will pierce you. I am going to aim a blow at you, dear. +Take me down from your pedestal at once—I love someone +else much, much better than I love you."</p> + +<p>Lilias' hand as it rested on Gerald's arm trembled very +slightly. He looked at her, and saw that her lips were +moving, and that her eyes were looking downwards. +She did not make any audible sound, however, and he went +on hastily:—</p> + +<p>"And you and I, we always promised each other that +such a day should not come—no wonder you are angry +with me, Lil."</p> + +<p>"But I'm not, dear Gerald—I just got a nasty bit of +jealous pain for a minute, but it is over. I always knew +that such a day would come, that it would have to come—if +not for me, at least for you. Tell me about her, Gerry. +Is she nice—is she half—or a quarter nice enough for +you?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then Gerald launched into his subject, forgetting what +he supposed could only be a very brief sorrow on Lilias' +part in the enthralling interest of his theme. Valentine +Paget would not have recognized the portrait which was +drawn of her, for this young and ardent lover crowned her +with all that was noble, and decked her with attributes +little short of divine.</p> + +<p>"I am absolutely unworthy of her," he said in conclusion, +and when Lilias shook her head, and refused to +believe this latter statement, he felt almost angry with +her.</p> + +<p>The two walked about and talked together until darkness +fell, but, although they discussed the subject in all its +bearings, Gerald felt by no means cured when he retired to +rest, while Lilias absolutely cried herself to sleep.</p> + +<p>Marjory and she slept in little white beds, side by side.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lil, what's the matter?" exclaimed the younger +sister, disturbed out of her own sweet slumbers by those +unusual tokens of distress.</p> + +<p>"Nothing much," replied Lilias, "only—only—I am a +little lonely—don't ask me any questions, Maggie, I'll be +all right in the morning."</p> + +<p>Marjory was too wise to say anything further, but she +lay awake herself and wondered. What could ail Lilias?—Lilias, +the brightest, the gayest of them all. Was she +fretting about their mother. But it was seven years now +since the mother had been taken away from the rectory +children, and Lilias had got over the grief which had nearly +broken her child-heart at the time.</p> + +<p>Marjory felt puzzled and a little fearful,—the evening before +had been so sweet,—Gerald had been so delightful. +Surely in all the world there was not a happier home than +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. Why should Lilias cry, and say +that she was lonely?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + + +<p>On Monday morning Wyndham returned to town. His +father had strained a point to give his only son the season in +London, and Gerald was paying part of the expenses by +coaching one or two young fellows for the next Cambridge +term. He had just concluded his own University course, +and was only waiting until his twenty-third birthday had +passed, to be ordained for the curacy which his father was +keeping for him. Gerald's birthday would be in September, +and the rectory girls were looking forward to this date +as though it were the beginning of the millennium.</p> + +<p>"Even the cats won't fight, nor the dogs bark when +Gerald is in the room," whispered little Joan. "I 'spect +they know he don't like it."</p> + +<p>Wyndham returned to London feeling both low and excited. +His conversation with Lilias and the rather pallid +look of her face, the black shadows under her eyes, and +the pathetic expression which the shedding of so many +tears had given to them, could not cure him nor extinguish +the flame which was burning into his heart, and making all +the other good things of life seem but as dust and ashes to +his taste.</p> + +<p>He arrived in town, went straight to his lodgings, preparatory +to keeping his engagement with one of his young +pupils, and there saw waiting for him a letter in the firm +upright handwriting of Mortimer Paget. He tore the +envelope open in feverish haste. The lines within were +very few:—</p> + +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Dear Wyndham</span>.</p> + +<p>Val and I were disappointed at your not putting in an appearance at +her dinner-party last night, but no doubt you had good reasons for going +in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>to the country. This note will meet you on your return. Can you +come and lunch with me in the City on Monday at two o'clock? Come +to my place in Billiter-square. I shall expect you and won't keep you +waiting. I have a matter of some importance I should like to discuss +with you.—Yours, my dear Wyndham, sincerely,</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +"<span class="smcap">Mortimer Paget</span>."<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Wyndham put the letter into his pocket, flew to keep +his appointment with his pupil, and at two o'clock precisely +was inquiring for Mr. Paget at the offices of the shipping +firm in Billiter-square.</p> + +<p>Mortimer Paget was now head of the large establishment. +He was the sole surviving partner out of many, and on him +alone devolved the carrying out of one of the largest +business concerns in the city.</p> + +<p>Wyndham never felt smaller than when he entered those +great doors, and found himself passed on from one clerk +to another, until at last he was admitted to the ante-room +of the chief himself.</p> + +<p>Here there was a hush and stillness, and the young man +sank down into one of the easy chairs, and looked around +him expectantly. He was in the ante chamber of one of +the great kings of commerce, the depressing influence of +wealth when we have no share in it came over him. He +longed to turn and fly, and but that his fingers, even now, +fiddled with Mr. Paget's very pressing note he would have +done so. What could the great man possibly want with +him? With his secret in his breast, with the knowledge +that he, a poor young expectant curate, had dared to lift +up his eyes to the only daughter of this great house, he +could not but feel ill at ease.</p> + +<p>When Wyndham was not at home with any one he instantly +lost his charm. He was painfully conscious of this +himself, and felt sure that he would be on stilts while he ate +his lunch with Mr. Paget. Nay more, he was almost sure +that that astute personage would read his secret in his eyes.</p> + +<p>A clerk came into the room, an elderly man, with reddish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +whiskers, small, deep-set eyes, and thin hair rapidly +turning white. He stared inquisitively at young Wyndham, +walked past him, drew up the blinds, arranged some papers +on the table, and then as he passed him again said in a quick, +half-frightened aside:</p> + +<p>"If I was you, young man, I'd go."</p> + +<p>The tone in which this was said was both anxious and +familiar. Wyndham started aside from the familiarity. +His face flushed and he gazed haughtily at the speaker.</p> + +<p>"Did you address me?" he said.</p> + +<p>"I did, young man, don't say nothing, for the good +Lord's sake, don't say nothing. My name is Jonathan +Helps. I have been here man and boy for close on forty +years. I know the old house. Sound! no house in the +whole city sounder, sound as a nut, or as an apple when +<i>it's rotten at the core</i>. You keep that to yourself, young +man—why I'd venture every penny I have in this yer establishment. +I'm confidential clerk here! I'm a rough +sort—and not what you'd expect from a big house, nor +from a master like Mr. Paget. Now, young man, you go +away, and believe that there ain't a sounder house in all the +city than that of Paget, Brake and Carter. I, Jonathan +Helps, say it, and surely I ought to know."</p> + +<p>An electric bell sounded in the other room. Wiping his +brow with his handkerchief as though the queer words he +had uttered had cost him an effort, Helps flew to answer +the summons.</p> + +<p>"Ask Mr. Wyndham to walk in and have lunch served +in my room," said an authoritative voice. "And see here. +Helps, you are not to disturb us on any excuse before +three o'clock."</p> + +<p>Shutting the door behind him, Helps came back again +to Gerald's side.</p> + +<p>"If you don't want to run away at once you're to go in +there," he said. "Remember, there isn't a sounder house +in all London than that of Paget, Brake and Carter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +Paget's head of the whole concern now. Don't he boss +it over us though! Oh, you're going in?—you've made +up your mind not to run away. Surely in vain is the net +spread in the sight of any bird. Good Lord, if that ain't +the least true word that David ever writ. Well, here you +are. Don't forget that this house is sound—sound as an +apple when it is—Mr. Wyndham, sir."</p> + +<p>"You seem to have got a very extraordinary clerk," +said Gerald, when he had shaken hands with his host, who +had expressed himself delighted to see him.</p> + +<p>"Helps?" responded Mr. Paget. "Yes, poor fellow—has +he been entertaining you—telling you about the soundness +of the house, eh? Poor Helps—the best fellow in the +world, but just a little—a very little—touched in the head."</p> + +<p>"So I should think," said Gerald, laughing; "he compared +me to a bird in the fowler's net, and all kinds of +ridiculous similes. What a snug room you have here."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you think it so. I have a still snugger +room at the other side of this curtain, which I hope to +introduce to you. Come along and see it. This was furnished +at Val's suggestion. She comes here to have lunch +with me once a week. Friday is her day. Will you come +and join us here next Friday at two o'clock?"</p> + +<p>"I—I shall be delighted," stammered Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"She has good taste, hasn't she, little puss? All these +arrangements are hers. I never saw any one with a better +eye for color, and she has that true sympathy with her +surroundings which teaches her to adapt rooms to their +circumstances. Now, for instance, at Queen's Gate we +are all cool greys and blues—plenty of sunshine comes +into the house at Queen's Gate. Into this room the sun +never shows his face. Val accordingly substitutes for his +brightness golden tones and warm colors. Artistic, is it +not? She is very proud of the remark which invariably +falls from the lips of each person who visits this sanct<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>um +sanctorum, that it does not look the least like an office."</p> + +<p>"Nor does it," responded Gerald. "It is a lovely +room. What a beautiful portrait that is of your daughter—how +well those warm greys suit her complexion."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is Richmond's, he painted her two years ago. +Sit down at this side of the table, Wyndham, where you +can have a good view of the saucy puss. Does she not +look alive, as if she meant to say something very impertinent +to us both. Thanks, Helps, you can leave us now. +Pray see that we are not disturbed."</p> + +<p>Helps withdrew with noiseless slippered feet. A curtain +was drawn in front of the door, which the clerk closed +softly after him.</p> + +<p>"Excellent fellow, Helps," said Mr. Paget, "but mortal, +decidedly mortal. If you will excuse me, Wyndham. +I will take the precaution of turning the key in that door. +This little room, Val's room, I call it, has often been privileged +to listen to state secrets. That being the case one +must take due precautions against eaves-droppers. Now, +my dear fellow, I hope you are hungry. Help yourself to +some of those cutlets—I can recommend this champagne."</p> + +<p>The lunch proceeded, the elder man eating with real +appetite, the younger with effort. He was excited, his +mind was full of trouble—he avoided looking at Valentine's +picture, and wished himself at the other side of those +locked doors.</p> + +<p>"You don't seem quite the thing," said Mr. Paget, +presently. "I hope you have had no trouble at home. +Wyndham. Is your father well? Let me see, he must be +about my age—we were at Trinity College, Cambridge, +some time in the forties."</p> + +<p>"My father is very well, sir," said Gerald. "He is a +hale man, he does not look his years."</p> + +<p>"Have some more champagne? I think you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> told me +you had several sisters."</p> + +<p>"Yes, there are seven girls at home."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens—Wyndham is a lucky man. Fancy +seven Valentines filling a house with mirth! And you are +the only son—and your mother is dead."</p> + +<p>"My mother is not living," responded Wyndham with a +flush. "And—yes, I am the only son. I won't have any +more champagne, thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>"Try one of these cigars—I can recommend them. +Wyndham, I am going to say something very frank. I +have taken a fancy to you. There, I don't often take +fancies. Why, what is the matter, my dear fellow?"</p> + +<p>Gerald had suddenly risen to his feet, his face was +white. There was a strained, eager, pained look in his +eyes.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't, if you knew," he stammered. "I—I +have made a fool of myself, sir. I oughtn't to be sitting +here, your hospitality chokes me. I—I have made the +greatest fool of myself in all Christendom, sir."</p> + +<p>"I think I know what you mean," said Mr. Paget, also +rising to his feet. His voice was perfectly calm, quiet, +friendly.</p> + +<p>"I am not sorry you have let it out in this fashion, my +poor lad. You have—shall I tell you that I know your +secret, Wyndham?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir; don't let us talk of it. You cannot rate me +for my folly more severely than I rate myself. I'll go away +now if you have no objection. Thank you for being kind +to me. Try and forget that I made an ass of myself."</p> + +<p>"Sit down again, Wyndham. I am not angry—I don't +look upon you as a fool. I should have done just the +same were I in your shoes. You are in love with Valentine—you +would like to make her your wife."</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, sir, don't let us say anything more +about it."</p> + +<p>"Why not? <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>Under certain conditions I think you +would make her a suitable husband. I guessed your secret +some weeks ago. Since then I have been watching you +carefully. I have also made private inquiries about you. +All that I hear pleases me. I asked you to lunch with me, +to-day, on purpose that we should talk the matter over."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget spoke in a calm, almost drawling, voice. The +young man opposite to him, his face deadly white, his +hands nervously clutching at a paper-knife, his burning +eyes fixed upon the older man's face, drank in every word. +It was an intoxicating draught, going straight to Gerald +Wyndham's brain.</p> + +<p>"God bless you!" he said, when the other had ceased +to speak. He turned his head away, for absolute tears of +joy had softened the burning feverish light in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"No, don't say that, Wyndham," responded Mr. Paget, +his own voice for the first time a little shaken. "We'll +leave God altogether out of this business, if you have no +objection. It is simply a question of how much a man +will give up for love. Will he sell himself, body and soul, +for it? That is the question of questions. I know all +about you, Wyndham; I know that you have not a penny to +bless yourself with; I know that you are about to embrace +a beggarly profession. Oh, yes, we'll leave out the religious +aspect of the question. A curacy in the Church of +England is a beggarly profession in these days. I know +too that you are your father's only son, and that you have +seven sisters, who will one day look to you to protect them. +I know all that; nevertheless I believe you to be the kind +of man who will dare all for love. If you win Valentine, +you have got to pay a price for her. It is a heavy one—I +won't tell you about it yet. When you agree to pay +this price, for the sake of a brief joy for yourself, for +necessarily it must be brief; and for her life-long good +and well-being, then you rise to be her equal in every +sense of the word, and you earn my undying gratitude. +Wyndham."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't understand you, sir. You speak very darkly, +and you hint at things which—which shock me."</p> + +<p>"I must shock you more before you hold Valentine in +your arms. You have heard enough for to-day. Hark, +someone is knocking at the door."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget rose to open it, a gay voice sounded in the +passage, and the next moment a brilliant, lovely apparition +entered the room.</p> + +<p>"Val herself!" exclaimed her father. "No, my darling. +I cannot go for a drive with you just now, but you and +Mrs. Johnstone shall take Wyndham. You will like a drive +in the park, Wyndham. You have got to scold this young +man, Val, for acting truant on Saturday night. Now go +off, both of you, I am frightfully busy. Yes, Helps, coming, +coming. Valentine, be sure you ask Mr. Wyndham +home to tea. If you can induce him to dine, so much the +better, and afterwards we can go to the play together."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + + +<p>On a certain evening about ten days after the events related +in the last chapter, Valentine Paget and her father +were seated together in the old library. Good-natured +Mrs. Johnstone had popped in her head at the door, but +seeing the girl's face bent over a book, and Mr. Paget apparently +absorbed in the advertisement sheet of the <i>Times</i>, +she had discreetly withdrawn.</p> + +<p>"They look very snug," soliloquized the widowed and +childless woman with a sigh. "I wonder what Mortimer +Paget will do when that poor handsome Mr. Wyndham +proposes for Val? I never saw anyone so far gone. Even +my poor Geoffrey long ago, who said his passion consumed +him to tatters—yes, these were poor dear Geoffrey's very +words—was nothing to Mr. Wyndham. Val is a desperately +saucy girl—does not she see that she is breaking that +poor fellow's heart? Such a nice young fellow, too. He +looks exactly the sort of young man who would commit +suicide. Dear me, what is the world coming to? That +girl seems not in the very least troubled about the matter. +How indifferent and easy-going she is! I know <i>I</i> could +not calmly sit and read a novel when I knew that I was +consuming the vitals out of poor dear Geoffrey. But it's +all one to Val. I am very much afraid that girl is developing +into a regular flirt. How she did go on and amuse +herself with Mr. Carr at the cricket match to-day. Adrian +Carr has a stronger face than poor young Wyndham—not +half as devoted to Val—I doubt if he even admires her, +and yet how white Gerald Wyndham turned when he +walked her off across the field. Poor Val—it is a great +pity Mr. Paget spoils her so dreadfully. It is plain to be +seen she has never had the advantage of a mother's bring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>ing +up."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Johnstone entered the beautifully-furnished drawing-room, +seated herself by the open window, and taking +up the third volume of a novel, soon forgot Valentine's +love affairs.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile that young lady with her cheeks pressed on +her hands, and her eyes devouring the final pages of "Jane +Eyre," gave no thought to any uncomfortable combinations. +Her present life was so full and happy that she did +not, like most girls, look far ahead—she never indulged in +day-dreams, and had an angel come to her with the promise +of any golden boon she liked to ask for, she would +have begged of him to leave her always as happy as she +was now.</p> + +<p>She came to the last page of her book, and, drumming +with her little fingers on the cover, she raised her eyes in +a half-dreaming fashion.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget had dropped his sheet of the <i>Times</i>—his hand +had fallen back in the old leathern armchair—his eyes were +closed—he was fast asleep.</p> + +<p>In his sleep this astute and careful and keen man of +business dropped his mask—the smiling smooth face +showed wrinkles, the gay expression was succeeded by a +careworn look—lines of sadness were about the mouth, and +deep crow's-feet wrinkled and aged the expression round the +eyes.</p> + +<p>The mantle of care had never yet touched Valentine. +For the first time in all her life a pang of keen mental pain +went through her as she gazed at her sleeping father. For +the first time in her young existence the awful possibility +stared her in the face that some time she might have to live +in a cold and dreary world without him.</p> + +<p>"Why, my father looks quite old," she half stammered. +"Old, and—yes, unhappy. What does it mean?"</p> + +<p>She rose very gently, moved her chair until <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>it touched +his, and then nestling up close to him laid her soft little +hand on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>Paget slept on, and the immediate contact of Valentine's +warm, loving presence, made itself felt in his dreams—his +wrinkles disappeared, and his handsome lips again half +smiled. Val laid her hand on his—she noticed the altered +expression, and her slightly roused fears slumbered. There +was no one to her like her father. She had made a mistake +just then in imagining that he looked old and unhappy. +No people in all the world were happier than he and she. +He was not old—he was the personification in her eyes of +all that was manly and strong and beautiful.</p> + +<p>The tired man slept on, and the girl, all her fears at rest, +began idly to review the events of the past day. There +had been gay doings during that long summer's afternoon, +and Valentine, in the prettiest of summer costumes, had +thoroughly enjoyed her life. She had spent some hours at +Lords, and had entered with zest into the interest of the +Oxford and Cambridge Cricket Match. She lay back in +her chair now with her eyes half closed, reviewing in a lazy +fashion the events of the bygone hours. A stalwart and +very attractive young man in cricketing flannels mingled +in these dreams. He spoke to her with strength and +decision. His dark eyes looked keenly into her face, he +never expressed the smallest admiration for her either by +look or gesture, but at the same time he had a way of +taking possession of her which roused her interest, and +which secured her approbation. She laughed softly to +herself now at some of the idle nothings said to her by +Adrian Carr, and she never once gave a thought to Wyndham, +who had also been at Lords.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + + +<p>"Val, child, what are you humming under your breath?" +said her father, suddenly rousing himself from his slumbers +and looking into his daughter's pretty face. "Your voice +is like that of a bird, my darling. I think it has gained in +sweetness a good deal lately. Have you and Wyndham +been practising much together. Wyndham has one of the +purest tenor voices I ever heard in an amateur."</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a worry Mr. Wyndham is," said Valentine, +rising from her seat and shaking out her muslin dress. +"Everybody talks to me of his perfections. I'm perfectly +tired of them. I wish he wouldn't come here so often. +No, I was not thinking of any of his songs. I was humming +some words Mr. Carr sings—'Bid me to Live'—you +know the words—I like Mr. Carr so much—don't you, +dad, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Adrian Carr—yes," replied Mr. Paget in a slow deliberate +voice. "Yes, a good sort of fellow, I've no doubt. I +heard some gossip about him at my club yesterday—what +was it? Oh, that he was engaged, or about to be engaged, +to Lady Mabel Pennant. You know the Pennants, don't +you, Val? Have you seen Lady Mabel? She is one of +the youngest, I think."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she's a fright," responded Valentine, with a decided +show of temper in her voice.</p> + +<p>Her face had flushed too, she could not tell why.</p> + +<p>"I did not know Lady Mabel was such a plain girl," +responded Mr. Paget drily. "At any rate it is a good connection +for Carr. He seems a fairly clever fellow. Valentine, +my child, I have something of importance to talk to +you about. Don't let us worry about Carr just now—I have +something to say to you, something that I'm troubled to +have to say. You love your old father very much, don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +you, darling?"</p> + +<p>"Love you, daddy! Oh, you know—need you ask? +I was frightened about you a few minutes ago, father. +When you were asleep just now, your face looked old, and +there were lines about it. It frightens me to think of you +ever growing old."</p> + +<p>"Sit close to me, my dear daughter. I have a great deal +to say. We will leave the subject of my looks just at +present. It is true that I am not young, but I may have +many years before me yet. It greatly depends on you."</p> + +<p>"On me, father?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I will explain to you by-and-bye. Now I want +to talk about yourself. You have never had a care all your +life, have you, my little Val?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so, daddy—at least only pin-pricks. You +know I used to hate my spelling lessons long ago, and +Mdlle. Lacount used to worry me over the French irregular +verbs. But such things were only pin-pricks. Yes, I am +seventeen, and I have never had a real care all my life."</p> + +<p>"You are seventeen and four months, Valentine. You +were born on the 14th of February, and your mother and +I called you after St. Valentine. Your mother died when +you were a week old. I promised her then that her baby +should never know a sorrow if I could help it."</p> + +<p>"You have helped it, daddy; I am as happy as the day +is long. I don't wish for a thing in the wide world. I just +want us both to live together as we are doing now. Of +course we will—why not? Shall we go up to the drawing-room +now, father?"</p> + +<p>"My dear child, in a little time. I have not said yet +what I want to say. Valentine, you were quite right when +you watched my face as I slumbered. Child, I have got a +care upon me. I can't speak of it to anybody—only it +could crush me—and—and—part us, Valentine. If it fell +upon you, it—it—would crush you, my child."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Paget rose. Valentine, deadly white and frightened, +clung to him. She was half crying. The effect of such +terrible and sudden words nearly paralyzed her; but when +she felt the arm which her father put round her tremble, +she made a valiant and brave effort—the tears which filled +her brown eyes were arrested, and she looked up with courage +in her face.</p> + +<p>"You speak of my doing something," she whispered. +"What is it? Tell me. Nothing shall part us. I don't +mind anything else, but nothing shall ever part us."</p> + +<p>"Val, I have not spoken of this care to any one but +you."</p> + +<p>"No, father."</p> + +<p>"And I don't show it in my face as a rule, do I?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! Oh, no! You always seem bright and cheerful."</p> + +<p>Her tears were raining fast now. She took his hand and +pressed it to her lips.</p> + +<p>"But I have had this trouble for some time, my little +girl."</p> + +<p>"You will tell me all about it, please, dad?"</p> + +<p>"No, my darling, you would not understand, and my +keenest pain would be that you should ever know. You +can remove this trouble, little Val, and then we need not +be parted. Now, sit down by my side."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget sank again into the leathern armchair. He +was still trembling visibly. This moment through which +he was passing was one of the most bitter of his life.</p> + +<p>"You will not breathe a word of what I have told you +to any mortal, Valentine?"</p> + +<p>"Death itself should not drag it from me," replied the +girl.</p> + +<p>She set her lips, her eyes shone fiercely. Then she looked +at her trembling father, and they glowed with love and +pity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can save you," she whispered, going on her knees +by his side. "It is lovely to think of saving you. What +can I do?"</p> + +<p>"My little Val—my little precious darling!"</p> + +<p>"What can I do to save you, father?"</p> + +<p>"Valentine, dear—you can marry Gerald Wyndham."</p> + +<p>Valentine had put her arms round her father's neck, now +they dropped slowly away—her eyes grew big and +frightened.</p> + +<p>"I don't love him," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, he loves you—he is a good fellow—he +will treat you well. If you marry him you need not be +parted from me. You and he can live together here—here, +in this house. There need be no difference at all, +except that you will have saved your father."</p> + +<p>Paget spoke with outward calmness, but the anxiety +under his words made them thrill. Each slowly uttered +sentence fell like a hammer of pain on the girl's head.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," she said again in a husky tone. +"I would, I will do anything to save you. But Mr. Wyndham +is poor and young—in some things he is younger than +I am. How can my marrying him take the load off your +heart, father? Father, dear, speak."</p> + +<p>"I can give you no reason, Valentine, you must take it +on trust. It is all a question of your faith in me. I do not +see any loophole of salvation but through you, my little +girl. If you marry Wyndham I see peace and rest ahead, +otherwise we are amongst the breakers. If you do this +thing for your old father, Valentine, you will have to do it +in the dark, for never, never, I pray, until Eternity comes, +must you know what you have done."</p> + +<p>Valentine Paget had always a delicate and bright color +in her cheeks. It was soft as the innermost blush of a rose, +and this delicate and lovely color was one of her chief +charms. Now it faded, leaving her young face pinched<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +and small and drawn. She sank down on the hearthrug, +clasping her hands in her lap, her eyes looking straight +before her.</p> + +<p>"I never wanted to marry," she said at last. "Certainly +not yet, for I am only a child. I am only seventeen, but +other girls of seventeen are old compared to me. When you +are only a child, it is dreadful to marry some one you don't +care about, and it is dreadful to do a deed in the dark. If you +trusted me, father—if you told me all the dreadful truth +whatever it is, it might turn me into a woman—an old +woman even—but it would be less bad than this. This +seems to crush me—and oh, it does frighten me so dreadfully."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget rose from his seat and walked up and down +the room.</p> + +<p>"You shan't be crushed or frightened," he said. "I +will give it up."</p> + +<p>"And then the blow will fall on <i>you</i>?"</p> + +<p>"I may be able to avert it. I will see. Forget what I +said to-night, little girl."</p> + +<p>Mortimer Paget's face just now was a good deal whiter +than his daughter's, but there was a new light in his eyes—a +momentary gleam of nobility.</p> + +<p>"I won't crush you, Val," he said, and he meant his +words.</p> + +<p>"And <i>I</i> won't crush <i>you</i>," said the girl.</p> + +<p>She went up to his side, and, taking his hand, slipped his +arm round her neck.</p> + +<p>"We will live together, and I will have perfect faith in +you, and I'll marry Mr. Wyndham. He is good—oh, yes, +he is good and kind; and if he did not love me so much, if +he did not frighten me with just being too loving when I +don't care at all, I might get on very well with him. Now +dismiss your cares, father. If this can save you, your little +Val has done it. Let us come up to the drawing-room.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +Mrs. Johnstone must think herself forsaken. Shall I sing +to you to-night, daddy, some of the old-fashioned songs? +Come, you have got to smile and look cheerful for Val's +sake. If I give myself up for you, you must do as much +for me. Come, a smile if you please, sir. 'Begone, dull +care.' You and I will never agree."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + + +<p>It was soon after this that Valentine Paget's world became +electrified with the news of her engagement. Wyndham +was congratulated on all sides, and those people who had +hitherto not taken the slightest notice of a rather boyish +and unpretentious young man, now found much to say in +his favor.</p> + +<p>Yes, he was undoubtedly good-looking—a remarkable +face, full of interest—he must be clever too—he looked it. +And then as to his youth—why was it that people a couple +of months ago had considered him a lad, a boy—why, he +was absolutely old for his two-and-twenty years. A grave +thoughtful man with a wonderfully sweet expression.</p> + +<p>It was plain to be seen that Wyndham, the expectant +curate of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and Wyndham, the promised +husband of Valentine Paget, were totally different +individuals. Wyndham's prospects were changed, so was +his appearance—so, in very truth, was the man himself.</p> + +<p>Where he had been too young he was now almost too +old, that was the principal thing outsiders noticed. But +at twenty-two one can afford such a change, and his gravity, +his seriousness, and a certain proud thoughtful look, which +could not be classified by any one as a sad look, was vastly +becoming to Wyndham.</p> + +<p>His future father-in-law could not make enough of him, +and even Valentine caught herself looking at him with a +shy pride which was not very far removed from affection.</p> + +<p>Wyndham had given up the promised curacy—this was +one of Mr. Paget's most stringent conditions. On the day +he married Valentine he was to enter the great shipping +firm of Paget, Brake and Carter as a junior partner, and in +the interim he went there daily to become acquainted—t<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>he +world said—with the ins and outs of his new profession.</p> + +<p>It was all a great step in the direction of fortune and +fame, and the Rectory people ought, of course, to have +rejoiced.</p> + +<p>They were curious and unworldly, however, at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, +and somehow the news of the great match +Gerald was about to contract brought them only sorrow and +distress. Lilias alone stood out against the storm of woe +which greeted the receipt of Wyndham's last letter.</p> + +<p>"It is a real trouble," she said, her voice shaking a good +deal; "but we have got to make the best of it. It is for +Gerald's happiness. It is selfish for us just to fret because +we cannot always have him by our side."</p> + +<p>"There'll be no millennium," said Augusta in a savage +voice. "I might have guessed it. That horrid selfish, selfish +girl has got the whole of our Gerald. I suppose he'll make +her happy, nasty, spiteful thing; but she has wrecked the +happiness of seven other girls—horrid creature! I might +have known there was never going to be a millennium. +Where are the dogs? Let me set them fighting. Get out of +that, madame puss—you and Rover and Drake will quarrel +now to the end of the chapter, for Gerald is never +coming home to live."</p> + +<p>Augusta's sentiments were warmly shared by the younger +girls, and to a great extent she even secured the sympathy +of Marjory and the rector.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand you, Lilias," said her pet sister. "I +thought you would have been the worst of us all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't," said Lilias, tears springing to her eyes. +"Don't you see, Marjory, that I really feel the worst, so I +must keep it all in? Don't let us talk it over, it is useless. +If Valentine makes Gerald happy I have not a word to say, +and if I am not glad I must pretend to be glad for his sake."</p> + +<p>"Poor old Lil!" said Marjory.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p>And after this little speech she teased her sister no +more.</p> + +<p>A fortnight after his engagement Gerald came to the rectory +for a brief visit. He was apparently in high spirits, +and never made himself more agreeable to his sisters. He +had no confidential talks, however, with Lilly, and they all +noticed how grave and quiet and handsome he had grown.</p> + +<p>"He's exactly like my idea of the god Apollo," remarked +Augusta. "No wonder that girl is in love with him. Oh, +couldn't I just pull her hair for her. I can't think how +Lilly sits by and hears Gerald praise her! I'd like to give +her a piece of my mind, and tell her what I think of her +carrying off our ewe-lamb. Yes, she's just like David in +the Bible, and I only wish I were the prophet Nathan, to +go and have it out with her!"</p> + +<p>Augusta was evidently mixed in her metaphors, for it +was undoubtedly difficult to compare the same person to +Apollo and a ewe-lamb. Nevertheless, she carried her +audience with her, and when now and then Gerald spoke of +Valentine he received but scant sympathy.</p> + +<p>On the day he went away, the rector called Lilias into +his study.</p> + +<p>"My dear," he said, "I want to have a little talk with +you. What do you think of all this? Has Gerald made +you many confidences? You and he were always great +chums. He was reserved with me, remarkably so, for he +was always such an open sort of a lad. But of course you +and he had it all out, my dear."</p> + +<p>"No, father," replied Lilias. "That is just it. We hadn't +anything out."</p> + +<p>"What—eh—nothing? And the boy is in love. Oh, +yes, anyone can see that—in love, and no confidences. +Then, my dear, I was afraid of it—now I am sure—there +must be something wrong. Gerald is greatly changed. +Lilias."</p> + +<p>"Yes," s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>aid Lilias. "I can't quite define the change, +but it is there."</p> + +<p>"My dear girl, he was a boy—now he is a man. I don't +say that he is unhappy, but he has a good weight of responsibility +on his shoulders. He was a rather heedless boy, +and in the matter of concealment or keeping anything back, +a perfect sieve. Now he's a closed book. Closed?—locked +I should say. Lilias, neither you nor I can understand +him. I wish to God your mother was alive!"</p> + +<p>"He told me," said Lilias, "that he had talked over +matters with you—that—that there was nothing much to +say—that he was perfectly satisfied, and that Valentine was +like no other girl in the wide world. To all intents and +purposes Gerald was a sealed book to me, father; but I +don't understand your considering him so, for he said that +he had spoken to you very openly."</p> + +<p>"Oh, about the arrangements between him and Paget. +Yes, I consider it a most unprecedented and extraordinary +sort of thing. Gerald gives up the Church, goes into Paget's +business—early next summer marries his daughter, and on +the day of his wedding signs the deeds of partnership. He +receives no salary—not so much as sixpence—but he and +his wife take up their abode at the Pagets' house in Queen's +Gate, Paget making himself responsible for all expenses. +Gerald, in lieu of providing his wife with a fortune, makes +a marriage settlement on her, and for this purpose is required +to insure his life very heavily—for thousands, I am +told—but the exact sum is not yet clearly defined. Paget +undertakes to provide for the insurance premium. I call +the whole thing unpleasant and derogatory, and I cannot +imagine how the lad has consented. Liberty? What will +he know of liberty when he is that rich fellow's slave? +Better love in a cottage, with a hundred a year, say I."</p> + +<p>"But, father, Mr. Paget would not have given Val to +Gerald to live in a cottage with her—and Gerald, he has +consented to this—this that you call degradation, because +he loves Val so very, very much."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I suppose so, child. I was in love once myself—your +mother was the noblest and most beautiful of women; that +lad is the image of her. Well, so he never confided in you. +Lil? Very strange, I call it very strange. I tell you what. +Lilias, I'll run up to town next week, and have a talk with +Paget, and see what sort of girl this is who has bewitched +the boy. That's the best way. I'll have a talk with Paget, +and get to the bottom of things. I used to know him long +ago at Trinity. Now run away, child. I must prepare my +sermon for to-morrow."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> + + +<p>At this period of her life Valentine was certainly not in +the least in love with the man to whom she was engaged—she +disliked caresses and what she was pleased to call +honeyed words of flattery. Wyndham, who found himself +able to read her moods like a book, soon learned to accommodate +himself to her wishes. He came to see her +daily, but he kissed her seldom—he never took her hand, +nor put his arm round her slim waist; they sat together +and talked, and soon discovered that they had many subjects +of interest in common—they both loved music, they +both adored novels and poetry. Wyndham could read +aloud beautifully, and at these times Valentine liked to lie +back in her easy chair and steal shy glances at him, and +wonder, as she never ceased to wonder, from morning to +night, why he loved her so much, and why her father +wanted her to marry him.</p> + +<p>If Valentine was cold to this young man, she was, however, +quite the opposite to the rector of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. +Mr. Wyndham came to town, and of course partook +of the hospitality of the house in Queen's Gate. In +Valentine's eyes the rector was old, older than her father—she +delighted for her father's sake in all old men, and being +really a very loveable and fascinating girl soon won the +rector's heart.</p> + +<p>"I'm not a bit surprised, Gerald," the good man said to +his son on the day of his return to his parish duties. +"She's a wilful lass, and has a spirit of her own, but she's +a good girl, too, and a sweet, and a young fellow might do +worse than lose his heart to her. Valentine is open as the +day, and when she comes to me as a daughter, I'll give +her a daughter's place in my heart. Yes, Valentine is all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +right enough, and I'll tell Lilias so, and put her heart at rest, +poor girl, but I'm not so sure about Paget. I think you +are putting yourself in a very invidious position, if you +will allow me to say so, my boy, coming into Paget's +house as a sort of dependent, even though you are his girl's +husband. I don't like the sound of it, and you won't care +for the position, Gerald, when you've experienced it for a +short time. However—oh, there's my train—yes, porter, +yes, two bugs and a rag—I mean two bags and a rug—Here, +this way, this way. Dear, dear, how confused one +gets! Yes, Gerald, what was I saying? Oh, of course +you're of age, my boy, you are at liberty to choose for +yourself. Yes, I like the girl thoroughly. God bless you. +Gerry; come down to the old place whenever you have a +spare Saturday."</p> + +<p>The younger Wyndham smiled in a very grave fashion, +saw to his father's creature comforts, as regarded wraps, +newspapers, etc., tipped the porter, who had not yet done +laughing at the reverend gentleman's mistake, and left the +station.</p> + +<p>He hailed a cab and drove at once to his future father-in-law's +business address. He was quite at home now in +the big shipping office, the several clerks regarding him +with mixed feelings of respect and envy. Gerald had a +gracious way with everyone, he was never distant with his +fellow-creatures, but there was also a slight indescribable +touch about him which kept those who were beneath him +in the social scale from showing the smallest trace of +familiarity. He was sympathetic, but he had a knack of +making those who came in contact with him treat him as a +gentleman. The clerks liked Wyndham, and with one exception +were extremely civil to him. Helps alone held +himself aloof from the new-comer, watching him far more +anxiously than the other clerks did, but, nevertheless, keeping +his own counsel, and daring whenever he had the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +opportunity to use covert words of warning.</p> + +<p>On his arrival, to-day, Wyndham sent a message to the +chief, asking to see him as soon as convenient. While he +waited in the ante-room, for in reality he had little or +nothing to do in the place, the door was opened to admit +another visitor, and then Adrian Carr, the young man whom +Valentine had once spoken of with admiration, stepped +across the threshold. The two young men were slightly +acquainted, and while they waited they chatted together.</p> + +<p>Carr was a great contrast to Wyndham—he was rather +short, but thin and wiry, without an atom of superfluous +flesh anywhere—his shoulders were broad, he was firmly +knit and had a very erect carriage. Wyndham, tall, loosely +built, with the suspicion of a stoop, looked frail beside the +other man. Wyndham's dark grey eyes were too sensitive +for perfect mental health. His face was pallid, but at times +it would flush vividly—his lips had a look of repression +about them—the whole attitude of the man to a very keen +observer was tense and watchful.</p> + +<p>Carr had dark eyes, closely cropped hair, a smooth face +but for his moustache, and a keen, resolute, bold glance. +He was not nearly as handsome as Wyndham, beside Wyndham +he might even have been considered commonplace, +but his every gesture, his every glance betokened the perfection +of mental health and physical vigor.</p> + +<p>After a few desultory nothings had been exchanged between +the two, Carr alluded to Wyndham's engagement, +and offered him his congratulations. He did this with a +certain guardedness of tone which caused Gerald to look +at him keenly.</p> + +<p>"Thank you—yes, I am very lucky," he replied. "But +can we not exchange good wishes, Carr? I heard a +rumor somewhere, that you also were about to be married."</p> + +<p>Carr laughed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> + +<p>"These rumors are always getting about," he said, "half +of them end in smoke. In my case you yourself destroyed +the ghost of the chance of such a possibility coming +about."</p> + +<p>"I? What do you mean?" said Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the least consequence. As matters have +turned out I am perfectly heart-whole, but the fact is, the +only girl I ever took the slightest fancy to is going to be +your wife. Oh, I am not in love with her! You stopped +me in time. I really only tell you this to show you how +much I appreciate the excellence of your taste."</p> + +<p>Wyndham did not utter a word, and just then Helps +came to say that Mr. Paget would see Mr. Carr for a few +moments. Carr instantly left the room, and Wyndham +went over to the dusty window, leant his elbow against one +of the panes, and peered out.</p> + +<p>Apparently there was nothing for him to see—the window +looked into a tiny square yard, in the centre of which +was a table, which contained a dish of empty peapods, and +two cabbages in a large basin of cold water. Not a soul +was in the yard, and Wyndham staring out ought in the +usual order of things soon to have grown weary of the +objects of his scrutiny. Far from that, his fixed gaze +seemed to see something of peculiar and intense interest. +When he turned away at last, his face was ghastly white, +and taking out his handkerchief he wiped some drops of +moisture from his forehead.</p> + +<p>"My master will see you now, sir," said Helps, in a +quiet voice. He had been watching Wyndham all the +time, and now he looked up at him with a queer significant +glance of sympathy.</p> + +<p>"Oh, ain't you a fool, young man?" he said. "Why, +nothing ain't worth what you're a-gwine through."</p> + +<p>"Is Carr gone?" asked Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, sir, he's a gent as k<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>nows what he's after. No +putting his foot into holes with him. He knows what +ground he'll walk on. Come along, sir, here you are."</p> + +<p>Helps always showed Wyndham into the chief's presence +with great parade. Mr. Paget was in a genial humor. When +he greeted the young man he actually laughed.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Gerald; sit down, my dear boy. Now, you'll +never guess what our friend Adrian Carr came to see me +about. 'Pon my word, it's quite a joke—you'll never guess +it, Gerald."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure of that, sir, I never guessed a riddle in my +life."</p> + +<p>Something in the hopeless tone in which these few words +were uttered made Mr. Paget cease smiling. He favored +Gerald with a lightning glance, then said quietly:</p> + +<p>"I suppose I ought not to have laughed, but somehow +I never thought Carr would have taken to the job. He +wants me to introduce him to your father, Gerald. He is +anxious to be ordained for the curacy which you have +missed. Fancy a man like Carr in the Church! He says +he never thought of such a profession until you put it into +his head—now he is quite keen after it. Well, perhaps he +will make an excellent clergyman—I rather fancy I should +like to hear him preach."</p> + +<p>"If I were you," said Gerald, "I would refuse to give +him that introduction."</p> + +<p>"Refuse to give it him! My dear boy, what do you +mean? I am not quite such a churl. Why, I have given it +him. I wrote a long letter to your excellent father, saying +all sorts of nice things about Carr, and he has taken it +away in his pocket. Her Majesty's post has the charge of +it by this time, I expect. What is the matter, Wyndham? +You look quite strange."</p> + +<p>"I feel it, sir—I don't like this at all. Carr and I have +got mixed somehow. He takes my curacy, and he confessed +that but for me he'd have gone in for Val. Now you see +what I mean. He oughtn't to have the curacy."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Paget looked really puzzled.</p> + +<p>"You are talking in a strange way, Gerald," he said. "If +poor Carr was unfortunate enough to fall in love with a +girl whom you have won, surely you don't grudge him that +poor little curacy too. My dear lad, you are getting positively +morbid. There, I don't think I want you for anything +special to day. Go home to Val—get her to cheer +your low spirits."</p> + +<p>"She cannot," replied Gerald. "You don't see, sir, +because you won't. Carr is not in love with Valentine, +and Valentine is not in love with him, but they both might +be. I have heard Val talk of him—once. I heard him +speak of her—to day. By-and-bye, sir—in the future, they +may meet. You know what I mean. Carr ought not to go to +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold—it is wrong. I will not allow it. I +will myself write to the rector. I will take the responsibility, +whoever gets my old berth it must not be Adrian +Carr."</p> + +<p>Wyndham rose as he spoke—he looked determined, all +trace of weakness or irresolution left his face. Paget had +never before seen this young man in his present mood. +Somehow the sight gave him intense pleasure. A latent +fear which he had scarcely dared to whisper even to his +own heart that Wyndham had not sufficient pluck for what +lay before him vanished now. He too rose to his feet, and +laid his hand almost caressingly on the lad's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"My boy, you have no cause to fear in this matter. In +the future I myself will take care of Valentine, but I love +you for your thoughtfulness, Gerald."</p> + +<p>"You need not, sir. I have something on my mind which +I must say now. I have entered into your scheme. I +have——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes—let me shut and lock the door, my boy."</p> + +<p>Wyndham, arrested in his speech, drew one or two h<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>eavy +breaths.</p> + +<p>He spoke again in a sort of panting way. His eyes grew +bright and almost wild.</p> + +<p>"I have promised you," he continued. "I'll go through +with it. It's a million times worse fate for me than if I had +killed someone, and then was hung up by the neck until I +died. That, in comparison to this, would be—well, like +the sting of a gnat. I'll go through with it, however, and +you need not be afraid that I'll change my mind. I do it +solely and entirely because I love your daughter, because +I believe that the touch of dishonor would blight her, +because unfortunately for herself she loves you better than +any other soul in the world. If she did not, if she gave +me even half of the great heart which she bestows upon +you, then I would risk all, and feel sure that dishonor and +poverty with me would be better than honor and riches +with you. You're a happy man during these last six weeks. +Mr. Paget. You have found your victim, and you see a +way of salvation for yourself, and a prosperous future for +Valentine. She won't grieve long—oh, no, not long for +the husband she never loved—but look here, you have to +guard her against the possibility in the future of falling in +love with another—of being won by another man, who will +ask her to be his wife and the mother of his children. +Though she does not love me, she must remain my widow +all her days, for if she does not, if I hear that she, thinking +herself free, is about to contract marriage with another, I +will return—yes, I will return from the dead—from the +grave, and say that it shall not be, and I will show all the +world that you are—what you have proved yourself to be +to me—a devil. That is all. I wanted to say this to you. +Carr has given me the opportunity. I won't see Val to-day, +for I am upset—to-morrow I shall have regained my +composure."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + + +<p>Wyndham was engaged to Valentine Paget very nearly a +year before their wedding. One of the young lady's stipulations +was that under no circumstances would she enter +into the holy estate of matrimony before she was eighteen. +Paget made no objection to this proviso on Val's part. +In these days he humored her slightest wish, and no happier +pair to all appearance could have been seen driving +in the Park, or riding in the Row, than this handsome +father and daughter.</p> + +<p>"What a beautiful expression he has," remarked many +people. And when they said this to the daughter she +smiled, and a sweet proud light came into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"My father is a darling," she would say. "No one +knows him as I do. I believe he is about the greatest and +the best of men."</p> + +<p>When Val made enthusiastic remarks of this kind. +Wyndham looked at her sorrowfully. She was very fond +of him by this time—he had learned to fit himself to her +ways, to accommodate himself to her caprices, and +although she frankly admitted that she could not for an +instant compare him to her father, she always owned that +she loved him next best, and that she thought it would be +a very happy thing to be his wife.</p> + +<p>No girl could look sweeter than Val when she made little +speeches of this kind, but they had always a queer effect +upon her lover, causing him to experience an excitement +which was scarcely joy, for nothing could have more fatally +upset Mr. Paget's plans than Valentine really to fall in love +with Wyndham.</p> + +<p>The wedding d<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>ay was fixed for the first week in July, +and Valentine was accompanied to the altar by no less than +eight bridesmaids. It was a grand wedding—quite one of +the events of the season, and those who saw it spoke of +the bride as beautiful, and of the bridegroom as a grave, +striking-looking man.</p> + +<p>If a man constantly practises self-repression there comes +a time when, in this special art, he almost reaches perfection. +Wyndham had come to this stage, as even Lilias, +who read her brother like a book, could see nothing amiss +with him on his wedding day. All, therefore, went merrily +on this auspicious occasion, and the bride and bridegroom +started for the continent amid a shower of blessings and +good wishes.</p> + +<p>"Gerald, dear, I quite forgive you," said Lilias, as at the +very last minute she put her arms round her brother's +neck.</p> + +<p>"What for, Lilly?" he asked, looking down at her.</p> + +<p>Then a shadow of great bitterness crossed the sunshine +of his face. He stooped and kissed her forehead.</p> + +<p>"You don't know my sin, so you cannot forgive it, Lilly," +he continued.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my darling, I know you," she said. "I don't +think you could sin. I meant that I have learned already +to love Valentine a little, and I am not surprised at your +choice. I forgive you fully, Gerald, for loving another girl +better than your sister Lilias. Good-bye, dear old Gerry. +God bless you!"</p> + +<p>"He won't do that, Lilly—he can't. Oh, forgive me, +dear, I didn't mean those words. Of course I'm the happiest +fellow in the world."</p> + +<p>Gerald turned away, and Lilias kissed Valentine, and +then watched with a queer feeling of pain at her heart as +the bridal pair amid cheers and blessings drove away.</p> + +<p>Gerald's last few words had renewed Lilias' anxiety. She +felt restless in the great, grand house, and longed to be +back in the rectory.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What's the matter, Lil?" said Marjory; "your face +is a yard long, and you are quite white and have dark lines +under your eyes. For my part I did not think Gerald's +wedding would be half so jolly, and what a nice unaffected +girl Valentine is."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I'm not bothering my head about her," said +Lilias. "She's all right, just what father said she was. I +wish we were at home again, Maggie."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course, so do I," said Marjory. "But then we +can't be, for we promised Gerald to try and make things +bright for Mr. Paget. Isn't he a handsome man, Lilly? I +don't think I ever saw anyone with such a beaming sort of +benevolent expression."</p> + +<p>"He is certainly very fond of Valentine, and she of +him," answered Lilias. "No, I did not particularly notice +his expression. The fact is I did not look at anyone much +except our Gerald. Marjory, I think it is an awful thing +for girls like us to have an only brother—he becomes +almost too precious. Marjory, I cannot sympathize with +Mr. Paget. I wish we were at home. I know our dear +old dad will want us, and there is no saying what mess +Augusta will put things into."</p> + +<p>"Father heard from Mr. Carr on the morning we left," +responded Marjory. "I think he is coming to the rectory +on Saturday. If so, father won't miss us: he'll be quite +taken up showing him over the place."</p> + +<p>"I shall hate him," responded Lilias, in a very tart +voice. "Fancy his taking our Gerald's place. Oh. +Maggie, this room stifles me—can't we change our +dresses, and go out for a stroll somewhere? Oh, what +folly you talk of it's not being the correct thing! What +a hateful place this London is! Oh, for a breath of the +air in the garden at home. Yes, what is it, Mrs. Johnstone?"</p> + +<p>Lilias' pretty face looked almost grumpy, and a decidedly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +discontented expression lurked in the dark, sweet +eyes she turned upon the good lady of the establishment.</p> + +<p>"Lilly has an attack of the fidgets," said Marjory. "She +wants to go out for a walk."</p> + +<p>"You shall both come in the carriage with me, my dears. +I was coming in to propose it to you. We won't dine until +quite late this evening."</p> + +<p>"Delightful," exclaimed Marjory, and the two girls ran +out of the room to get ready. Mrs. Johnstone followed +them, and a few moments later a couple of young men +who were staying in the house sauntered lazily into the +drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of Wyndham's sisters, Exham?" +said one to the other.</p> + +<p>Exham, a delicate youth of about nineteen, gave a long +expressive whistle.</p> + +<p>"The girls are handsome enough," he said. "But not +in my style. The one they call Lilias is too brusque. As +to Wyndham, well—"</p> + +<p>"What a significant 'well,' old fellow—explain yourself."</p> + +<p>"Nothing," returned Exham, who seemed to draw out +of any further confidences he was beginning to make. +"Nothing—only, I wouldn't be in Wyndham's shoes."</p> + +<p>The other man, whose name was Power, gave a short +laugh.</p> + +<p>"You need not pretend to be so wise and close, Exham," +he retorted. "Anyone can see with half an eye that +Wyndham's wife is not in love with him. All the same. +Wyndham has not done a bad thing for himself—stepping +into a business like this. Why, he'll have everything by-and-bye. +I don't see how he can help it."</p> + +<p>"Did you hear that funny story," retorted Exham, +"about Wyndham's life being insured?"</p> + +<p>"No, what?—Most men insure their lives when they +marry."</p> + +<p>"Yes, b<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>ut this is quite out of the common. At four +offices, and heavily. It filtered to me through one of the +clerks at the office. He said it was all Paget's doing."</p> + +<p>"What a villain that clerk must be to let out family +secrets," responded Power. "I don't believe there's anything +in it, Exham. Ah, here comes the young ladies. +Yes, Mrs. Johnstone, I should like to go for a drive very +much."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + + +<p>Some people concern themselves vey much with the mysteries +of life, others take what good things fall into their +way without question or wonder. These latter folk are +not of a speculating or strongly reasoning turn; if sorrow +arrives they accept it as wise, painful, inevitable—if joy +visits them they rejoice, but with simplicity. They are +the people who are naturally endowed with faith—faith +first of all in a guiding providence, which as a rule is +accompanied by a faith in their fellow men. The world is +kind to such individuals, for the world is very fond of +giving what is expected of it—to one hate and distrust, to +another open-handed benevolence and cordiality. People +so endowed are usually fortunate, and of them it may be +said, that it was good for them to be born.</p> + +<p>All people are not so constituted—there is such a thing +as a noble discontent, and the souls that in the end often +attain to the highest, have nearly suffered shipwreck, have +spent with St. Paul a day and a night in the deep—being +saved in the end with a great deliverance—they have often +on the road been all but lost. Such people often sin very +deeply—temptation assails them in the most subtle forms, +many of them go down really into the deep, and are never +in this life heard of again—they are spoken of as "lost," +utterly lost, and their names are held up to others as +terrible warnings, as examples to be shunned, as reprobates +to be spoken of with bated breath.</p> + +<p>It may be that some of these so-called lost souls will +appear as victors in another state; having gone into the +lowest depths of all they may also attain to the highest +heights; this, however, is a mystery which no one can +fathom.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gerald Wyndham was one of the men of whom no +one could quite say it was good for him to have been +born. His nature was not very easily read, and even his +favorite sister Lilias did not quite know him. From his +earliest days he was so far unfortunate as never to be able +to take things easily; even in his childhood this characteristic +marked him. Sorrows with Gerald were never trivial; +when he was six years old he became seriously ill because +a pet canary died. He would not talk of his trouble, nor +wail for his pet like an ordinary child, but sat apart, and +refused to eat, and only his mother at last could draw him +away from his grief, and show him it was unmanly to be +rebellious.</p> + +<p>His joys were as intense as his woes—he was an intense +child in every sense of the word; eager, enthusiastic, with +many noble impulses. All might have gone well with him +but for a rather strange accompaniment to his special +character; he was as reserved as most such boys would be +open. It was only by the changing expression of his eyes +that on many occasions people knew whether a certain +proposition would plunge him in the depths of woe or +raise him to the heights of joy. He was innately very unselfish, +and this characteristic must have been most strongly +marked in him, for his father and his mother and his +seven sisters did their utmost to make him the reverse. +Lilias said afterwards that they failed ignobly. Gerald +would never see it, she would say. Talk of easy-chairs—he +would stand all the evening rather than take one +until every other soul in the room was comfortably provided. +Talk of the best in anything,—you might give it to +Gerald, but in five minutes he would have given it away to +the person who wanted it least. It was aggravating beyond +words, Lilias Wyndham often exclaimed, but before you +could even attempt to make old Gerry decently comfortable +you had to attend to the wants of even the cats and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +dogs.</p> + +<p>Wyndham carrying all his peculiarities with him went to +school and then to Cambridge. He was liked in both +places, and was clever enough to win distinction, but for +the same characteristic which often caused him at the last +moment to fail, because he thought another man should +win the honor, or another schoolboy the prize.</p> + +<p>His mother wished him to take holy orders, and although +he had no very strong leaning in that direction he expressed +himself satisfied with her choice, and decided for the first +few years of his life as deacon and priest to help his father +at the dear old parish of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold.</p> + +<p>Then came his meeting with Valentine Paget, the complete +upheaval of every idea, the revolution which shook +his nature to its depths. His hour had come, and he took +the malady of young love—first, earnest, passionate love—as +anyone who knew him thoroughly, and scarcely anyone +did know the real Wyndham, might have expected.</p> + +<p>One pair of eyes, however, looked at this speaking face, +and one keen mental vision pierced down into the depths +of an earnest and chivalrous soul. Mortimer Paget had +been long looking for a man like Wyndham. It was not a +very difficult matter to make such a lad his victim, hence +his story became one of the most sorrowful that could be +written, as far as this life is concerned. Had his mother, +who was now in her grave for over seven years, known +what fate lay before this bright beautiful boy of hers, she +would have cursed the day of his birth. Fortunately for +mothers, and sisters too, the future lies in darkness, for +knowledge in such cases would make daily life unendurable.</p> + +<p>Valentine and her husband extended their wedding tour +considerably over the original month. They often wrote +home, and nothing could exceed the cheerfulness of the +letters which Mr. Paget read with anxiety and absorbin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>g +interest—the rectory folks with all the interest minus the +anxiety. Valentine frankly declared that she had never +been so happy in her life, and it was at last, at her father's +express request, almost command, that the young couple +consented to take up their abode in Queen's Gate early in +the November which followed their wedding. They spent +a fortnight first at the old rectory, where Valentine appeared +in an altogether new character, and commenced +her career by swearing an eternal friendship with Augusta. +She was in almost wild spirits, and they played pranks +together, and went everywhere arm-in-arm, accompanied +by the entire bevy of little sisters.</p> + +<p>Lilias and Marjory began by being rather scandalized, +but ended by thoroughly appreciating the arrangement, as it +left them free to monopolize Gerald, who on this occasion +seemed to have quite recovered his normal spirits. He +was neither depressed nor particularly exultant, he did not +talk a great deal either about himself or his wife, but was +full of the most delighted interest in his father's and sisters' +concerns. The new curate, Mr. Carr, was now in full +force, and Gerald and he found a great deal to say to one +another. The days were those delicious ones of late autumn, +when nature quiet and exhausted, as she is after her +time of flower and fruit, is in her most soothing mood. The +family at the rectory were never indoors until the shades +of night drove them into the long, low, picturesque, untidy +drawing-room.</p> + +<p>Then Gerald sang with his sisters—they had all sweet +voices, and his was a pure and very sympathetic tenor. Valentine's +songs were not the same as those culled from old +volumes of ballads, and selected from the musical mothers' +and grandmothers' store, which the rectory folk delighted +in. Hers were drawing-room melodies of the present day, +fashionable, but short-lived.</p> + +<p>The first night the young bri<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>de was silent, for even Augusta +had left her to join the singers round the piano. +Gerald was playing an accompaniment for his sisters, and +the rector, standing in the back ground, joined the swell of +harmony with his rich bass notes. Valentine and Carr, +who was also in the room, were the silent and only listeners. +Valentine wore a soft white dress, her bright wavy +locks of golden hair were a little roughened, and her starry +eyes were fixed on her husband. Carr, who looked almost +monastic in his clerical dress, was gazing at her—her lips +were partly open, she kept gentle time to the music with +her little hand. A very spirited glee was in full tide, when +there came a horrid discordant crash on the piano—everyone +stopped singing, and Gerald, very white, went up to +Val, and took her arm.</p> + +<p>"Come over here and join us," he said almost roughly.</p> + +<p>"But I don't know any of that music, Gerald, and it is +so delicious to listen."</p> + +<p>"Folly," responded her husband. "It looks absurd to +see two people gaping at one. I beg your pardon, Carr—I +am positively sensitive, abnormally so, on the subject of +being stared at. Girls, shall we have a round game? I +will teach Val some of Bishop's melodies to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>"I am going home," said Carr, quietly. "I did not +know that anyone was looking at you except your wife. +Wyndham. Good-night?"</p> + +<p>It was an uncomfortable little scene, and even the innocent, +unsophisticated rectory girls felt embarrassed without +knowing why. Marjory almost blamed Gerald afterwards, +and would have done so roundly, but Lilias would not +listen to her.</p> + +<p>At the next night's concert, Valentine sang almost as +sweetly as the others, but Carr did not come back to the +rectory for a couple of days.</p> + +<p>"I evidently acted like a bru<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>te, and must have appeared +one," said Gerald to himself. "But God alone +knows what all this means to me."</p> + +<p>It was a small jar, the only one in that happy fortnight, +when the girls seemed to have quite got their brother back, +and to have found a new sister in pretty, bright Valentine.</p> + +<p>It was the second of November when the bride and +bridegroom appeared at a big dinner party made in their +honor at the house in Queen's Gate.</p> + +<p>All her friends congratulated Valentine on her improved +looks, and told Wyndham frankly that matrimony had made +a new man of him. He was certainly bright and pleasant, +and took his part quite naturally as the son of the house. +No one could detect the shadow of a care on his face, and +as to Val, she sat almost in her father's pocket, scarcely +turning her bright eyes away from his face.</p> + +<p>"I always thought that dear Mr. Paget the best and +noblest and most Christian of men," remarked a certain +Lady Valery to her daughter as they drove home that evening. +"I am now more convinced of the truth of my views +than ever."</p> + +<p>"Why so, mother?" asked her daughter.</p> + +<p>"My dear, can you not see for yourself? He gave that +girl of his—that beautiful girl, with all her fortune—to a +young man with neither position nor money, simply and +entirely because she fell in love with him. Was there ever +anything more disinterested? Yes, my dear, talk to me +of every Christian virtue embodied, and I shall invariably +mention my old friend, Mortimer Paget."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + + +<p>"Valentine," said her husband, as they stood together +by the fire in their bedroom that night, "I have a great +favor to ask of you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Gerald—a favor! I like to grant favors. Is it +that I must wear that soft white dress you like so much +to-morrow evening? Or that I must sing no songs but the +rectory songs for father's visitors in the drawing-room. +How solemn you look, Gerald. What is the favor?"</p> + +<p>Gerald's face did look careworn. The easy light-hearted +expression which had characterized it downstairs had left +him. When Valentine laid her hand lovingly on his +shoulder, he slipped his arm round her waist, however, and +drew her fondly to his side.</p> + +<p>"Val, the favor is this," he said. "You can do anything +you like with your father. I want you to persuade +him to let us live in a little house of our own for a time, +until, say next summer."</p> + +<p>Valentine sprang away from Gerald's encircling arm.</p> + +<p>"I won't ask that favor," she said, her eyes flashing. "It +is mean of you, Gerald. I married you on condition that +I should live with my father."</p> + +<p>"Very well, dear, if you feel it like that, we won't say +anything more about it. It is not of real consequence."</p> + +<p>Gerald took a letter out of his pocket, and opening the +envelope began leisurely to read its contents. Valentine +still, however, felt ruffled and annoyed.</p> + +<p>"It is so queer of you to make such a request," she said. +"I wonder what father would say. He would think I had +taken leave of my senses, and just now too when I have +been away from him for months. And when it is such a +joy, such a deep, deep joy, to be with him again."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is of no consequence, darling. I am sorry I mentioned +it. See, Valentine, this letter is from a great friend +of mine, a Mrs. Price—she wants to call on you; she is +coming to-morrow. You will be at home in the afternoon, +will you not?"</p> + +<p>Valentine nodded.</p> + +<p>"I will be in," she said. Then she added, her eyes filling +with tears—"You don't really want to take me away +from my father, Gerald?"</p> + +<p>"I did wish to do so, dear, but we need not think of it +again. The one and only object of my life is to make you +happy, Val. Now go to bed, and to sleep, dearest. I am +going downstairs to have a smoke."</p> + +<p>The next morning, very much to her surprise, Mr. Paget +called his daughter into his study, and made the same proposition +to her which Gerald had made the night before.</p> + +<p>"I must not be a selfish old man, Val," he said. "And +I think it is best for young married folks to live alone. I +know how you love me, my child, and I will promise to pay +you a daily visit. Or at least when you don't come to me, I +will look you up. But all things considered, it is best for +your husband and you to have your own house. Why, +what is it, Valentine, you look quite queer, child."</p> + +<p>"This is Gerald's doing," said Valentine—her face had +a white set look—never before had her father seen this +expression on it. "No, father, I will not leave you; I +refuse to do so; it is breaking our compact; it is unfair."</p> + +<p>She went up to him, and put her arms round his neck, +and again her golden locks touched his silvered head, and +her soft cheek pressed his.</p> + +<p>"Father darling, you won't break your own Val's heart—you +couldn't; it would be telling a lie. I won't live away +from you—I won't, so there."</p> + +<p>Just at this moment Wyndham e<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>ntered the room.</p> + +<p>"What is it, sir?" he said, almost fiercely. "What are +you doing with Val? Why, she is crying. What have you +been saying to her?"</p> + +<p>"My father said nothing," answered Valentine for him. +"How dare you speak to my father in that tone? It is you. +Gerald; you have been mean and shabby. You went to +my father to try to get him on your side—to try and get +him—to try and get him to aid you in going away—to live +in another house. Oh, it was a mean, cowardly thing to do, +but you shan't have your way, for I'm not going; only +I'm ashamed of you, Gerald, I'm ashamed of you."</p> + +<p>Here Valentine burst into a tempest of angry, girlish +tears.</p> + +<p>"Don't be silly, Val," said her husband, in a quiet voice. +"I said nothing about this to Mr. Paget. I wished for it, +but as I told you last night, when you disapproved, I gave +it up. I don't tell lies. Will you explain to Valentine, +please, sir, that I'm guiltless of anything mean, or, as she +expresses it, shabby, in this matter."</p> + +<p>"Of course, Wyndham—of course, you are," said Paget. +"My dear little Val, what a goose you have made of yourself. +Now run away, Wyndham, there's a good fellow, and +I'll soothe her down. You might as well go to the office +for me. Ask Helps for my private letters, and bring them +back with you. Now, Valentine, you and I are going to +have a drive together. Good-bye, Wyndham."</p> + +<p>Wyndham slowly left the room—Valentine's head was +still on her father's shoulder—as her husband went away +he looked back at her, but she did not return his glance.</p> + +<p>"The old man is right," he soliloquized bitterly. "I +have not a chance of winning her heart. No doubt under +the circumstances this is the only thing to be desired, and +yet it very nearly maddens me."</p> + +<p>Wyndham did not return to Queen's Gate until quite +late; he had only time to run up to his room and change +his dress hastily for dinner. Valentine had already gone +downstairs, and he sighed heavily as he noticed this, o<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>r +he felt that unwittingly he had managed to hurt her in her +tenderest feelings that morning.</p> + +<p>"If there is much of this sort of thing," he said to himself. +"I shall not be so sorry when the year is up. When +once the plunge is over I may come up another man, and +anything is better than perpetually standing on the brink." +Yet half an hour later Wyndham had completely changed +his mind, for when he entered the drawing-room, a girlish +figure jumped up at once out of an easy-chair, and ran to +meet him, and Valentine's arms were flung about his neck +and several of her sweetest kisses printed on his lips.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me for being cross this morning, dear old darling. +Father has made me see everything in quite a new +light, and has shown me that I acted quite like a little +fiend, and that you are very nearly the best of men. And +do you know, Gerry, he wishes us so much to live alone, +and thinks it the only right and proper thing to do, that I +have given in, and I quite agree with him, quite. And we +have almost taken the sweetest, darlingest little bijou residence +in Park-lane that you can imagine. It is like a doll's +house compared to this, but so exquisite, and furnished +with such taste. It will feel like playing in a baby-house +all day long, and I am almost in love with it already. You +must come with me and see it the first thing in the morning. +Gerry, for if we both like it, father will arrange at once +with the agent, and then, do you know the very first thing +I mean to do for you, Gerry? Oh, you need not guess, I'll +tell you. Lilias shall come up to spend the winter with us. +Oh, you need not say a word. I'm not jealous, but I can +see how you idolize Lilias, Gerry."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + + +<p>At the end of a week the Wyndhams were settled in their +new home, and Valentine began her duties as wife and +housekeeper in earnest. She, too, was more or less impulsive, +and beginning by hating the idea she ended by adopting +it with enthusiasm. After all it was her father's plan, +not Gerald's, and that in her heart of hearts made all the +difference.</p> + +<p>For the first time in her life, Valentine had more to get +through than she could well accomplish. Her days, therefore, +just now were one long delight to her, and even Gerald +felt himself more or less infected by her high spirits. It +was pretty to see her girlish efforts at housekeeping, and +even her failures became subjects of good-humored merriment. +Mr. Paget came over every day to see her, but he +generally chose the hours when her husband was absent, +and Wyndham and his young wife were in consequence +able to spend many happy evenings alone.</p> + +<p>By-and-bye this girlish and thoughtless wife was to look +back on these evenings, and wonder with vain sighs of +unavailing regret if life could ever again bring her back +such sweetness. Now she enjoyed them unthinkingly, for +her time for wakening had not come.</p> + +<p>When the young couple were quite settled in their own +establishment, Lilias Wyndham came up from the country +to spend a week with them. Nothing would induce her +to stay longer away from home. Although Valentine +pleaded and coaxed, and even Gerald added a word or two +of entreaty, she was quite firm.</p> + +<p>"No," she said, "nothing would m<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>ake me become the +obnoxious sister-in-law, about whom so much has been +written in all the story books I have ever read."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lilias, you darling, as if you could!" exclaimed +Val, flying at her and kissing her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, my dear, I could," calmly responded Lilly—"and +I may just as well warn you at once that my ways +are not your ways in a great many particulars, and that +you'd find that out if I lived too long with you. No, I'm +going home to-morrow—to my own life, and you and +Gerald must live yours without me. I am ready to come, +if ever either of you want me, but just now no one does +that as much as Marjory and my father."</p> + +<p>Lilias returned to Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and Valentine +for some days continued to talk of her with enthusiasm, +and to quote her name on all possible occasions.</p> + +<p>"Lilias says that I'll never make a good housekeeper, +unless I bring my wants into a fixed allowance, Gerald. +She says I ought to know what I have got to spend each +week, and not to exceed it, whether it is a large or small +sum. She says that's what she and Marjory always do. +About how much do you think I ought to spend a week on +housekeeping, Gerry?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, darling. I have not the most remote +idea."</p> + +<p>"But how much have we to spend altogether? We are +very rich, are we not?"</p> + +<p>"No, Valentine, we are very poor. In fact we have got +nothing at all."</p> + +<p>"Why, what a crease has come between your brows; +let me smooth it out—there, now you look much nicer. +You have got a look of Lilias, only your eyes are not so +dark. Gerald, I think Lilias so pretty. I think she is the +very sweetest girl I ever met. But what do you mean by +saying we are poor? Of course we are not poor. We +would not live in a house like this, and have such jolly, +cosy, little dinners if we were poor. Why, I know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> that +champagne that we have a tiny bottle of every evening is +really most costly. I thought poor people lived in attics, +and ate bread and American cheese. What do you mean +by being poor, Gerald?"</p> + +<p>"Only that we have nothing of our own, dearest; we +depend on your father for everything."</p> + +<p>"You speak in quite a bitter tone. It is sweet to depend +on my father. But doesn't he give us an allowance?"</p> + +<p>"No, Valentine, I just take him all the bills, and he pays +them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't like that plan. I think it is much more +important and interesting to pay one's own bills, and I can +never learn to be a housekeeper if I don't understand the +value of money. I'll speak to father about this when he +comes to-morrow. I'll ask him to give me an allowance."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't," replied Gerald. He spoke lazily, and +yawned as he uttered the words.</p> + +<p>"There's no use in taking up things that one must leave +off again," he added, somewhat enigmatically. Then he +opened a copy of Browning which lay near, and forgot +Valentine and her troubles, at least she thought he forgot +her.</p> + +<p>She looked at him for a moment, with a half-pleased, +half-puzzled expression coming into her face.</p> + +<p>"He is very handsome and interesting," she murmured +under her breath. "I like him, I certainly do like him, +not as well as my father of course—I'm not sorry I married +him now. I like him quite as well as I could ever have +cared for the other man—the man who wore white flannels +and had a determined voice, and now has been turned into +a dreadful prosy curate. Yes, I do like Gerald. He perplexes +me a good deal, but that is interesting. He is +mysterious, and that is captivating—yes, yes—yes. Now, +what did he mean by that queer remark about my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> housekeeping—'that +it wasn't worth while?' I hope he's not +superstitious—if anything could be worth while it would +be well for a young girl like me to learn something useful +and definite. I'll ask him what he means."</p> + +<p>She drew a footstool to her husband's side, and taking +one of his hands laid her cheek against it. Wyndham +dropped his book and smiled down at her.</p> + +<p>"Gerry, do you believe in omens?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Gerald gave a slight start. Circumstances inclined him +to superstition—then he laughed. He must not encourage +his wife in any such folly.</p> + +<p>"I don't quite understand you, my love," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Only you said it was not worth my while to learn to +housekeep. Why do you say that? I am very young, +you are young. If we are to go on always together, I ought +to become wise and sensible. I ought to have knowledge. +What do you mean, Gerald? Have you had an omen? +Do you think you will die? Or perhaps that I shall die? +I should not at all like it. I hope—I trust—no token of +death has been sent to you about me."</p> + +<p>"None, my very dearest, none. I see before you a life +of—of peace. Peace and plenty—and—and—honor—a +good life, Valentine, a guarded life."</p> + +<p>"How white you are, Gerald. And why do you say +'you' all the time? The life, the peaceful life, and it +sounds rather dull, is for us both, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know—I can't say. You wouldn't care, would +you, Val—I mean—I mean——"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>Valentine had risen, her arms were thrown round +Gerald's neck.</p> + +<p>"Are you trying to tell me that I could be happy now +without you?" she whispered. "Then I couldn't, darling. +I don't mind telling you I couldn't. I—I——"</p> + +<p>"What, Val, what?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I like you, Gerald. Yes, I know it—I do like you—much."</p> + +<p>It ought to have been the most dreadful sound to him, +and yet it wasn't. Wyndham strained his wife to his heart. +Then he raised his eyes, and with a start Valentine and he +stepped asunder.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget had come into the room. He had come in +softly, and he must have heard Valentine's words, and seen +that close embrace.</p> + +<p>With a glad cry the girl flew to his side, but when he +kissed her his lips trembled, he sank down on the nearest +chair like a man who had received a great shock.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + + +<p>"I'm afraid I can't help it, sir," said Wyndham.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget and his son-in-law were standing together in +the very comfortable private room before alluded to in the +office of the former.</p> + +<p>Wyndham was standing with his back to the mantel-piece; +Valentine's lovely picture was over his head. Her +eyes, which were almost dancing with life, seemed to have +something mocking in them to Mr. Paget, as he encountered +their gaze now. As eyes will in a picture, they followed +him wherever he moved. He was restless and ill at +ease, and he wished either that the picture might be removed, +or that he could take up Wyndham's position with +his back to it.</p> + +<p>"I tell you," he said, in a voice that betrayed his perturbation, +"that you must help it. It's a clear breaking +of contract to do otherwise."</p> + +<p>"You see," said Wyndham, with a slow smile, "you +under-rated my attractions. I was not the man for your +purpose after all."</p> + +<p>"Sit down for God's sake, Wyndham. Don't stand +there looking so provokingly indifferent. One would think +the whole matter was nothing to you."</p> + +<p>"I am not sure that it is much; that is, I am not at all +sure that I shall not take my full meed of pleasure out of +the short time allotted to me."</p> + +<p>"Sit down, take that chair, no, not that one—that—ah, +that's better. Valentine's eyes are positively uncomfortable +the way they pursue me this evening. Wyndham, you +must feel for me—you must see that it will be a perfectly +awful thing if my—my child loses her heart to you."</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Paget, you can judge for yourself how mat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>ters +stand. I—I cannot quite agree with you about what +you fear being a catastrophe."</p> + +<p>"You must be mad, Wyndham—you must either be +mad, or you mean to cheat me after all."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't. I have a certain amount of honor left—not +much, or I shouldn't have lent myself to this, but the +rag remaining is at your service. Seriously now, I don't +think you have grave cause for alarm. Valentine is affectionate, +but I am not to her as you are."</p> + +<p>"You are growing dearer to her every day. I am not +blind, I have watched her face. She follows you with her +eyes—when you don't eat she is anxious, when you look +dismal—you have an infernally dismal face at times, Wyndham—she +is puzzled. It wasn't only what I saw last night. +Valentine is waking up. It was in the contract that she +was not to wake up. I gave you a child for your wife. +She was to remain a child when——"</p> + +<p>"When she became my widow," Wyndham answered +calmly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. My God, it is awful to think of it. We must go +in, we daren't turn back, and she may suffer, she may suffer +horribly, she has a great heart—a deep heart. It is playing +with edged tools to make it live."</p> + +<p>"Can't you shorten the time of probation?" asked Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"I wish to heaven I could, but I am powerless. Wyndham, +my good friend, my son—something must be done."</p> + +<p>"Don't call me your son," said the younger man, rising +and shaking himself. "I have a father who besides you +is—there, I won't name what I think of you. I have a +mother—through your machinations I shall never see her +face any more. Don't call me your son. You are very +wise, you have the wisdom of a devil, but even you can +overreach yourself. You thought you had found everything +you needed, when you found me—the weak young +fool, the despairing idiotic lover. Poor? Yes, curs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>edly +poor, and with a certain sense of generosity, but nothing +at all in myself to win the heart of a beautiful young girl. +You should have gone down to Jewsbury-on-the-Wold for +a little, before you summed up your estimate of my character, +for the one thing I have always found lying at my +feet is—love. Even the cats and dogs loved me—those to +whom I gave nothing regarded me with affection. Alack—and +alas—my wife only follows the universal example."</p> + +<p>"But it must be stopped, Wyndham. You cannot fail +to see that it must be stopped. Can you not help me—can +you not devise some plan?"</p> + +<p>Wyndham dropped his head on his hands.</p> + +<p>"Hasten the crisis," he said. "I want the plunge over; +hasten it."</p> + +<p>There came a tap at the room door. Mr. Paget drew +back the curtain which stood before it, slipped the bolts, +and opened it.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I guessed you were here!" said Valentine's gay +voice; "yes, and Gerald too. This is delightful," added +she, as she stepped into the room.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Val?" asked her father. "I was busy—I +was talking to your husband. I am very much occupied +this afternoon. I forgot it was the day you generally called +for me. No, I'm afraid I can't go with you, my pet."</p> + +<p>Valentine was looking radiant in winter furs.</p> + +<p>"I'll go with Gerald, then," she said. "He's not too +busy."</p> + +<p>She smiled at him.</p> + +<p>"No, my dear, I'll go with you," said the younger man. +"I don't think, sir," he added, turning round, with a desperately +white but smiling face, "that we can advance +business much by prolonging this interview, and if you +have no objection, I should like to take a drive with my +wife as she has called."</p> + +<p>Valentine instinctively <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>felt that these smoothly spoken +words were meant to hide something. She glanced from +the face of one man to another; then she went up to her +father and linked her hand in his arm.</p> + +<p>"Come, too, daddy," she said. "You used always to +be able to make horrid business wait upon your own Valentine's +pleasure."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget hesitated for a moment. Then he stooped +and lightly kissed his daughter's blooming cheek.</p> + +<p>"Go with your husband, dear," he said, gently. "I am +really busy, and we shall meet at dinner time."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we are to dine with you to-night—I've a most +important request to make after dinner. You know what +it is, Gerry. Won't father be electrified? Promise beforehand +that you'll grant it, dad."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my child, yes. Now run away both of you. I +am really much occupied."</p> + +<p>Valentine and her husband disappeared. Mr. Paget +shut and locked the door behind them—he drew the velvet +curtains to insure perfect privacy. Then he sank down in +his easy-chair to indulge in anxious meditation.</p> + +<p>He thought some of those hard thoughts, some of those +abstruse, worrying, almost despairing thoughts, which add +years to a man's life.</p> + +<p>As he thought the mask dropped from his handsome +face; he looked old and wicked.</p> + +<p>After about a quarter-of-an-hour of these meditations, he +moved slightly and touched an electric bell in the wall. +His signal was answered in about a minute by a tap at the +room door. He slipped the bolts again, and admitted his +confidential clerk, Helps.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Helps. Yes, bolt the door, quite right. Now, +sit down. Helps, I am worried."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry to observe it, sir," said Helps. "Worries +is nat'ral, but not agreeable. They come to the good and +they come to the bad alike; worries is like the sun—they +shines upon all."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A particularly agreeable kind of glare they make," +responded Mr. Paget, testily. "Your similes are remarkable +for their aptitude, Helps. Now, have the goodness +to confine yourself to briefly replying to my questions. +Has there been any news from India since last week?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing fresh, sir."</p> + +<p>"No sign of stir; no awakening of interest—of—of—suspicion?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet, sir. It isn't to be expected, is it?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose not. Sometimes I get impatient, Helps."</p> + +<p>"You needn't now, sir. Your train is, so to speak, laid. +Any moment you can apply the match. Any moment, Mr. +Paget. Sometimes, if you'll excuse me for speaking of +that same, I have a heart in my bosom that pities the victim. +You shouldn't have done it from among the clergy. +Mr. Paget, and him an only son, too."</p> + +<p>"Hush, it's done. There is no help now. Helps, you +are the only soul in the world who knows everything. +Helps, there may be two victims."</p> + +<p>Helps had a sallow face. It grew sickly now.</p> + +<p>"I don't like it," he muttered. "I never did approve +of meddling with the clergy—he was meant for the Church, +and them is the Lord's anointed."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk so much," thundered Mr. Paget. "I tell +you there are two victims—and one of them is my child. +She is falling in love with her husband. It is true—it is +awful. It must be prevented. Helps, you and I have got +to prevent it."</p> + +<p>Helps sat perfectly still. His eyes were lowered; they +were following the patterns of the carpet. He moved his +lips softly.</p> + +<p>"It must be prevented," said Mr. Paget. "Why do +you sit like that? Will you help me, or will you not?"</p> + +<p>Helps raised his greeny-blue eyes with great deliberat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>ion.</p> + +<p>"I don't know that I will help you, Mr. Paget," he +replied; and then he lowered them again.</p> + +<p>"You won't help me? You don't know what you are +saying, Helps. Did you understand my words? I told +you that my daughter was falling in love with that scamp +Wyndham."</p> + +<p>"He ain't a scamp," replied the clerk. "He's in the +conspiracy, poor lad, he's the victim of the conspiracy, +but he's no scamp. Now I never liked it. I may as well +own to you, Mr. Paget, that I never liked your meddling +with the clergy. I said, from the first, as no good would +come of it. It's my opinion, sir—" here Helps rose, and +raising one thin hand shook it feebly at his employer, "it's +my opinion as the Lord is agen you—agen us both for that +matter. We can't do nothing if He is, you know. I had +a dream last night—I didn't like the dream, it was a hominous +dream. I didn't like your scheme, Mr. Paget, and I +don't think I'll help you more'n I have done."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you don't? You are a wicked old scoundrel. You +think you can have things all your own way. You are a +thief. You know the kind of accommodation thieves get +when their follies get found out. Of course, it's inexpensive, +but it's scarcely agreeable."</p> + +<p>Helps smiled slightly.</p> + +<p>"No one could lock me up but you, and you wouldn't +dare," he replied.</p> + +<p>These words seemed somehow or other to have a very +calming effect on Mr. Paget. He did not speak for a full +moment, then he said quietly—</p> + +<p>"We won't go into painful scenes of the past, Helps. +Yes; we have both committed folly, and must stand or fall +together. We have both got only daughters—it is our life's +work to shield them from dishonor, to guard them from +pain. Suppose, Helps, suppose your Esther was in the +position of my child? Suppose she was learning to lov<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>e +her husband, and you knew what that husband had before +him, how would you feel, Helps? Put yourself in my place, +and tell me how you'd feel."</p> + +<p>"It 'ud all turn on one point," said Helps. "Whether +I loved the girl or myself most. Ef I saw that the girl was +going deep in love with her husband—deep, mind you—mortal +deep—so I was nothing at all to her beside him, +why then, maybe, I'd save the young man for her sake, and +go under myself. I might do that, it 'ud depend on how +much I loved."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense; you would bring dishonor and ruin on her. +How could she ever hold up her head again?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe he'd comfort her through it. There's no saying. +Love, deep love, mind you, does wonders."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget began to pace up and down the room.</p> + +<p>"You are the greatest old fool I ever came across," he +said. "Now, mind you, your sentiments with regard to +your low-born daughter are nothing at all to me. <i>Noblesse +oblige</i> doesn't come into the case with you as it does +with my child. Dishonor shall never touch her; it would +kill her. She must be guarded against it. Listen, Helps. +We have talked folly and sentiment enough. Now to business. +That young man must not rise in my daughter's +esteem. There is such a thing—listen, Helps, come close—such +a thing as blackening a man's character. You think +it over—you're a crafty old dog. Go home and look at +Esther, and think it over. God bless me, I'd not an idea +how late it was. Here's a five pound note for your pretty +girl, Helps. Now go home and think it over."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> +<p>Helps buttoned on his great coat, said a few words to one +of the clerks, and stepped out into the foggy night. He +hailed a passing omnibus, and in the course of half-an-hour +found himself fumbling with his latch-key in the door of a +neat little house, which, however, was at the same moment +thrown wide open from within, and a tall girl with a pale +face, clear grey eyes, and a quantity of dark hair coiled +about her head stood before him.</p> + +<p>"It's father, Cherry," she said to a little cousin who +popped round the corner. "Put the sausages on, and dish +up the potatoes. Now don't be awkward. I'm glad you're +in good time, father—here, give us a kiss. Do I look nice +in this dress? I made it all myself. Here, come up to +the gas, and have a good look at it. How does it fit? +Neat, eh?"</p> + +<p>The dress was a dark green velveteen, made without +attempt at ornament, but fitting the slim and lissom figure +like a glove.</p> + +<p>"It's neat, but plain, surely," replied Helps, looking +puzzled, proud, and at the same time dissatisfied. "A +bit more color now,—more flouncing—Why, what's the +matter, Essie? How you do frown, my girl."</p> + +<p>"Come in out of the cold, father. Oh, no, not the +kitchen, I've ordered supper to be laid in the dining-room. +Well, perhaps the room it does smoke, but that will soon +clear off. Now, father, I want to ask you an important +question. Do I look like a lady in this dress?"</p> + +<p>She held herself very erect, the pure outline of her grand +figure was shown to the best advantage, her massive head +had a queenly pose, and the delicate purity of her complexion +heightened the effect. Her accent was wrong, her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +words betrayed her—could she have become dumb, she +might have passed for a princess.</p> + +<p>"Do I look like a lady?" she repeated.</p> + +<p>Little Helps stepped back a pace or two—he was +puzzled and annoyed.</p> + +<p>"You look all right, Essie," he said. "A lady? Oh, well—but +you ain't a lady, my girl. Look here, Esther, this +room is mortal cold—I'd a sight rather have my supper +cosy in the kitchen."</p> + +<p>"You can't then, father. You must take up with the +genteel ways. After supper we're going into the drawing-room, +and I'll play to you on the pianner, pa; I have been +practising all day. Perhaps, too, we'll have company—there's +no saying."</p> + +<p>"Company?" repeated Helps. "Who—what?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm not going to say, maybe he won't come. I met +him in the park—I was skating with the Johnsons, and I +fell, and he picked me up. I might have been hurt but for +him. Then he heard George Johnson calling me by my +name, and it turned out that he knew you. Oh, wasn't +he a swell, and didn't he look it! And hadn't he a name +worth boasting of! 'Mr. Gerald Wyndham.' Why, what's +the matter, father? He said that he had often promised +to look you up some evening, to bring you some stupid +book or other. He said maybe he would come to-night. +That's why I had the drawing-room and dining-room all +done up. He said perhaps he'd call, and took off his hat +most refined. I took an awful fancy to him—his ways was +so aspiring. He said he might come to-night, but he wasn't +sure. I didn't know you had young men like that at your +office, father. And what is the matter?—why, you're quite +white!"</p> + +<p>"I never talk of what goes on at the place of business," +replied Helps, in quite a brusque voice for him. "And as +to that young gent, Esther, he's our Miss Valentine's hu<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>sband."</p> + +<p>"Married? Oh, lor, he didn't look it! And who is +'our Miss Valentine?' if I may be bold enough to ask."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Paget's daughter. I said I didn't mention matters +connected with the place of business."</p> + +<p>"You always were precious close, father. But you're a +dear, good, old dad, all the same, and Cherry and I would +sooner die than have you scolded about anything. Cherry, +my fine beau's a married man—pity, aint it? I thought +maybe he'd suit me."</p> + +<p>"Then you needn't have lit the fire in the drawing-room," +answered Cherry, a very practical and stoutly-built little +maid of fifteen.</p> + +<p>"Maybe I needn't, but there's no harm done. I suppose +I can talk to him, even if he is married. Won't I draw +him out about Miss Valentine, and tell him how father +always kept her a secret from us."</p> + +<p>"Supper's ready, uncle," said Cherry. "Oh, bother that +fire! It's quite out. Don't the sausages smell good, uncle? +I cooked them myself."</p> + +<p>The three sat down to the table, poor Helps shivering +not a little, and casting more than one regretful glance at +the warm and cosy kitchen. He was feeling depressed for +more than one reason this evening, and a sense of dismay +stole over him at Esther's having accidentally made Wyndham's +acquaintance.</p> + +<p>"It's a bad omen," he said, under his breath, "and +Esther's that contrary, and so taken up with making a +lady of herself, and she's beautiful as a picter, except when +she talks folly.</p> + +<p>"I liked that young man from the first," he murmured. +"I took, so to speak, a fancy to him, and warned him, +and I quoted scripter to him. All to no good. The glint +of a gel's eye was too much for him, he sold himself for her—body +and soul he sold himself for her. Still, I went +on keeping up a fancy for him, and I axed him to look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +me up some evening, and have a pipe—he's wonderful on +words too—he can derivate almost as many as I can. I'm +sorry now I asked him—Esther's that wilful, and as beautiful +as a picter. She talks too much to young men that's +above her. She's set on being a lady. Mr. Wyndham's +married, of course, but Esther wouldn't think nothing of +trying to flirt with him for all that."</p> + +<p>"Esther," he said, suddenly, raising his deep-set eyes, +and fixing them on his daughter, "ef the young man calls, +it's to see me, mind you—he's a married man, and he has +got the most beautiful wife in the world, and he loves her. +My word, I never heard tell of nobody loving their wife so +much!"</p> + +<p>Esther's big grey eyes opened wide.</p> + +<p>"How you look at me, dad," she said. "One would +think I wanted to steal Mr. Wyndham from his wife! I'm +glad he loves her, it's romantic, it pleases me."</p> + +<p>"And there's his ring at the door," suddenly exclaimed +Cherry. "Esther was right to prepare the drawing-room. +I'm glad he have come. I like to look at handsome gents, +particular when they are in love."</p> + +<p>Gerald's arrival was accidental after all. He and his wife +were dining in Queen's Gate, and after dinner he remembered +his adventure on the ice, and told the story in an +amusing way.</p> + +<p>"A most beautiful girl, but with such an accent and +manner," he said. "And who do you think she turned +out to be, sir?" he added, turning to his father-in-law. +"Why, your cracked clerk's daughter. She told me her +name was Esther Helps, and I found they were father and +daughter."</p> + +<p>"Has old Helps got a daughter?" exclaimed Valentine.</p> + +<p>"How funny that I should never have known it. I have +always been rather fond of old Helps."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He has an only daughter, as I have an only daughter," +replied Mr. Paget. Valentine was sitting close to him; he +put his arm around her waist as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"How queer that I should never have known," continued +Valentine. "And her name is Esther? It is a pretty +name. And you say that she is handsome, Gerry? What +is she like?"</p> + +<p>"Tall and pale, with an expressive face," replied Wyndham, +lightly. "She is lady-like, and even striking-looking +until she opens her lips—then——" he made an expressive +grimace.</p> + +<p>"Poor girl, as if she could help that," replied Val. "She +has never been educated, you know. Her father is poor, +and he can't give her advantages. Does old Helps love +his daughter very much, dad?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so, Val. Yes, I think I may say I am sure +he does."</p> + +<p>"I am so interested in only girls with fathers," continued +Mrs. Wyndham. "I wish I had seen Esther Helps. I +hope you were kind to her, Gerald."</p> + +<p>"I picked her up, dear, and gave her to her friends. +By-the-way, I said I'd call to see old Helps this evening. +He has a passion for the derivation of words, and I have +Trench's book on the subject. Shall I take Esther a message +from you, Val?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, say something nice. I am not good at making +up messages. Tell her I am interested in her, and the +more she loves her father, the greater my interest must be. +See, this is much better than any mere message—take her +this bunch of lilies—say I sent them. Now, Gerald, is it +likely I should be lonely? Father and I are going to have +two hours all to ourselves."</p> + +<p>But as Valentine said these light words, her hand lingered +on her husband's shoulder, and her full brown eyes +rested on his face. Something in their gaze made his heart +throb. He put his arm round her neck and kissed her +forehead.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I shan't be two hours away," he said.</p> + +<p>He took up the flowers, put "Trench on Words" into +his pocket, and went out.</p> + +<p>Wyndham had a pleasant way with all people. His words, +his manner, his gentle courteous smile won for him hearts +in all directions. He was meant to be greatly beloved; +he was born to win the most dangerous popularity of all—that +which brought to him blind and almost unreasoning +affection.</p> + +<p>He was received at No. 5 Acadia Terrace with enthusiasm. +Esther and Cherry were open-eyed in their admiration, +and Helps, a little sorrowful—somehow Helps if he +wasn't cynical was always sorrowful—felt proud of the visit.</p> + +<p>Gerald insisted on adjourning to the kitchen. He and +Helps had a long discussion on words—Cherry moved +softly about, putting everything in order—Esther sat silent +and lovely, glancing up now and then at Gerald from under +her black eyelashes. Valentine's flowers lay in her +lap. They were dazzlingly white, and made an effective +contrast to her dark green dress. It was a peaceful little +scene—nothing at all remarkable about it. Gerald fell +more contented than he had done for many a day. Who +would have thought that out of such innocent materials +mischief of the deadliest sort might be wrought to him and +his.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + + +<p>When Wyndham came back to Queen's Gate his wife +met him with sparkling eyes.</p> + +<p>"How much time can you give me to-morrow?" she +said. "I want to go out with you. I have been speaking +to father, and he accedes to all our wishes—he will give us +an income. He says he thinks a thousand a year will be +enough. Oh, he is kind, and I feel so excited. Don't let +us drive, let us walk home, Gerry. I know the night is fine. +I feel that everything is bright just now, and you will come +with me to-morrow, won't you, Gerry? Father, could you +spare Gerald from business to-morrow? You know it is +so important."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget was standing a little in the shadow, his face +was beaming, his eyes smiling. When Valentine turned to +him, he laid his hand lightly on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"You are an inconsistent little girl," he said. "You +want to become a business woman yourself. You want to +be practical, and clever, and managing, and yet you encourage +that husband of yours to neglect his work."</p> + +<p>Gerald flushed.</p> + +<p>"I don't neglect my work," he said. "My heavy work +has never a chance of being neglected, it is too crushing."</p> + +<p>Valentine looked up in alarm, but instantly Mr. Paget's +smiling face was turned to the young man, and his other +hand touched his arm.</p> + +<p>"Your work to-morrow is to go with your wife," he said +gently. "She wants to shop—to spend—to learn saving +by expenditure. You have to go with her to give her the +benefit of your experience. Look out for cheap sales, my +dear child—go to Whiteley's, and purchase what you don't +want, provided it is a remnant, and sold under cost price. +Save by learning, Val, and, Gerald, you help her to the best +of your ability. Now good-night, my children, good-night,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +both of you, bless you."</p> + +<p>"It almost seemed to me," said Valentine, as they walked +home together—it was a starry night and she clung affectionately +to her husband's arm—"it almost seemed to me +that father was put out with you, and you with him. He +was so sweet while you were out, but although he smiled +all the time after you returned I don't think he was really +sweet, and you didn't speak nicely to him, Gerald, about +the work I mean. Is the work at the office very heavy. +Gerald? You never spend more than about two hours a +day there."</p> + +<p>"The work is heavy, Val, and it will grow more so. I +don't complain, however—I have not the shadow of a right +to complain. I am sorry I spoke to your father so as to vex +you, dearest—- I won't do so again."</p> + +<p>"I want you to love him, Gerry; I want you to feel for +him a little bit, as I do, as if he were the first of men, you +understand. Don't you think you could try. I wish you +would."</p> + +<p>"You see I have my own father, darling."</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, but really now—the rector is a nice old man, +but, Gerry, if you were to speak from your inmost heart, +without any prejudice, you know; if you could detach +from your mind the fact that you are the son of the rector, +you would not compare them, Gerry, you could not."</p> + +<p>"As you say, Valentine, I could not. They stand on +different pedestals. Now let us change the subject. So +you are the happy possessor of a thousand a year."</p> + +<p>"We both possess that income, Gerry. Is not it sweet +of father—he felt for me at once. He said he was proud +of me, that I was going to make a capital wife—he said you +were a lucky fellow, Gerry."</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling, so I am, so I am."</p> + +<p>"Then he spoke of a thousand a year to begin with. He +mentioned a lot more, but he said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> a thousand was an income +on which I might begin to learn to save. And he gave +me a cheque for the first quarter to-night. He said we had +better open a banking account. As soon as we get in, I'm +going to give you the cheque, I'm afraid to keep it. Father +said we might open a separate account in his bank."</p> + +<p>"My father has always banked at the Westminster," +said Gerald. "It would suit me best to take the money +there."</p> + +<p>They had reached the house by this time. Gerald opened +the door with a latch-key, and the two went into the pretty, +cosy drawing-room. Valentine threw off her white fur wrap, +and sank down into an easy-chair. Her dinner dress was +white, and made in a very simple girlish fashion—her hair, +which was always short and curled in little rings about her +head and face, added to the extreme youth of her appearance. +She raised her eyes to her husband, who stood by +the mantel-piece. The expression she wore was that of a +happy, excited, half-spoiled child, a creature who had been +somebody's darling from her birth. This was the predominating +expression of her face, and yet—and yet—Gerald +seemed to read something more in the gaze of the sweet +eyes to-night; a question was half coming into them, the +dawn of a possible awakening might even be discerned in +them.</p> + +<p>"My darling," he said, suddenly coming up to her, putting +his arm about her, and kissing her with passion, "I +love you better than my life—better—better than my hope +of heaven. Can you love me a little, Valentine—just a +little?"</p> + +<p>"I do love you, Gerald." But she spoke quietly, and +without any answering fire.</p> + +<p>His arms dropped, the enthusiasm went out of his face; +he went back again to his old position with his back to the +fire.</p> + +<p>"What kind of girl is Esther Helps, Gerald?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> +<p>"A beautiful girl."</p> + +<p>"As beautiful as I am?"</p> + +<p>"In her way quite as beautiful."</p> + +<p>"Why do you say 'in her way?' Beauty must always +be beauty."</p> + +<p>"It has degrees, Esther Helps is not a lady."</p> + +<p>Valentine was silent for half a minute.</p> + +<p>"I should like to know her," she said then. "I wonder +how much she cares for old Helps."</p> + +<p>"Look here, Valentine, Esther Helps is not the least like +you. I don't know that she has any romantic attachment +for that old man. She is a very ordinary girl—a most +commonplace person with just a beautiful face."</p> + +<p>"How queerly you speak, Gerald. As if it were something +strange for an only daughter to be attached to her +father."</p> + +<p>"The amount of attachment you feel, darling, is uncommon."</p> + +<p>"Is it? Well, I have got a very uncommon father."</p> + +<p>"My dear Valentine, God knows you have."</p> + +<p>Gerald sank down into a chair by the fire. He turned +his face, dreary, white and worn, to the blaze. Valentine +detected no hidden sarcasm in his tones. After a time she +took the cheque out of her purse and handed it to him.</p> + +<p>"Here, Gerry, you will put this into your bank to-morrow, +won't you? We will open an account in our joint +names, won't we? And then we can calculate how much +we are to spend weekly and monthly. Oh, won't it be +interesting and exciting. So much for my clothes, so +much for yours, so much for servants, so much for food—we +need not spend so much on food, need we? So much +for pleasures—I want to go to the theatre at least twice +a week—oh, we can manage it all and have something to +spare. And no debts, remember, Gerry—ready money will +be our system. We'll go in omnibuses, too, to save cabs—I +shall love to feel that I am doing for a penny what +might cost a shilling. Gerald darling, do you know tha<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>t +just in one way you have vexed my father a little?"</p> + +<p>"Vexed him—how, Valentine?"</p> + +<p>"He says it is very wrong of you to croak, and have +gloomy prognostications. You know you said it was not +worth while for me to learn to housekeep. Just as if +you were going to die, or I were going to die. Father was +quite vexed when I told him. Now you look vexed, Gerry. +Really between such a husband and such a father, a poor +girl may sometimes feel puzzled. Well, have you nothing +to say?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I have nothing to say, Valentine."</p> + +<p>"Then you won't croak any more."</p> + +<p>"Not for you—I have never croaked for you."</p> + +<p>"Nor for yourself."</p> + +<p>"I cannot promise. Sometimes fits of depression come +over me. There, good-night, sweet. Go to bed. I am +not sleepy. I shall read for a time. Your future is all +right, Valentine."</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + + +<p>"I don't like it," said Lilias.</p> + +<p>She was sitting in the sunny front parlor, the room which +was known as the children's room at the rectory. An open +letter lay on her dark winter dress; her sunny hair was +piled up high on her shapely head, and her eyes, wistful +and questioning, were raised to Marjory's brisker, brighter +face, with a world of trouble in them.</p> + +<p>The snow lay thick outside, covering the flower beds +and the grassy lawn, and laying in piles against the low +rectory windows. Marjory was standing by a piled up +fire, one of those perfect fires composed of great knobs of +sparkling coal and well dried logs of wood. She, too, had +on a dark dress, but it was nearly covered by a large holland +apron with a bib. Her sleeves were protected by +cuffs of the same, on her hands she wore chamois leather +gloves with the tips cut off. She looked all bright, and +active, and sparkling, and round her on the table and on +the floor lay piles and bales of unbleached calico, of coarse +red flannel, of bright dark blue and crimson merino. In +one of Marjory's capable hands was a large pair of cutting-out +scissors, and she paused, holding this implement +slightly open, to listen to Lilias' lugubrious words.</p> + +<p>"If you must croak to-day," she said, "get it over +quickly, and come and help me. Twenty-four blue frocks +and twenty-four red to be ready by the time the girls come +at four o'clock, besides the old women's flannel and this +unlimited supply of unbleached calico. If there is a thing +which ruffles my equanimity it is unbleached calico, it fluffs +so, and makes one so messy. Now, what do you want to +say, Lilias?"</p> + +<p>"I'm troubled," said Lilias, "it's about Gerald. I've the +queerest feel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>ing about him—three times lately I've dreamt—intangible +dreams, of course, but all dark and foreboding."</p> + +<p>"Is that a letter from Gerry in your lap, Lilias?"</p> + +<p>"No, it is from Val—a nice little letter, too, poor child. +I am sure she is doing her best to be a good wife to Gerald. +Do you know that she has taken up housekeeping in real +earnest."</p> + +<p>"Does she say that Gerald is ill?"</p> + +<p>"No, she scarcely mentions his name at all."</p> + +<p>"Then what in the name of goodness are you going into +the dismals for on this morning of all mornings. Twenty-four +blue frocks and twenty-four red between noon and +four o'clock, and the old women coming for them to the +moment. Really, Lilias, you are too provoking. You are +not half the girl you were before Gerald's marriage. I +don't know what has come to you. Oh, there's Mr. Carr +passing the window, I'll get him to come in and help us. +Forgive me, Lil, I'll just open this window a tiny bit and +speak to him. How do you do, Mr. Carr? You can step +in this way—you need not go round through all the slush +to the front door. There, you can wipe your feet on that +mat. Lilias, say 'how do you do' to Mr. Carr, that is if +you are not too dazed."</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Miss Wyndham? How do you do. +Miss Lilias?" said Carr in a brisk tone. "It is very good +of you both to let me into this pleasant room after the cold +and snow outside. And how busy you are! Surely, Miss +Wyndham, your family don't require such a vast amount +of re-clothing."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Marjory, "these bales of goods are for my +shivering widows," and she pointed to the red flannel and +unbleached calico. "And those are for my pretty orphans—our +pretty orphans, Lilly darling, twenty-four +in the West Refuge, twenty-four in the East; the Easterns +are apparelled in red, the Westerns in blue. Now, Mr. +Carr, I'll put it to you as our spiritual <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>pastor, is it right +for Lilias to sit and croak instead of helping me with all +this prodigious work?"</p> + +<p>"But croaking for nothing is not Miss Lilias' way," said +Carr, favoring her with a quick glance, a little anxious, a +little surprised.</p> + +<p>Lilias sprang up with almost a look of vexation. Valentine's +letter fell unheeded on the floor.</p> + +<p>"You are too bad, Maggie," she said, with almost a +forced laugh. "I suppose there are few people in this +troublesome world who are not now and then attacked +with a fit of the blues. But here goes. I'll shake them +off. I'll help you all I can."</p> + +<p>"You must help, too," said Marjory in a gay voice, +turning to Carr. "Please take off your great coat—put it +anywhere. Now then, are your hands strong? are your +arms steady? You have got to hold this bale of red +merino while Lilly cuts dress lengths from it. Don't forget. +Lil, nine lengths of three-and-a-half yards each, nine +lengths of four yards each, and six lengths of five yards each. +Oh, thank you, Mr. Carr, that will be a great assistance."</p> + +<p>Carr was a very energetic, wide-awake, useful man. He +could put his hands to anything. No work, provided it +was useful, was derogatory in his eyes—he was always +cheerful, always bright and obliging. Even Gerald Wyndham +could scarcely have made a more popular curate at +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold than did this young man.</p> + +<p>"If anything could provoke me about him, it is that he +is too sunny," Marjory said one day to her sister.</p> + +<p>Lilias was silent. It occurred to her, only she was not +sure, that in those dark, quick, keen eyes there could come +something which might sustain and strengthen on a day of +clouds as well as sunshine.</p> + +<p>It came now, when Marjory suddenly left the room, and +Carr abruptly let the great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> bale of merino drop at his +feet.</p> + +<p>"Are you worried about anything?" he asked, in that +direct fashion of his which made people trust him very +quickly.</p> + +<p>Lilias colored all over her face.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I ought not to be silly," she said, "but my +brother—you see he is my only brother—his marriage has +made a great gulf between us."</p> + +<p>Carr looked at her sharply.</p> + +<p>"You are not jealous?" he said.</p> + +<p>"I don't know—we used to be great chums. I think if +I were sure he was happy I should not be jealous?"</p> + +<p>Carr walked to the fireplace.</p> + +<p>"It would not be folly if you were," he said. "All +sisters must face the fact of their brothers taking to themselves +wives, and, of course, loving the wives best. It is +the rule of nature, and it would be foolish of you to fret +against the inevitable."</p> + +<p>He spoke abruptly, and with a certain coldness, which +might have offended some girls. Lilias' slow earnest answer +startled him.</p> + +<p>"I don't fret against the inevitable," she said. "But I +do fret against the intangible. There is a mystery about +Gerald which I can't attempt to fathom. I know it is there, +but I can't grapple with it in any direction."</p> + +<p>"You must have some thought about it, though, or it +would not have entered into your head."</p> + +<p>"I have many thoughts, but no clues. Oh, it would +take me a long, long time to tell you what I fear, to bring +my shadowy dread into life and being. I have just had a +letter from Valentine, a sweet nice letter, and yet it seems +to me full of mystery, although I am sure she does not know +it herself. Yes, it is all intangible—it is kind of you to +listen to me. Marjory would say I was talking folly."</p> + +<p>"You are talking as if your nerves were a little out of +sorts. Could you not have a change? Even granted that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +there is trouble, and I don't suppose for an instant that +anything of the kind is in store for your brother, it is a great +waste of life to meet it half way."</p> + +<p>Lilias smiled faintly.</p> + +<p>"I am silly," she said. And just then Marjory came +into the room, followed by Augusta, and the cutting out +proceeded briskly.</p> + +<p>Carr was an invaluable help. Some people would have +said that he was a great deal too gay and cheerful—a great +deal too athletic and well-knit and keen-eyed for a curate.</p> + +<p>This was not the case; he made an excellent clergyman, +but he had a great sense of the fitness of things, and he +believed fully in a time for everything.</p> + +<p>Helping three merry girls to cut out red and blue merino +frocks, on a cold day in January, seemed to him a very +cheerful occupation. Gay laughter and light and innocent +chatter filled the room, and Lilias soon became one of the +merriest of the party.</p> + +<p>In the midst of their chatter the rector entered.</p> + +<p>"I want you, Carr," he said, abruptly; he was usually +a very polite man, almost too ceremonious. Now his +words came with a jerk, and the moment he had uttered +them he vanished.</p> + +<p>As Carr left the room in obedience to this quick summons. +Lilias' face became once more clouded.</p> + +<p>The rector was pacing up and down his study. When +Carr entered he asked him to bolt the door.</p> + +<p>"Is anything the matter, sir?" asked the young man.</p> + +<p>Mr. Wyndham's manner was so perturbed, so unlike +himself, that it was scarcely wonderful that Carr should +ask this question. It received, however, a short and sharp +reply.</p> + +<p>"I hope to goodness, Carr, you are not one of those +imaginative people who are always foreboding a lion in the +path. What I sent for you was—well——" the rector +paused. He raised his eyes slowly until they rested upon +the picture of Gerald's mother; the face very like Gerald'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>s +seemed to appeal to him; his lips trembled.</p> + +<p>"I can't keep it up, Carr," he said, with an abandon +which touched the younger man to the heart. "I'm not +satisfied about my son. Nothing wrong, oh, no—and yet—and +yet—you understand, Carr, I have only one son—a +lot of girls, God bless them all!—and only one son."</p> + +<p>Carr came over and stood by the mantel-piece. If he +felt any surprise, he showed none. His words came out +gently, and in a matter-of-fact style.</p> + +<p>"If you have any cause to be worried, Mr. Wyndham—and—and—you +think I can help you, I shall be proud to +be trusted." Then his thoughts flew to Lilias, and his +firm, rather thin lips, took a faint smile.</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt I am very foolish," replied the rector. +"I had a letter this morning from Gerald. He tells me in +it that he is going to Australia in March, on some special +business for his father-in-law's firm—you know he is a +partner in the firm. His wife is not to accompany him."</p> + +<p>The rector paused.</p> + +<p>Carr made no answer for a moment. Then he said, feeling +his way—</p> + +<p>"This will be a trial for Mrs. Wyndham."</p> + +<p>"One would suppose so. Gerald doesn't say anything +on the subject."</p> + +<p>"Well," said the rector, "how does it strike you? Perhaps +I'm nervous—Lilly, poor girl, is the same, and Marjory +laughs at us both. How does this intelligence strike you +as an outsider, Carr? Pray give me your opinion."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Carr, simply. "I do not think my opinion +need startle anyone. Doubtless, sir, you know facts which +throw a different complexion on the thing. It all seems to +me a commonplace affair. In big business houses partners +have often to go away at short notice. It will certainly +be a trial for Mrs. Wyndham to do without her husband. +I don't like to prescribe change of air for you, Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> Wyndham, +as I did for Miss Lilias just now, but I should like +to ask you if your nerves are quite in order?"</p> + +<p>The rector laughed.</p> + +<p>"You are a daring fellow to talk of nerves to me, Carr," +he said. "Have not I prided myself all my life on having +no nerves? Well, well, the fact is, a great change has +come over the lad's face. He used to be such a boy, too +light-hearted, if anything, too young, if anything, for his +years—the most unselfish fellow from his birth. Give away? +Bless you, there was nothing Gerald wouldn't give away. +Why, look here, Carr, we all tried to spoil the boy amongst +us—he was the only one—and his mother taken away +when he so young—and he the image of her. Yes, all the +girls resemble me, but Gerald is the image of his mother. +We all tried to teach him selfishness, but we couldn't. Now. +Carr, you will be surprised at what I am going to say, but +if a man can be unselfish to a <i>fault</i>, to a fault mind you—to +the verge of a crime—it's my son Gerald. I know this. +I have always seen it in him. Now my boy's father-in-law. +Mortimer Paget, is as selfish as my lad is the reverse. Why +did he want a poor lad like mine to marry his rich and +only daughter? Why did he make him a partner in his +house of business, and why did he insure my boy's life? +Insure it heavily? Answer me that. My boy would have +taken your place here, Carr; humbly but worthily would +he have served the Divine Master, no man happier than he. +Is he happy now? Is he young for his years now? Tell +me, Carr, what you really think?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sir. I have not looked at things from +your light. You are evidently much troubled, and I am +deeply troubled for you. I don't know Wyndham very +well but I know him a little. I think that marriage and +the cares of a house of business and all his fresh responsibilities +may be enough to age your son's face. As to the +insurance question, all business is so fluctuating that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> Mr. +Paget was doubtless right in securing his daughter and her +children from possible want in the future. See here, Mr. +Wyndham, I am going up to town this evening for two or +three days. Shall I call at Park-lane and bring you my +own impressions with regard to your son?"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Carr, that is an excellent thought, and +what is more you shall escort Lilias or Marjory up to town. +They have a standing invitation to my boy's house, and a +little change just now would do—shall I say Lilias?—good."</p> + +<p>"Miss Lilias wants a change, sir. She is affected like +yourself with, may I call it, an attack of the nerves."</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + + +<p>Valentine really made an excellent housekeeper. Nobody +expected it of her; her friends, the ladies, old and young, the +girls, married or otherwise, who knew Valentine as they +supposed very intimately, considered the idea of settling +this remarkably ignorant young person down with a fixed +income and telling her to buy with it, and contrive with it, +and make two ends meet with it, quite one of the best jokes +of the day.</p> + +<p>Valentine did not regard it as a joke at all. She honestly +tried, honestly studied, and honestly made a success as +housekeeper and household manager.</p> + +<p>She was a most undeveloped creature, undeveloped both +in mind and heart; but she not only possessed intense +latent affections, but latent capacities of all sorts. She +scarcely knew the name of poverty, she had no experience +with regard to the value of money, but nature had given +her an instinct which taught her to spend it wisely and +well. She found a thousand a year a larger income than +she and Gerald with their modest wants needed. She +scarcely used half of what she received, and yet her home +was cheerful, her servants happy, her table all that was comfortable.</p> + +<p>When she brought her housekeeping books to her husband +to balance at the end of the first month, he looked at +her with admiration, and then said in a voice of great sadness:—</p> + +<p>"God help me, Valentine, have I made a mistake altogether +about you? Am I dreaming, Valentine, are you +meant for a poor man's wife after all?"</p> + +<p>"For your wife, whether rich or poor," she said; and +she knelt down by his side, and put her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> hand into his.</p> + +<p>She had always possessed a sweet and beautiful face, +but for the last few weeks it had altered; the sweetness had +not gone, but resolution had grown round the curved +pretty lips, and the eyes had a soft happiness in them.</p> + +<p>"Pretty, charming creature!" people used to say of her. +"But just a trifle commonplace and doll-like."</p> + +<p>This doll-like expression was no longer discernible in +Valentine.</p> + +<p>Gerald touched her hair tenderly.</p> + +<p>"My little darling!" he said. His voice shook. Then +he rose abruptly, with a gesture which was almost rough. +"Come upstairs, Val; the housekeeping progresses admirably. +No, my dear, you made a mistake, you were never +meant for a poor man's wife."</p> + +<p>Valentine kissed his brow: she looked at him in a +puzzled way.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," she said, laying her hands on his, with +a gesture half timid, half appealing; "don't go up to the +drawing-room for a moment, Gerald, I want to say a thing, +something I have observed. I am loved by two men, by +my father and by you. I am loved by them very much—by +both of them very much. Oh, yes, Gerald, I know +what you feel for me, and yet I can't make either of them +happy. My father is not happy. Oh, yes, I can see—love +isn't blind. I never remembered my father quite, quite +happy, and he is certainly less so than ever now. He tries +to look all right when people are by; even succeeds, for +he is so unselfish, and brave, and noble. But when he is +alone—ah, then. Once he fell asleep when I was in the +room, he looked terrible in that sleep; his face was haggard—he +sighed—there was moisture on his brow. When he +woke he asked me to marry you. I didn't care for you +then, Gerald, but I said yes because of my father. He said +if I married you he would be perfectly happy. I did so—he +is not happy."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> +<p>Gerald did not say a word.</p> + +<p>"And you aren't happy, dear," she continued, coming a +little nearer to him. "You used to be; before we were +engaged you had such a gay face. I could never call you +gay since, Gerald. You are so thin, and sometimes at night +I lie awake, and I hear you sigh. Why, what is the matter. +Gerald? You look ghastly now. Am I hurting you? I +wouldn't hurt you, darling."</p> + +<p>Wyndham turned round quickly. He had been white +almost to fainting, now a great light seemed to leap out of +his eyes.</p> + +<p>"What did you say? What did you call me? Say it +again."</p> + +<p>"Darling."</p> + +<p>"Then I thank my God—everything has not been in +vain."</p> + +<p>He sank down on the nearest chair and burst into tears. +Tragedies go on where least expected. The servants in the +servants' hall thought their young master and mistress +quite the happiest people in the world. Were they not gay, +young, rich? Did they not adore one another? Gerald's +devotion to Valentine was almost a joke with them, and +Valentine's increasing regard for him was very observable +to those watchful outsiders.</p> + +<p>Certainly the pair stayed in a good deal in the evenings, +and why to-night in particular did they linger so long in +the dining-room, rather to the inconvenience of the kitchen +regime. But presently their steps were heard going upstairs, +and then Valentine accompanied Gerald's violin on +the piano.</p> + +<p>Wyndham played very well for an amateur, so well that +with a little extra practice he might almost have taken his +place as a professional of no mean ability. He had exquisite +taste and a sensitive ear. Music always excited him, +and perhaps was not the safest recreation for such a highly +strung nature.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> + +<p>Valentine could accompany well; she, too, loved music, +but had not her husband's facility nor grace of execution. +In his happiest moments Gerald could compose, and +sometimes even improvise with success.</p> + +<p>During their honeymoon it seemed to him one day as he +looked at the somewhat impassive face of the girl for whom +he had sold himself body and soul—as he looked and felt that +not yet at least did her heart echo even faintly to any beat +of his, it occurred to him that he might tell his story in its +pain and its longing best through the medium of music. +He composed a little piece which, for want of another title, +he called "Waves." It was very sweet in melody, and had +some minor notes of such pathos that when Valentine first +heard him play it on the violin she burst into tears. He +told her quite simply then that it was his story about her, +that all the sweetness was her share, all the graceful melody, +the sparkling joyous notes which coming from Gerald's +violin seemed to speak like a gay and happy voice, represented +his ideal of her. The deeper notes and the pain +belonged to him; pain must ever come with love when it +is strongest, she would understand this presently.</p> + +<p>Then he put his little piece away—he only played it once +for her when they were in Switzerland; he forgot it, but +she did not.</p> + +<p>To-night, after her confession, when they went up to the +drawing-room, his heart immeasurably soothed and healed, +and hers soft with a wonderful joy which the beginning of +true love can give, he remembered "Waves," and thought +he would play it for her again. It did not sound so melancholy +this time, but strange to say the gay notes were not +quite so gay, the warble of a light heart had deepened. +As Wyndham played and Valentine sat silent, for she +offered no accompaniment to this little fugitive piece, he +found that he must slightly reconstruct the melody. The +minor keys were still minor, but there was a ring o<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>f victory +through them now; they were solemn, but not despairing.</p> + +<p>"He that loseth his life shall find it," Wyndham said +suddenly, looking full into her eyes.</p> + +<p>The violin slipped from his hand, coming down with a +discordant crash, the door was flung open by the servant, +as Lilias Wyndham and Adrian Carr came into the room.</p> + +<p>In a minute all was gay bustle and confusion. Gerald +forgot his cares, and Valentine was only too anxious to +show herself as the hospitable and attentive hostess.</p> + +<p>A kind of improvised meal between dinner and tea was +actually brought up into the drawing-room. Lilias ate +chicken and ham holding her plate on her lap. Carr, more +of a stranger, was not allowed to feel this fact. In short, +no four could have looked merrier or more free from +trouble.</p> + +<p>"It is delightful to have you here—delightful, Lilias," +said Valentine, taking her sister-in-law's hand and squeezing +it affectionately.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Lil," said Gerald, "that this little girl-wife +of mine, with no experience whatever, makes a most +capable housekeeper. With all your years of knowledge +I should not like you to enter the lists with her."</p> + +<p>"With all my years of failure, you mean," answered +Lilias. "I always was and always will be the most +incompetent woman with regard to beef and mutton and +pounds, shillings and pence who walks this earth."</p> + +<p>She laughed as she spoke; her face was cloudless, her +dark eyes serene. For one moment before he went away +Carr found time to say a word to her.</p> + +<p>"Did I not tell you it was simply a case of nerves?" +he remarked.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + + +<p>Esther Helps was certainly neither a prudent nor a careful +young woman. She meant no harm, she would have +shuddered at the thought of actual sin, but she was reckless, +a little defiant of all authority, even her father's most +gentle and loving control, and very discontented with her +position in life.</p> + +<p>Morning, noon, and night, Esther's dream of dreams, +longing of longings, was to be a lady. She had some little +foundation for this desire. The mother who had died at +her birth had been a poor half-educated little governess, +whose mother before her had been a clergyman's daughter. +Esther quickly discovered that she was beautiful, and her +dream of dreams was to marry a gentleman, and so go +back to that station in life where her mother had moved.</p> + +<p>Esther had no real instincts of ladyhood. She spoke +loudly, her education had been of a very flashy and superficial +order. From the time she left the fourth-rate boarding-school +where her father alone had the means to place +her, she had stayed at home and idled. Idling was very +bad for a character like hers; she was naturally active and +energetic—she had plenty of ability, and would have made +a capital shopwoman or dressmaker. But Esther thought +it quite beneath her to work, and her father, who could +support her at home, was only too delighted to have her +there. He was inordinately proud of her—she was the one +sunbeam in his dull, clouded timorous life. He adored +her beauty, he found no fault with her Cockney twang, and +he gave her in double measure the love which had lain +buried for many years with his young wife.</p> + +<p>Esther, therefore, when she left school, sat at home, and +made her own dresses, and chatted with her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> cousin Cherry, +who was an orphan, and belonged to Helps' side of the +house. Cherry was a very capable, matter-of-fact hearty +little girl, and Esther thought it an excellent arrangement +that she should live with them, and take the drudgery and +the cooking, and in short all the household work off her +hands. Esther was very fond of Cherry, and Cherry, in +her turn, thought there was never anyone quite so grand +and magnificent as her tall, stately cousin.</p> + +<p>"Well, Cherry," said Esther, as the two were going to +bed on the night after Wyndham's visit, "what do you +think of him? Oh, I needn't ask, there's but one thing +to be thought of him."</p> + +<p>"Elegant, I say," interrupted Cherry. She was looking +particularly round and dumpy herself, and her broad face +with her light grey eyes was all one smile. "An elegant +young man, Essie—a sort of chevalier, now, wouldn't you +say so?"</p> + +<p>"It's just like you, Cherry, you take up all your odd +moments with those poetry books. Mr. Wyndham ain't a +chevalier—he's just a gentleman, neither more nor less—a +real gentleman, oh dear. I call it a cruel disappointment. +Cherry," and she heaved a profound sigh.</p> + +<p>"What's a disappointment?" asked unsuspicious Cherry, +as she tumbled into bed.</p> + +<p>"Why, that he's married, my dear. He'd have suited +me fine. Well, there's an end of that."</p> + +<p>Cherry thought there was sufficiently an end to allow +her to drop off to sleep, and Esther, after lying awake for +a little, presently followed her example.</p> + +<p>The next day she was more restless than ever, once or +twice even openly complaining to Cherry of the dullness +of her lot, and loudly proclaiming her determination to +become a lady in spite of everybody.</p> + +<p>"You can't, Essie," said her father, in his meek, though +somewhat high-pitched voice, when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> overheard some of +her words that evening. "It ain't your lot, child—you +warn't born in the genteel line; there's all lines and all +grooves, and yours is the narrowing one of the poverty-struck +clerk's child."</p> + +<p>"I think it's mean of you to talk like that, father," said +Esther, her eyes flashing. "It's mean of you, and unkind +to my poor mother, who was a lady born."</p> + +<p>"I don't know much about that," replied Helps, looking +more despondent than ever. "She was the best of +little wives, and if she was born a lady, which I ain't going +to deny, for I don't know she warn't a lady bred, I mind +me she thought it a fine bit of a rise to leave off teaching +the baker's children, and come home to me. Poor little +Essie—poor, dear little Essie. You don't take much after +her, Esther, my girl."</p> + +<p>"If she was spiritless, and had no mind for her duties, +which were in my opinion to uphold her station in life, I +don't want to take after her," answered Esther, and she +flounced out of the room.</p> + +<p>Helps looked round in an appealing way at Cherry.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to part with her," he said, "but it will be +a good thing for us all when Essie is wed. I must try and +find some decent young fellow who will be likely to take a +fancy to her. Her words fret me on account of their ambition. +Cherry, child."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't be put out if I was you, uncle," responded +Cherry in her even, matter-of-fact voice. "Esther is took +up with a whim, and it will pass. It's all on account of +the chevalier."</p> + +<p>"The what, child?"</p> + +<p>"The chevalier. Oh, my sakes alive, there's the milk +boiling all over the place, and my hearth done up so beautiful. +Here, catch hold of this saucepan, uncle, while I fetch +a cloth to wipe up. My word, ain't this provoking. I +thought to get time to learn a verse or two out of the +poetry book to-night; but no such luck—I'll be brushin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>g +and blacking till bed-time."</p> + +<p>In the confusion which ensued, Helps forgot to ask +Cherry whom she meant by the chevalier.</p> + +<p>A few days after this, as Helps was coming home late, +he was rather dismayed to find his daughter returning also, +accompanied by a young man who was no better dressed +than half the young men with whom she walked, but who +had a certain air and a certain manner which smote upon +the father's heart with a dull sense of apprehension.</p> + +<p>"Essie, my girl," he said, when she had bidden her +swain good-bye, and had come into the house, with her eyes +sparkling and her whole face looking so bright and beautiful, +that even Cherry dropped her poetry book to gaze +in admiration. "Essie," said Helps, all the tenderness of +the love he bore her trembling in his voice, "come here. +Kiss your old father. You love him, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, dad, what a question. I should rather think I +did."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't hurt him now, Essie? You wouldn't +break his heart, for instance?"</p> + +<p>"I break your heart, dad? Is it likely? Now, what +can the old man be driving at?" she said, looking across +at Cherry.</p> + +<p>"It's this," responded Helps, "I want to know the name +of the fellow—yes, the—the fellow, who saw you home just +now?"</p> + +<p>"Now, father, mightn't he be Mr. Gray, or Mr. Jones, +or Mr. Abbott; some of those nice young men you bring +up now and then from the city? Why mightn't he be one +of them, father?"</p> + +<p>"But he wasn't, my dear. The young men you speak of +are honest lads, every one of them. I wouldn't have no +sort of objection to your walking with them, Esther. It +wasn't none of my friends from the city I saw you with to-night. +Essie."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And why shouldn't this be an honest fellow, too?" +answered Esther, her eyes sparkling dangerously.</p> + +<p>"I don't know, my dear. I didn't like the looks of him. +What's his name, Essie, my love?"</p> + +<p>"Captain Herriot, of the —— Hussars."</p> + +<p>"There! Esther, you're not to walk with Captain +Herriot any more. You're not to know him. I won't +have it—so now."</p> + +<p>"Highty-tighty!" said Esther. "There are two to say +a word to that bargain, father. And pray, why may I walk +with Mr. Jones and not with Captain Herriot? Captain +Herriot's a real gentleman, and Mr. Jones ain't."</p> + +<p>"And that's the reason, my child. If Jones walked with +you, he'd maybe—yes, I'm sure of it—he'd want all his +heart and soul to make you his honest wife some day. Do +you suppose Captain Herriot wants to make you his wife. +Essie?"</p> + +<p>"I don't say. I won't be questioned like that." Her +whole pale face was in a flame. "Maybe we never thought +of such a thing, but just to be friends, and to have a pleasant +time. It's cruel of you to talk like that, father."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I won't, my darling, I won't. Just promise +you'll have nothing more to say to the fellow. I'd believe +your word against the world, Essie."</p> + +<p>"Against the world? Would you really, dad? I +wouldn't, though, if I were you. No, I ain't going to make +a promise I might break." She went out of the room, she +was crying.</p> + +<p>A short time after this, indeed the very day after Lilias +Wyndham's visit to London, Gerald noticed that Helps +followed his every movement as he came rather languidly +in and out of the office, with dull imploring eyes. The +old clerk was particularly busy that morning, he was kept +going here, there, and everywhere. Work of all kinds, +work of the most unexpected and unlooked for nature<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +seemed to descend to-day with the force of a sledge hammer +on his devoted head.</p> + +<p>Gerald saw that he was dying to speak to him, and at +the first opportunity he took him aside, and asked him if +there was anything he could do for him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, Mr. Wyndham, you can, you can. Oh, thank +the good Lord for bringing you over to speak to me when +no one was looking. You can save Esther for me—that's +what you can do, Mr. Wyndham. No one can save her +but you. So you will, sir; oh, you will. She's my only +child, Mr. Wyndham."</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + + +<p>"I will certainly do what I can," responded Wyndham, +in his grave, courteous voice.</p> + +<p>He was leaning against the window-ledge in a careless +attitude; Helps, looking up at him anxiously, noticed how +pale and wan his face was.</p> + +<p>"Ah," he responded, rising from his seat, and going up +to the younger man. "'Tis them as bears burdens knows +how to pity. Thank the Lord there's compensation in all +things. Now look here, Mr. Wyndham, this is how things +are. You have seen my Essie, she's troublesome and +spirited—oh, no one more so."</p> + +<p>Helps paused.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered Gerald, in a quiet, waiting voice. He +was not particularly interested in the discussion of Esther +Helps' character.</p> + +<p>"And she's beautiful, Mr. Wyndham. Aye, there's her +curse. Beautiful and hambitious and not a lady, and dying +to be one. You understand, Mr. Wyndham—you must +understand."</p> + +<p>Wyndham said nothing.</p> + +<p>"Well, a month or so ago I found out there was a gentleman—at +least a man who called himself a gentleman—walking +with her, and filling her head with nonsense. His +name was Herriot, a captain in the Hussars. I told +her she was to have nought to say to him, but I soon found +that she disobeyed me. Then I had to spy on her—you +may think how I felt, but it had to be done. I found that +she walked with him, and met him at all hours. I made +inquiries about his character, and I found he was a +scoundrel, a bad fellow out and out. He'd be sure to break +my Essie's heart if he did no worse. Then I was in a +taking, for the girl kept everything in, and would scarcely +brook me so much as to look at her. I was that upset<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +that I took Cherry into my confidence. She's a very good +girl, is Cherry—the Lord hasn't cursed her with no beauty. +Last week she brought me word that Esther was going to +the Gaiety with Captain Herriot, that he had taken two +stalls and they were to have a fine time. She said Esther +was almost out of her mind with delight, as it was always +her dream to be seen at the theatre, beautifully dressed, +with a real gentleman. She had shown the tickets to +Cherry, and Cherry was smart enough to take the numbers +and keep them in the back of her head. She told me, and +I can tell you, Mr. Wyndham, I was fit to kill someone. I +went straight off to the Gaiety office, and by good luck or +the grace of God, I found there was a vacant stall next +to Esther's—just one, and no more. I paid for that stall, +here's the ticket in my pocket."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Wyndham, "and you mean to go with +Esther to-night? A very good idea—excellent. But how +will she take it?"</p> + +<p>"How will she take it, Mr. Wyndham? I feel fit to pull +my grey hairs out. How would she have taken it, you +mean? For it's all a thing of the past, sir. Oh, I had it all +planned fine. I was to wait until she and that fellow had +taken their places, and then I'd come in quite natural, and +sit down beside her, and answer none of her questions, +only never leave her, no, not for a quarter of a minute. +And if he spoke up, the ruffian, I had my reply for him. I'd +stay quiet enough till we got outside, and then just one +blow in the middle of his face—yes, just one, to relieve a +father's feelings. Then home with my girl, and I think it's +more than likely we wouldn't have been troubled with no +more of Captain Herriot's attentions."</p> + +<p>Helps paused again.</p> + +<p>"You speak in the past tense," said Gerald. "Why +cannot you carry ou<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>t this excellent programme?"</p> + +<p>"That's it, sir, that's what about maddens me. I came +to the office this morning, and what has happened hasn't +happened this three months past. There's business come +in of a nature that no one can tackle but myself. Business +of a private character, and yet what may mean the loss or +gain of thousands. Oh, I can't explain it, Mr. Wyndham, +even though you are a partner; there are things that confidential +clerks know that are hid from junior partners. I +can't leave here till eleven o'clock to-night, Mr. Wyndham, +and if you don't help me Esther may be a lost girl. Yes, +there's no mincing matters—lost, beyond hope. Will you +help me, Mr. Wyndham? I'll go mad if my only girl, my +beautiful girl, comes to that."</p> + +<p>"I? Can I help you?" asked Wyndham. There was +hesitation and distress in his voice. He saw that he was +going to be asked to do something unpleasant.</p> + +<p>"You can do this, sir. You can make it all right. Bless +you, sir, who's there to see? And you go with the best +intentions. You go in a noble cause. You can afford to +risk that much, Mr. Wyndham. I want you to take my +place at the Gaiety to-night; take my ticket and go there. +Talk pleasant to Esther: not much, but just a little, +nothing to rouse her suspicions. Let her think it was just +a coincidence your being there. Then, just at the end, +give her this letter from me. I've said a thing in it that +will startle her. She'll get a fright and turn to you. Put +her into a cab then, and bring her here. You can sit on +the box if you like. That's all. Put her into my arms +and your task is done. Here's the ticket and the letter. +Do it, Mr. Wyndham, and God will bless you. Yes, yes, +my poor young sir—He'll bless you."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk of God when you speak of me," said Wyndham. +"Something has happened which closes the door of +religion for me. The door between God and me is closed. +I am still open, however, to the call of humanity. You +want me to go to the Gaiety to-night to save you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>r daughter. +It is very probable that if I went I should save her. I am +engaged, however, for to-night. My sister is in town. We +are going to make a party to the Haymarket."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, what of that? Send a telegram to say you +have an engagement. Think of Esther. Think what it +means if you fail me now."</p> + +<p>"I do think of it, Helps. I will do what you want. +Give me the letter and the theatre ticket."</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + + +<p>Valentine was delighted to have Lilias as her companion. +She was in excellent spirits just now, and Lilias and she +enjoyed going about together. They had adventures +which pleased them both, such simple adventures as +come to poorer girls every day—a ride in an omnibus to +Kew, an excursion up the river to Battersea in a penny +steamer, and many other mild intoxicants of this nature. +Sometimes Gerald came with them, but oftener they went +alone. They laughed and chatted at these times, and +people looked at them, and thought them two particularly +merry good-looking school-girls.</p> + +<p>Valentine was very fond of going to the theatre, and of +course one of the principal treats in store for Lilias was a +visit to the play. Valentine decided that they would go to +some entertainment of a theatrical character nearly every +evening. On the day of Helps' strange request to Wyndham +they were to see <i>Captain Swift</i> at the Haymarket. +Mr. Paget had taken a box for the occasion, and Valentine's +last injunction to her husband was to beg of him +to be home in good time so that they might have dinner +in peace, and reach the Haymarket before the curtain +rose.</p> + +<p>Lilias and she trotted about most of the morning, and +sat cosily now in the pretty drawing-room in Park-Lane, +sipping their tea, examining their purchases, or chatting +about dress, and sundry other trivial matters after the +fashion of light-hearted girls.</p> + +<p>Presently Valentine pulled a tiny watch out of her +belt.</p> + +<p>"Gerald is late," she said. "He promised faithfully to +be in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> to tea, and it is now six o'clock. We dine at half-past. +Had we not better go and dress, Lilias?"</p> + +<p>Lilias was standing on the hearthrug, she glanced at +the clock, then into the ruddy flames, then half-impatiently +towards the door.</p> + +<p>"Oh, wait a moment or two," she said. "If Gerald +promised to come he is safe to be here directly. I never +met such a painfully conscientious fellow; he would not +break his word even in a trifle like this for all the world. +Give him three minutes longer. You surely will not take +half-an-hour to dress."</p> + +<p>"How solemnly you speak, Lilias," responded Valentine. +"If Gerald is late, that could scarcely be considered +a breaking of his word. I mean in a promise of +that kind one never knows how one may be kept. That +is always understood, of course."</p> + +<p>There came a pealing ring and a double knock at the +door, and a moment after the page entered with a telegram +which he handed to his mistress. Valentine tore the yellow +envelope open, and read the contents of the pink sheet.</p> + +<p>"No answer, Masters," she said to the boy. Then she +she turned to Lilias. "Gerald can't go with us to-night. +He is engaged. You see, of course, he would not break +his word, Lilias. He is unavoidably prevented coming. +It is too bad."</p> + +<p>Some of the brightness went out of her face, and her +spirits went down a very little.</p> + +<p>"Well, it can't be helped," she said, "only I am disappointed."</p> + +<p>"So am I, awfully disappointed," responded Lilias.</p> + +<p>Then the two went slowly upstairs to change their +dresses.</p> + +<p>When they came down again, Mr. Paget, who was to +dine with them, was waiting in the drawing-room. There +was a suppressed excitement, a suppressed triumph in his +eyes, which, however, only made him look more particularly +bright and charming.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> + +<p>When Valentine came in in the pure white which gave her +such a girlish and even pathetically innocent air, he went +up and kissed her almost fiercely. He put his arm round +her waist and drew her close to him, and looked into +her eyes with a sense of possession which frightened her. +For the first time in all her existence she half shrank from +the father whom she idolized. She was scarcely conscious +of her own shrinking, of the undefinable something which +made her set herself free, and stand on the hearthrug by +Lilias' side.</p> + +<p>"I don't see your husband, my pet," said Mr. Paget. +"He ought to have come home long before now, that is, if +he means to come with us to-night."</p> + +<p>"But he doesn't, father," said Valentine. "That's just +the grief. I had a telegram from him, half-an-hour ago; +he is unavoidably detained."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget raised his eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"Not at the office," he said, in a markedly grave voice, +and with another significant raise of his brows. "That I +know, for he left before I did. Ah, well, young men will +be young men."</p> + +<p>Neither Valentine nor Lilias knew why they both flushed +up hotly, and left a wider space between them and Valentine's +handsome father.</p> + +<p>He did not take the least notice of this movement on +both their parts, but went on in a very smooth, cheerful +voice.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps Gerald does not miss as much as he thought," +he said. "Since I saw you this morning, Val, our programme +has been completely altered. We go to <i>Captain +Swift</i> to-morrow night. I went to the office and exchanged +the box. To-night we go to the Gaiety. I have been +fortunate in securing one of the best boxes in the whole +house, and <i>Monte Christo Junior</i> is well worth seeing."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> +<p>"I don't know that I particularly care for the Gaiety, +father," said Valentine. "How very funny of you to +change our programme."</p> + +<p>"Well, the fact is, some business friends of mine who +were just passing through town were particularly anxious +to see <i>Captain Swift</i>, so as I could oblige them, I did. It +is all the better for your husband, Valentine; he won't miss +this fine piece of drama."</p> + +<p>"No, that is something to be thankful for," responded +Valentine. "But I'm sorry you selected the Gaiety as an +exchange. I don't think Lilias will care for <i>Monte Christo</i>. +However, it can't be helped now, and dinner waits. Shall +we go downstairs?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget and his party were in good time in their +places. Valentine took a seat rather far back in the box, +but her father presently coaxed her to come to the +front, supplied both her and Lilias with opera glasses, and +encouraged both girls to look about them, and watch the +different people who were gradually filing into their places +in the stalls.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget himself neither wore glasses nor aided his +vision with an opera glass. His face was slightly flushed, +and his eyes, keen and bright, travelled round the house, +taking in everything, not passing over a single individual.</p> + +<p>Valentine was never particularly curious about her neighbors, +and as Lilias knew no one, they both soon leant back +in their chairs, and talked softly to one another.</p> + +<p>The curtain rose, and each girl bent forward to see and +enjoy. The rest of the house was now comparatively dark, +but just before the lights were lowered, Mr. Paget might +have been heard to give a faint quick sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>A tall girl in cream-color and soft furs walked slowly +down the length of stalls, and took her place in such a +position that Valentine could scarcely look down without +seeing her. This girl's beauty was so marked that many +eyes were turned in her direction as she appeared. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +was very regal looking, very quiet and dignified in manner. +Her features were classical and pure in outline, and her +head, with its wealth of raven black hair, was splendidly +set.</p> + +<p>She was accompanied by a tall, fairly good-looking man +who sat next to her.</p> + +<p>When the curtain rose and the lights were lowered the +stall at her other side was vacant.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget felt his heart beat a trifle too fast. Would +that stall be full or empty when the curtain dropped at the +close of the first act? Would his heart's desire, his wicked +and treacherous heart's desire be torn from him in the very +moment of apparent fruition. Suppose Gerald did not put +in an appearance at the Gaiety? Suppose at the eleventh +hour he changed his mind and resolved to leave Esther +Helps to her fate? Suppose—pshaw!—where was the use +of supposing? To leave a girl to her fate would not be his +chivalrous fool of a son-in-law's way. No, it was all right; +even now he could dimly discern a faint commotion in the +neighborhood of Esther Helps—the kind of commotion +incident on the arrival of a fresh person, the gentle soft +little movement made by the other occupants of the stalls +to let the new comer, who was both late and tiresome, take +his reserved seat in comfort. Mr. Paget sank back in his +seat with a sensation of relief; he had not listened for +nothing behind an artfully concealed curtain that morning.</p> + +<p>The play proceeded. Much as he had said about it +beforehand, it had no interest for Mr. Paget. He scarcely +troubled to look at the stage. There was no room in his +heart that moment for burlesque: he was too busily engaged +over his own terrible life's drama. On the result of this +night more or less depended all his future happiness.</p> + +<p>"If she turns back to me after what she sees to-night +then I can endure," he said to himself. "I can go on <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>to +the bitter end—if not—well, there are more expedients +than one for a ruined man to throw up the sponge."</p> + +<p>The curtain fell, the theatre was in a blaze of light; +Valentine and Lilias sank back in their seats and began to +fan themselves. They had been pleased and amused. +Lilias, indeed, had laughed so heartily that the tears came +to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I hate to cry when I laugh," she said, taking out her +handkerchief to wipe them away. "It's a tiresome trick +we all have in our family, Gerald and all."</p> + +<p>She had a habit of bringing in Gerald's name whenever +she spoke of her family, as if he were the topmost stone, +the crowning pride and delight.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget had his back slightly turned to the girls. Once +more he was devouring the stalls with his eager bright eyes. +Yes, Gerald Wyndham was in his stall. He was leaning +back, not exerting himself much; he looked nonchalant and +strikingly handsome. Mr. Paget did not wish him to appear +too nonchalant when Valentine first caught sight of him. +No—ah, that was better. Esther was turning to speak to +him. By Jove, what a face the girl had!</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget had often seen Helps' only daughter, for he +found it convenient occasionally to call to see Helps at +Acadia Villa. But he had never before seen her dress +becomingly, and he was positively startled at the pure, high +type of her beauty. At this distance her common accent, +her poor uneducated words, could not grate. All her gestures +were graceful; she looked up at Gerald, said something, +smiled, then lowered her heavy black lashes.</p> + +<p>It was at that moment, just as Wyndham was bending +forward to reply to her remark, and she was leaning +slightly away from her other cavalier, so that he scarcely +seemed to belong to her party, that Valentine, tired of doing +nothing, came close to her father, and allowed her eyes to +wander round the house. Suddenly she uttered a surprised +exclamation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Look, father, look! Is that Gerald? Who is with him? +Who is he talking to? How is it that he comes to be here? +Yes, it is Gerald! Oh, what a lovely girl he is talking +to!"</p> + +<p>Valentine's words were emphatic and slightly agitated, +for she was simply overpowered with astonishment, but +they were spoken in a low key. Lilias did not hear them. +She was reading her programme over for the twentieth +time, and wondering when the curtain would rise and the +play go on.</p> + +<p>"Look, father," continued Valentine, clutching her +father's arm. "Isn't that Gerald? How strange of him to +be here. Who can he be talking to? I don't know her—do +you? Do you see him, father? Won't you go down and +tell him we are here, and bring him up—and—and—the +lady who is with him. Go, please, father, you see where he +is, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I do, my child. I have seen him for some time past. +Would you like to come home, Valentine?"</p> + +<p>"Home! What in the world do you mean? How queer +you look! Is there anything wrong? Who is with Gerald? +Who is he talking to? How lovely she is. I wish she +would look up again."</p> + +<p>"That girl is not a lady, Valentine. She is Esther Helps—you +have heard of her. Yes, now I understand why +your husband could not come with us to the Haymarket +to-night. My poor child! Don't look at them again. +Valentine, my darling."</p> + +<p>Valentine looked full into her father's eyes; full, long, +and steadily she gazed. Then slowly, very slowly, a crimson +flood of color suffused her whole face; it receded, leaving +her deathly pale. She moved away from her father and +took a back seat behind Lilias.</p> + +<p>The curtain rose again, the play continued. Lilias was +excited, and wanted to pull Val<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>entine to the front.</p> + +<p>"No," she said. "My head aches; I don't care to look +any more."</p> + +<p>She sat back in her seat, very white and very calm.</p> + +<p>"Would you like to come home?" said her father, bending +across to her, and speaking in a voice which almost +trembled with the emotion he felt.</p> + +<p>"No," she said in reply, and without raising her eyes. +"I will sit the play out till the end."</p> + +<p>When the curtain fell again she roused herself with an +effort and coaxed Lilias to come into the back of the box +with her. The only keen anxiety she was conscious of was +to protect her husband from Lilias' astonished eyes.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget felt well satisfied. He had managed to convey +his meaning to his innocent child's heart; an insinuation, +a fall of the voice, a look in the eyes, had opened up a gulf +on the brink of which Valentine drew back shuddering.</p> + +<p>"I was only beginning to love him; it doesn't so much +matter," she said many times to herself. Even now she +thought no very bad things of her husband; that is no +very bad things according to the world's code. To her, +however, they were black. He had deceived her—he had +made her a promise and broken it. Why? Because he +liked to spend the evening with another girl more beautiful +than herself.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, I am not jealous," said Valentine, softly under +her breath. "I won't say anything to him either about it, +poor fellow. It does not matter to me, not greatly. I was +only beginning to love him. Thank God there is always +my dear old father."</p> + +<p>When the curtain rose for the final act of the play. +Valentine moved her chair so that she could slightly lean +against Mr. Paget. He took her hand and squeezed it. +He felt that he had won the victory.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + + +<p>Gerald had found his task most uncongenial. In the first +place he was disappointed at not spending the evening with +Valentine and Lilias. In the second the close proximity of +such a girl as Esther Helps could not but be repugnant to +him. Still she was a woman, a woman in danger, and her +father had appealed to him to save her. Had he been ordained +for the Church, such work—ah, no, he must not think +of what his life would have been then. After all, it was good +of the distracted father to trust him, and he must not +betray the trust.</p> + +<p>He went to the theatre and acquitted himself with extreme +tact and diplomacy. When Gerald chose to exert himself +his manner had a quieting effect, a compelling, and almost +a commanding effect on women. Esther became quiet and +gentle; she talked to Captain Herriot, but not noisily; she +laughed, her laugh was low and almost musical. Now and +then her quick eyes glanced at Wyndham; she felt thirsty +for even his faintest approval—he bestowed it by neither +word nor movement.</p> + +<p>As they were leaving the theatre, however, and the gallant +captain, who inwardly cursed that insufferable prig who +happened to have a slight acquaintance with his beautiful +Esther, grew cheerful under the impression that now his +time for enjoyment was come, Gerald said in a low, grave +voice:—</p> + +<p>"Your father has given me a letter for you. Pray be +quiet, don't excite yourself. It is necessary that you should +go to your father directly. Allow me to see you into a cab. +Your father is waiting for you—it is urgent that you should +join him at once."</p> + +<p>Scarcely knowing why she did it, Esther obeyed. She +murmured some eage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>r agitated words to Captain Herriot; +she was subdued, frightened, shaken; as Gerald helped her +into a cab he felt her slim fingers tremble in his. He took +his seat upon the box beside the driver, and ten minutes +later had delivered Esther safely to her father. His task +was done, he did not wait to hear a word of Helps' profuse +thanks. He drew a sigh of relief as he hurried home. +Soon he would be with his wife—the wife whom he idolized—the +wife who was beginning to return his love. Suppose +her passion went on and deepened? Suppose a day +came when to part from him would be a sorer trial than +poverty or dishonor! Oh, if such a day came—he might—ah, +he must not think in that direction. He pushed his +hand through his thick hair, leant back in his cab, and +shut his eyes.</p> + +<p>When he reached the little house in Park-lane he found +that the lights in the drawing-room were out, and the gas +turned low in the hall. He was later even than he had +intended to be. The other theatre-goers had returned +home and gone to bed. He wondered how they had +enjoyed <i>Captain Swift</i>. For himself he had not the least +idea of what he had been looking at at the Gaiety.</p> + +<p>He let himself in with a latch-key, and ran up at once to +his room. He wanted to kiss Valentine, to look into her +eyes, which seemed to him to grow sweeter and softer +every day. He opened the door eagerly and looked round +the cheerful bedroom.</p> + +<p>Valentine was not there.</p> + +<p>He called her. She was not in the dressing-room.</p> + +<p>"She is with Lilias," he said to himself. "How these +two young things love to chatter."</p> + +<p>He sat down in an easy chair by the fire, content to +wait until his wife should return. He was half inclined to +tell her what he had been doing; he had a great longing +to confide in her in all possible ways, for she had both +brains and sense, but he restrained himself. The subject +was not one he cared to discuss with his young wife, an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>d, +besides, the secret belonged to Esther and to her father.</p> + +<p>He made up his mind to say nothing about it. He had +no conception then what this silence was to cost him, and +how different all his future life might have been had he +told his wife the truth that night.</p> + +<p>Presently Valentine returned. Her face was flushed, +and her eyes had an unquiet troubled expression. She +had been to Lilias with a somewhat strange request.</p> + +<p>"Lilias, I want you to promise me something, to ask no +questions, but just like a kind and truthful sister to make +me a faithful promise."</p> + +<p>"You look strange, Valentine; what do you want me to +promise?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Will</i> you promise it?"</p> + +<p>"If I can, I will promise, to please you; but I never +make promises in the dark."</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's Gerald's step, I must go. Lilias, I've a very +particular reason, I cannot explain it to you. I want you +not to tell Gerald, now or at any time, that we were at the +Gaiety to-night."</p> + +<p>"My dear Val, how queer! Why shouldn't poor Gerald +know? And you look so strange. You are trembling."</p> + +<p>"I am. I'm in desperate earnest. Will you promise?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, you silly child, if you set such store on an +utterly ridiculous promise you shall have it. Only if I were +you, Valentine, I wouldn't begin even to have such tiny +little secrets as that from my husband. I wouldn't, Val; +it isn't wise—it isn't really."</p> + +<p>Valentine neither heard nor heeded these last words. +She gave Lilias a hasty, frantic kiss, and rushed back to +her own room.</p> + +<p>"Now," she said to herself, "now—now—now—if he +tells me everything, every single thing, all may be well. I +won't ask him a question; but if he tells, tells of his own +accord, all may be quite well yet. Oh, how my heart +beats! It is good I have not learned to love him any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +better."</p> + +<p>Gerald rose up at her entrance and went to meet her +eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Ah, here's my bright little wife," he said. "Give me a +kiss, Valentine."</p> + +<p>She gave it, and allowed him to fold her in his arms. She +was almost passive, but her heart beat hard—she was so +eagerly waiting for him to speak.</p> + +<p>"Sit down by the fire, darling. I don't like long evenings +spent away from you, Val. How did you enjoy <i>Captain +Swift</i>?"</p> + +<p>"We didn't go to the Haymarket; no, we are going to-morrow. +Father thought it a pity you should miss such a +good play."</p> + +<p>"Then where did you go? You and Lil did not stay at +home the whole evening?"</p> + +<p>"No, father took us to another theatre. I can't tell you +the name; don't ask me. I hate theatres—I detest them. +I never want to go inside one again as long as I live!"</p> + +<p>"How strongly you talk, my dear little Val. Perhaps +you found it dull to-night because your husband was not +with you."</p> + +<p>She moved away with a slight little petulant gesture. +When would he begin to speak?</p> + +<p>Gerald wondered vaguely what had put his sweet-tempered +Valentine out. He stirred the fire, and then stood +with his back to it. She looked up at him, his face was +very grave, very calm. Her own Gerald—he had a nice +face. Surely there was nothing bad behind that face. Why +was he silent? Why didn't he begin to tell his story? Well +she would—she would—help him a little.</p> + +<p>She cleared her throat, she essayed twice to find her +voice. When it came out at last it was small and timorous.</p> + +<p>"Was it—was it business kept you from coming with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +me to-night, Gerry?"</p> + +<p>"Business? Yes, my darling, certainly."</p> + +<p>Her heart went down with a great bound. But she would +give him another chance.</p> + +<p>"Was it—was it business connected with the office?"</p> + +<p>"You speak in quite a queer voice, Valentine. In a +measure it was business connected with the office—in a +measure it was not. What is it, Valentine? What is it, +my dear?"</p> + +<p>She had risen from her seat, put her arms round his neck, +and laid her soft young head on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Tell me the business, Gerry, Tell your own Val."</p> + +<p>He kissed her many times.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't concern you, my dear wife," he said. "I +would tell you gladly, were I not betraying a trust. I had +some painful work to do to-night, Valentine. Yes, business, +certainly. I cannot tell it, dear. Yes, what was that you +said?"</p> + +<p>For she had murmured "Hypocrite!" under her breath. +Very low she had said it, too faintly for him to catch the +word. But he felt her loving arms relax. He saw her +face grow grave and cold, something seemed to go out of +her eyes which had rendered them most lovely. It was +the wounded soul going back into solitude, and hiding its +grief and shame in an inmost recess of her being.</p> + +<p>Would Gerald ever see the soul, the soul of love, in his +wife's eyes again?</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + + +<p>A few days after the events related in the last chapter Mr. +Paget asked his son-in-law to have a few minutes' private +conversation with him. Once more the young man found +himself in that inner room at the rich merchant's office +which represented more or less a torture-chamber to him. +Once more Valentine's untroubled girlish innocent eyes +looked out of Richmond's beautiful picture of her.</p> + +<p>Wyndham hated this room, he almost hated that picture; +it had surrounded itself with terrible memories. He +turned his head away from it now as he obeyed Mr. Paget's +summons.</p> + +<p>"It's this, Gerald," said his father-in-law. "When a +thing has to be done the sooner the better. I mean nobody +cares to make a long operation of the drawing of a +tooth for instance!"</p> + +<p>"An insufficient metaphor," interrupted Wyndham +roughly. "Say, rather, the plucking out of a right eye, or +the cutting off a right hand. As you say, these operations +had better be got quickly over."</p> + +<p>"I think so—I honestly think so. It would convenience +me if you sailed in the <i>Esperance</i> on the 25th of March +for Sydney. There is a <i>bonâ fide</i> reason for your going. +I want you to sample——"</p> + +<p>"Hush," interrupted Wyndham. "The technicalities +and the gloss and all that kind of humbug can come later. +You want me to sail on the 25th of March. That is the +main point. When last you spoke of it, I begged of you +as a boon to give me an extension of grace, say until May +or June. It was understood by us, although there was no +sealed bond in the matter, that my wife and I should spend +a year together before this—this <i>temporary</i> parting took +place. I asked you at one time to shorten my season of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +grace, but a few weeks ago I asked you to extend it."</p> + +<p>"Precisely, Wyndham, and I told you I would grant +your wish, if possible. I asked you to announce to your +own relatives that you would probably have to go away in +March, for a time; but I said I would do my utmost to +defer the evil hour. I am sorry to say that I cannot do so. +I have had news from India which obliges me to hasten +matters. Such a good opportunity as the business which +takes you out in the <i>Esperance</i> will probably not occur +again. It would be madness not to avail ourselves of it. +Do not you think so? My dear fellow, do take a chair."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I prefer to stand. This day—what is this +day?" He raised his eyes; they rested on the office +calendar. "This day is the 24th of February. A spring-like +day, isn't it? Wonderful for the time of year. I have, +then, one month and one day to live. Are these Valentine's +violets? I will help myself to a few. Let me say +good-morning, sir."</p> + +<p>He bowed courteously—no one could be more courteous +than Gerald Wyndham—and left the room.</p> + +<p>His astonished father in-law almost gasped when he +found himself alone.</p> + +<p>"Upon my word," he said to himself, "there's something +about that fellow that's positively uncanny. I only trust +I'll be preserved from being haunted by his ghost. My +God! what a retribution that would be. Wyndham would +be awful as a ghost. I suppose I shall have retribution +some day. I know I'm a wicked man. Hypocritical, cunning, +devilish. Yes, I'm all that. Who'd have thought that +soft-looking lad would turn out to be all steel and venom. +I hate him—and yet, upon my soul, I admire him. He +does more for the woman he loves than I do—than I could +do. The woman <i>we both love</i>. His wife—<i>my child</i>."</p> + +<p>"There, I'll get soft myself if I indulge in these thoughts +any longer. Now is the time for him to go. Valentine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +has turned from him; any fool can see that. Now is the +time to get him out of the way. How lucky that I overheard +Helps that day. Never was there a more opportune +thing."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget went home early that evening. Valentine +was dining with him. Lately, within the last few weeks, +she often came over alone to spend the evening with her +father.</p> + +<p>"Where's your husband, my pet?" the old man used to +say to her on these occasions.</p> + +<p>And she always answered him in a bright though somewhat +hard little voice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Gerald is such a book-worm—he is devouring one +of those abstruse treatises on music. I left him buried in +it," or, "Gerald is going out this evening," or, "Gerald +isn't well, and would like to stay quiet, so"—the end was +invariably the same—"I thought I'd come and have a cosy +chat with you, dad."</p> + +<p>"And no one more welcome—no one in all the wide +world more welcome," Mortimer Paget would answer, +glancing, with apparent pleased unconcern, but with secret +anxiety, at his daughter's face.</p> + +<p>The glance always satisfied him; she looked bright and +well—a little hard, perhaps—well, the blow must affect her +in some way. What had taken place at the Gaiety would +leave some results even on the most indifferent heart. The +main result, however, was well. Valentine's dawning love +had changed to indifference. Had she cared for her husband +passionately, had her whole heart been given into his +keeping, she must have been angry; she must have +mourned.</p> + +<p>As, evening after evening, Mr. Paget came to this conclusion, +he invariably gave vent to a sigh of relief. He +never guessed that if he could wear a mask, so also could +his child. He never even suspected that beneath Valentine's +gay laughter, under the soft shining of her clear eyes, +under her smiles, her light easy words, lay a pain, lay a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>n +ache, which ceased not to trouble her day and night.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget came home early. Valentine was waiting for +him in the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>"We shall have a cosy evening, father," she said. "Oh, +no, Gerald can't come. He says he has some letters to +write. I think he has a headache, too. I'd have stayed +with him, only he prefers being quiet. Well, we'll have a +jolly evening together. Kiss me, dad."</p> + +<p>He did kiss her, then she linked his hand in her arm, +and they went downstairs and dined together, as they used +to do in the old days before either of them had heard of +Gerald Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"Let us come into the library to-night," said Valentine. +"You know there is no room like the library to me."</p> + +<p>"Nor to me," said Mr. Paget brightly. "It reminds me +of when you were a child, my darling."</p> + +<p>"Ah, well, I'm not a child now, I'm a woman."</p> + +<p>She kept back the sigh which rose to her lips.</p> + +<p>"I think I like being a child best, only one never can +have the old childish time back again."</p> + +<p>"Who knows, Val? Perhaps we may. If you have +spoiled your teeth enough over those filberts, shall we go +into the library? I have something to tell you—a little +bit of news."</p> + +<p>"All right, you shall tell it sitting in your old armchair."</p> + +<p>She flitted on in front, looking quite like the child she +more or less still was.</p> + +<p>"Now isn't this perfect?" she said, when the door was +shut, Mr. Paget established in his armchair, and the two +pairs of eyes fixed upon the glowing fire. "Isn't this +perfect?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my darling—perfect. Valentine, there is no love +in all th<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>e world like a father's for his child."</p> + +<p>"No greater love has come to me," replied Valentine +slowly; and now some of the pain at her heart, notwithstanding +all her brave endeavors, did come into her face. +"No greater love has come to me, but I can imagine, yes. +I can imagine a mightier."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, child?"</p> + +<p>"For instance—if you loved your husband perfectly, +and he—he loved you, and there was nothing at all between—and +the joy of all joys was to be with him, and you were +to feel that in thought—in word—in deed—you were one, +not two. There, what am I saying? The wildest nonsense. +There isn't such a thing as a love of that sort. +What's your news, father?"</p> + +<p>"My dear child, how intensely you speak!"</p> + +<p>"Never mind! Tell me what is your news, father."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget laughed, his laugh was not very comfortable.</p> + +<p>"Has Gerald told you anything, Valentine?"</p> + +<p>"Gerald? No, nothing special; he had a headache this +evening."</p> + +<p>"You know, Val—at least we often talked the matter +over—that Gerald might have to go away for a time. He +is my partner, and partners in such a firm as mine have +often to go to the other side of the world to transact +important business."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you and Gerald have both spoken of it. He's not +going soon, is he?"</p> + +<p>"That's it, my pet. The necessity has arisen rather +suddenly. Gerald has to sail for Sydney in about a +month."</p> + +<p>Valentine was sitting a little behind her father. He could +not see the pallor of her face; her voice was quite clear +and quiet.</p> + +<p>"Poor old Gerry," she said; "he won't take me, will he, +father?"</p> + +<p>"Impossible, my dear—absolutely. You surely don't +want to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>go."</p> + +<p>"No, not particularly."</p> + +<p>Valentine yawned with admirable effect.</p> + +<p>"She really can't care for him at all. What a wonderful +piece of luck," muttered her father.</p> + +<p>"I daresay Gerald will enjoy Sydney," continued his +wife. "Is he likely to be long away?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps six months—perhaps not so long. Time is +always a matter of some uncertainty in cases of this kind."</p> + +<p>"I could come back to you while he is away, couldn't I, +dad?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course, my dear one, I always intended that. +It would be old times over again—old times over again for +you and your father, Valentine."</p> + +<p>"Not quite, I think," replied Valentine. "We can't +go back really. Things happen, and we can't undo them. +Do you know, father, I think Gerald must have infected +me with his headache. If you don't mind, I'll go home."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget saw his daughter back to Park-lane, but he +did not go into the house. Valentine rang the bell, and +when Masters opened the door she asked him where her +husband was.</p> + +<p>"In the library, ma'am; you can hear him can't you? +He's practising of the violin."</p> + +<p>Yes, the music of this most soul-speaking, soul-stirring +instrument filled the house. Valentine put her finger to +her lips to enjoin silence, and went softly along the passage +which led to the library. The door was a little ajar—she +could look in without being herself seen. Some sheets of +music were scattered about on the table, but Wyndham was +not playing from any written score. The queer melody +which he called Waves was filling the room. Valentine +had heard it twice before—she started and clasped her +hands as its passion, its unutterable sadness, its despair, +reached her. Where were the triumph notes which had +come into it six weeks ago?</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> +<p>She turned and fled up to her room, and locking the +door, threw herself by her bedside and burst into bitter +weeping.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Gerald, I love you! I do love you; but I'll never +show it. No, never, until you tell me the truth."</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + + +<p>"Yes," said Augusta Wyndham, "if there is a young man +who suits me all round it's Mr. Carr. Yes," she said, +standing very upright in her short skirts, with her hair in +a tight pig-tail hanging down her back, and her determined, +wide open, bright eyes fixed upon an admiring audience +of younger sisters. "He suits me exactly. He's a kind +of hail-fellow-well-met; he has no nonsensical languishing +airs about him; he preaches nice short sermons, and +never bothers you to remember what they are about afterwards; +he's not bad at tennis or cricket, and he really can +cannon quite decently at billiards; but for all that, if <i>you</i> +think, you young 'uns, that he's going to get inside of +Gerry, or that he's going to try to pretend to know better +than Gerry what I can or can't do, why you're all finely +mistaken, so there!"</p> + +<p>Augusta turned on her heel, pirouetted a step or two, +whistled in a loud, free, unrestrained fashion, and once +more faced her audience.</p> + +<p>"Gerry said that I <i>could</i> give out the library books. +Now is it likely that Mr. Carr knows more of my capacities +after six months' study than Gerry found out after fifteen +years?"</p> + +<p>"But Mr. Carr doesn't study <i>you</i>, Gus. It's Lilias he's +always looking at," interrupted little Rosie.</p> + +<p>"You're not pretty, are you, Gus?" asked Betty. +"Your cheeks are too red, aren't they? And nurse says +your eyes are as round as an owl's!"</p> + +<p>"Pretty!" answered Augusta, in a lofty voice. "Who +cares for being pretty? Who cares for being simply pink +and white? I'm for intellect. I'm for the march of mind. +Gerry believes in me. Hurrah for Gerry! Now, girls, off +with your caps, throw them in the air, and shout hurrah<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> for +Gerry three times, as loud as you can!"</p> + +<p>"What an extraordinary noise the children are making +on the lawn," said Lilias to Marjory. "I hear Gerald's +name. What can they be saying about Gerald? One +would almost think he was coming down the avenue to see +the state of excitement they are in! Do look, Meg, do."</p> + +<p>"It's only one of Gussie's storms in a tea-cup," responded +Marjory, cheerfully. "I am so glad, Lil, that you +found Gerald and Val hitting it off so nicely. You consider +them quite a model pair for affection and all that, +don't you, pet?"</p> + +<p>"Quite," said Lilias. "My mind is absolutely at rest. +One night Val puzzled me a little. Oh, nothing to speak +of—nothing came of it, I mean. Yes, my mind is absolutely +at rest, thank God! What are all the children doing. +Maggie? They are flying in a body to the house. What +can it mean?"</p> + +<p>"We'll know in less than no time," responded Marjory, +calmly. And they did.</p> + +<p>Four little girls, all out of breath, all dressed alike, all +looking alike, dashed into the drawing-room, and in one +breath poured out the direful intelligence that Augusta had +mutinied.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Carr forbade her to give away the library books," +they said, "and she has gone up now to the school-room +in spite of him. She's off; she said Gerry said she might +do it, long ago. Isn't it awful of her? She says beauty's +nothing, and she's only going to obey Gerry," continued +Betty. "What shall we do? She'll give all the books +away wrong, and Mr. Carr will be angry."</p> + +<p>They all paused for want of breath. Rosie went up and +laid her fat red hand on Lilias' knee.</p> + +<p>"I said it was you he stared at," she remarked. "<i>You</i> +wouldn't like him to be vexed, would y<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>ou?"</p> + +<p>The words had scarcely passed her lips before the door +was opened, and the object of the children's universal +commiseration entered. A deep and awful silence took +possession of them. Lilias clutched Rosie's hand, and felt +an inane desire to rush from the room with her.</p> + +<p>Too late. The terrible infant flew to Adrian Carr, and +clasping her arms around his legs, looked up into his face.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," she said, "it <i>is</i> wrong of Gussie, but it +isn't Lilias' fault. She wouldn't like to vex you, 'cause you +stare so at her."</p> + +<p>"Nursie says that you admire Lilias; do you?" asked +Betty.</p> + +<p>"Oh, poor Gussie!" exclaimed the others, their interest +in Lilias and Carr being after all but a very secondary +matter. "We all do hope you won't do anything dreadful +to her. You can, you know. You can excommunicate +her, can't you?"</p> + +<p>"But what has Augusta done?" exclaimed Carr, turning +a somewhat flushed face in the direction not of Lilias, but +of Marjory. "What a frightful confusion—and what +does it mean?"</p> + +<p>Marjory explained as well as she was able. Carr had +lately taken upon himself to overhaul the books of the lending +library. He believed in literature as a very elevating +lever, but he thought that books should not only be +carefully selected in the mass, but in lending should be +given with a special view to the needs of the individual who +borrowed. Before Gerald's marriage Marjory had given +away the books, but since then, for various reasons, they +had drifted into Augusta's hands, and through their means +this rather spirited and daring young lady had been able to +inflict a small succession of mild tyrannies. For instance, +poor Miss Yates, the weak-eyed and weak-spirited village +dressmaker, was dosed with a series of profound and dull +theology; and Macallister, the sexton and shoemaker, a +canny Scot, who looked upon all fiction as the "work of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>the +de'il," was put into a weekly passion with the novels of +Charles Reade and Wilkie Collins.</p> + +<p>These were extreme cases, but Augusta certainly had +the knack of giving the wrong book to the wrong person. +Carr heard mutterings and grumbling. The yearly subscriptions +of a shilling a piece diminished, and he thought it +full time to take the matter in hand. He himself would +distribute the village literature every Saturday, at twelve +o'clock.</p> + +<p>The day and the hour arrived, and behold Miss Augusta +Wyndham had forestalled him, and was probably at this +very moment putting "The Woman in White" into the +enraged Macallister's hand. Carr's temper was not altogether +immaculate; he detached the children's clinging +hands from his person, and said he would pursue the truant, +publicly take the reins of authority from her, and send her +home humiliated. He left the rectory, walking fast, and +letting his annoyance rather increase than diminish, for +few young men care to be placed in a ridiculous situation, +and he could not but feel that such was his in the present +instance.</p> + +<p>The school-house was nearly half a mile from the rectory, +along a straight and dusty piece of road; very dusty it +was to-day, and a cutting March east wind blew in Carr's +face and stung it. He approached the school-house—no, +what a relief—the patient aspirants after literature were +most of them waiting outside. Augusta, then, could not +have gone into the school-room.</p> + +<p>"Has Miss Augusta Wyndham gone upstairs?" he asked +of a rosy-cheeked girl who adored the "Sunday At Home."</p> + +<p>"No, please, sir. Mr. Gerald's come, please, Mr. Carr, +sir," raising two eyes which nearly blazed with excitement. +"He shook 'ands with me, he did, and with Old Ben, there; +and Miss Augusta, she give a sort of a whoop, and she +had her arms round his neck, and was a-hugging of him +before us all, and they has gone down through the fields<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +to the rectory."</p> + +<p>"About the books," said Carr; "has Miss Augusta +given you the books?"</p> + +<p>"Bless your 'eart, sir," here interrupted Old Ben, "we +ain't of a mind for books to-day. Mr. Gerald said he'd +come up this evening to the Club, and have a chat with us +all, and Sue and me, we was waiting here to tell the news. +Litteratoor ain't in our line to-day, thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>"Here's Mr. Macallister," said Sue. "Mr. Macallister. +Mr. Gerald's back. He is, truly. I seen him, and so did +Old Ben."</p> + +<p>"And he'll be at the Club to-night," said Ben, turning +his wrinkled face upwards towards the elongated visage of +the canny Scot.</p> + +<p>"The Lord be praised for a' His mercies," pronounced +Macallister, slowly, with an upward wave of his hand, as if +he were returning thanks for a satisfying meal. "Na, na. +Mr. Carr, na books the day."</p> + +<p>Finding that his services were really useless, Carr went +away. The villagers were slowly collecting from different +quarters, and all faces were broadening into smiles, and all +the somewhat indifferent sleepy tones becoming perceptibly +brighter, and Gerald Wyndham's name was passed from +lip to lip. Old Miss Bates wiped her tearful eyes, as she +hurried home to put on her best cap. Widow Simpkins +determined to make up a good fire in her cottage, and not +to spare the coals; the festive air was unmistakeable. Carr +felt smitten with a kind of envy. What wonders could not +Wyndham have effected in this place, he commented, as he +walked slowly back to his lodgings. Later in the day he +called at the rectory to find the hero surrounded by his +adoring family, and bearing his honors gracefully.</p> + +<p>Gerald was talking rather more than his wont; for some +reason or other his face had more color than usual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>, his eyes +were bright, he smiled, and even laughed. Lilias ceased +to watch him anxiously, a sense of jubilation filled the +breast of every worshipping sister, and no one thought of +parting or sorrow.</p> + +<p>Perhaps even Gerald himself forgot the bitterness which +lay before him just then; perhaps his efforts were not all +efforts, and that he really felt some of the old home peace +and rest with its sustaining power.</p> + +<p>You can know a thing and yet not always realize it. +Gerald knew that he should never spend another Saturday +in the old rectory of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. That Lilias' +bright head and Lilias' tender, steadfast earnest eyes would +be in future only a memory. He could never hope again +to touch that hair, or answer back the smile on that +beloved and happy face. The others, too—but Lilias, +after his wife, was most dear of all living creatures to +Gerald. Well, he must not think; he resolved to take +all the sweetness, if possible, out of this Saturday and Sunday. +He resolved not to tell any of his people of the coming +parting until just before he left.</p> + +<p>The small sisters squatted in a semicircle on the floor +round their hero; Augusta, as usual, stood behind him, +keeping religious guard of the back of his head.</p> + +<p>"If there is a thing I simply adore," that vigorous young +lady was often heard to say, "it's the back of Gerry's +head."</p> + +<p>Lilias sat at his feet, her slim hand and arm lying across +his knee; Marjory flitted about, too restless and happy to +be quiet, and the tall rector stood on the hearthrug with his +back to the fire.</p> + +<p>"It is good to be home again," said Gerald. Whereupon +a sigh of content echoed from all the other throats, and it +was at this moment that Carr came into the room.</p> + +<p>"Come in, Carr, come in," said the rector. "There's a +place for you, too. You're quite like one of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> family, +you know. Oh, of course you are, my dear fellow, of +course you are. We have got my son back, unexpectedly. +Gerald, you know Carr, don't you."</p> + +<p>Gerald stood up, gave Carr's hand a hearty grip, and +offered him his chair.</p> + +<p>"Oh, not that seat, Gerry," groaned Augusta, "it's the +only one in the room I can stand at comfortably. I can't +fiddle with your curls if I stand at the back of any other +chair."</p> + +<p>Gerald patted her cheek.</p> + +<p>"Then perhaps, Carr, you'll oblige Augusta by occupying +another chair. I am sorry that I am obliged to withhold +the most comfortable from you."</p> + +<p>Carr was very much at home with the Wyndhams by +now. He pulled forward a cane chair, shook his head at +Augusta, and glanced almost timidly at Lilias. He feared +the eight sharp eyes of the younger children if he did more +than look very furtively, but she made such a sweet picture +just then that his eyes sought hers by a sort of fascination. +For the first time, too, he noticed that she had a look of +Gerald. Her face lacked the almost spiritualized expression +of his, but undoubtedly there was a likeness.</p> + +<p>The voices, interrupted for a moment by the curate's +entrance, soon resumed their vigorous flow.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you bring my dear little sister Valentine +down, Gerald?" It was Lilias who spoke.</p> + +<p>He rewarded her loving speech by a flash, half of pleasure, +half of pain in his eyes. Aloud he said:—</p> + +<p>"We thought it scarcely worth while for both of us to +come. I must go away again on Monday."</p> + +<p>A sepulchral groan from Augusta. Rosie, Betty and Joan +exclaimed almost in a breath:—</p> + +<p>"And we like you much better by yourself."</p> + +<p>"Oh, hush, children," said Marjory. "We are all very +fond of Val."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You have brought a great deal of delight into the village. +Wyndham," said Carr, and he related the little scene which +had taken place around the school-house. "I'd give a good +deal to be even half as popular," he said with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"You might give all you possessed in all the world, and +you wouldn't succeed," snapped Gussie.</p> + +<p>"Augusta, you really are too rude," said Lilias with a +flush on her face.</p> + +<p>"No, I'm not, Lil. Oh, you needn't stare at me. I like +him, and he knows it," nodding with her head in the direction +of Adrian Carr; "but you have to be born in a place, +and taught to walk in it, and you have had to steal apples +in it and eggs out of birds' nests, and to get nearly drowned +when fishing, and to get some shot in your ankle, and +you've got to know every soul in all the country round, and +to come back from school to them in the holidays, and for +them first to see your moustache coming; and then, beyond +and above all that, you've got just to be <i>Gerry</i>, to have his +way of looking, and his way of walking, and his way of +shaking your hand, and to have his voice and his heart, to +be loved as well. So how <i>could</i> Mr. Carr expect it?"</p> + +<p>"Bravo, Augusta," said Adrian Carr. "I'd like you +for a friend better than any girl I know."</p> + +<p>"Please, Gerry, tell us a story," exclaimed the younger +children. They did not want Augusta to have all the talking.</p> + +<p>"Let it be about a mouse, and a cricket on the hearth, +and a white elephant, and a roaring bull, and a grizzly +bear."</p> + +<p>"And let the ten little nigger-boys come into it," said +Betty.</p> + +<p>"And Bo-Peep," said Rosie.</p> + +<p>"And the Old Man who wouldn't say his prayers," exclaimed +Joan.</p> + +<p>"And let it last for hours," exclaimed they all.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> +<p>Gerald begged the rest of the audience to go away, but +they refused to budge an inch. So the story began. All +the characters appeared in due order; it lasted a long time, +and everybody was delighted.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + + +<p>Lilias Wyndham never forgot that last Sunday with +Gerald spent at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. The day in itself +was perfect, the air blew softly from the west, the sun +shone in a nearly cloudless heaven; the gentle breezes, the +opening flowers, the first faint buds of spring on tree and +hedge-row seemed all to give a foretaste of summer. Nobody +knew, none could guess, that in one sense they foretold +the desolation of dark winter.</p> + +<p>It was in this light that Wyndham himself regarded the +lovely day.</p> + +<p>"I leap from calm to storm," he said to himself. "Never +mind, I will enjoy the present bliss!"</p> + +<p>He did enjoy it, really, not seemingly. He took every +scrap of sweetness out of it, almost forgetting Valentine for +the time being, and living over again the days when he +was a light-hearted boy.</p> + +<p>He went to church twice, and sat in the corner of the +square family pew which had always been reserved for him. +As of old, Lilias sat by his side, and when the sermon came +he lifted little Joan into his arms, and she fell asleep with +her golden head on his breast. The rector preached and +Gerald listened. It was an old-fashioned sermon, somewhat +long for the taste of the present day. It had been carefully +prepared, and was read aloud, for the benefit of the congregation, +in a clear, gentlemanly voice.</p> + +<p>Gerald almost forgot that he was a man with an unusual +load of suffering upon him, as he listened to the time-honored +softly-flowing sentences.</p> + +<p>"Blessed are the pure in heart," was the rector's text, +and it seemed to more than one of that little village congregation +that he was describing his own son when he drew +his picture of the man of purity.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> +<p>In the evening Carr preached. He was as modern as +the rector was the reverse. He used neither M.S. nor +notes, and his sermon scarcely occupied ten minutes.</p> + +<p>"To die is gain" was his text. There were some in +the congregation who scarcely understood the vigorous +words, but they seemed to one weary man like the first +trumpet notes of coming battle. They spoke of a fight +which led to a victory. Wyndham remembered them by-and-bye.</p> + +<p>It was the custom at the rectory to have a kind of open +house on Sunday evening, and to-night many of Gerald's +friends dropped in. The large party seemed a happy one. +The merriment of the night before had deepened into something +better. Lilias spoke of it afterwards as bliss.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember," she said to Marjory, in the desolate +days which followed, "how Gerald looked when he +played the organ in the hall? Do you remember his face +when we sang 'Sun of my soul?'"</p> + +<p>The happiest days come to an end. The children went +to bed, the friends one by one departed. Even Lilias and +Marjory kissed their brother and bade him good-night. +He was to leave before they were up in the morning. This +he insisted on, against their will.</p> + +<p>"But we shall see you soon in London," they both said, +for they were coming up in a few weeks to stay with an +aunt. Then they told him to kiss Valentine for them, and +went upstairs, chatting lightly to one another.</p> + +<p>The rector and his son were alone.</p> + +<p>"We have had a happy day," said Gerald, abruptly.</p> + +<p>"We have, my son. It does us all good to have you +with us, Gerald. I could have wished—but there's no good +regretting now. Each man must choose his own path, +and you seem happy, my dear son; that is the main thing."</p> + +<p>"I never thought primarily of happiness," responded +Gerald. "Did you listen to Carr's sermon to-night? He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +proved his case well. To die <i>is</i> sometimes gain."</p> + +<p>The rector, who was seated by the fire, softly patted his +knee with one hand.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," he said, "Carr proved his case ably. He's +a good fellow. A <i>little</i> inclined to the broad church, don't +you think?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so."</p> + +<p>Gerald stood up. His face had suddenly grown deadly +white.</p> + +<p>"Father, I kept a secret from you all day. I did not +wish to do anything to mar the bliss of this perfect Sunday. +You—you'll break it to Lilias and Maggie, and the younger +children. I'm going to Sydney on Wednesday. I came +down to say good-bye."</p> + +<p>He held out his hand. The rector stood up and grasped +it.</p> + +<p>"My dear lad—my boy. Well—well—you'll come back +again. Of course, I did know that you expected to go +abroad on business for your firm. My dear son. Yes, my +boy—aye—you'll come back again soon. How queer you +look, Gerald. Sit down. I'm afraid you're a little overdone."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, father. You're an old man, and Sydney is +a long way off. Good-bye. I have a queer request to +make. Grant it, and don't think me weak or foolish. Give +me your blessing before I go."</p> + +<p>Suddenly Wyndham fell on his knees, and taking his +father's hand laid it on his head.</p> + +<p>"I am like Esau," he said. "Is there not one blessing +left for me?"</p> + +<p>The rector was deeply moved.</p> + +<p>"Heaven above bless you, my boy," he said. "Your +mother's God go with you. There, Gerald, you are mor +bid. You will be back with me before the snows of next +winter fall. But God bless you, my boy, wherever you are +and whatever you do!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + + +<p>Valentine was sitting in her pretty drawing-room. It +was dinner time, but she had not changed her dress. She +was too young, too fresh, and unused to trouble, for it yet +to leave any strong marks on her face. The delicate color +in her cheeks had slightly paled, it is true, her bright hair +was in confusion, and her eyes looked larger and more +wistful than their wont, but otherwise no one could tell +that her heart was beating heavily and that she was listening +eagerly for a footstep.</p> + +<p>Seven o'clock came—half-past seven. This was Gerald's +last night at home; he was to sail in the <i>Esperance</i> for +Sydney to-morrow. Valentine felt stunned and cold, +though she kept on repeating to herself over and over:—</p> + +<p>"This parting is nothing. He's sure to be home in six +months at the latest. Six months at the very latest. In +these days there is really no such thing as distance. What +is a six months' parting? Besides, it is not as if I were +really in love with him. Father asked me the question +direct last night, and I said I wasn't. How could I love +him with all my heart when I remember that scene at the +Gaiety? Oh, that scene! It burns into me like fire, and +father's look—I almost hated father that night. I did +really. Fancy, Valentine hating her father! Oh, of course +it passed. There is no one like my father. Husbands +aren't like fathers, not in the long run. Oh, Gerald, you +might have told me the truth? I'd have forgiven you, I +would really, if you had told me the truth. Oh, why don't +you come? <i>Why</i> don't you come? You might be in time +this last evening. It is a quarter to eight now. I am +impatient—I am frightened. Oh, there's a ring at the +hall door. Oh, thank God. No, of course, Gerald, I don't +love you—not as I could have loved—and yet I do—I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span><i>do</i> +love you—I <i>do</i>!"</p> + +<p>She clasped her hands—a footstep was on the stairs. +The door was opened, Masters brought her a thick letter +on a salver.</p> + +<p>"Has not Mr. Wyndham come? Was not that ring Mr. +Wyndham's?"</p> + +<p>"No, madam, a messenger brought this letter. He said +there was no answer."</p> + +<p>The page withdrew, and Valentine tore open the envelope. +A letter somewhat blotted, bearing strong marks of agitation, +but in her husband's writing, lay in her hand. Her +eager eyes devoured the contents.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"I can't say good-bye, my darling—there are limits even +to my endurance—I can't look at you and hear you say +'Good-bye, Gerald.' I bade you farewell this morning +when you were asleep. I am not coming home to-night, +but your father will spend the evening with you. You love +him better than me, and I pray the God of all mercy that +he may soften any little pang that may come to you in this +separation. When you are reading this I shall be on my +way to Southampton. I have bid your father good-bye, +and he will tell you everything there is to tell about me. +The <i>Esperance</i> sails at noon to-morrow, and it is a good +plan to be on board in good time. I cannot tell you. +Valentine, what my own feelings are. I cannot gauge my +love for you. I don't think anything could probe it to its +depths. I am a sinful man, but I sometimes hope that +God will forgive me, because I have loved as much as the +human heart is capable of loving. You must remember +that, dear. You must always know that you have inspired +in one man's breast the extreme of love!</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, my darling. It is my comfort to know that +the bitterness of this six months' separation falls on me. +If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> I thought otherwise, if I thought even for a moment that +you cared more for your husband than you do for the world's +opinion, or for riches, or for honor, that you would rather +have him with poverty and shame, that he was more to you +even than the father who gave you your being, then I would +say even now, at the eleventh hour, 'fly to me, Valentine. +Let us go away together on board the <i>Esperance</i>, and forget +all promises and all honor, and all truth.' Yes, I would say +it. But that is a mad dream. Forget this part of my letter. +Valentine. It has been wrung from a tortured and almost +maddened heart. Good-bye, my wife. Be thankful that +you have not it in you to love recklessly.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +"Your husband, <br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Gerald Wyndham</span>."<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>"But I have!" said Valentine. She raised her eyes. +Her father was in the room.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I can love—I too can give back the extreme of +love. Father, I am going to my husband. I am going to +Southampton. What's the matter? What are you looking +at me like that for? Why did you send Gerald away without +letting him come to say good-bye? Not that it matters, +for I am going to him. I shall take the very next train to +Southampton."</p> + +<p>"My darling," began Mr. Paget.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, father, yes. But there's no time for loving +words just now. I've had a letter from my husband, and +I'm going to him. I'm going to Sydney with him. Yes—you +can't prevent me!"</p> + +<p>"You are talking folly, Valentine," said Mr. Paget. +"You are excited, my child; you are talking wildly. Going +with your husband? My poor little girl. There, dear, +there. He'll soon be back. You can't go with him, you +know, my love. Show me his letter. What has he dared +to say to excite you like this?"</p> + +<p>"No, you shan't see a word of his dear letter. No, not +for all the world. I understand him at last, and I lo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>ve him +with all my heart and soul. Yes, I do. Oh, no, I don't +love you as I love my husband."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget stepped back a pace or two. There was no +doubting Valentine's words, no doubting the look on her +face. She was no longer a child. She was a woman, a +woman aroused to passion, almost to fury.</p> + +<p>"I am going to my husband," she said. And she took +no notice of her father when he sank into the nearest chair +and pressed his hand to his heart.</p> + +<p>"I have got a blow," he said. "I have got an awful +blow."</p> + +<p>But Valentine did not heed him.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + + +<p>"Yes, my darling," said Mr. Paget, two hours later; his +arms were round his daughter, and her head was on his +shoulder. "Oh, yes, my dear one, certainly, if you wish +it."</p> + +<p>"And you'll go with me, father? Father, couldn't you +come too? Couldn't we three go? Yes, that would be +nice, that would be happiness."</p> + +<p>"A good idea," said Mr. Paget, reflectively. "But +really, Val, really now, don't you think Wyndham and I +rather spoil you? You discover at the eleventh hour that +you can't live without your husband, that as he must cross +to the other side of the world, you must go there too. And +now in addition <i>I</i> have to accompany you. Do you think +you are worth all this? That any girl in the world is worth +all this?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not, father."</p> + +<p>Valentine was strangely subdued and quiet.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it would be selfish to bring you," she said; +"and we shall be back in six months."</p> + +<p>"True," said Mr. Paget in a thoughtful voice; "and +even for my daughter's sake my business must not go +absolutely to the dogs. Well, child, a wilful woman—you +know the proverb—a wilful woman must have her way. I +own I'm disappointed. I looked forward to six months +all alone with you. Six months with my own child—a last +six months, for of course I always guessed that when Wyndham +came back you'd give yourself up to him body and +soul. Oh, no, my dear, I'm not going to disappoint you. +A wife fretting and mourning for her husband is the last +person I should consider a desirable companion. Run +upstairs now and get your maid to put your things together. +I shall take you down to Southampton by an early train in +the morning, and in the meantime, if you'll excuse me. +Valentine, I'll go out and send a telegram to your husba<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>nd."</p> + +<p>"To tell him that I'm coming?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, are you not pleased?"</p> + +<p>"No, don't do that. I will meet him on board the boat. +I know exactly what the scene will be. He'll be looking—no. +I shan't say how he'll be looking—but I'll steal up +behind him, and slip my hand through his arm, and then—and +then! Father, kiss me. I love you for making me +so happy."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget pressed his lips to his daughter's forehead. +For a brief moment his eyes looked into hers. She +remembered by-and-bye their queer expression. Just now, +however, she was too overwrought and excited to have +room for any ideas except the one supreme longing and +passion which was drawing her to her husband.</p> + +<p>"Shall we have dinner?" said Mr. Paget after another +pause.</p> + +<p>Valentine laughed rather wildly.</p> + +<p>"Dinner? I can't eat. Had not you better go home +and have something? Perhaps I did order dinner, but I +can't remember. My head feels queer; I can't think properly. +Go home and have something to eat, father. You +can come back later on. I am going upstairs now to +pack."</p> + +<p>She left the room without a word, and Mortimer Paget +heard her light step as she ran up to her bedroom. He +began to talk vehemently to himself.</p> + +<p>"Does that child, that little girl, whom I reared and +fostered—that creature whom I brought into existence—think +she will checkmate me now at the supreme moment. +No, there are limits. I find that even my love for Valentine +has a bottom, and I reach it when I see the prisoner's +cell, solitary confinement, penal servitude, looming +large on the horizon. Even your heart must suffer, little +Valentine, to keep such a fate as that from my d<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>oor. Poor +little Val! Well, the best schemes, the most carefully laid +plans sometimes meet with defeat. It did not enter into +my calculations that Val would fall madly in love with that +long-faced fellow. Pah! where's her taste? What men +women will admire. Well, Valentine, you must pay the +penalty, for my plans cannot be disturbed at the eleventh +hour!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget went softly out of the house, but he did not +go, as Valentine innocently supposed, home to dinner. No, +he had something far more important to attend to. Something +in which he could be very largely assisted by that +confidential clerk of his, Jonathan Helps.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Valentine and her maid were having a busy +time. Dresses were pulled out, trunks dusted and brought +into the middle of the room, and hasty preparations were +made for a journey.</p> + +<p>Valentine's low spirits had changed to high ones. She +was as happy as some hours ago she had been miserable. +Her heart was now at rest, it had acknowledged its own +need—it had given expression to the love which was fast +becoming its life.</p> + +<p>"You are surprised, Suzanne," said Mrs. Wyndham to +her maid. "Yes, it is a hurried journey. I had no idea +of going with Mr. Wyndham, but he—poor fellow—he +can't do without me, Suzanne, so I am going. I shall join +him on board the <i>Esperance</i> in the morning. You can +fancy his surprise—his pleasure. Put in plenty of dinner +dresses, Suzanne. Those white dresses that Mr. Wyndham +likes—yes, that is right. Of course I shall dress every +evening for dinner on board the <i>Esperance</i>. I wonder if +many other ladies are going. Not that it matters—I shall +have my husband. What are you saying, Suzanne?"</p> + +<p>"That it is beautiful to lof," replied the maid, looking +up with adoring eyes at her pretty animated young mistress.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> + +<p>She was both young and pretty herself, and she sympathized +with Valentine, and admired her immensely for her +sudden resolve.</p> + +<p>"Yes, love is beautiful," answered Valentine gravely. +Her eyes filled with sudden soft tears of happiness. "And +there is something better even than love," she said, looking +at Suzanne, and speaking with a sudden burst of confidence. +"The highest bliss of all is to give joy to those +who love you."</p> + +<p>"And you will do that to-morrow, madame," replied +Suzanne fervently. "Oh, this lof, so beautiful, so rare—you +will lay it at monsieur's feet—he is goot, monsieur is, +and how great is his passion for madame."</p> + +<p>The young Swiss girl flitted gaily about, and by-and-bye +the packing even for this sudden voyage was accomplished.</p> + +<p>"You will take me with you, madame?" said Suzanne.</p> + +<p>"No, Suzanne, there is no time to arrange that, nor +shall I really want you. We may have to rough it a little, +my husband and I; not that we mind, it will be like a +continual picnic—quite delicious."</p> + +<p>"But madame must be careful of her precious health."</p> + +<p>The color flushed into Valentine's cheeks.</p> + +<p>"My husband will take care of me," she said. "No. +Suzanne, I shall not take you with me. You will stay +here for the present, and my father will arrange matters +for you. Now you can go downstairs and have some +supper. I shall not want you again to-night."</p> + +<p>The girl withdrew, and Valentine stood by the fire, gazing +into its cheerful depths, and seeing many happy dream +pictures.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I shall certainly go with him. Even if what I +dread and hope and long for is the case, I shall be with +him. I can whisper it first to him. I ought to be with +<i>him</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>>—I ought to be with my husband then. Why did +Suzanne speak about my health? No one will take such +care of me as Gerald. Even my father cannot approach +Gerald for tenderness, for sympathy when one is out of +sorts. How soothing is Gerald's hand; how quieting. +Once I was ill for a few hours. Only a bad headache, but +it went when he made me lie very still, and when he +clasped my two hands in one of his. Yes, I quite believe +in Gerald. Even though I do not understand that night +at the Gaiety, still I absolutely believe in my husband. He +is too noble to tell a lie; he had a reason for not explaining +what looked so strange that night. He had a right reason, +probably a good and great one. Perhaps I'll ask him again +some day. Perhaps when he knows there's a little—little +<i>child</i> coming he'll tell me himself. Oh, God, kind, good, +beautiful God, if you are going to give me a child of my +very own, help me to be worthy of it. Help me to be +worthy of the child, and of the child's father."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget's ring was heard at the hall door, and Valentine +ran down to meet him. He had made all arrangements +he told her. They would catch the 8.5 train in the +morning from Waterloo, and he would call for her in a cab +at a sufficiently early hour to catch it.</p> + +<p>His words were brief, but he was quite quiet and business-like. +He kissed his daughter affectionately, told her +to go to bed at once, and soon after left the house.</p> + +<p>Valentine gave directions for the morning and went back +to her room. She got quickly into bed, for she was determined +to be well rested for what lay before her on the +following day. She laid her head on the pillow, closed her +eyes, and prepared to go to sleep. Does not everybody +know what happens on these occasions? Does not each +individual who in his or her turn has especially desired for +the best and most excellent reason a long sleep, a deep +sleep, an unbroken and dreamless sleep found it recede +further and further away—found eyes more watchful—brain +more active, limbs more restless, as the precious m<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>oments +fly by? How loud the watch ticks, how audible are the +minutest sounds!</p> + +<p>It was thus with Valentine Wyndham that night. No +sleep came near her, and by slow degrees as the fire grew +faint and the night deepened in silence and solemnity, her +happy excitement, her childish joy, gave place to vague +apprehensions. All kinds of nameless terrors came over +her. Suppose an accident happened to the train? Suppose +the <i>Esperance</i> sailed before its time? Above all, and +this idea was agonizing, was so repellant that she absolutely +pushed it from her—suppose her father was deceiving +her. She was horrified as this thought came, and came. +It would come, it would not be banished. Suppose her +father was deceiving her?</p> + +<p>She went over in the silence of the night the whole scene +of that evening. Her own sudden and fierce resolve, her +father's opposition, his disappointment—then his sudden +yielding. The more she thought, the more apprehensive +she grew; the more she pondered, the longer, the more +real grew her fears. At last she could bear them no +longer.</p> + +<p>She lit a candle and looked at her watch. Three o'clock. +Had ever passed a night so long and dreadful? There +would not be even a ray of daylight for some time. She +could not endure that hot and restless pillow. She would +get up and dress.</p> + +<p>All the time she was putting on her clothes the dread +that her father was deceiving her kept strengthening—strengthening. +At last it almost reached a panic. What +a fool she had been not to go to Southampton the night +before. Suppose Gerald's ship sailed before she reached +it or him.</p> + +<p>Suddenly an idea came like a ray of light. Why should +she wait for her father? Why should she not take an ea<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>rlier +train to Southampton? The relative depths of Valentine's +two loves were clearly shown when she did not reject this +thought. It mattered nothing at all to her at this supreme +moment whether she offended her father or not. She +determined to go to Southampton by the first train that +left Waterloo that morning. She ran downstairs, found a +time-table, saw that a train left at 5.50, and resolved to +catch it. She would take Suzanne with her, and leave +a message for her father; he could follow by the 8.5 train +if he liked.</p> + +<p>She went upstairs and woke her maid.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne, get up at once. Dress yourself, and come to +me, to my room."</p> + +<p>In an incredible short time Suzanne had obeyed this +mandate.</p> + +<p>"I am going to take you with me to Southampton. +Suzanne. I mean to catch the train which leaves here at +ten minutes to six. We have plenty of time, but not too +much. Can you make some coffee for us both? And then +either you or Masters must find a cab."</p> + +<p>Suzanne opened her bright eyes wide.</p> + +<p>"I will go with you, my goot madam," she said to herself. +"The early hour is noting, the strangeness is noting. +That olt man—I hate that olt man! I will go alone with +you, mine goot mistress, to find the goot husband what is +so devoted. Ach! Suzanne does not like that olt man!"</p> + +<p>Coffee was served in Valentine's bedroom. Mistress +and maid partook of it together. Masters was aroused, +was fortunate enough in procuring a cab, and at five +o'clock, for Valentine's impatience could brook no longer +delay, she and Suzanne had started together for Waterloo.</p> + +<p>Once more her spirits were high. She had dared something +for Gerald. It was already sweet to her to be brave +for his sake.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> +<p>Before she left she wrote a short letter to her father—a +constrained little note—for her fears stood between her +and him.</p> + +<p>She and Suzanne arrived at Waterloo long before the +train started.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how impatient I am!" whispered Mrs. Wyndham +to her maid. "Will time never pass? I am sure all the +clocks in London must be wrong, this last night has been +like three."</p> + +<p>The longest hours, however, do come to an end, and +presently Valentine and Suzanne found themselves being +whirled out of London, and into the early morning of a +bright clear March day.</p> + +<p>The two occupied a compartment to themselves. Suzanne +felt wide awake, talkative, and full of intense curiosity; +but Valentine was strangely silent. She ceased either to +laugh or to talk. She drew down her veil, and establishing +herself in a corner kept looking out at the swiftly passing +landscape. Once more the fear which had haunted her +during the night returned. Even now, perhaps, she would +not be in time!</p> + +<p>Then she set to work chiding herself. She must be +growing silly. The <i>Esperance</i> did not leave the dock until +noon, and her train was due at Southampton soon after +eight. Of course there would be lots of time. Even her +father who was to follow by the later train could reach the +<i>Esperance</i> before she sailed.</p> + +<p>The train flew quickly through the country, the slow +moments dropped into space one by one. Presently the +train slackened speed—presently it reached its destination.</p> + +<p>Then for the first time Valentine's real difficulties began. +She had not an idea from which dock the <i>Esperance</i> was +to sail. A porter placed her luggage on a fly. She and +Suzanne got in, and the driver asked for directions. No, +the <i>Esperance</i> was not known to the owner of the hackney +coach.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> +<p>When the porter and the cabman questioned Mrs. Wyndham +she suddenly felt as if she had come up against a +blank wall. There were miles of ships all around. If she +could afford no clue to the whereabouts of the <i>Esperance</i> +the noon of another day might come before she could reach +the dock where it was now lying at anchor.</p> + +<p>At last it occurred to her to give the name of her father's +shipping firm. It was a great name in the city, but neither +the porter nor the cabman had come under its influence. +They suggested, however, that most likely the firm of Paget +Brothers had an office somewhere near. They said further +that if there was such an office the clerks in it could +give the lady the information she wanted.</p> + +<p>Valentine was standing by her cab, trying not to show +the bewilderment and distress which had seized her, when +a man who must have been listening came up, touched his +hat, and said civilly:—</p> + +<p>"Pardon, madam. If you will drive or walk down to +the quay, this quay quite close, there is an office, you cannot +fail to see it, where they can give you the information you +desire, as they are always posted up with regard to the out-going +and in-coming vessels. That quay, quite near, +cabby. Messrs. Gilling and Gilling's office."</p> + +<p>He touched his hat again and vanished, being rewarded +by Valentine with a look which he considered a blessing.</p> + +<p>"Now," she said, "now, I will give you double fare, +cabman, treble fare, if you will help me to get to the <i>Esperance</i> +in time; and first of all, let us obey that good +man's directions and go to Messrs. Gilling and Gilling."</p> + +<p>The quay was close, and so was the office. In two +minutes Valentine was standing, alas, by its closed doors. +A sudden fierce impatience came over her, she rang the +office bell loudly. Three times she rang before any one answered +her summons. Then a rather dishevelled and +sleepy-looking boy opened the door wide enough to poke +his head out and asked her her business.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I want to get news of the ship called the <i>Esperance</i>."</p> + +<p>"Office don't open till nine."</p> + +<p>He would have pushed the door to, but Suzanne stepping +forward deftly put her foot in.</p> + +<p>"Mine goot boy, be civil," she said. "This lady has +come a long way, and she wants the tidings she asks very +sore."</p> + +<p>The office boy looked again at Valentine. She certainly +was pretty; so was Suzanne. But the office really did not +open till nine, and the boy could not himself give any +tidings.</p> + +<p>"You had better step in," he said. "Mr. Jones will be +here at nine. No, I don't know nothing about the ship."</p> + +<p>It was now twenty-five minutes past eight. Valentine +sank down on the dusty chair which the boy pushed forward +for her, and Suzanne stood impatiently by her side.</p> + +<p>Outside, the cabman whistled a cheerful air and stamped +his feet. The morning was cold; but what of that? He +himself was doing a good business; he was certain of an +excellent fare.</p> + +<p>"Suzanne," said Valentine suddenly. "Do you mind +going outside and waiting in the cab. I cannot bear anyone +to stare at me just now."</p> + +<p>Suzanne obeyed. She was not offended. She was too +deeply interested and sympathetic.</p> + +<p>The slow minutes passed. Nine o'clock sounded from a +great church near, and then more gently from the office +clock. At three minutes past nine a bilious-looking clerk +came in and took his place at one of the desks. He started +when he saw Valentine, opened a ledger, and pretended to +be very busy.</p> + +<p>"Can you tell me, at once, please, from which dock the +<i>Esperance</i> sails?" asked Mrs. Wyndham.</p> + +<p>Her voice was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> impressive, and sharp with pain and waiting. +The clerk thought he might at least stare at her. Things +were slow and dull at this hour of the morning, and she was +a novelty. He could have given the information at once, +but it suited him best to dawdle over it. Valentine could +have stamped with her increasing impatience.</p> + +<p>The clerk, turning the leaves of a big book slowly, at last +put his finger on an entry.</p> + +<p>"<i>Esperance</i> sails for Sydney 25th inst., noon. Albert +and Victoria Docks."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, thank you," said Valentine. "Are these +docks far away?"</p> + +<p>"Three miles off, madam."</p> + +<p>"Thank you."</p> + +<p>She was out of the office and in the cab almost before he +had time to close his book.</p> + +<p>"Drive to the Albert and Victoria Docks, instantly, +coachman. I will give you a sovereign if you take me there +in less than half an hour."</p> + +<p>Never was horse beaten like that cabby's, and Valentine, +the most tender-hearted of mortals, saw the whip +raised without a pang. Now she was certain to be in time; +even allowing for delay she would reach the <i>Esperance</i> +before ten o'clock, and it did not sail until noon. Yes, +there was now not the most remote doubt she was in good +time. And yet, and yet—still she felt miserable. Still her +heart beat with a strange overpowering sense of coming +defeat and disaster. Good cabman—go faster yet, and +faster. Ah, yes, how they were flying! How pleasant it +was to be bumped and shaken, and jolted—to feel the +ground flying under the horse's feet, for each moment +brought her nearer to the <i>Esperance</i> and to Gerald.</p> + +<p>At last they reached the dock. Valentine sprang out of +the cab. A sailor came forward to help with her luggage. +Valentine put a sovereign into the cabman's hand.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said, "oh, thank you. Yes, I am in +good time."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her eyes were full of happy tears, and the cabman, a +rather hardened old villain, was surprised to find a lump +rising in his throat.</p> + +<p>"Which ship, lady?" asked the sailor, touching his +cap.</p> + +<p>"The <i>Esperance</i>, one of Paget Brothers' trading vessels. +I want to go on board at once; show it to me. Suzanne, +you can follow with the luggage. Show me the <i>Esperance</i>, +good man, my husband is waiting for me."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean the <i>Experiance</i>, bound for Sydney?" +asked the man. "One of Paget Brothers' big ships?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes; do you know her? Point her out to me."</p> + +<p>"Ay, I know her. I was helping to lade her till twelve +last night."</p> + +<p>"Just show her to me. I am in a frightful hurry. She +is here—this is the right dock."</p> + +<p>"Ay, the Albert and Victoria. The <i>Experiance</i> sailing +for Sydney, noon, on the 25th."</p> + +<p>"Well, where is she? I will go and look for her by +myself."</p> + +<p>"You can't, lady, she's gone."</p> + +<p>"What—what do you mean? It isn't twelve o'clock. +Suzanne, it isn't twelve o'clock."</p> + +<p>"No, lady."</p> + +<p>The old sailor looked compassionate enough.</p> + +<p>"Poor young thing," he soliloquized under his breath, +"some one has gone and done her. The <i>Experiance</i> was to +sail at noon," he continued, "and she's a bunny tidy ship, +too. I was lading her up till midnight; for last night there +came an order, and the captain—Captain Jellyby's is his +name—he was all flustered and in a taking, and he said we +was to finish and lade up, and she was to go out of port +sharp at eight this morning. She did, too, sharp to the +minute. I seen her weigh anchor. That's her, lady—look +out there—level with the horizon—she's a fast going ship +and she's making good way. Let me hold you up, lady—now,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +can you see her now? <i>That's</i> the <i>Experiance</i>."</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + + +<p>The <i>Esperance</i> was a well-made boat; she was about four +thousand tons, with improved engines which went at great +speed. She was a trading ship, one of the largest and +most important of those belonging to Paget Brothers, but +she sometimes took out emigrants, and had room for a few +saloon passengers; old travellers, who knew what comfort +was, sometimes preferred to go in such ships as the <i>Esperance</i> +to the more conventional lines of steamers. There +was less crowding, less fuss; there was also more room +and more comfort. The meals were good and abundant, +and the few passengers, provided they were in any sense +of the word congenial spirits, became quickly friends.</p> + +<p>Gerald, as one of the members of the firm, was of course +accommodated with the very best the <i>Esperance</i> could +offer. He had a large state room, well furnished, to himself; +he was treated with every possible respect, and even +consulted with regard to trivial matters. Only, however, +with regard to very trivial matters.</p> + +<p>When he arrived at Southampton on the evening of the +24th, he went at once on board the <i>Esperance.</i></p> + +<p>"We shall sail at noon to-morrow," he said to the captain.</p> + +<p>Captain Jellyby was a pleasant old salt, with a genial, +open, sunburnt face, and those bright peculiar blue eyes +which men who spend most of their lives on the sea often +have, as though the reflection of some of its blue had got +into them.</p> + +<p>"At noon to-morrow," replied the captain. "Yes, and +that is somewhat late; but we shan't have finished coaling +before."</p> + +<p>"But we stop at Plymouth surely?"</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps. I cannot positively say. We may be +able to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>go straight on to Teneriffe."</p> + +<p>Gerald did not make any further comments. He retired +to his cabin and unpacked one or two things, then +he went into the saloon, and taking up a book appeared +to be absorbed with its contents.</p> + +<p>In reality he was not reading. He had written a desperate +letter that morning, and he was upheld even now in +this moment of bitterness by a desperate hope.</p> + +<p>Suppose Valentine suddenly found her slumbering heart +awake? Suppose his words, his wild, weak and foolish +words, stung it into action? Suppose the wife cried out +for her husband, the awakened heart for its mate. Suppose +she threw all prudence to the winds, and came to him? +She could reach him in time.</p> + +<p>He could not help thinking of this as he sat with his hand +shading his eyes, pretending to read in the state saloon of +the <i>Esperance</i>, the vessel which was to carry him away to +a living death.</p> + +<p>If Valentine came, oh yes, if Valentine came, there +would be no death. There might be exile, there might be +poverty, there might be dishonor, but no death. It would +be all life then—life, and the flush of a stained victory.</p> + +<p>He owned to himself that if the temptation came he +would take it. If his wife loved him enough to come to +him he would tell her all. He would tell her of the cruel +promise wrung from him, and ask her if he must keep it.</p> + +<p>The hours flew by; he raised his head and looked at the +clock. Nine, it was striking nine. He heard a sound on +board, and his pulses quickened. It passed—it was +nothing. The clock struck ten, it was a beautiful starlight +night. All the other passengers who had already come on +board were amusing themselves on deck.</p> + +<p>Gerald was alone in the saloon. Again there was a +sound a little different from the constant cries of the +sailors.</p> + +<p>Captain Jellyby's name was shouted, and there was a +rush, followed by renewed activity. Gerald rose s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>lowly, +shut his book, and went on deck. It was a dark night +although the sky was clear and full of stars. A man in an +overcoat and collar turned well up over his ears brushed +past Wyndham, made for the gangway and disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens—how like that man was to old Helps," +soliloquized Gerald.</p> + +<p>He stayed on deck a little longer; he thought his imagination +had played him a trick, for what could bring Helps +on board the <i>Esperance</i>. Presently the captain joined +him.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + + +<p>"I am sorry, Mr. Wyndham," said Captain Jellyby, "to +have to offer you on your very first night on board my +good ship very broken slumbers. We shall be lading with +coals all night. Are you easily disturbed by noise! But +I need scarcely ask, for that noise would almost rouse the +dead."</p> + +<p>Gerald smiled.</p> + +<p>"A broken night is nothing," he said; "at least to me. +I suppose there always is a great commotion the last night +before a vessel sails on a long voyage."</p> + +<p>"Not as a rule—at least that isn't my way. We meant +to break off and have a quiet time at midnight, and start +operations again at six o'clock in the morning. But I've +had directions from head quarters which oblige me to +quicken my movements. Doocid inconvenient, too!"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" said Gerald, the pulses round +his heart suddenly quickening. "We sail at noon to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"We sail at eight in the morning, my good sir, and I, +for one, call it doocid inconvenient. (Yes, Cadgers, what +do you want? Get all hands possible on board.) I beg +your pardon, Mr. Wyndham. (Yes, Cadgers.) Back with +you presently, sir."</p> + +<p>The captain disappeared, and Wyndham went down to +his cabin.</p> + +<p>What did this sudden change mean? Who had given +the order? Was that really Helps who had been on board? +Well, Wyndham was in a manner master on this vessel. It +was his own, part of his property; he had been told over +and over again by his father-in-law that on this voyage, +this pleasant voyage, he could give his own orders, and +short of anything which would jeopardize the safety of the +boat, the captain would humor his wishes. He would +countermand an order which was putting everybody out;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +he did not choose to leave his native shore before the time +specified—noon on the following day. In such a short life +as his even four hours were of moment. He would not +lose the four hours of hope, of the possibility of hope yet +left to him.</p> + +<p>He went on deck, sought out the captain where he was +standing, shouting out hoarse directions to gangs of energetic +looking sailors.</p> + +<p>"A word with you, Captain Jellyby," he said. "There is +some mistake in the order which you have received. I +mean that I am in a position to cancel it. I do not wish +the <i>Esperance</i> to sail before noon to-morrow."</p> + +<p>His voice was very distinct and penetrating, and the +sailors stopped work and looked at him. Astonishment +was written legibly on their faces.</p> + +<p>"Lade away boys, work with a will," said the captain. +Then he put his hand on Gerald's shoulder, turned him +round, and walked a pace or two away.</p> + +<p>"I quite understand your position, Mr. Wyndham," he +said. "And in all possible matters I shall yield you due +deference. But——"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"But—we sail at eight to-morrow morning, sharp."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? Who has given you the order?"</p> + +<p>"I am not prepared to say. My orders are explicit. +Another time, when Captain Jellyby can meet the wishes +of Mr. Wyndham with a clear conscience, his orders shall +also be explicit."</p> + +<p>The captain bowed, laid his hand across his heart and +turned away.</p> + +<p>Wyndham went back to his own cabin, and was tortured +all night by a desire, sane or otherwise, he could not +tell which, to leave the <i>Esperance</i> and return to London +and Valentin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>e.</p> + +<p>The lading of the vessel went on ceaselessly, and sharp +at eight the following morning she weighed anchor and +steamed away. Wyndham had lain awake all night, but at +seven in the morning he fell into a doze. The doze deepened +into quietness, into peaceful and refreshing slumber: +the lines departed from his young face; he had not undressed, +but flung himself as he was on his berth. When +the <i>Esperance</i> was flying merrily through the water, Captain +Jellyby had time to give Wyndham a thought.</p> + +<p>"That is a nice lad," he said to himself. "He has a nice +face, young too. I don't suppose he has seen five-and-twenty, +but he knows what trouble means. My name +is not Jack Jellyby if that young man does not know +what pretty sharp trouble means. Odd, too, for he's +rich and has married the chief's daughter, and what a +fuss the chief made about his reception here. No expense +to be spared; every comfort given, every attention +shown, and his orders to be obeyed within reason. +Ay, my pretty lad, there's the rub—within reason. You +looked keen and vexed enough last night when I had to +hasten the hour for the departure of the <i>Esperance</i>. I +wonder what the chief meant by that. Well, I'll go and +have a look at young Wyndham; he may as well come with +me and see the last of his native shore. As the morning is +fine it will be a pretty sight."</p> + +<p>The captain went and begged for admission to Wyndham's +cabin. There was no answer, so he opened the +door and poked his red smiling face round.</p> + +<p>"Bless me, the boy's asleep," he said; and he came up +and took a good look at his new passenger.</p> + +<p>Gerald was dreaming now, and a smile played about his +lips. Suddenly he opened his eyes and said:—</p> + +<p>"Yes, Valentine, yes, I'm coming!" and sprang to his +feet.</p> + +<p>The captain was standing with his legs a litt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>le apart, +looking at him. The vessel gave a lurch, and Wyndham +staggered.</p> + +<p>"Are we off?" he said. "Good God, are we really +off?"</p> + +<p>"We were off an hour ago, young sir. Come up on +deck and see what a pretty coast line we have just here."</p> + +<p>Wyndham put his hand to his forehead.</p> + +<p>"I have been cheated," he said suddenly. "Yes. I've +been cheated. I can't speak about it; things weren't +clear to me last night, but I had a dream, and I know now +what it all means. I woke with some words on my lips. +What did I say, captain?"</p> + +<p>"You called to some fellow of the name of Valentine—your +brother, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"I haven't a brother. The person to whom I called was +a woman—my wife. She was coming on board. She +would have sailed with me if we had waited. Now it is +too late."</p> + +<p>The captain raised his shaggy brows the tenth of an +inch.</p> + +<p>"They must be sending him on this voyage on account +of his health," he mentally soliloquized. "Now I see daylight. +A little touched, poor fellow. Pity—nice fellow. +Well, the chief might have trusted me. Of course I must +humor him, poor lad. Come on deck," he said aloud. +"It's beastly close down here. You should have the porthole +open, the sea is like glass. Come on deck and get +a breath of fresh air. Isn't Valentine a rather uncommon +name for a woman? Yes, of course, I heard you were +married. Well, well, you'll be home again in six months. +Now come on deck and look around you."</p> + +<p>"Look here, captain," said Gerald suddenly. "I can't +explain matters. I daresay you think me queer, but you're +mistaken."</p> + +<p>"They all go on that tack," muttered the captain. +"Another symptom. Well, I must humor him. I don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +think you queer," he said, aloud. "You're finely mistaken. +You had a dream, and you called on your wife, whom you +have just parted from. What more natural? Bless you. +I know all about it. I was married myself."</p> + +<p>"And you left your wife?"</p> + +<p>"I left her, and what is worse she left me. She went +up to the angels. Bless her memory, she was a young +thing. I see her yet, as she bade me good-bye. Come on +deck, lad."</p> + +<p>"Yes; come on deck," said Gerald hoarsely.</p> + +<p>All that day he was silent, sitting mostly apart and by +himself.</p> + +<p>But the captain had his eye on him. In the evening he +came again to Captain Jellyby.</p> + +<p>"You touch at Plymouth, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes."</p> + +<p>"This voyage, I mean."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"I wish you to stop at Plymouth."</p> + +<p>"Look here, my lad. 'No' is the only word I can give +you. We don't touch land till we get to Teneriffe. Go and +lie down and have a sleep. We shall have a calm sea to-night, +and you look fagged out."</p> + +<p>"Are you a man to be bribed?" began Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"I am ashamed of you. I am not."</p> + +<p>The captain turned his back on him. Wyndham caught +him by his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Are you a man to be moved to pity?"</p> + +<p>"Look here, my lad, I can pity to any extent; but if you +think any amount of compassion will turn me from my +duty, you're in the wrong box. It's my duty, clear as the +sky above, to go straight on to Teneriffe, and on I shall go. +You understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Gerald, "I understand. Thank you, captain. +I won't bother you further."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<p>His voice had altered, his brow had cleared. He +walked away to the further end of the deck, whistling a +light air. The captain saw him stop to pay some small +attention to a lady passenger.</p> + +<p>"Bless me, if I understand the fellow!" he muttered.</p> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + + +<p>When a die has been cast—cast irrevocably—as a rule +there follows a calm. It is sometimes the calm of peace, +sometimes that of despair; but there is always a stillness, +effort is over, words don't avail, actions are paralyzed.</p> + +<p>Gerald Wyndham sat on deck most of that evening. +There was a married lady, a certain Mrs. Harvey, on board, +she was going to Australia with her husband and one little +girl. She was about thirty, and very delicate. Gerald's +face took her fancy, and they struck up an acquaintance.</p> + +<p>The evening was so calm, so mild, the water so still, the +sky above so clear that the passengers brought wraps and +lingered long on deck. Mrs. Harvey talked all the time +to Gerald. He answered her not only politely but with +interest. She was an interesting woman, she could talk +well, she had great sympathy, and she wanted to draw +Wyndham out. In this she failed, although she imagined +she succeeded. He learned much of her history, for she +was very communicative, but when she joined her husband +downstairs later that evening she could not tell him a single +thing about their fellow-passenger.</p> + +<p>"He has a nice face," they both remarked, and they +wondered who he was.</p> + +<p>It did not occur to them to speak of him as sad-looking. +On the contrary, Mrs. Harvey spoke of his cheerful smile +and of his strong appreciation of humor.</p> + +<p>"It is delightful to meet a man who can see a joke," she +said. "Most of them are so dense."</p> + +<p>"I wonder which family of Wyndhams he belongs to," +remarked the husband.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if he is married," added the wife.</p> + +<p>Then they both resolved that they would find out to-morrow. +But they did not, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> the next day Wyndham +did not come on deck at all. He stayed in his own cabin, +and had one or two interviews with the captain.</p> + +<p>"You know very little about me, Captain Jellyby," he +said, once.</p> + +<p>"I know that you are married to Miss Paget," replied +the captain, "and I am given to understand that she is a +very charming young lady."</p> + +<p>"I want you to keep the fact of my marriage to yourself."</p> + +<p>The captain looked a little surprised.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, if you wish it," he said.</p> + +<p>"I do wish it. I am knocked over to-day, for the fact is. +I—I have gone through some trouble, but I don't mean +to inflict my troubles on you or my fellow-passengers. +I hope I shall prove an acquisition rather than otherwise +on board the <i>Esperance</i>. But what I do not want, what +would be particularly repellant to me, is that the other +saloon passengers should gossip about me. When they +find that I don't talk about myself, or my people, or my +wife, they will become curious, and ply you with questions. +Will you be mum on the subject?"</p> + +<p>"Mum as the grave," said the captain rising and +stretching himself. "Lord, we'll have some fun over +this. If there are a deadly curious, gossiping, wrangling, +hole-picking set in this wide world, it's the saloon passengers +on board a boat of this kind. I'll make up a +beautiful mystery about you, my fine fellow. Won't they +enjoy it! Why, it will be the saving of them."</p> + +<p>"Make up any mystery you like," replied Wyndham, +"only don't tell them the truth. That is, I mean, what +you know of the truth."</p> + +<p>"And that's nothing," muttered the captain to himself +as he went away. "Bless me, he is a queer fellow. +Touched—he must be touched."</p> + +<p>Gerald spent twenty-four hours in God only knows what +deep waters of mental agony. The other passengers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +thought he was suffering from an attack of sea-sickness, +for they were just now meeting the heavy channel sea, +and the captain did not undeceive them. They passed +Plymouth before Gerald again appeared on deck, and +when he once more joined his fellow-passengers they +were outside the Bay of Biscay.</p> + +<p>Gerald had not suffered from any bodily discomfort, +but others on board the <i>Esperance</i> were less fortunate, and +when he once more took his place in the saloon, and went +up on deck, he found that work, which all his life long +seemed to fall to his share, once more waiting for him. +It was the work of making other people comfortable. +The Harveys' little girl was very weak and fretful. She +had gone through a bad time, but when Wyndham lifted +her in his arms, sat down with her in a sheltered part of +the deck, and told her some funny fairy tales, his influence +worked like the wand of a good magician. She +smiled, told Mr. Wyndham he was a very nice man, gave +him a kiss, and ran downstairs presently to eat her supper +with appetite.</p> + +<p>Little Cecily Harvey was not the only person who came +under Wyndham's soothing influence. During this first +evening he found himself more or less in the position of +a sort of general sick-nurse. But the next day people +were better, and then he appeared in another <i>rôle</i>. He +could entertain, with stories, with music, with song. He +could recite; above all things he could organize, and had +a knack of showing off other people to the best advantage. +Long before a week had passed, Wyndham was the most +popular person on board. He was not only popular with +saloon passengers, but with the emigrants. There were +several on board, and he often spent some hours with +them, playing with the children, and talking with the +mothers, or, rather, getting the mothers to talk to him.</p> + +<p>They were flying south now, and every day the air gre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>w +more balmy and the sea smoother. The emigrants, boys +and girls, fathers and mothers, used to lie out on the deck +in the sun, and a very pretty picture they made; the +children rolling about laughing and playing, and the +mothers, most of them were young mothers, looking on +and regarding them with pride.</p> + +<p>There was scarcely an emigrant mother on board that +ship who had not confided her story, her hopes and her +fears to Wyndham, before the voyage was over.</p> + +<p>Soon that thing happened which had happened long ago +at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, which had happened in the +small house in Park-lane, which had happened even with +the odds against him to his wife—everybody loved Wyndham. +Hearts warmed as he came near, eyes brightened +when they looked at him. He was in the position of a +universal favorite. That sometimes is a dangerous position. +But not in his case, for he was too unselfish to make +enemies.</p> + +<p>All this time, while his life was apparently drifting, while +the hours were apparently gliding on to no definite or +especial goal, to a landing at Melbourne—to a journey +across a new Continent—while his days were going by to +all intents and purposes like anybody else's days, he knew +that between him and them lay an immeasurable gulf. He +knew that he was not drifting, but going very rapidly +down a hill. The fact is, Wyndham knew that the end, +as far as he was concerned, was near.</p> + +<p>His father-in-law had planned one thing, but he had +planned another. He told no one of this, he never +whispered this to a living creature, but his own mind was +inexorably made up. He knew it when he bade his father +good-bye that last Sunday; when he looked at Lilias and +Marjory, and the other children, he knew it; he knew it +when he kissed his wife's cheek that last morning when +she slept. In his own way he could be a man of iron will. +His will was as iron in this special matter. Only once<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +had his determination been shaken, and that was when he +pleaded with Valentine, and when he hoped against hope +that she would listen to his prayer. The last lingering +sparks of that hope died away when the captain refused +to touch at Plymouth. After that moment his own fixed +will never wavered.</p> + +<p>His father-in-law had asked him for half a death; he +should have a whole one. That was all. Many another +man had done what he meant to do before. Still it was +the End—the great End. No one could go beyond it.</p> + +<p>He made his plans very carefully; he knew to effect his +object he must be extremely careful. He would die, but it +must never be supposed, never breathed by mortal soul +that he had passed out of this world except by accident. +He knew perfectly what the captain thought of him during +the first couple of days of his residence on board the +<i>Esperance</i>.</p> + +<p>"Captain Jellyby is positive that I am touched in the +head," thought Wyndham. "I must undo that suspicion."</p> + +<p>He took pains, and he succeeded admirably. Wyndham +was not only a favorite on board, but he was cheerful, he +was gay. People remarked not on his high but on his +good spirits.</p> + +<p>"Such a merry, light-hearted fellow," they said of him.</p> + +<p>Wyndham overheard these remarks now and then. The +captain openly delighted in him.</p> + +<p>"The ship will never be lucky again when you leave +her," he said. "You're worth a free passage to any captain. +Why you keep us all in good humor. Passengers, +emigrants, sailors and all. Here, come along. I thought +you rather a gloomy young chap when first I set eyes on +you; but now—ah, well, you were homesick. Quite +accountable. Here, I have a request from the second +mate, and one or two more of the jack tars down there. +They want you to sing them a song after supper. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +say it isn't fair that we should have you to ourselves in the +saloon."</p> + +<p>Gerald laughed, said he would be happy to oblige the +sailors, and walked away.</p> + +<p>"As jolly a chap as ever I laid eyes on," muttered the +captain. "I liked him from the first, but I was mistaken +in him. I thought him gloomy. Not a bit. I wonder +his wife could bear to let him out of her sight. I wouldn't +if I were a lass. There, hark to him now! Bless me, we +are having a pleasant voyage this time."</p> + +<p>So they were. No one was ill; the amount of rough +weather was decidedly below the average, and cheerfulness +and contentment reigned on board.</p> + +<p>The ship touched at Teneriffe, but only for a few hours, +and then sped on her way to the Cape. It was now getting +very hot, and an awning was spread over the deck. Under +this the saloon passengers sat, and smoked and read. No +one suspected, no one had the faintest shadow of a suspicion +that black care lurked anywhere on board that happy +ship, least of all in the breast of the merriest of its crew. +Gerald Wyndham.</p> + +<p>The <i>Esperance</i> reached the Cape in safety, there some +of the passengers, Gerald amongst them, landed, for the +captain intended to lie at anchor for twenty-four hours. +Then again they were away, and now they were told they +must expect colder weather for they were entering the +Southern Ocean, and were approaching high latitudes of +polar cold. They would have to go through the rough +sea of the "Roaring Forties," and then again they would +emerge into tropical sunshine.</p> + +<p>Soon after they left the Cape, little Cecily Harvey fell +ill. She caught a chill and was feverish, and the doctor +and her mother forbade her to go on deck. She was only +eight years old, a pretty, win<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>some child. Gerald felt a +special tenderness for her, for she reminded him of his own +little sister Joan. During this illness she often lay for +hours in his arms, with her little feverish cheek pressed +against his, and her tiny hot hand comforted by his firm +cool clasp.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wyndham," she said on one of these occasions. +"I wish you wouldn't do it."</p> + +<p>"Do what, Cecily?"</p> + +<p>"Run up the rigging as you do. I heard one of the +sailors talking to Mrs. Meyrich the other day, and he said +you were too daring, and some day you'd have a slip, and +be overboard, if you did not look sharp."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll take care of myself, Cecily. At one time I +thought of being a sailor, and I was always climbing, always +climbing at home. There isn't the least fear. I'm not +rash. I'm a very careful fellow."</p> + +<p>"Are you? I'm glad of that. Had you tall trees at your +home?"</p> + +<p>Gerald gave the little hand a squeeze.</p> + +<p>"They were like other trees," he said. "Don't let us +talk of them."</p> + +<p>"Mustn't we? I'm sorry. I wanted to hear all about +your home."</p> + +<p>"I haven't a home, Cecily. Once I had one, but you can +understand that it is painful to speak of what one has +lost."</p> + +<p>"I'm very sorry for you, dear Mr. Wyndham. Did you +lose a little sister, too? Is that why you squeeze me so +tight?"</p> + +<p>"I have lost many little sisters; we won't talk of them, +either. What is the matter, Cecily? Do you feel faint?"</p> + +<p>"No, but I hate this rough, choppy sea. I want it to be +smooth again as it used to be. Then I can go on deck, +and lie under the awning, and you can sit near me, and tell +me stories. Will you?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gerald did not answer.</p> + +<p>"<i>Will</i> you, Mr. Wyndham?"</p> + +<p>"I can lie to everyone else but not to the child," muttered +Gerald.</p> + +<p>He roused himself, and sought to divert her attention.</p> + +<p>"We are in the 'Roaring Forties' now," he said. "Isn't +that a funny name? The sea is always very choppy and +rough here, but it won't last long. You will soon be in +pleasant weather and smooth seas again."</p> + +<p>Cecily was not satisfied, and Gerald presently left her +and went on deck.</p> + +<p>The weather was not pleasant just now, it was cold and +squally, always veering about and causing a choppy and +disagreeable motion with the ship. Some of the ladies +took again to their beds, and went through another spell +of sea-sickness; the more fortunate ones sat and chatted +in the great saloon—not one of them ventured on deck. +Gerald, who was not in the least indisposed in body, found +plenty to do in his <i>rôle</i> of general cheerer and comforter. +When he was not nursing little Cecily he spent some time +with the emigrants, amongst whom he was a great favorite.</p> + +<p>On this particular day a round-faced young woman of +five and twenty, a certain Mrs. Notley, came up to him +the moment he appeared on the lower deck.</p> + +<p>"They do say it, sir, and I thought I'd speak to you, so +that you wouldn't mind. They do say you're over rash +in helping the sailors—over rash, and none so sure-footed +as you think yourself."</p> + +<p>"Folly," said Gerald, laughing good-humoredly. "So +I can't run up a rope or tighten a rigging without people +imagining that I am putting my precious life in jeopardy. +Don't you listen to any foolish tales, Mrs. Notley. I'm a +great deal too fond of myself to run any risks. I shan't +slip, if that's what you mean—for that matter I have +always been climbing, since I was a little chap no bigger +than that urchin of yours there."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ay, sir, that's all very well, but it's different for all that +on board ship; there may come a lurch when you least +look for it, and then the surest-footed and the surest-handed +is sometimes outwitted. You'll excuse my mentioning of +it, sir, but you're a bonny young gentleman, and you has +the goodwill of everyone on board."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mrs. Notley, I like to hear you say so. +It is pleasant to be liked."</p> + +<p>"Ah, sure you are that, and no mistake, and you'll forgive +me mentioning it, sir, but you'll be careful, won't you? +You ain't married for sure, for your face is too lightsome +for that of a married man. But maybe you has a mother +and a sweetheart, and you might think of them, sir, and +not be over daring."</p> + +<p>Wyndham's face grew suddenly white.</p> + +<p>"As it happens I have neither a mother nor sweetheart," +he said. Then he turned away somewhat abruptly, and +Mrs. Notley feared she had offended him.</p> + +<p>The sailors prophesied "dirty weather;" they expected +it, for this was the roughest part of the voyage. Gerald +was very fond of talking to the sailors and getting their +opinions. He strolled over to where a group of them were +standing now, and they pointed to some ugly looking +clouds, and told him that the storm would be on them by +night.</p> + +<p>Nothing very bad, or to be alarmed at, they said, still +a rough and nasty sea, with a bit of a gale blowing. The +women and children wouldn't like it, poor things, and it +would be a dark night too, no moon.</p> + +<p>Gerald asked a few more questions.</p> + +<p>"I have a great anxiety to see a storm," he said. "If +it gets really stormy, I'll come up; I can shelter beside +the man at the wheel."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> +<p>"Better not, sir," one or two said. "The vessel is sure +to lurch over a good bit, and it takes more sea-weather +legs than yours to keep their footing at such a time."</p> + +<p>"All the same," remarked a burly-looking sailor, who +was to take his place at the wheel for some hours that +night, and thought Gerald's company would be a decided +acquisition, "I could put the gent into a corner where he'd +be safe enough round here, and it's something to see a gale +in these parts—something to live for—not that there'll be +much to-night, only a bit of a dirty sea; but still——"</p> + +<p>"Expect me, Loggan, if it does come," said Wyndham. +He laughed and turned away. He walked slowly along +the upper deck. Captain Jellyby came up and had a word +with him.</p> + +<p>"Yes, we're in for a dirty night," he remarked.</p> + +<p>Then Wyndham went downstairs. He chatted for a +little with the ladies in the saloon. Then he went into his +own cabin. He shut the door. The time had arrived—the +hour had come.</p> + +<p>He felt wonderfully calm and quiet; he was not excited, +nor did his conscience smite him with a sense of any special +wrong-doing. Right or wrong he was going to do something +on which no blessing could be asked, over which no +prayer could be uttered. He had been brought up in a +house where prayers had been many; he had whispered his +own baby prayers to his mother when he was a little child. +Well, well, he would not think of these things now. The +hour was come, the moment for action was ripe. There +was a little daylight, and during that time he meant to +occupy himself with one last task; he would write a letter +to his wife, a cheerful, bright everyday letter, to the wife +for whose sake he was about to rush unbidden into the +arms of death. He had a part to act, and this letter was +in the programme. To make all things safe and above +suspicion he must write it, and leave it carelessly on his +table, so that the next ship they touched should convey it +to her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p> + +<p>He took out a sheet of foreign notepaper, and wrote +steadily. His hand did not shake, he covered the whole +sheet of paper; his words were bright, contented; no +shadow of gloom touched them. They were full of anticipation, +of pleasure in the moment—of pleasure in the +coming reunion.</p> + +<p>The writing of this letter was the very hardest task of +the man's whole life. When it was over great drops of +sweat stood on his forehead. He read it steadily, from +beginning to end, however, and his only fear was that it +was too bright, and that she might see through it, as in a +mirror, the anguish beneath.</p> + +<p>The letter was written, and now Wyndham had nothing +to do. He had but to sit with his hands before him, and +wait for the gathering darkness and the ever-increasing +gale.</p> + +<p>He sat for nearly an hour in his own cabin, he was past +any consecutive thought now; still, so great was the constraint +he was able to put over himself that outwardly he +was quite calm. Presently he went into the saloon. Cecily +Harvey alone was there, all the ladies having gone in to +dinner. She sprang up with a cry of delight when she saw +Gerald.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wyndham, have you come to stay with me? Why +aren't you at dinner? How white you look."</p> + +<p>"I am not hungry, Cecily. I thought you would be +alone, and I came out to see you. I wanted you to give +me a kiss."</p> + +<p>"Of course I will—of course I will," said the affectionate +child, throwing her arms around his neck.</p> + +<p>"You remind me of one of the little sisters I have lost," +he said hurriedly. "Thank you, Cecily, thank you. Be +a good child, always. I would say 'God bless you' if I +dared."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why don't you dare? You are a good man, a very +good man, the best I know."</p> + +<p>"Hush, Cecily, you don't know what you are talking +about. Give me another kiss. Thank you sweet little +girl."</p> + +<p>He went back again to his own cabin. The longing for +compassion at this crucial moment had made him run a +risk in talking so to Cecily. He blamed himself, but +scarcely regretted the act.</p> + +<p>It was certainly going to be a dirty night, and already +the sailors were busy overhead. The good ship creaked +and strained as she to fought her way through the waters. +The ladies loudly expressed their uneasiness, and the +gentleman-passengers fought down some qualms which +they considered unmanly.</p> + +<p>Wyndham rose from his seat in the dark, pressed his +lips to the letter he had written to his wife, suddenly he +started, reeled a step and fell back.</p> + +<p>There is no accounting for what happened—but happen +it did.</p> + +<p><i>Valentine herself stood beside him, stretched out her +arms to him, uttered a brief cry, and then vanished.</i></p> + +<p>He felt like a madman; he pressed his hands to his head +and rushed on deck.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Stand there, Mr. Wyndham, there," said the sailor +Loggan. "You'll be safe enough. Oh, yes, more than +one wave will wash us. Shall I lash you to the wheel, sir? +Maybe it would be safer."</p> + +<p>"No, no, thank you."</p> + +<p>The voice was quite quiet and calm again.</p> + +<p>Certainly the night was a rough one, but between and +under the loud voice of the storm, Loggan and his companion +exchanged some cheerful phrases.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> +<p>"No, sir, I ain't never afeared."</p> + +<p>"What if you were to go to the bottom?"</p> + +<p>"The will of the good God be done, sir. I'd go a-doing +of my duty."</p> + +<p>"You're an honest fellow, Loggan; shake hands with +me."</p> + +<p>"That I will, Mr. Wyndham. What are you doing +with that rope, sir? It's cold, it's slippery—oh, the knot +has got loose, I'll call a man to tighten it, sir; let me—let +me. You'll be over, sir, if you don't look out; we're going +to lunge this way. Take care, sir—take care—<i>for God's +sake, take care</i>!"</p> + +<p>Wyndham took care.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + + +<p>The summer came early that year. The rectory was a +charming place in the summer, and on this particular +bright day in June one of the numerous school-feasts was +in course of preparation, and all the young Wyndhams +were working with a will and energy which could scarcely +be surpassed. The feast was in full progress; the village +children consumed tea and buns, as only village children +can. Augusta was refusing to help the babies to any +more; Joan and Betty were half-crying because she +snatched the rich currant buns out of their hands; Marjory +was leading the most obstreporous members of her +flock away to the other end of the long meadow, where +they could play orange and lemons, nuts in May, and +other festive games; and Lilias, as she helped to pack +away the remnants of the feast, was answering some questions +of Carr's.</p> + +<p>"We ought to have heard by now," she was saying. +"My father is a little uneasy, but I am not—at least, of +course, I am anxious for Valentine. The suspense must +be very trying for her!"</p> + +<p>"When did your brother's ship sail?"</p> + +<p>"On the 25th of March."</p> + +<p>"And this is the 15th of June. The <i>Esperance</i> must +have been reported at Lloyd's long ago."</p> + +<p>"How stupid of me never to think of that," said Lilias, +her face brightening. "But would they not put the arrivals +in the papers? I have certainly looked and never +seen it."</p> + +<p>"You have probably overlooked it. I will write and inquire +for you. The <i>Esperance</i>, even allowing for delays, +has probably reached its destination some weeks ago. On +the other hand it would be scarcely possible for you to +have had a letter from your brother. Yes, you are right +not to be anxious; I will go and have a chat with your +father presently. Is Mrs. Wyndham well?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I think so—fairly well. She is coming to stay with us +next week."</p> + +<p>Carr strolled away.</p> + +<p>"What a nice comfortable young man he is turning +into," said Marjory, who came up at that moment. "Ah, +yes, your face is brighter already for having had an interview +with him. Whisper no secrets to me. I know—I +know."</p> + +<p>Lilias' clear brown skin was transfused with color.</p> + +<p>"Don't be silly, Marjory," she said. "I don't mind +owning that Mr. Carr <i>is</i> a comfortable person to talk to. +He has just been removing my fears about Gerald."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I thought you had no fears."</p> + +<p>"Well, father's fears, then. He has been saying things +to me which will remove my father's fears completely."</p> + +<p>"That is right—Heaven be praised. You and the rector +are nothing but a pair of old croaks lately. Hey-ho! I +am perfectly weary of your long faces and your apprehensions. +Thank goodness. Val is coming; she'll wake us up +a little."</p> + +<p>Lilias opened her dark eyes.</p> + +<p>"I did not know you cared so much for Valentine," she +said.</p> + +<p>"I admired her very much the last time I saw her. +That was a month ago—she seemed so spirited and courageous. +I used to think her something of a doll, but she's +a woman now, and a fine one. Perhaps it's the thought of +the baby coming."</p> + +<p>"Or perhaps," said Lilias, "she has found out at last +what our Gerald is."</p> + +<p>"Both, most likely," said Marjory. "Anyhow, she's +changed; and the funniest part is that that old man——"</p> + +<p>"What old man, Marjo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>ry?"</p> + +<p>"Don't interrupt me—her father. I always call him +that old man—well, I think he's afraid of her. She doesn't +pet him the way she used, but she's very gentle with him. +Oh, she's a good bit altered; there's something in her now."</p> + +<p>"I suppose there was always something in her," said +Lilias. "For Gerald"—her lips trembled—"gave up so +much for her."</p> + +<p>"No more than any man gives up for any woman," said +Marjory. "A man shall leave his father and mother. Oh, +yes, poor old Lil, I know how you felt it. You always +made an idol of Gerald. I suppose you'll marry some +day; you are so pretty—and h'm—h'm—there's somebody +waiting for somebody—there, I don't want to tease, only +when you do marry, my pretty sister, I wonder if he'll +come inside Gerald in your heart."</p> + +<p>"I won't marry until I love some one even better than +my only brother," replied Lilias in a grave voice. "That +time has not come yet," she added, and then she turned +away.</p> + +<p>The games went on as fast as ever; Marjory romped +with the merriest. Lilias was graver than her sister, not +so fond of pastimes, perhaps not quite so generally popular. +She went into the house, sat down by the organ in +the hall and began to play. She had almost as much +talent as Gerald; her fingers wandered over the keys, she +was in a dreamy mood, and her thoughts were carrying her +back to a bygone scene—to Gerald's face on that Sunday +night. She heard again the rich tones of his voice, and +heard his words:—</p> + +<p> +"Till in the ocean of Thy love<br /> +We loose ourselves in Heaven above."<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Oh, Gerald," she said with a kind of sob, "things have +been hard for me since you went away. It was not your +marriage alone, I had prepared myself for that; but it was +mo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>re—it was more. The Church of God—you gave that +up. Yes, yes. There has been a shut door between us. +Gerald, since you and Valentine first met; and where are +you now—where are you now?"</p> + +<p>"Lilias," said little Joan running in breathlessly, "father +wants you in his study, quickly. I don't think he's quite +well. He has just had a letter, and he looks so queer."</p> + +<p>"I'll go to him at once," said Lilias.</p> + +<p>She could be apprehensive enough, but in real danger, +in times of real anxiety, her head could be cool and her +steps firm.</p> + +<p>"Yes, father," she said, motioning the frightened little +Joan away.</p> + +<p>She shut the library door behind her.</p> + +<p>"Yes, father. What is it? Jo says that you have got +a letter, and that you want me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't suppose it's anything," said the rector. +"That is, I don't mean to be uneasy. Here's the letter. +Lilias. You ought to read it, perhaps. It's from Paget. +He is evidently nervous himself, but I don't suppose there +is any need. Read it, and tell me what you think."</p> + +<p>The rector thrust a sheet of paper into his daughter's +hand. Then went over to one of his book shelves and +pretended to be busy rummaging up some folios. Lilias +read as follows:—</p> + +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">My Dear Sir</span>,—I write on a subject of some little anxiety. I +did not wish to trouble you before it was necessary, but now I confess +that we—I refer to my house of business—have cause to feel uneasiness +with regard to the fate of the <i>Esperance.</i> She is quite a month overdue at +Sydney; even allowing for all possible delays, she is at least that time +overdue. The last tidings of her were from the Cape, and it is feared +from their date that she must have encountered rough weather in the +Southern Ocean. Nothing is known, however, and every hour we look +for a cable announcing her arrival at Melbourne if not at Sydney. It +is possible she may have been injured, which will account for the delay, +but I scarcely apprehend anything worse. I ought scarcely to say that +I am anxious; up to the present there is no real cause to apprehend +anything worse than an accident to the vessel. Vessels are often a +mo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>nth behind their time, and all is satisfactorily explained at the end. +I am now troubling you with regard to another matter. I do not want +my daughter and your son's wife to be needlessly alarmed. It is most +important that her mind should be kept free from apprehension until +after the birth of their child. You kindly asked her to go to see you. +Can you have her at the rectory at once? And will you send Lilias +to fetch her? I know you and yours will keep all fears from her, and, +poor child, she reads my face like a book.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +Yours faithfully, <br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Mortimer Paget</span>."<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>"Well, Lilias," said the rector. "Well? He's a little +over nervous, isn't he, eh? Vessels are often a month +overdue. Eh, Lilias? But of course they are. Somehow +I'm not nervous since I got that letter. I was before, but +not now."</p> + +<p>He rubbed his hands together as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"It's summer now, and we'll have Gerald back before +the next snow comes. I told the boy so when he bid me +good-bye; he was a bit upset that night after you girls +went to bed. Poor fellow, I had quite to cheer him; he's +a very affectionate lad. No, I'm not nervous, and I wonder +at Paget. But what do <i>you</i> think, Lilias?"</p> + +<p>Lilias folded up the letter, and put it back in her old +father's hand. Then she stole her arm round his neck, +and kissed him.</p> + +<p>"We will be brave," she said. "If we have fears we +won't speak of them; we have got to think of Valentine +now, not of ourselves."</p> + +<p>The rector almost shook Lilias' hand from his neck.</p> + +<p>"Fears," he said, in a light and cheerful voice, a voice +which was belied by his tremulous hands, and by his almost +petulant movement. "Fears! my dear girl, they really +don't exist. At this moment, were we clairvoyant, we +should see Gerald either rising leisurely from a good night's +rest, or sitting down to his breakfast in one of those luxurious +houses one reads of in Froude's 'Oceana.' Vessels +like the <i>Esperance</i> don't go to the bottom. Now, Lil, at +what hour will you go to fetch Valentine? You will go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +up to town to-morrow, of course."</p> + +<p>"By the first train," replied Lilias. Her lips quivered. +She turned away; there was nothing more to be said. Her +father's manner did not in the least deceive her.</p> + +<p>"Dear old man!" she said to herself. "If he can be +brave, so will I. But oh, Gerald, does any heart ache +more for you than the heart of your sister Lilias?"</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + + +<p>Valentine had got a blow. The first real great blow +which had ever been dealt to her. It had a most curious +effect. Instead of stunning or rendering her weak and incapable, +it suddenly changed her from a child into a +practical and clever and wide-awake woman. The very +quality of her voice changed. It became full, and inspired +respect the moment she spoke. She was quite aware that +her father had deceived her, that he did not mean her to +accompany Gerald to Sydney.</p> + +<p>She said nothing about this knowledge—not even that +evening when she got home and found her father looking +ten years older, but standing on the step of her own little +home waiting for her.</p> + +<p>"I was too late," she said, quietly. "The <i>Esperance</i> +sailed four hours before its time. I must do without +Gerald for six months; in six months he will be home."</p> + +<p>"In six months," echoed Mr. Paget, following her upstairs +to the drawing-room. "Kiss me, my darling," he +said. "Valentine, you will come back to your own home +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Valentine raised her cheek to meet her father's lips.</p> + +<p>"I think I would rather remain here," she said. "This, +after all, is my only real home; you don't mind my keeping +the house, do you, father?"</p> + +<p>"No, my dear, if you wish it. Only I thought——" +His last words came out almost tremulously.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes we are mistaken in our thoughts," responded +Valentine. "I should like best to stay on in my husband's +house. Six months will not be long passing; and—father. +I have some news for you. In July—if I live until +July—God is going to give me a child—Gerald's child and +mine. I should like it to be born here."</p> + +<p>"Thank God," exclaimed Mr. Paget. "I am very glad +of this, Valentine," he said. "This—this—is an inestimable +mercy. I hope your child will be a son. My dear +daughter, this news lifts a great weight off my mi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>nd."</p> + +<p>He looked what he felt, delighted.</p> + +<p>"Of course you must live wherever you like best," he +said. "July—this is March—the child's father will be——" +but he did not finish this sentence.</p> + +<p>He went away soon afterwards. Ten years had been +added to his life in that one single day.</p> + +<p>He knew, one glance into Valentine's eyes told him, that +she no longer believed in him. What was any success +with the heart of his darling turned aside?</p> + +<p>He walked home feeling tottering and feeble; he had +had a blow, but also a strong consolation—his daughter's +child—his grandson. Of course the child should be a +boy. There was something to live for in such news as +this. A boy to step into his shoes by-and-bye—to keep +up the credit of the old house; a boy who should have no +shame on him, and no dark history. Yes, yes, this was +very good news, and unlooked for; he had much to live +for yet.</p> + +<p>After this Mr. Paget followed his daughter about like a +shadow. Every day her mind and her powers were developing +in fresh directions. She had certainly lost some of the +charm of her childish ways, but her gain had been greater +than her loss. Her face had always been spirituelle, the +expression sprightly, the eyes under their arched brows full +of light. People had spoken of the girlish face as beautiful, +but now that it belonged to a grave and patient, in +some respects a suffering woman, they found that it possessed +more than ordinary loveliness. The soul had come +back again into Valentine's eyes. She knew two things. +She was loved—her husband told her that no woman had +ever been loved so well before. She was also to become +a mother. She considered herself, notwithstanding her +crosses, blessed among women, and she resolved to live +worthily.</p> + +<p>Patience and faith both were hers, and whenever she fe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>lt +inclined to rebel, to fret, to fume, she thought of the day +when she should show her baby to her husband, and tell +him face to face that all her heart, all her best affections +were divided between him and their child.</p> + +<p>She kept to her resolution of living on in the little house +in Park-Lane. She led a busy life, interesting herself a +good deal in the anxieties and cares of others. When a +woman takes up that <i>rôle</i> she always finds abundance to +do, for there are few pairs of shoulders that have not a +burden to carry. She also wrote by every mail to her husband. +She had already received one letter from him, +posted at Teneriffe. This letter was affectionate—cheerful. +Valentine read it over and over. It was a very nice letter, +but its words did not reach down into her heart as that +other letter of Gerald's, written before he sailed, had done. +She was puzzled by it. Still she owned to herself that it +was just the letter she ought to receive, just the pleasant +happy words of a man who was leading a busy and useful +life; who was going away for a definite object, and hoped +soon to return to his wife and his home.</p> + +<p>All went well with Valentine until a certain day. She +rose as usual on the morning of that day, went down to +breakfast, opened one or two letters, attended to a couple +of domestic matters, and went slowly back to the drawing-room. +She liked to dust and tidy her little drawing-room +herself. She had put it in order this morning, had arranged +fresh flowers in the vases, and was finally giving one or two +fresh touches to Gerald's violin, which she always kept +near her own piano, when she was startled by the consciousness +that she was not alone.</p> + +<p>She raised her head, turned quickly, a cold air seemed +to blow on her face.</p> + +<p>"Valentine!" said her husbands voice, in a tone of +unspeakable agony.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span></p> +<p>She fancied she even saw his shadowy outline. She +stretched out her arms to him—he faded away.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>That afternoon Mrs. Wyndham paid her father a visit +in the City. She was shown into his private room by +Helps, who eyed her from head to foot with great anxiety.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget looked into her face and grew perceptibly +paler. He was certainly nervous in these days—nervous, +and very much aged in appearance.</p> + +<p>"Is anything wrong, Valentine?" he could not help saying +to his daughter. It was the last sentence he wished to +pass his lips—he bit them with vexation after the words +had escaped them.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, my dear; have you come to take me for a +drive, like—like—old times?"</p> + +<p>"I have not, father. I have come to know when you +expect to hear tidings of the arrival of the <i>Esperance</i> at +Sydney."</p> + +<p>"Not yet, Valentine. Impossible so soon. In any case +we shall have a cable from Melbourne first—the vessel will +touch there."</p> + +<p>"When are you likely to hear from Melbourne?"</p> + +<p>"Not for some days yet."</p> + +<p>"But you know the probable time. Can you not ascertain +it? Will you hear in ten days? In a week? In three +days?"</p> + +<p>"You are persistent, Valentine."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget raised his eyes and looked at her from head +to foot.</p> + +<p>"I will ascertain," he said in an almost cold voice, as +he sounded an electric bell by his side.</p> + +<p>Helps answered the summons.</p> + +<p>"Helps, when is the <i>Esperance</i> due at Melbourne?"</p> + +<p>Again Helps glanced quickly at Mrs. Wyndham; he +was standing rather behind her, but coul<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>d catch a glimpse +of her face.</p> + +<p>"By the end of May," he said, speaking slowly. His +quick eyes sought his chief's; they took their cue. "Not +sooner," he continued. "Possibly by the end of May."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Valentine.</p> + +<p>The man withdrew.</p> + +<p>"I have nearly a month to wait," she said, rising and +looking at her father. "I did not know that the voyage +would be such a lengthy one. When you do hear the news +will be bad, father; yes, the news will be bad. I have +nothing to say about it, no explanation to offer, only I +know."</p> + +<p>Before Mr. Paget could make a single reply, Valentine +had left him. He was decidedly alarmed about her.</p> + +<p>"Can she be going out of her mind?" he soliloquized. +"Women sometimes do before the birth of their children. +What did she mean? It is impossible for her to know anything. +Pshaw! What is there to know? I verily believe I +am cultivating that abomination of the age—nerves!"</p> + +<p>Whatever Valentine did mean, she met her father that +evening as if nothing had happened. She was bright, even +cheerful; she played and sang for him. He concluded that +she was not out of her mind, that she had simply had a fit +of the dismals, and dismissed the matter.</p> + +<p>The month passed by, slowly for Valentine—very slowly, +also, for her father. It passed into space, and there was +no news of the <i>Esperance</i>. More days went by, no news, +no tidings of any sort. Valentine thought the vessel was a +fortnight overdue. Her father knew that it was at least +a month behind its time. When he wrote his letter to the +rector of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold he felt even more anxious +than his words seemed to admit.</p> + +<p>The day after the receipt of this letter Lilias came to +town and took Valentine home with her. The next morning +Mr. Paget went as usual to his office. His first inquiry +was for news of the <i>Esperance</i>. The invariable answer +awaited him.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> +<p>"No tidings as yet."</p> + +<p>He went into the snug inner room where he lunched, +where Valentine's picture hung, and where he had made +terms with Gerald Wyndham. He sank down into an easy-chair, +and covered his face with his hands.</p> + +<p>"Would to God this suspense were at an end," he said.</p> + +<p>The words had scarcely passed his lips when Helps +knocked for admission at the inner door, he opened it, +caught a glimpse of his servant's face, and fell back.</p> + +<p>"You heard," he said. "Come in and tell me quick. +The <i>Esperance</i> is lost, and every soul on board——"</p> + +<p>"Hush, sir," said Helps. "There's no news of the +<i>Esperance</i>. Command yourself, sir. It isn't that—it's the +other thing. The young gentleman from India, he's outside—he +wants to see you."</p> + +<p>"Good God, Helps. Positively I'm faint. Shut the +door for a moment; he has come, then. You are sure?"</p> + +<p>"This is his card, sir. Mr. George Carmichael."</p> + +<p>"Give me a moment's time, Helps. So he has come. +It would have been all right but for this confounded +uncertainty with regard to the <i>Esperance</i>. But it is all +right, of course. Plans such as mine don't fail, they are +too carefully made. All the same, I am shaken, Helps. +Helps, I am growing into an old man."</p> + +<p>"You do look queer, Mr. Paget; have a little brandy, +sir; you'd better."</p> + +<p>"Thank you; a little, then. Open that cupboard, you +will find the flask. Brandy steadies the nerves. Now I +am better. Helps, it was in this room I made terms with +young Wyndham."</p> + +<p>"God forgive you, sir, it was."</p> + +<p>"Why do you say that? You did not disapprove at +the time."</p> + +<p>"I didn't know Mr. Wyndham, sir; had I known, I +wouldn't have allowed breathing man to harm a hair of +his head."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How would you have prevented it?"</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>The old clerk's face took an ugly look.</p> + +<p>"Split on you, and gone to prison, of course," he said. +"Now, shall I send Mr. George Carmichael in? It was for +his sake you did it. My God, what a sin you sinned! I +see Mr. Wyndham's face every night of my life. Good +God, why should men like him be hurled out of the world +because of sinners like you and me?"</p> + +<p>"He's not hurled out of the world," exclaimed Mr. +Paget.</p> + +<p>He rose and swore a great oath. Then he said in a +quieter voice:—</p> + +<p>"Ask Mr. Carmichael to step into my office."</p> + +<p>"Into this room, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Into this room. Go, fool."</p> + +<p>Certainly Mr. Paget had some admirable qualities. By +the time a pale-faced, slight, languid-looking man made +his appearance, he was perfectly calm and self-possessed. +He spoke in a courteous tone to his visitor, and bade him +be seated.</p> + +<p>They exchanged a few common-places. Then Mr. George +Carmichael, who showed far more uneasiness than his host, +explained the motive of his visit.</p> + +<p>"You knew my father," he said. "Owing to a strange +circumstance, which perhaps you are aware of, but which +scarcely concerns the object of this call, certain papers of +importance did not come into my hands until I was of +age. These are the papers."</p> + +<p>He placed two yellow documents on the table.</p> + +<p>"I find by these that I am entitled to money which you +hold in trust."</p> + +<p>"You are," said Mr. Paget, with a kindly smile.</p> + +<p>"I am puzzled to know why I was never made a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>ware of +the fact. I was brought up as a poor man. I had no +expectations. I have not been educated to meet the +position which in reality awaited me. Somebody has done +me a wrong."</p> + +<p>"I assure you not me, Mr. Carmichael. Perhaps, +however, I can throw some light on the subject. If you +will do me the favor of dining with me some evening we +can talk the matter over at our leisure."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I have very little leisure."</p> + +<p>The stranger was wonderfully restless.</p> + +<p>"After a struggle I have succeeded in obtaining a good +post in Calcutta. I hurried over to see you. I must hurry +back to my work. Oh, yes, thanks, I like India. The +main point is, when can you hand me over my money. +With interest it amounts to——"</p> + +<p>"Including interest it amounts to eighty thousand +pounds, Mr. Carmichael. Allow me to congratulate you, +sir, as a man of fortune. There is no need to hurry back +to that beggarly clerkship."</p> + +<p>"It's not a clerkship, Mr. Paget, nor beggarly. I'm a +partner in a rising concern. The other man's name is +Parr; he has a wife and children, and I wouldn't desert +him for the world. Eighty thousand pounds! By Jove, +won't Parr open his eyes."</p> + +<p>Mr. George Carmichael was now so excited that his +shyness vanished.</p> + +<p>"When can I have my money, sir?"</p> + +<p>"In a month's time."</p> + +<p>"Not until then? I wanted to go back to India next +week."</p> + +<p>"It can be sent after you."</p> + +<p>A slow suspicious smile crept round the young man's +lips; he looked more well-bred than he was.</p> + +<p>"None of that," he said. "I don't stir until I get the +cheque. I say, can't you give it me at once? It's mine."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> +<p>"Not a day sooner than a month. I must take that +time to realize so large a sum. You shall have it this day +month."</p> + +<p>"Beastly inconvenient. Parr will be in no end of a +taking. I suppose there's no help for it, however."</p> + +<p>"None."</p> + +<p>"This is the 17th of June. Now you're not playing me +a trick, are you? You'll pay me over that money all +square on the 17th of July."</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget had an imposing presence. He rose now, +slowly, stood on the hearthrug, under his daughter's picture, +and looked down at his guest.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry for you," he said. "Your education has +certainly been imperfect. Your father was a gentleman, +and my friend. You, I regret to say, are not a gentleman. +I don't repeat my invitation to dine at my house. With +regard to the money it shall be in your hands on the 17th +July. I am rather pressed for time this morning, Mr. +Carmichael, and must ask you to leave me. Stay, however, +a moment. You are, of course, prepared to give me all +proofs of identity?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, sir?"</p> + +<p>"What I say. The certificate of the marriage of your +parents and certificate of the proof that you are the person +you represent yourself to be must be forthcoming. I must +also have letters from your friends in India. No doubt, +of course—no doubt who you are, but these things are +necessary."</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding that he was the owner of eighty thousand +pounds, Mr. George Carmichael left the august +presence of the head of Paget Brothers feeling somewhat +crestfallen.</p> + +<p>He had scarcely done so before Helps rushed in.</p> + +<p>"A cable, sir! Praise the Lord, a cable at last!"</p> + +<p>He thrust the sheet of paper into his employer's hands. +It came from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> Melbourne, and bore the date of the day +before.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<i>Esperance</i> arrived safely. Delay caused by broken machinery. +Accident of a painful nature on board. Full particulars by mail.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Jellyby.</span>"</p></blockquote> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + + +<p>Mr. Paget was most careful that the full contents of the +cable did not go to his daughter at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. +He read it three or four times, then he took up a telegraph +form and wired to her as follows:—</p> + +<p> +"<i>Esperance</i> arrived safely. Delay caused by injury to machinery."<br /> +</p> + +<p>This telegram caused intense rejoicing at the rectory, +and Mr. Paget had his gloomy part to himself. He conned +that part over and over.</p> + +<p>A serious accident. To whom? About whom? What +a fool that Jellyby was not to have given him more particulars. +Why did that part of the cablegram fill him with +consternation? Why should he feel so certain that the +accident in question referred to his son-in-law? Well, he +must wait over a month for news, and during that month +he must collect together eighty thousand pounds. Surely +he had enough to think of. Why should his thoughts revert +to Wyndham with an ever-increasing dread?</p> + +<p>"Wyndham is safe enough," he said. "Jolly enough, +too, I make no doubt. His money waits for him at Ballarat. +Of course bad news will come, but <i>I</i> shall see through +it. Oh, yes, <i>I</i> shall see through it fast enough."</p> + +<p>Days of suspense are hard days—long and weary days. +As these days crept one by one away Mr. Paget became +by no means an easy person to live with. His temper +grew morose, he was irritable, manifestly ill at ease, and +he would often for hours scarcely utter a word.</p> + +<p>The 17th of July passed. Mr. Carmichael again called +for his money. A part was paid to him, the balance the +head of the great shipping firm assured the young man +could not possibly be forthcoming for another month or +six weeks.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry," Mr. Paget said, "extremely sorry not to +be able to fulfil my word to the letter. But I must have +time to realize such a large sum, and I greatly fear I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> must +claim it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Carmichael had a cheque in his hand for ten thousand +pounds. He could scarcely feel discontented at such +a moment, and took his departure grumbling but elated.</p> + +<p>"Helps," said Mr. Paget, "I have taken that ten +thousand pounds out of the business, and it can ill afford +to lose it. If news does not come soon we are undone, and +all our plotting and planning won't save the old place +nor the honor of the old house."</p> + +<p>"No fear," muttered Helps. "The news will come. I +have bad dreams at night. The house will be saved. Don't +you fret, Mr. Paget."</p> + +<p>He went out of the room looking as morose and ugly as +possible, and Mortimer Paget hurled no blessings after +him.</p> + +<p>The next day was fraught with tidings. A thick packet +lay on the chief's desk, bearing the imprint of the <i>Esperance</i> +on it. By the side of the packet was a telegram. +He opened the telegram first:—</p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + + +<span class="i12">"Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, 10 a.m.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Valentine had a son this morning. Both doing well."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The tears absolutely sprang to Mr. Paget's eyes. His +hands trembled; he looked round furtively; there was no +one by. Then he raised the telegram to his lips and kissed +it. Valentine had a son—he had a grandson. Another +head of the old house had arisen on the horizon.</p> + +<p>He rang his electric bell; he was so excited that he +could not keep these tidings to himself.</p> + +<p>"I have sent for you to receive your congratulations. +Helps," he said; "and—and here's a cheque for ten +pounds. You must go home early and have a good supper—champagne +and all that sort of thing. Not a word, Helps, +my good fellow, you deserve it. You quite deserve it!"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> +<p>"May I ask what for, Mr. Paget? Forgive me, sir. I see +that the packet from the <i>Esperance</i> has come."</p> + +<p>"So it has. It can wait. Take your money, Helps, and +drink my grandson's health. He arrived this morning, +bless him—my daughter had a son this morning."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, sir. It's a pity the father isn't there. It would +have been pretty to have seen Mr. Wyndham as a father. +Yes, sir. I'm glad your young lady is doing well. Babes +come with trouble, and it seems to me they mostly go with +trouble. All the same, we make a fuss of them—and the +world's too full as it is."</p> + +<p>"This child supplies a long felt need," replied the baby's +grandfather, frowning. "He is the future head of the +house."</p> + +<p>"Poor innocent. Yes, sir, I congratulate you as in duty +bound. You'll soon read that packet, won't you, sir. It +seems a sort of a coincidence like, getting news of the +father and the babe in one breath."</p> + +<p>"I'll read the packet presently," said Mr. Paget. "Go +away now, Helps; don't disturb me."</p> + +<p>Left alone, the pleased man spread out the pink sheet +of paper in such a position that his eye could constantly +rest on it. Then he broke the seal of Captain Jellyby's +yarn, and began to read.</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> + + +<blockquote><p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Esperance</i>, April 10.<br /> +</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My Dear Sir</span>,—</p> + +<p>"I begin a letter to you under peculiarly afflicting circumstances. +Your son-in-law, the favorite of every one on board, one of the nicest +young gentlemen I have had the luck to meet, fell overboard last night, +between nine and ten o'clock, when a very heavy sea was running. He +was standing at the wheel, talking to a sailor of the name of Loggan. +Loggan said he was very cheerful and keen to watch the storm. He +was helping to tighten up a bit of rope when the boat gave a lurch. +Loggan shouted to him to take care, but he was taken off his feet, and +the next moment was in the water. We put out the boats and did all +in our power, but in addition to the storm the night was very dark, and +we never saw nor heard anything more of the unfortunate young gentleman. +The night was so rough he must have gone to the bottom almost +directly. I cannot express to you, sir, what a gloom this has cast upon +all on board. As I said already, your son-in-law was beloved by passengers +and sailors alike. His death was due to the most ordinary +accident.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, regrets are useless, but if regrets would bring Mr. Wyndham +back, he would be safe and well now; he was one of the most +taking young men I ever came across, and also one of the best. Please +give my respectful condolences to his poor young widow——"</p></blockquote> + +<p>Here there was a break in the narrative. It was taken +up some days later.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"I had scarcely written the last when an awful thing happened. +There was a fearful crash on board, and in short, sir, our funnel was +blown down. I can scarcely go into particulars now, but for many +days we lay at the mercy of the waves, and I never thought to see land +any more. It speaks well for the worthiness of the <i>Esperance</i> that she +weathered such a gale. But for many days and nights the destruction +to your property, for the water poured in in all parts, and the miserable +state of the passengers, baffles description. The ship was in such a condition +that we could not use steam, and when the storm abated had to +drift as best we could. For our main masts were also broken, and we +could put on scarcely any sail. Our provisions were also becoming +short.</p> + +<p>"A week ago, by the mercy of God, we came within hail of the +steamer <i>Salamanca</i>, which towed us into port, and the <i>Esperance</i> has +been put into dock at Melbourne for repairs.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> +<p>"Under these appalling circumstances, Mr. Wyndham's loss has +not been forgotten, but to a certain extent cast on one side. Perhaps I +ought to say here; sir, that when your son-in-law commenced his voyage +to Sydney under my auspices, he appeared to be in such a state of +agitation, and in such distress of mind, that I feared for his brain, and +wondered if you had sent him on this voyage by a doctor's orders. He +made also a request to me which seemed to confirm this view. He +begged me not to let out to anyone on board the smallest particulars (I +really did not know any) of his history. In especial he did not wish +his wife spoken of. He looked strange when he made these requests, +and even now I can see the despair in his eyes when I refused—you will +remember, sir, by your express desire—to touch at Plymouth. I may +as well say frankly, that had Mr. Wyndham continued as depressed as +he was the first few days of the voyage, I should have scarcely considered +his untimely end altogether due to accident. But I am happy +to be able to reassure your mind on that point. That he felt the separation +from his wife terribly at first there is no doubt, but there is also +no doubt that he got over this feeling, that he was healthily happy, and +altogether the brightest fellow on board. In short, sir, he was the life +of the ship; even now we are never done lamenting him. Untimely +as his fate was, no one could have been more ready to rush suddenly +into the presence of his Maker. I enclose with this a formal certificate +of Mr. Wyndham's death, with the latitude and longitude of the exact +spot where he must have gone down accurately described. This certificate +is duly attested by the Consul here, and I delayed one day in +writing to you in order that it should go.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +"I remain, sir. <br /> + +"Yours respectfully, <br /> + +"<span class="smcap">Harry Jellyby</span>."<br /></p> +<p> +"P.S.—I forgot to mention that two of our boats have been absolutely +lost; but I will send you a full list of casualties by next mail."<br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Helps had never felt more restless than he did that +morning; he could not attend to his ordinary avocations. +Truth to tell, Helps' position in the house of Paget Brothers +had always been more or less a dubious one. It was patent +to all that he was confided in to a remarkable degree by +the head of the house. It was also observed that he had +no special or defined post. In short that he did a little +of everybody's work, and seemed to have nothing absolutely +depending on himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> + +<p>All the same, when Helps was away the whole establishment +felt a loss. If the old clerk was useful for no other +purpose, he was at least valuable as a scape-goat. He could +bear blame which belonged to others. It was convenient +to make excuses, and to shift uncomfortable omissions of +all sorts from one's own shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I thought Helps would have seen to that."</p> + +<p>Helps saw to a great deal, and was perfectly indifferent +to these inuendoes. Of one thing he was certain, that they +would never reach the chief's ears.</p> + +<p>On this particular morning Helps would assist no one; +he had ten pounds in his pocket, and he knew that the +future owner of the great business lay in his cradle at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. +Little cared he for that.</p> + +<p>"What news of Mr. Wyndham?" This was his thought of +thoughts. "What secret lies hidden within that sealed +packet? What is my master doing now? When will he +ring for me? How soon shall I know the best and the +worst? Oh, God, why did I let that young man go? Why +didn't I split? What's prison, after all? My God, what +<i>is</i> prison compared to a heart on fire!"</p> + +<p>Helps pottered about. He was a very wizened grey +little fellow. The clerks found him decidedly in the way. +They muttered to one another about him, and Mr. Manners, +one of the juniors, requested him in a very cutting +voice to shut the door and go away.</p> + +<p>Helps obeyed the command to the very letter. By this +time his state of mind might have been described as on the +rack. For two hours Mr. Paget had been reading that +letter. Impossible; no letter would take that time to read. +Why had he not rung? Surely he must know what Helps +was enduring. Surely at this crisis of his fate—at this +crisis of both their fates—he must want to see his faithful +servant. Why then did he not ring?</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> +<p>At last in despair Helps knocked at the door of the outer +office. There was no answer. He turned the handle, +pushed the door ajar and went in. The room was empty. +Mr. Paget's pile of ordinary business letters lay unopened +on his desk. Helps went up to the door of the inner room, +and pressed his ear against the keyhole. There was not a +stir within. He knocked against a chair, and threw down +a book on purpose. If anything living would bring Mr. +Paget out it was the idea of anyone entering, or disarranging +matters in his office. Helps disarranged matters +wildly; he threw down several books, he upset more than +one chair; still the master did not appear. At last he +knocked at the door of the inner room. There was no +response. Then he knocked again, louder. Then he hammered +with his fists. Then he shook the door. No response. +The inner room might as well have been a grave. +He rushed away at last for tools to break open the door. +He was terribly frightened, but even now he had sufficient +presence of mind not to bring a third person to share his +master's secret. He came back with a pick-lock, a hammer +and one or two other implements. He locked the door +of the outer office, and then he set boldly to work. He +did not care what din he made; he was past all thought +of that now. The clerks outside got into a frantic state of +excitement; but that fact, had he known it, would have +made no difference to Helps.</p> + +<p>At last his efforts were crowned with success. The +heavy door yielded, and flew open with a bang. Helps +fell forward into the room himself. He jumped up hastily. +A quiet, orderly, snug room! The picture of a fair and +lovely girl looking down from the wall! a man with grey +hair stretched on the hearthrug under the picture! a man +with no life, nor motion, nor movement. Helps flew to his +master. Was he dead? No, the eyes were wide open; +they looked at Helps, and one of the hands was stretched +out, and clutched at Helps' arm, and pulled it wildly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> +aside.</p> + +<p>"What is it, my dear master?" said the man, for there +was that in the face which would have melted any heart to +pity.</p> + +<p>"Don't! Stand out of my light," said Mr. Paget. "Hold +me—steady me—let me get up. He's there—there by the +window!"</p> + +<p>"Who, my dear sir? Who?"</p> + +<p>"The man I've murdered! He's there. Between me +and the light. It's done. He's standing between me and +the light. Tell him to move away. I have murdered him! +I know that. Between me and the light—the <i>light</i>! Tell +him to move away—tell him—tell him!"</p> + +<p>Mortimer Paget gave a great shriek, and covered his +terrified eyes with his trembling hands!</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> + + +<p>"What is the matter, Lilias? I did not do anything +wrong."</p> + +<p>The speaker was Augusta Wyndham.</p> + +<p>Three years have passed away since she last appeared +in this story; she is grown up now, somewhat lanky still, +with rather fierce dark eyes, and a somewhat thin pronounced +face. She is the kind of girl who at eighteen is +still all angles, but there are possibilities for her, and at +five and twenty, if time deals kindly with her, and circumstances +are not too disastrous, she might be rounded, softened, +she might have developed into a handsome woman.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Lilias?" she said now. "Why do you +look at me like that?"</p> + +<p>"It is the same old story, Gussie," replied Lilias, whose +brown cheeks were paler, and her sweet eyes larger than of +old; "you are always wanting in thought. It was thoughtless +of you to make Valentine walk home, and with little +Gerry, too. She will come in fagged and have a headache. +I relied on your seeing to her, Gussie; when I asked you +to take the pony chaise I thought of her more than you, +and now you've come back in it all alone, without even +fetching baby."</p> + +<p>"Well, Lilias." Augusta paused, drew herself up, leant +against the nearest paling, crossed her legs, and in a provokingly +petulant voice began to speak.</p> + +<p>"With how much more of all that is careless and all that +is odious are you going to charge me?" she said. "Oh, +of course, 'Gussie never can think.' Now I'll tell you what +this objectionable young woman Augusta did, and then you +can judge for yourself. I drove to Netley Farm, and got +the butter and the eggs, and then I went on to see old +James Holt, the gardener, for I thought he might have +those bulbs we wanted ready. Then I drew up at the turnstile, +and waited for that precious Mrs. Val of yours."</p> + +<p>"Don't," said Lilias. "Remember whose——"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> + +<p>"As if I ever forget—but he—he had others beside her—he +never had any Augusta except me," two great tears +gathered in the great brown eyes; they were dashed hastily +aside, and the speaker went on.</p> + +<p>"There's twice too much made of her, and that's a fact. +You live for her, you're her slave, Lilias. It's perfectly +ridiculous—it's absurd. You have sunk your whole life +into hers, and since Marjory's wedding things have been +worse. You simply have no life but in her. He wouldn't +wish it; he hated anyone to be unselfish except himself. +Well, then—oh, then, I won't vex the dear old thing. Have +you forgiven me, Lil? I know I'm such a chatter-pate. I +hope you have forgiven me."</p> + +<p>"Of course I have, Gussie. I'm not angry with you, +there's nothing to be angry about. You are a faulty +creature, I admit, but I also declare you to be one of the +greatest comforts of my life."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's all right—that's as it should be. Now for +my narrative. I waited by the turnpike. Valentine and +baby were to meet me there. No sign of them. I waited +a long time. Then I tied Bob to the gate, and started on +discovery bent. You know it is a pretty lane beyond the +turnpike, the hedges hid me. I walked along, whistling and +shaking my whip. Presently I was assailed by the tuneful +duet of two voices. I climbed the hedge and peeped over. +I looked into a field. What did I see? Now, Lilias the +wise, guess what I saw?"</p> + +<p>"Valentine and our little Gerald," responded Lilias. +"She was talking to him; she has a sweet voice, and surely +there never was a dearer little pipe than wee Gerry's. They +must have looked pretty sitting on the grass."</p> + +<p>"They looked very pretty—but your picture is not quite +correct. For instance, baby was sound asleep."</p> + +<p>"Oh, then, she had him in her arms, and was cooing to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +him. A lovelier scene than ever, Augusta."</p> + +<p>"A very lovely scene, Lilias; only, one woman's voice +would not make a duet."</p> + +<p>Something in Augusta's eyes caused Lilias to droop her +own. She turned aside to pick a spray of briony.</p> + +<p>"Tell me what you saw," she said abruptly.</p> + +<p>"I saw Valentine and Adrian Carr. They were sitting +close together, and baby was asleep on <i>his</i> breast, not on +hers, and he was comforting her, for when I peeped over I +saw him touch her hand, and then I saw her raise her handkerchief +and wipe away some tears. Crocodile's tears, I +call them. Now, Lilias, out of my way. I mean to vault +over this gate."</p> + +<p>"What for, dear?"</p> + +<p>"To relieve my feelings. Now I'm better. Won't you +have a try?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you, I don't vault gates."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you going to show anything? Good gracious, I +should simply explode if I had to keep in things the way +you do. Now, what's the matter? You look white all the +same; whiter than you did ten minutes ago. Oh, if it was +me, I couldn't keep still. I should roar like a wounded +lion."</p> + +<p>"But I am not a wounded lion, Augusta, dear."</p> + +<p>Lilias laid her hand on her sister's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I am older than you," she continued, "and perhaps +quieter. Life has made me quieter. We won't say anything +about what you saw, Augusta. Perhaps none of us +have such a burden to bear as Valentine."</p> + +<p>"Now, Lilias, what stuff you talk. Oh, she's a humbug, +and I hate her. There, I will say it, just for once. She +took Gerald away, and now she wants to take Adrian from +you. Oh, I know you're an angel—you'd bear anything, +but I'm not quite a fool."</p> + +<p>"They are coming; you <i>must</i> hush," said Lilias, putting +her hand across her young sister's lips.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> +<p>Augusta cast two wrathful eyes behind her, lightly +vaulted back over the gate, and vanished from view round +the first corner. Lilias opened the gate, and went slowly to +meet the group who were coming down the dusty country +road.</p> + +<p>Valentine was in black, but not in widow's weeds. She +had a shady hat over her clustering bright hair, and round +this hat, the baby, little Gerry, had stuck quantities of +leaves and grasses and what wild flowers his baby fingers +could clutch. With one hand she was holding up her long +dress; her other held a basket of primroses, and her face, +bright now with color in the cheeks, laughter on the lips, +and the fire of affection in the eyes, was raised to where her +sturdy little son sat on Carr's broad shoulder.</p> + +<p>The child was a handsome little fellow, cast in a far more +masculine mould than his father, to whom he bore scarcely +any resemblance.</p> + +<p>As Lilias, in her dark grey dress, approached, she +looked altogether a more sorrowful and grief-touched figure +than the graceful, almost childish young widow who came +to meet her.</p> + +<p>So Carr thought, as with a softened light in his eyes he +glanced at Lilias.</p> + +<p>"A certain part of her heart was broken three years +ago," he inwardly commented. "Can I—is it in my +power—will it ever be in my power to comfort her?"</p> + +<p>But Lilias, knowing nothing of these feelings, only noted +the happy-looking picture.</p> + +<p>"Here we are!" said Carr, catching the boy from his +shoulder and letting him jump to the ground. "Run to +your auntie now, little man."</p> + +<p>Off waddled the small fat legs. Lilias stooped and +received the somewhat dusty embrace of two rounded arms, +while cherub lips were pressed on hers.</p> + +<p>"You do comfort me, little Gerry," she gasped under +her breath.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then she rose, almost staggering under his weight.</p> + +<p>"Let me carry him for you," said Carr, coming up to +her.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you, I like to have him," she said; and she +turned and walked by Valentine's side.</p> + +<p>"Are you tired, Val? I did not mean you to walk home. +I sent Augusta with Bob and the basket chaise. I thought +you knew they were to meet you at the turnpike."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I forgot," answered Valentine. "I met Mr. +Carr, and we came to a delicious field, full of primroses, and +baby wanted to pick lots, didn't you, treasure? We sat and +had a rest; I am not very tired, and Mr. Carr carried this +big boy all the way home. Hey-ho," she continued, throwing +off her hat, and showing a head as full of clustering +richly-colored hair as of old, "what a lovely day it is, it +makes me feel young. Come along, baby, we'll race together +to the house. It's time for you to go to sleep, little +master. Now, then—baby first, mother after—one, two, +three and away!"</p> + +<p>The child shouted with glee, the mother raced after him, +they disappeared through the rose-covered porch of the +old rectory. Lilias raised two eyes full of pain to Carr's.</p> + +<p>"Is she beginning to forget?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No; why should you say so? She will never forget."</p> + +<p>"She looked so young just now—so like a child. Poor +Val! She was only twenty-two her last birthday. Mr. Carr. +I don't want her to forget."</p> + +<p>"In one sense rest assured she never will—in another—would +you wish her to endure a life-long pain?"</p> + +<p>"I would—I would. It was done for her—she must +never forget."</p> + +<p>"You always allow me to say plain words, don't you?" +said Carr. "May I say some now?"</p> + +<p>"Say anything you please, only don't teach her to +forget."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>The man's eyes blazed. Lilias colored all over her +face.</p> + +<p>"I mean nothing," she said hurriedly. "Come into the +flower-garden. We shall have a great show of roses this +year. Come and look at the buds. You were going to say +something to me," she added presently.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I was going to prepare you for what may come +by-and-bye. It is possible that in the future—remember. +I don't know anything—but it is possible that in the future +your young sister-in-law may once more be happy. I don't +know how—I am not going to prognosticate anything, but +I think as a rule one may safely infer that the very bitterest +grief, the most poignant sorrows which come before twenty +are not abiding. Mrs. Wyndham has her child. It would +not do for the child to associate only sorrow with the +mother's face. Some time in the future she will be happy +again. It is my opinion that your brother would be glad +of this."</p> + +<p>"Hush; you don't know. My brother—my only brother! +I at least can never be the Lilias of old."</p> + +<p>"I believe you," said Carr much moved by her tone. +"You, too, are very young; but in your heart, Miss Wyndham, +in your heart, you were an older woman, a woman +more acquainted with the grave side of life, than that poor +young thing was when the blow fell."</p> + +<p>Lilias did not answer for a moment or two.</p> + +<p>"I am glad Marjory is out of it all," she said then. +"You know what a long nervous illness she had at the time. +Dear old Marjory, she was such a tempestuous darling."</p> + +<p>"But she is happy now."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, she has her husband. Philip is very good, +he suits Marjory. Yes, she is quite happy now, and I am +not miserable—you mustn't think it. I know in whom I +have believed."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were raised to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> the sky overhead.</p> + +<p>"I know He won't fail me. Some day Gerald and I +shall meet."</p> + +<p>"Some day, assuredly," answered Carr.</p> + +<p>"And in the meantime, I am not unhappy, only I don't +intend ever to forget. Nor shall she."</p> + +<p>"One question," said Carr. "Have you heard news +lately of Mrs. Wyndham's father?"</p> + +<p>"I believe he has recovered. He never comes here. I +must own I have a great antipathy to Valentine's father. I +don't want to hear of him nor to think of him."</p> + +<p>"I can understand that. Still, if it will not trouble you +greatly I should like to ask you a question or two with +regard to him. He was very ill, at the—at the time, wasn't +he?"</p> + +<p>"He was very ill, mentally, he was quite off his head +for several months."</p> + +<p>"Don't you think that was rather strange?"</p> + +<p>"I never thought much about it, as far as he was concerned. +Of course he must have had a dreadful shock."</p> + +<p>"But not such a shock as you had. Not a shock to be +named with what that poor girl, his daughter, went through. +Your brother was not his own son, and—and——"</p> + +<p>"I never thought about it, Mr. Carr. I heard that he +was ill, and that the illness was mental. He has been quite +well again for some time."</p> + +<p>"I assure you you're mistaken. I met him a fortnight +ago in town. I never saw a man so completely altered in +the whole course of my life."</p> + +<p>"Please don't tell me about him. It never was, nor +could be, an interesting subject. Ah, there is my dear +father calling me. I must run to him."</p> + +<p>The rector was seen approaching. His figure was +slightly more bent, and his hair whiter than of old. Lilias +linked her hand within his arm, and Carr turned away.</p> + +<p>"I can never have it out with her," he said to himself. +"I never seem to have the courage when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> I'm with her. +And besides, I don't believe she'd leave her father. But +if she did—if I ever could hope to win her for my wife, +then I might venture to whisper to her some of my suspicions. +How little she guesses what my thoughts are. +Can I act in any way without consulting her? I have a +good mind to try."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> + + +<p>The house of Paget Brothers was never more flourishing +than during the spring and summer of 18—. It was three +years since the death of its junior partner, Gerald Wyndham, +and three years since Mortimer Paget had paid away +in full the trust money of eighty thousand pounds which +he owed to George Carmichael, of the firm of Carmichael. +Parr and Co., Calcutta. Although none of the parties +concerned quite intended it, certain portions of the story +of this trust got abroad, and became the subject of a nine +days' gossip in the City and elsewhere. It had never even +been whispered that Paget Brothers were in difficulties. +Still such a sum would not be easy to find even in the +wealthiest concern. Then the fact also trickled out that +Wyndham's life had been insured, heavily insured, in three +or four different offices. His death must have come in +handily, people said, and they said no more—just then.</p> + +<p>The fact was, that had one been even inclined to suspect +foul play, Mr. Paget's dangerous illness at the time would +have prevented their doing so. Surely no man ever before +grieved so bitterly for a dead son-in-law as did this man. +The blow had felled him with a stroke. For many months +his mind gave way utterly. The words spoken in delirium +are seldom considered valuable. What Mr. Paget did or +said during the dark summer which followed Wyndham's +death never got known. In the autumn he was better; +that winter he went abroad, and the following spring he +once more was seen in the City.</p> + +<p>He looked very old, people said, but he was as shrewd +and careful a business man as ever.</p> + +<p>"I have to put things in order for my grandson," he +would say.</p> + +<p>Nobody ever saw him smile just then, but a light used +to come into his sunken dark eyes when the child's name +was mentioned.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> + +<p>Valentine and the boy spent most of their time in the +old house in Park-Lane. She was very gentle with her +father, but the relations they had once borne to each other +were completely altered. He now rather shrank from her +society. She had to seek him, not he her. He was manifestly +ill at ease when in her presence. It was almost +impossible to get him to come to see her in her own house. +When he did so he was attacked by a curious nervousness. +He could seldom sit still; he often started and looked +behind him. Once or twice he perceptibly changed color, +and on all occasions he gave a sigh of relief when he said +good-bye.</p> + +<p>The child visited his grandfather oftener than the mother +did. With the child Mortimer Paget was absolutely at +home and happy.</p> + +<p>The third summer after Wyndham's death passed away. +Valentine spent most of the time at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. +Mr. Paget went abroad, as he always did, during August +and September. In October he was once more in town. +Valentine came back to London, and their small world +settled down for its usual winter routine.</p> + +<p>On all sides there were talks of this special winter proving +a hard one, the cold commenced early and lasted long. +In all the poorer quarters of the great city there were +signs of distress. Want is a haggard dame. Once known +her face is dreaded. As the days grew short, the darkness +deepened, and the fogs became frequent, she was often +seen stalking about the streets. Poorly clad children, +shivering women, despairing defiant-looking men all trembled +and fled before her. The cold was intense, work +became slack, and then, to increase all other evils, the +great cruel monster, Strike, put down his iron heel. Want +is his invariable handmaid. Between them they did much +havoc.</p> + +<p>It was on a certain short November day of this special +winter that Mortimer Paget arrived early at his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> office. +He drove there in his comfortable brougham, and stepped +out into the winter cold and fog, wrapped up in his rich +furs. As he did so a woman with two small children came +hastily up, cast a furtive glance to right and left, saw no +policeman near, and begged in a high piteous whining +voice for alms.</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget had never been known to give alms indiscriminately. +He was not an uncharitable man, but he hated +beggars. He took not the least notice of the woman, +although she pushed one of the hungry children forward +who raised two piteous blue eyes to the hard man's face.</p> + +<p>"Even a couple of pence!" she implored. "The +father's on strike, and they've had nothing to eat since +yesterday morning."</p> + +<p>"I don't give indiscriminate charity," said Mr. Paget. +"If your case is genuine, you had better apply at the +nearest office of the Charity Organization."</p> + +<p>He was pushing open the outer office door when something +arrested his attention.</p> + +<p>A man came hurriedly up from a side street, touched the +woman on the shoulder, lifted one of the hungry children +into his arms, and the whole party hurried away. The +man was painfully thin, very shabbily dressed, in a long +frock coat, which was buttoned tight. He had a beard and +moustache, and a soft slouch hat was pushed well forward +over his eyes.</p> + +<p>The woman's face lit up when she saw him. Both the +children smiled, and the whole group moved rapidly away.</p> + +<p>The effect of this shabby man's presence on those three +helpless and starving creatures was as if the sun had come +out. Mr. Paget staggered to his office, walked through +the outer rooms as if he were dazed, sought his sanctum, +and sat down shaking in every limb.</p> + +<p>Since his strange illness of three years ago, Helps had +been more like a servant and nurse to him than an ordinary +clerk. It was his custom to attend his master on his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> +first arrival, to see to his creature comforts, to watch his +moods.</p> + +<p>Helps came in as usual this morning. Mr. Paget had +removed his hat, and was gazing in a dull vacant way +straight before him.</p> + +<p>"You are not yourself this morning, sir," said the clerk.</p> + +<p>He pushed a footstool under the old man's feet, removed +the fur-lined overcoat and took it away. Then standing +in front of him he again said:—</p> + +<p>"Sir, you are not yourself to-day."</p> + +<p>"The old thing, Helps," said Mr. Paget. He shook +himself free of some kind of trance with an effort. "The +doctors said I should be quite well again, as well as ever. +They are mistaken, I shall never be quite well. I saw him +in the street just now, Helps."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, sir?"</p> + +<p>It was Helps' <i>rôle</i> as much as possible to humor his +patient.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I saw him just now—he takes many guises; he +was in a new one to-day—a starved clerk out of employment. +That was his guise to-day. I should not have recognized +him but for his hand. Perhaps you remember +Wyndham's hand, Helps? Very slender, long and tapered—the +hand of a musician. He took a ragged child in his +arms, and his hand—there was nothing weak about it—clasped +another child who was also starved and hungry. +Undoubtedly it was Wyndham—Wyndham in a new guise—he +will never leave me alone."</p> + +<p>"If I were you, Mr. Paget," said Helps after a pause. +"I'd open the letters that are waiting for replies. You +know what the doctor said, that when the fancy came you +mustn't dwell on it. You must be sure and certain not to +let it take a hold on you, sir. Now you know, just as well as +I do, that you didn't see poor Mr. Wyndham—may Heaven +preserve his soul! Is it likely now, sir, that a spirit like +Mr. Wyndham's, happy above the sky with the angels, +would come down on earth to trouble and haunt you? Is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> +it likely now, sir? If I were you I'd cast the fancy from +me!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Paget raised his hand to sweep back the white hair +from his hollow, lined face.</p> + +<p>"You believe in heaven then, Helps?"</p> + +<p>"I do for some folks, sir. I believe in it for Mr. Gerald +Wyndham."</p> + +<p>"Fudge; you thought too well of the fellow. Do you +believe in heaven for suicides?"</p> + +<p>"Sir—no, sir—his death came by accident."</p> + +<p>"It did not; he couldn't go through with the sacrifice, +so he ended his life, and he haunts me, curse him!"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Paget, I hope God will forgive you."</p> + +<p>"He won't, so you needn't waste your hopes. A man +has cast his blood upon my soul. Nothing can wash the +blood away. Helps, I'm the most miserable being on earth. +I walk through hell fire every day."</p> + +<p>"Have your quieting mixture, sir; you know the doctor +said you must not excite yourself. There, now you +are better. Shall I help you to open your letters, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Helps, do; you're a good soul, Helps. Don't +leave me this morning; he'll come in at the door if you +do."</p> + +<p>There came a tap at the outer office. Some one wanted +to speak to the chief. A great name was announced.</p> + +<p>In a moment Mr. Paget, from being the limp, abject +wretch whom Helps had daily to comfort and sustain, became +erect and rigid. From head to foot he clothed himself +as in a mask. Erect as in his younger days he walked +into the outer room, and for two hours discussed a matter +which involved the loss or gain of thousands.</p> + +<p>When his visitor left him he did so with the inward remark:—</p> + +<p>"Certainly Paget's intellect and nerve may be con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>sidered +colossal."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> + + +<p>Esther Helps still took charge of her father's house in +Acacia Villas. She was still Esther Helps. Perhaps a +more beautiful Esther than of old; a little steadier, too, +a little graver—altogether a better girl.</p> + +<p>For some unaccountable reason, after that night at the +theatre when Wyndham had sat by her side and taken her +back from destruction to her father's arms, she had almost +ceased to flirt. She said nothing now about marrying a +gentleman some day, and as the men who were not gentlemen +found she would have nothing to do with them, it +began to be an almost understood thing among her friends +that Esther, lovely as she was, would not marry. This +resolve on her part, for it amounted to an unspoken +resolve, was followed by other changes. She turned her +attention to her hitherto sadly neglected mind. She read +poetry with Cherry, and history and literature generally by +herself. Then she tried to improve her mode of speech, +and studied works on etiquette, and for a short time became +frightfully stilted and artificial. This phase, however, +did hot last long. The girl had really a warm and +affectionate heart, and that heart all of a sudden had been +set on fire. The flame never went out. It was a holy +flame, and it raised and purified her whole nature.</p> + +<p>She loved Wyndham as she might have loved Christ +had He been on earth. Wyndham seemed to her to be the +embodiment of all nobility. He had saved her, none knew +better than she did from how much. It was the least she +could do to make her whole life worthy of her savior. She +guessed by instinct that he liked refinement, and gentle +speech, and womanly ways. So it became her aim in life +to seek after those things, and as far as possible to acquire +them.</p> + +<p>Then the news of his death reached her. Only Cherry +knew how night after night Esther cried herself to +sleep. Only Cherry guessed why Esther's cheeks were so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +sunken and her eyes so heavy. Her violent grief, however, +soon found consolation. Gerald had always been +only a star to be gazed at from a distance; he was still +that. When she thought of heaven she pictured seeing +him there first of all. She thought that when the time +came for her to go there he might stand somewhere near +the gates and smile to see how she, too, had conquered, +and was worthy.</p> + +<p>Now she turned her attention to works of charity, to a +life of religion. It was all done for the sake of an idol, but +the result had turned this flippant, worldly, vain creature +into a sweet woman, strong in the singleness of her aim.</p> + +<p>Esther cared nothing at all about dress now. She would +have joined a Deaconess' Institution but she did not care +to leave her father. She did a great deal of work, however, +amongst the poor, and at the beginning of this severe +winter she joined a band of working sisters in East London +as an associate. She usually went away to her work +immediately after breakfast, returning often not until late +at night, but as she wore the uniform of the association, +beautiful as she was she could venture into the lowest +quarters, and almost come home at any hour without rendering +herself liable to insult.</p> + +<p>One night as Cherry was preparing supper she was surprised +to hear Esther's step in the passage two or three +hours before her usual time of returning. Cherry was +still the same strange mixture of poet and cook that she +had ever been. With the "Lays of Ancient Rome" in +one hand and her frying-pan held aloft in the other, she +rushed out to know what was the matter.</p> + +<p>"Why, Essie," she exclaimed, catching sight of her cousin's +face. "You're ill, Essie; come in and sit down by +the fire. I do hope to goodness you haven't gone and +caught nothing."</p> + +<p>"I have caught nothing," said Esther. "<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>I am not ill."</p> + +<p>She untied her bonnet strings and loosened her long +straight cloak.</p> + +<p>"Is father in, Cherry? I want to see him the minute +he returns."</p> + +<p>"You'll have to wait then," said Cherry, turning away +in a half offended manner. If Esther did not choose to +confide in her she was not going to force confidence.</p> + +<p>She resumed her cooking with vigor, reading aloud portions +from the volume on her knees as she did so.</p> + +<p> +"The Lady Jane was tall and slim;<br /> +The Lady Jane was fair——"<br /> +</p> + +<p>"Essie, I wish you wouldn't fidget so. Whatever is the +matter?"</p> + +<p>"I want my father," repeated Esther.</p> + +<p>"Well, he's not in. Uncle's never back till an hour after +this. I tell him he's more and more of a nurse and less +and less of a clerk every day of his life; he don't like it, +but it's true. That old Mr. Paget is past bearing."</p> + +<p>Esther rose with a sigh, folded her cloak, laid it on a +chair, placed her bonnet on top of it, and going over to the +fireplace gazed into the flames.</p> + +<p>Cherry's cooking frizzled and bubbled in the pan, Cherry's +own head was bent over her book.</p> + +<p>"This is the rarest fun," she exclaimed suddenly. +"Didn't Lady Jane pay Sir Thomas out? Lord, it were +prime. You never will read the 'Ingoldsby Legends,' +Esther. Now I call them about the best things going. +How white you do look. Well, it's a good thing you are +in time for a bit of supper. I have fried eggs and tomatoes +to-night, browned up a new way. Why don't you take +your cloak and bonnet upstairs, Essie, and sit down easy +like? It fidgets one to see you shifting from one foot to +another all the time."</p> + +<p>"I'm going out again in a minute," said Esther. "I +came in early because I wanted my father. Oh, there's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +his latch-key in the door at last. Don't you come, Cherry. +I want to speak to him by myself."</p> + +<p>Cherry's hot face grew a little redder.</p> + +<p>"I like that," she said to herself. "It's drudge, drudge +with me—drudge, drudge from morning till night; and +now she won't even tell me her secrets. I never has no +livening up. I liked her better when she was flighty +and flirty, that I did—a deal better. We'll, I'll see what +comes of that poor Sir Thomas."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Esther, with one hand on her father's +shoulder, was talking to him earnestly.</p> + +<p>"I want you to come back with me, father—back this +very minute."</p> + +<p>"Where to, child?"</p> + +<p>"To Commercial Road. There's to be a big meeting of +the unemployed, and the Sisters and I, we was to give supper +to some of the women and children. The meeting +will be in the room below, and the supper above. I want +you to come. Some gentlemen are going to speak to them; +it won't be riotous."</p> + +<p>Helps drew a deep sigh. It was a damp drizzling night, +and he was tired.</p> + +<p>"Can't you let me be this time, Essie?" he said.</p> + +<p>"No, father, no, you must come to-night."</p> + +<p>"But I can't do nothing for the poor fellows. I pity +them, of course, but what can I do?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, only come to the meeting."</p> + +<p>"But what for, Essie?"</p> + +<p>"To please me, if for no other reason."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you put it in that way."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I put it that way. You needn't take off your great +coat. I'll have my cloak and bonnet on again in a jiffy."</p> + +<p>"What, child, am I to have no supper?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></p> + +<p>Poor Helps found the smell from the kitchen very appetising.</p> + +<p>"Afterwards, when you come back. Everything good +when you come back. Now, do come. It is so important."</p> + +<p>She almost dragged him away. Cherry heard the house +door bang after the two.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm done," she exclaimed! "See if I'll cook for +nobody another time."</p> + +<p>Esther and her father found an omnibus at the corner +of their street. In a little over half-an-hour they were in +Commercial Road; a few minutes later they found themselves +in the large barn-like building which was devoted +to this particular mission.</p> + +<p>The ground floor consisted of one huge room, which was +already packed with hungry-looking men and half-grown +boys.</p> + +<p>"Stand near the door," said Esther, giving her father +explicit directions. "Don't stay where the light will fall +on your face. Stand where you can look but can't be +seen."</p> + +<p>"You don't want me to be a spy, child. What is the +meaning of all this?"</p> + +<p>"You can put any meaning you like on it. Only do +what I tell you. I want you to watch the men as they +come in and out of the room. Watch them all; don't let +one escape you. Stay until the meeting is over. Then +tell me afterwards if there is any one here whom you +know."</p> + +<p>"What is the girl up to?" muttered Helps.</p> + +<p>But Esther had already slipped upstairs. He heard +sounds overhead, and women and children going up the +stairs in groups; he saw more than one bright-looking +Sister rushing about, busy, eager, and hopeful. Then the +sounds within the large lower room showed him that the +meeting had begun, and he turned his attention to the +task set him by his daughter.</p> + +<p>Certainly Esther was a queer girl, a dear, beautiful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> girl, +but queer all the same. In what a ridiculous position she +had placed him in; a tired elderly clerk. He was hungry, +and he wanted his supper; he was weary, and he sighed +for his pipe and his easy-chair. What had he in common +with the men who filled this room. Some of them, undoubtedly, +were greatly to be pitied, but many of them only +came for the sake of making a fuss and getting noticed. +Anyhow, <i>he</i> could not help them, and what did Esther +mean by getting him to stand in this draughty doorway on +the chance of seeing an old acquaintance; he was not so +much interested in old acquaintances as she imagined.</p> + +<p>The room was now packed, and the gentleman who +occupied the platform, a very earnest, energetic, thoughtful +speaker, had evidently gained full attention. Helps almost +forgot Esther in the interest with which he listened. One +or two men offered to make way for him to go further into +the room; but this he declined. He did not suppose any +friend of Esther's would appear; still he must be true to +the girl, and keep the draughty post she had assigned him.</p> + +<p>At the close of the first address, just when a vociferous +clapping was at its height, Helps observed a tall very thin +man elbowing his way through the crowd. This crowd of +working men and boys would not as a rule be prepared to +show either forbearance or politeness. But the stranger +with a word whispered here, or a nod directed there, +seemed to find "open sesame" wherever he turned. Soon +he had piloted his way through this great crowd of human +beings almost to the platform. Finally he arrested his +progress near a pillar against which he leaned with his +arms folded. He was more poorly dressed than most of +the men present, but he had one peculiarity which rendered +him distinguishable; he persistently kept his soft felt hat +on, and well pushed forward over his eyes.</p> + +<p>Helps noticed him, he could scarcely himself tell why. +The man was poor, thin. Helps could not get a glimpse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +of his face, but there was something in his bearing which +was at once familiar and bespoke the gentleman.</p> + +<p>"Poor chap, he has seen better days," muttered Helps. +"Somehow, he don't seem altogether strange, either."</p> + +<p>Then he turned his attention once more to watch for the +acquaintance whom Esther did not want him to miss.</p> + +<p>The meeting came to an end and the men began to +stream out. Helps kept his post. Suddenly he felt a +light hand touch his arm; he turned; his daughter, her +eyes gleaming with the wildest excitement, was standing +by his side.</p> + +<p>"Have you seen him, father?"</p> + +<p>"Who, child—who? I'm precious hungry, and that's +the truth, Esther."</p> + +<p>"Never mind your hunger now—you have not let him +escape—oh, don't tell me that."</p> + +<p>"Essie, I think you have taken leave of your senses +to-night. Who is it that I have not let escape?"</p> + +<p>"A tall man in a frock coat, different from the others; +he has a beard, and he wears his hat well pushed forward; +his hands are white. You must have noticed him; he is +certain to be here. You did not let him go?"</p> + +<p>"I know now whom you mean," said Helps. "I saw the +fellow. Yes, he is still in the room."</p> + +<p>"You did not recognize him, father?"</p> + +<p>"No, child. That is, I seem to know something about +him. Whatever are you driving at, Esther?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing—nothing—nothing. Go, follow the man +with the frock coat. Don't let him see you. Find out +where he lives, then bring me word. Go. Go. You'll +miss him if you don't."</p> + +<p>She disappeared, flying upstairs again, light as a feather.</p> + +<p>Helps found himself impelled against his will to obey +her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Here's a pretty state of things," he muttered. "Here +am I, faint for want of food, set to follow a chap nobody +knows nothing about through the slums."</p> + +<p>It never occurred to Helps, however, not to obey the +earnest dictates of his daughter.</p> + +<p>He was to give chase. Accordingly he did so. He did +so warily. Dodging sometimes into the road, sometimes +behind a lamp post in case the tall man should see him. +Soon he became interested in the work. The figure on +in the front, which never by any chance looked back, but +pursued its course undeviatingly, struck Helps once more +with that strange sense of familiarity.</p> + +<p>Where had he seen a back like that? Those steps, too, the +very way the man walked gave him a queer sensation. He +was as poor looking a chap as Helps had ever glanced at, +and yet the steps were not unknown—the figure must have +haunted the little clerk in some of his dreams.</p> + +<p>The pursuer and pursued soon found themselves in +quarters altogether new to Helps. More and more squalid +grew the streets, more and more ruffianly grew the people. +There never was a little man less likely to attract attention +than this clerk with his humble unpretentious dress and +mien. But in these streets he felt himself remarkable. A +whole coat, unpatched trousers, were things to wonder at +here. The men and the women, too, took to jostling him as +he passed. One bold-faced girl tilted his hat well forward +over his eyes, and ran away with a loud laugh.</p> + +<p>Helps felt that even for Esther's sake he could not proceed +any further. He was about to turn back when another +glance at the figure before him brought such a rush +of dazed wonderment, of uncanny familiarity, that all +thought of his own possible danger deserted him, and he +walked on, eager as Esther herself now in pursuit.</p> + +<p>All this time they had been going in the direction of the +docks. Suddenly they turned down a very badly lighted +side street. There was a great brewery here, and th<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>e wall +of the brewery formed for a long way one side of the street. +It was so narrow as to be little better than a lane, and +instead of being a crowded thoroughfare was now almost +deserted. Here and there in the brewery wall were niches. +Not one of these niches was empty. Each held its human +being—man, woman, or child. It seemed to be with a +purpose that the tall stranger came here. He slackened +his pace, pushed his hat a little back, and began to perform +certain small ministrations for the poor creatures who were +to pass the night on the cold damp pavement.</p> + +<p>A little girl was asleep in one of the niches; he wrapped +her shawl more closely round her, tucking it in so as to +protect her feet. Her hair hung in a tangled mass over her +forehead. He pushed it back with a tender hand. Finally +he pressed into the little thin palm two lollypops; they +would give comfort to the child when she awoke.</p> + +<p>Helps kept behind, well in the shadow; he was absolutely +trembling now with suppressed excitement. He had +seen by the glitter of the flaring gas the white hand of the +man as he pushed back the child's elf-locks. The two went +on again a few steps. The man in front stopped suddenly—they +were passing another niche. It had its occupant. +A girl was stretched prone on the ground—a girl whose +only covering was rags. As they approached, she groaned. +In an instant the stranger was bending over her.</p> + +<p>"You are very ill, I fear. Can I help you?"</p> + +<p>"Eh? What's that?" exclaimed the girl.</p> + +<p>She raised her head, stretching out something which was +more like a claw than a hand.</p> + +<p>"What's that noise?" she repeated.</p> + +<p>The noise had been made by Helps. It was an amazed +terrified outcry when he heard the voice of the man who was +bending over the girl. The man himself had observed +nothing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are very ill," he repeated. "You ought to be in +a hospital."</p> + +<p>"No, no, none of that," she said, clutching hold of his +hand. "I ha' lain down to die. Let me die. I wor starving—the +pain wor awful. Now I'm easy. Don't touch me—don't +lift me; I'm easy—I'm a-goin' to die."</p> + +<p>The stranger knelt a little lower.</p> + +<p>"I won't hurt you," he said. "I will sit here by +your side. Don't be frightened. I am going to raise your +head—a little—a very little. Now it rests on my knee. +That is better."</p> + +<p>"Eh, you're a good man; yes, that's nice."</p> + +<p>Her breath came in great pants. Presently she began to +wander.</p> + +<p>"Is that you, mother? Mother, I've been such a bad gel—bad +every way. The Almighty's punishing me. I'm dying, +and He's a sending me to hell."</p> + +<p>"No," said the quiet voice of the man. "No; <i>you</i> are +the one He wants. He is seeking <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" she said. Once more her clouded brain cleared. +"Eh, how my breath does go. I'm a-going to hell!"</p> + +<p>"No. He has sent me to find you; you are not going +there."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?"</p> + +<p>She turned herself an inch or two in her astonishment +and stared up at him.</p> + +<p>Something in his face seemed to fill her with astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Take off your hat," she said. "Are you Jesus Christ?"</p> + +<p>It was at this juncture that Helps turned and fled.</p> + +<p>He ran as he never ran before in the whole course of his +life. Nobody saw him go, and nobody obstructed him in +his headlong flight. Presently he got back to the Mission +Hall. The place was closed and dark. He was turning +away when a woman came out of the deep shelter of the +doorway and touched his arm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Essie, is that you? My God, Essie, I've seen a ghost!"</p> + +<p>"No, father, no—a living man."</p> + +<p>"This is awful, child. I'm shaking all over. I'd sooner +be in my grave than go through such a thing again."</p> + +<p>"Lean on me, father. We'll walk a bit, and soon find +a cab-stand. We'll have a cab home. It's about time you +had your supper. Don't talk a bit. Get back your poor +breath."</p> + +<p>As they were driving home a few minutes later, in a +hansom, she turned suddenly.</p> + +<p>"And you've got Mr. Wyndham's address?"</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, Essie, don't say his name like that! I +suppose it's a sign of the end that I should have seen a +spirit."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, father, you saw no spirit. That's Mr. Gerald +Wyndham in the flesh, as much as you and I are in the +flesh. You saw no spirit, but a living man. I recognized +him this morning, but I wasn't going to take my own word +for it, so I got you to look him up. They call him Brother +Jerome down here. Nobody knows anything at all about +him, how he lives, nor nothing; only that he goes in and +out amongst the people, and is always comforting this one +or cheering that, and quieting down rows, and soothing +people, and—and—doing more in a day than the Sisters +or I could do in a week. I've heard of him for a month +past, but I only saw him to-day. He's a mystery, and +people wonder about him, and no one can tell how he +lives, nor where he sleeps. <i>I</i> know, though. He sleeps +out of doors, and he starves. He shan't starve any longer."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> + + +<p>"Esther," said Helps, late that night, after Cherry, in a +very sulky humor, had gone to bed, "Esther, this is a very +terrible, a very awful thing for me!"</p> + +<p>"How so, father!"</p> + +<p>She was kneeling by his side. Now she put her arm +round his neck, and looked into his face. Her beating, +throbbing, exulting heart told her that her discovery of +that day was new life to her.</p> + +<p>"I am glad," she continued, after a solemn pause; "yes. +I don't mind owning I am very glad that a good man like +Mr. Wyndham still lives."</p> + +<p>"Child, you don't know what you are talking about. It +is awful—awful—his coming back. Even if he is alive he +ought to have stayed away. His coming back like this is +terrible. It means, it means——"</p> + +<p>"What, father?"</p> + +<p>"Child, it must never be known: he must be warned; +he must go away at once. Suppose anybody else saw +him?"</p> + +<p>"Father," said Esther.</p> + +<p>She rose and stood over the shrinking old man.</p> + +<p>"You have got to tell me the meaning of those queer +words of yours. I guessed there was a mystery about Mr. +Wyndham; now I am certain. If I don't know it before +I leave the room to-night, I'll make mischief. There!"</p> + +<p>"Essie—Essie—I thought you had turned into a good +girl."</p> + +<p>"I'll turn bad again. Listen. I love that man. Not +as a girl loves her lover—not as a wife cares for her husband. +He is married, and I should not be ashamed to tell +his wife how I love him. I glory in my love; he saved me. +Father, I wasn't coming home at all that night. He saved +me; you can understand how I feel for him. My life +wouldn't be a great deal to give up for him. There has +been mischief done to him, that I am sure. Now tell me +the truth; then I'll know how to act. Oh, father, you're<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> +the dearest and the kindest. Tell me the truth and you +won't repent it."</p> + +<p>"No, Essie, child, I don't suppose I shall repent. Sit +there. You know too much, you may as well know all. +Mr. Wyndham's life was insured."</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Heavily, mark you, heavily."</p> + +<p>"Yes." She covered her face with her hands. "Let +me think. Say, father"—she flung her hands into her lap—"was +this done on purpose?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, child, ay; and a better man never lived. Ay, it +was done on purpose."</p> + +<p>"He was meant not to come back?"</p> + +<p>"That's it, Essie, my dear. That's it."</p> + +<p>"I see; yes, I see. Was the insurance money paid?"</p> + +<p>"Every farthing of it, child. A large sum paid in full."</p> + +<p>"If he appeared again it would have to be refunded?"</p> + +<p>"If it could be, child."</p> + +<p>"If it couldn't?"</p> + +<p>"Then the story, the black story of why it was wanted, +would have to come out; and—and—Esther, is the door +locked? Come close, Essie. Your old father and my +master would end our days in penal servitude."</p> + +<p>"Now I see," said Esther.</p> + +<p>She did not scream nor utter any loud exclamation, but +began to pace softly up and down the room. Mentally +she was a strong girl; her calm in this emergency proved +her mettle.</p> + +<p>After a few moments Helps began to speak; his words +were wild and broken.</p> + +<p>"Over and over I thought I'd rather," he said. "Over, +and over, and over—when I saw what it meant for him, +poor young <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>gentleman. But I can't, Essie, I can't. When +it comes to the pinch I can't do it. We thought he was +dead, my master and I, and my master he went off his +head. And over he said, yes, over and over—'Helps, a +clean cell and a clean heart would be heaven to this.' +But, bless you, Essie, he couldn't stand it either at the +pinch. We thought Mr. Wyndham lying under the sea. +Oh, poor young gentleman, he had no right to come back."</p> + +<p>"No right? He has a wife and a child."</p> + +<p>"A widow and orphan, you mean. No, Esther, he +should have stayed away. He made a vow, and he should +have stuck to it."</p> + +<p>"He has not broken his vow, father. Oh, father, what +a wicked thing you have done; you and that master to +whom you have given your life. Now let me think."</p> + +<p>"You won't send me to prison, Esther?"</p> + +<p>"No, no. Sit down. I must think things out. Even +now I don't know clearly about Mr. Wyndham; you have +only treated me to half-confidences. Stay, though, I don't +wish to hear more. You mustn't go to prison. Mr. +Wyndham mustn't starve. I have it. Mr. Wyndham shall +come here."</p> + +<p>"Esther!"</p> + +<p>Poor old Helps uttered a shriek, which caused Cherry +to turn uneasily on her pillow.</p> + +<p>"Keep yourself quiet, father. I'm a determined woman, +and this thing shall be. Mr. Wyndham shall eat of our +bread, and we will shelter him; and I—I, Esther Helps—will +undertake to guard his secret and yours. No one +living shall guess who he is."</p> + +<p>"You forget—oh, this is an awful thing to do. You +forget—there's Cherry."</p> + +<p>"I'll blind Cherry. If I can't, she must go. I shall +bring Mr. Wyndham home to-morrow night!"</p> + +<p>"Esther, this will kill me."</p> + +<p>"No, it won't. On the co<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>ntrary, you'll be a better and +a happier man. You wouldn't have him starve, when +through him you have your liberty? I'm ashamed of +you."</p> + +<p>She lit her candle and walked away.</p> + +<p>Old Helps never went to bed that night.</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XL.</h2> + + +<p>Esther did not go out next morning. Cherry was surprised +at this. Helps went off at his usual hour. Cherry noticed +that he ate little or no breakfast; but Esther did not stir. +She sat quietly by the breakfast table. She ate well and +deliberately. Her eyes were bright, her whole face was full +of light and expression.</p> + +<p>"Ain't you going down as usual to these dirty slums?" +quoth Cherry. "I'm sick of them. You and your clothes +both coming in so draggled like at night. I'm sick of the +slums. But perhaps you mean to give them up."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said Esther, waking from a reverie into which +she had fallen, "but I'm not going this morning. I've +something else to attend to."</p> + +<p>"Then perhaps, Esther," said Cherry, with her round +eyes sparkling, "you'd maybe think to remember your +promise of getting that pink gauze dress out of your trunk; +you know you promised it to me, and I've a mind to make +it up with yellow bows. I'm sure to want it for something +about Christmas."</p> + +<p>"You shall have it," said Esther, in a sharp, short +voice.</p> + +<p>The abstracted look returned to her face. She gazed +out of the window.</p> + +<p>"Law, Essie, ain't you changed, and for the worse, I +take it!" remarked Cherry. "I liked you a sight better +when you were flighty and frivolous. Do you remember +the night you went to the theatre with that Captain something +or other? My word, wasn't uncle in a taking. 'Twas +I found your tickets, and put uncle up to getting a seat near +you. Weren't you struck all of a heap when you found +him there? I never heard how you took it."</p> + +<p>"Hush," said Esther, rising to her feet, her face growing +very white. "I was mad, then, but I was saved. That's +enough about it. Cherry, you know the box-room?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> +<p>"Yes," said Cherry. "It's stuffed pretty well, too. +Mostly with your trunks, what you say belonged to your +mother."</p> + +<p>"So they did. Well, they must go downstairs."</p> + +<p>"Wherever to? There isn't a corner for them in this +scrap of a house."</p> + +<p>"Corners must be found. Some of the trunks can go +in our bedroom—some into father's; some into the passage, +some into the drawing-room if necessary. You +needn't stare, it has got to be done."</p> + +<p>Esther stamped her foot and looked so imperious that +Cherry shrank away.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you're a bit mad again," she muttered, and +she began to collect the breakfast things on a tray.</p> + +<p>"Stop, Cherry, we may as well talk this out. I'll go +upstairs now and help you with the boxes. Then we'll clean +out the attic; if I had time I'd paper it, but there ain't. +Then I'm going out to buy a bedstead and bedding, and a +table and washhand stand. The attic is to be made into +a bedroom for——"</p> + +<p>Here she paused.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Cherry, "for whom, in the name of goodness?"</p> + +<p>Esther gulped something down in her throat.</p> + +<p>"There's a good man in the East of London, a very good +man; he has no money, and he's starving, and he has to +sleep out of doors; and—and—I can't stand it, Cherry—and +I spoke to father, and we have agreed that he shall +have the attic and his food. That's it, his name is Brother +Jerome; he's a sort of an angel for goodness."</p> + +<p>"Slums again," said Cherry; "I'll have nothing to do +with it."</p> + +<p>She took up her tray and marched into the kitchen. +Esther waited a minute or two, then she went to her room, +put on a coarse check apron, and mounted the n<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>arrow +attic stairs. She commenced pulling the trunks about; she +could not lift them alone, but she intended to push them to +the head of the stairs and then shove them down.</p> + +<p>Presently a thumping step was heard, and Cherry's +round face appeared.</p> + +<p>"Disgusting job, I call it," she said; "but if I must +help you, I suppose I must. I was going to learn 'Lord +Tom Noddy' this morning. I thought I might wear the +pink gauze with yellow bows, and recite it at Uncle Dan's +Christmas party. Cousin Tom says I'm real dramatic when +I'm excited, and that's a beautiful piece, so rhythmic and +flowing. But then we all have to bend to you, Esther, and +if I must help you I suppose I must."</p> + +<p>"I think you had better, dear, and some day perhaps +you won't be sorry. He's a good man, Brother Jerome is, +he won't be no trouble. I'll clean his room for him myself +once it's put in order, and he's sure to go out early in the +morning. He'll breakfast upstairs, and I'll take him his +breakfast, and his supper shall be ready for him here +at night. We must see if that chimney will draw, Cherry, +for of course he'll want his bit of fire."</p> + +<p>After this the two girls worked with a will; they cleaned +and polished the tiny window, they scrubbed the floor and +brushed down the walls, and polished the little grate. Then +Esther went out and made her purchases. The greater +part of a five pound note was expended, and by the afternoon +Gerald Wyndham's room was ready for him.</p> + +<p>"Brother Jerome will come home with me to-night. +Cherry," said Esther. "I may be late—I'm sure to be late—you +needn't sit up."</p> + +<p>"But I'd like to see him. Slums or no slums, he has +given me a pair of stiff arms, and I want to find out if he's +worth them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he's nothing to look at. Just a tall, thin, starved-looking +man. He'll be sh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>y, maybe, of coming, and you'd +much better go to bed. You'll leave some supper ready in +his room."</p> + +<p>"What shall I leave?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, a jug of beer and some cheese, and the cold meat +and some bread and butter. That's all, he's accustomed +to roughing it."</p> + +<p>"My word, you call that roughing. Then the slums +can't be so bad. I always thought there was an uncommon +fuss made about them. Now I'll get to 'Lord Tom +Noddy,' and learn off a good bit before tea time; you +might hear me recite if you had a mind, Essie."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLI.</h2> + + +<p>"Oh, yes, she's the sweetest missus in the world!"</p> + +<p>That was the universal opinion of the servants who +worked for Valentine Wyndham. They never wanted to +leave her, they never grumbled about her, nor thought her +gentle orders hard. The nurse, the cook, the housemaid, +stayed on, the idea of change did not occur to them.</p> + +<p>Valentine and her little son came back to the house in +town at the end of October. Lilias came with them, and +Adrian Carr often ran up to town and paid a visit to the +two.</p> + +<p>One day he came with a piece of news. He had got the +offer of an incumbency not very far from Park-Lane. A +fashionable church wanted a good preacher. Carr had +long ago developed unusual powers as a pulpit orator, and +the post, with a good emolument, was offered to him. He +came to consult Lilias and Valentine in the matter.</p> + +<p>"Of course you must go," said Lilias. "My father will +miss you—we shall all—but that isn't the point. This is +a good thing for you—a great thing—you must certainly +go."</p> + +<p>"And I can often see you," responded Carr, eagerly. +"Mrs. Wyndham will let me come here, I hope, and you +will often be here."</p> + +<p>"I wish you would spend the winter with me, Lilias," +said Valentine. She had interpreted aright the expression +in Carr's eyes, and soon afterwards she left the room.</p> + +<p>She went up to her own room, shut and locked the door, +and then stood gazing into the fire with her hands tightly +locked together. She inherited one gift from her father. +She, too, could wear a mask. Now it dropped from her, +and her young face looked lined and old.</p> + +<p>"It isn't the grief of losing him," she murmured under +her breath. "It's the pain—the haunting fear—that things +are wrong. Have I known my father all these years not +to note the change in him? He shrinks from me—he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +dreads me. Why? His conscience is guilty. Oh, Gerald, +if I had only let you look into my heart, perhaps you would +not have gone away. Oh, if only I had been in time to go +on board the <i>Esperance</i> you would have been living now. +Yes, Gerald, the terror never leaves me day and night; +you are dead, but God did not mean you to die. My own +Gerald—my heart would have been broken, or I should +have lost my reason, if I had not confided my fears to Mr. +Carr. Some people perhaps think I have forgotten—some +again that I have ceased to love my husband. How little +they know! Of course I am bright outwardly. But my +heart is old and broken. I have had a very sad life—I am +a very unhappy woman. Only for little Gerry I couldn't +live. He is sweet, but I wish he were more like his father. +Ah, there is nurse's knock at the door. Coming, nurse. +Is baby with you?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyndham unlocked her door, and a little round, +dimpled, brown-tinted child scampered in. He was followed +by his nurse, a grave, nice-looking woman of about +thirty. She was a widow, and had a son of her own.</p> + +<p>"Has baby come to say good-night, Annette? Come +here, sweet. Come into mother's arms."</p> + +<p>She sat down on a low chair by the fire, and the little +man climbed on her knee.</p> + +<p>"I don't <i>'ike</i> oo. I <i>'ove</i> oo," he said.</p> + +<p>"He's always saying that, ma'am," remarked the nurse. +"He likes his toys—he loves his mother."</p> + +<p>"Course I 'ove my mother."</p> + +<p>He laid his brown curly head on her breast.</p> + +<p>"Nurse, is anything the matter? You don't look well."</p> + +<p>"That's it, madam. I'm not ill in body, but I'm sore +fretted in mind. Now, baby, darling, don't you pull your +dear ma to bits! The fact is, ma'am, and sore I am to say +it, I'm afraid I must leave this precious c<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>hild."</p> + +<p>"Nurse!"</p> + +<p>Valentine's arms dropped away from baby; baby raised +his own curly head, and fixed his brown eyes on the woman, +his rosy lips pouted.</p> + +<p>"Sore I am to say it, ma'am," repeated Annette, "but +there's no help. I've put off the evil day all I could, +ma'am; but my mother's old, and my own boy has been ill, +and she says I must go home and see after them both. Of +course, madam, I'll suit your convenience as to the time +of my going, and I hope you'll get some one else as will +love the dear child. Come to bed, master baby, dear; +your mother wants to go down to dinner."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>A few days after this, as Helps was taking his comfortable +breakfast, cooked to perfection by Cherry's willing +hands, he raised his eyes suddenly, looked across at his +daughter Esther, and made a remark.</p> + +<p>"I'm told poor young madam is in no end of a taking."</p> + +<p>"What young madam, father?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Wyndham. The nurse is going and the child has +got whooping cough. He's bad, too, poor little 'un, and +frets about the nurse like anything. My master's in a way, +too; he's wrapped up in that little lad. It was he told +me; he said perhaps you'd know of a nurse as would suit. +Esther."</p> + +<p>"Don't stare so, Cherry," said Esther. "Anybody +would think father was talking of ghosts, to see the bigness +of your eyes. Well, father, yes, I'll think about a +nurse. I'm sorry the child is ill."</p> + +<p>"Don't you go and get a nurse from the slums," retorted +Cherry. "You're all slums, you are. My word, I am +having a time since that new lodger took possession."</p> + +<p>Here Cherry paused to pour fresh water into the tea-pot. +Esther and her father exchanged fri<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>ghtened glances.</p> + +<p>"Brother Jerome, indeed!" proceeded this energetic +young person. "He's a mighty uneasy sort of Brother +Jerome. His good deeds don't seem to quieten him, anyway. +And why does he always keep a hat stuck on his +head, and never raise it when he passes me on the stairs. +I know I'm broad and I'm stout, and I've no looks to +boast of, but it's meant for men to raise their hats to women, +and I don't see why he shouldn't. Then at night he walks +the boards overhead fit to work on anybody's nerves. I +don't recite half so dramatic as I did, because I can't get +my sleep unbroken."</p> + +<p>"Your tongue ain't stopped, anyway," said her uncle, +almost crossly. "Esther, you'll think about the nurse for +young madam."</p> + +<p>He rose and left the room.</p> + +<p>Esther sat still a little longer. She heard Cherry rattling +the plates in the kitchen. Presently, she got up, put +on her bonnet and cloak, called good-bye to her cousin, +and went out. There could scarcely be a better Sister of +the Poor than Esther Helps. She was near enough to +them socially to understand their sorrows. She had never +known starvation, but she could take in what tiny means +meant—their mode of speech was comprehensible to her, she +was sufficiently unfastidious to go into their dirty rooms, to +witness their uncouth, semi-savage ways without repulsion. +She liked the life, it suited her, and her it. She was the +kind of woman to be popular as a district visitor. She had +abundance of both sympathy and tact. When her sympathies +were aroused, her manners could be affectionate. In +addition, she had a very lovely face. The poor of East +London adore beauty; it comes so rarely near them in +any case that they look upon it as an inestimable treasure. +The women and children liked to watch Esther when she +talked and when she smiled. The men treated her with +the respect due to a regal presence.</p> + +<p>Esther went down as usual to her mission work to-day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +Sister Josephine, the head of this branch of work, greeted +the handsome girl with a smile when she came in, drew +her aside, and spoke to her about a particularly difficult +undertaking which was soon to be commenced. This +undertaking would require the utmost tact and talent; the +sister asked Esther if she would be willing to become the +head of the movement.</p> + +<p>"I don't know anyone more suitable," she said in conclusion. +"Only if you come, you must consent to sleep +away from home. Some of our work—our principal work—will +take place at night."</p> + +<p>Esther's clear ivory-tinted skin became a shade paler. +She looked full at the sister with troubled but unshrinking +eyes.</p> + +<p>"You do me a great honor," she said. "But I am +afraid I must decline it. At present I cannot sleep away +from home. It is also possible—yes, it is quite possible—that +I may have to give up the work altogether for a time."</p> + +<p>"Esther, are you putting your hand to the plough and +looking back?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, Sister Josephine. Perhaps I am."</p> + +<p>The sister laid her hand solemnly on the girl's arm.</p> + +<p>"Esther, if you love anyone better than God, you have +no right to come here," she said.</p> + +<p>Then she turned away and walked sorrowfully down the +long mission room. She was disappointed in Esther +Helps, and though Esther's own heart never faltered, she +felt a sharp pang pierce it.</p> + +<p>That night she came home late.</p> + +<p>"Has Brother Jerome come in?" she asked Cherry.</p> + +<p>"No. How you do fash about that man! His supper's +waiting for him, and I saw to his fire. Now I'm going to +bed. I'm dead tired."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p> +<p>"Do, Cherry. I'll sit up for Brother Jerome."</p> + +<p>"Ask him, for goodness sake, not to march the boards +so frequent. He'll have my grey hairs to account for. +He's picked up a cough, too, and between the creaking of +the boards, and the coughing, I have nice nights lately."</p> + +<p>"You study too much, Cherry, or you wouldn't mind +such little noises. Now go to bed, dear. I'll give Brother +Jerome a hint."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Esther. Uncle's been in bed an hour or +more. I hope that brother of the slums won't keep you +long."</p> + +<p>Cherry ran upstairs, and Esther went into the bright +warm little kitchen. She left the door wide open, and +then she sat and waited.</p> + +<p>The substance of Sister Josephine's words rang in her +ears.</p> + +<p>"If you love another better than God, you have no +right to come here."</p> + +<p>Did she love another better than God? No, no, impossible. +A man had influenced her life, and because of his +influence she had given herself up, soul and body, to God's +service. How could she love the man best? He had +only pointed to the higher way.</p> + +<p>Then she heard his step outside; his latch-key in the +door, and she felt herself tremble. He went straight upstairs, +never glancing in the direction of the kitchen; as +he went he coughed, and his cough sounded hollow. His +figure, never remarkably upright, was much bent.</p> + +<p>Esther waited a few minutes; then, her heart going pit-a-pat, +she crept very softly upstairs, passed her own room +and Cherry's, and knocked at Wyndham's door.</p> + +<p>He came and opened it.</p> + +<p>"Can I speak with you, brother?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Come in, Esther?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> +<p>The attic had been converted into a wonderfully snug +apartment. The bed and washing apparatus were curtained +off, and the part of the room which surrounded the +hearth revealed a bright fire, a little table on which a +tempting cold supper was spread, and a deep easy chair.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, brother," said Esther, "and eat. Let me +help you. I can talk while you eat your supper. Are you +very tired to-night? Yes, I am afraid you are dreadfully +tired."</p> + +<p>"I am always tired, Esther. That is in the condition +of things."</p> + +<p>He sank back into his chair as if he were too weary to +keep out of it. Then, with a flash of the old Gerald Wyndham +in his eyes and manner, he sprang up.</p> + +<p>"I was forgetting myself. Will you sit here!"</p> + +<p>"What do you take me for, Mr.—Brother Jerome, I +mean. I have come up here to see you eat, to see you +rest, and to—to—talk to you."</p> + +<p>"Esther, I have no words to thank you. You are, yes, +you are the noblest woman I know."</p> + +<p>She flushed all over; her eyes shone.</p> + +<p>"And isn't that thanks for ever and ever?" she said +in a voice in which passion trembled.</p> + +<p>Wyndham did not notice. He had taken off his hat, +and Cherry's good supper stood by his side. He ate a +little, then put down his knife and fork.</p> + +<p>"Ain't you hungry, sir?"</p> + +<p>"No. At first, when I came here, I was so starved that +I never could eat enough. Now I am the other way, not +hungry at all."</p> + +<p>"And, sir, you have got a cough."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I had a very bad wetting last week, and a cough +is the result. Strange. I had no cough when I slept out +of doors."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wynd—Brother Jerome, I mean, you wouldn't go +back to that old life? Say you wouldn't go back."</p> + +<p>The almost anguish in her voice penetrated for the fi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>rst +time to Wyndham's ear. He gave her a startled glance, +then said with warmth:—</p> + +<p>"Esther, you and your father have been good Samaritans +to me; as long as it is safe I will stay with you."</p> + +<p>"It shall and must be safe. Who would look for you +here, of all places, when they think you are buried under +the waves of the sea?"</p> + +<p>"That is true. I expect it is perfectly safe for me to +stay."</p> + +<p>He lay back in his chair, and gazed into the fire; he had +almost forgotten Esther's presence.</p> + +<p>"And you like it—you feel happier since you came?" +she asked, presently, in a timid voice.</p> + +<p>"What did you say?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wyndham," the forbidden name came out with a +burst, "do tell poor Esther Helps that you are happier +since she found you."</p> + +<p>She had fallen on her knees, the tears were streaming +from her eyes; she held out her hands to him.</p> + +<p>"Oh," she said, "I would give my life for yours."</p> + +<p>In a moment Wyndham's dreamy attitude left him; he +sprang to his feet, all alive and keen and watchful. He +was the old Wyndham; his eyes were full of pity, which +made his whole face radiant.</p> + +<p>"Hush," he said. "Get up. Don't say any more. Not +another word—not a syllable. You forget yourself. Esther. +I saved you once—I must save you again. Sit there, yes, +there; I am quite strong. I must tell you the truth. +Esther, I said just now that you were the noblest woman I +know. You must go on being noble. I will stay here on +that condition."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, will you?" Poor Esther would have liked to +shrink through the very boards. "Will you forgive me, +sir?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p> +<p>"Hush; don't talk about forgiveness. There is nothing +to forgive. Esther, I will show you how much I trust you. +I will talk to you about my wife. I will tell you a little of +my story; I mean the part I can tell without implicating +others."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLII.</h2> + + +<p>Esther was now seated in the easy-chair; Wyndham stood +by the mantel-piece. He had got a shock, and that shock +had given him strength, and a good deal of his old manner.</p> + +<p>"Esther," he said, "I cannot tell you all the story, but +some of it I should like you to hear. You are a friend to +me, Esther, and the part that relates to myself I will confide +to you."</p> + +<p>"Sir, I know the other part; you have been the victim +of a wicked man."</p> + +<p>"Hush; I don't wish to speak about anyone but myself. +I don't blame anyone but myself. I loved a woman, Esther +Helps, so much better than myself that for her sake I +resolved to die to the world. I need not give you the reason +of this. It seemed to me necessary for her happiness that I +should do this; and I did not think it too much to do. I +married my wife knowing that the great love I had for +her was not returned. This seemed all for the best, as +when I died, as die to all appearance I should, her heart +would not be broken. She could continue to live happy and +honored. Do you follow me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, yes. Are you tired? Will you sit, Mr. Wyndham?"</p> + +<p>"I was never less tired. When I speak of my wife I feel +as if a fresh vigor were coming into me. We were married, +and I soon found that I had overtaxed my own resolve. +In one particular I could not complete the sacrifice I had +undertaken. I tried to make her love me, and for a time—a +short time—I thought I had succeeded."</p> + +<p>The speaker paused, and the eagerness of his tone +changed.</p> + +<p>"I failed. The heart that I most craved for was not to +be mine. I tested it, but it did not respond. This was best, +no doubt, but the fact preyed on me dreadfully. I went +on board the <i>Esperance</i>, and, then, God forgive me, the +thought took possession of me, the idea overmastered me, +that I w<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>ould make my fictitious death real. Everything had +been carefully arranged with regard to my apparent death. +That part implicates others, so I will not touch upon it. I +resolved to make certainty doubly certain by dying in +earnest. Thus my wife's future would be assured. My +death would be real, the thing that might come upon her +would be averted for ever. I was in a condition when I +could not balance right and wrong; but my intellect was +sufficiently keen and sensible to make me prepare for the +deed I contemplated. I took steps which would prevent +anyone on board thinking that I had fallen overboard by +design. My death would be attributed to the merest accident. +Thus all was made absolutely safe. What is the +matter, Esther?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Wyndham! Oh; you frighten me. Did you—did +you think of your soul, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I did, Esther. But I loved my wife better than my +hope of heaven. I resolved to risk even that for her. As +I tell you, I had no sense of personal right or wrong at that +time. You see that I am a very wicked man, Esther—no +hero—a man who yielded to a dire temptation. I won't +talk about this. The night came, and I dropped into the +water. There was a storm that night. It was dark, but +now and then the stars could be seen through the rifts of +the clouds. As I leapt overboard I looked up, and saw +the brightness of the Southern Cross. Then I went under. +The great waves closed over my head. The next instant +I came to the surface only possessed with one fierce frantic +desire, to save the life I meant to throw away. Better be +a living dog than a dead lion, I said to myself. Yes, I would +live—if only like the miserable dogs of Eastern towns, +w ould live as the outcast, as the scum of the earth—I would +live. I had done a horrible thing in seeking to throw +away my life. I cried aloud in an anguish of terror:—'God +spare me! God leave my breath in my body! Don't +take my spirit before the judgment seat!' Through the +rifts in the clouds I saw a boat at a little distance +manned by some of the sailors who were looking for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +me. I shouted, but no living voice could be heard in the +gale. Then I resolved to husband my strength. I was an +excellent swimmer, and I could always float like a cork. I +could not swim in that sea, but I could lie quite passive on +the waves. I turned on my back, and waited for the issue +of events. I closed my eyes and felt myself being moved +up and down. The motion in itself was not unpleasant. +The waves were wonderfully buoyant. Instead of losing +my strength I was rested. My heart beat steadily. I knew +that my chance of life depended on my keeping very cool. +Presently something struck me. I put out my hand and +grasped a floating oar. By means of the oar I knew that +unless I froze with the cold I could keep above the water +for hours. I placed it under my arms and kept above the +water with very little effort.</p> + +<p>"The cold, however, was intense, and I doubt that I +could have lived till morning had not another chance of +deliverance just then appeared. The clouds had almost +cleared from the sky, and by the brightness of the southern +constellations I saw something gleaming white a little +further off. It was not the ship, which must have been a +league or two away by now, but something I could see in +my present horizontal position. I ventured to raise my +head a very little, and saw a boat—a boat painted white—which, +strange to say, had not been overturned by the +roughness of the waves. It was gently floating onwards in +my direction. The name <i>Esperance</i> was painted in gold +letters on the outside of the boat, near the bow. I guessed +at once what had happened. One of the ships' boats had +got loose from its moorings in the gale, and was now sent +to me as an ark of deliverance. It was evidently on one of +the ship's oars, too, that I was supporting my head.</p> + +<p>"Then I saw that God did not mean me to die, and a +great glow of gratitude and even happiness ran through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> +me. You will wonder at this, but you don't know how +horrible death looked in the jaws of that angry sea.</p> + +<p>"The boat came nearer, and nearer and my happiness and +sense of relief grew to almost rapture. I cried aloud:—'God. +I thank Thee! Take the life you have thought worth preserving +almost through a miracle, as your own absolutely. +Take my body, take my spirit, to spend, to worship, to lose +myself in Thee!' Then the boat came up, and I had to +duck under to avoid being stunned by her.</p> + +<p>"It is no easy matter to get into an empty boat in a rough +sea. My hands were almost numb, too, for I had been a +couple of hours in the water. I felt, however, quite cool, +self-possessed and quiet. I could think clearly, and bring +my little knowledge of boats to my aid. I knew my only +chance of not upsetting the boat was to climb over by the +stern. This, after tremendous difficulties, I accomplished. +I lay in the bottom of the boat for some time quite unconscious. +When at last I was able to rouse myself, daylight +had come and the storm had gone down. My clothes were +drenched through with salt water. I could not keep from +shivering, and every bone ached. I was not the least hungry, +but I was consumed with thirst. There were two or +three oars lashed to the side of the boat. I could row, +therefore, and the exercise warmed me. Presently the sun +came up in the heavens. I was glad of this, but its rays +beating on my uncovered head soon produced headache, +which in its turn brought on a queer giddiness and a feeling +of sickness. I saw now that I was going to be very ill, +and I wondered how long I should retain my senses. I +knew that it behoved me to be very careful. I was alive, +but for my wife's sake I must appear to be dead. I saw +that I had taken the very best possible step to insure this +end, and if I could only carry on my purpose to its conclusion +I should have adopted a far better plan for securing +the establishment of my own apparent death than the +one originally devised for me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Aching as I did from head to foot I found it difficult +to keep my thoughts collected. I managed, however, to +do so, and also to scratch out the name of the <i>Esperance</i> +from the bows of the boat. This I accomplished with my +pocket knife. I also cut away my own name from my linen, +and from two handkerchiefs which I found in my pockets. +These handkerchiefs had been marked by my wife. After +this I knew there was no more I could do. I must drift +along and take my chance of being picked up. I cannot +recall how I passed the day. I believe I rowed a little +when I felt cold; but the greater part of the time I simply +allowed the boat to drift.</p> + +<p>"That evening I was picked up by a trading vessel bound +for the Cape. Its crew were mostly Dutch, and several of +the sailors were black. I faintly remember going on board +the vessel. Then all memory leaves me. I had a long +illness—a fever which changed me, turning my hair very +grey. I grew a beard in my illness, and would not allow +it to be removed when I got better, as I knew that in the +future I must live under the shadow of death, I must completely +sink the identity which made life of value.</p> + +<p>"I was put into hospital when we arrived at Cape Town, +and when I got better was given a small purse of money, +which had been collected by some people who professed +to take an interest in me. On the day I left the hospital +I really commenced my new life.</p> + +<p>"It is unnecessary to tell you all that followed. I had +not forgotten my vow—the vow I made to God verily out +of the deeps. I determined, as far as it was in me, absolutely +to renounce myself and to live for God as He reveals +himself in suffering man. I did not resolve to do this with +any ulterior motive of saving my own soul, and atoning for +the sin of the past. I felt that God deserved all that I +could possibly give Him, and to give it absolutely and +without reservation kept me, I believe, from losing my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +senses. For a time all went well. Then the hunger which +had been my curse came back. You will ask what that was. +It was a sense of utter starvation which no physical food +could satisfy, which no mental food could appease. I <i>must</i> +get near my wife. I had sinned for her, and now I could +not keep away from her. I must at least live in the same +country. I prayed against this hunger; I fought with it. +I struggled with it, but I could not beat it down. A year +ago I came back to England. I came to London, to the +safest place for a man who must hide. Willing hands are +always needed to help to lighten some of the load of misery +in this great city. I called myself Brother Jerome, and +presently I found my niche. I worked, and I could have +been happy. Yes, starving in body, with nowhere to lay +my head, I could have been happy following <i>The</i> Blessed +example, but for the hunger which always drove me mad, +which was gnawing at my heart, which gnaws there still—which—Esther—Esther +Helps—is—killing me!"</p> + +<p>Wyndham dropped his head on his hands. He uttered +one groan. When he raised his head again his eyes were +wet.</p> + +<p>"I am close to my wife," he said; "but I have never +heard of her once—not once since I returned."</p> + +<p>Then he sat down in the chair which Esther rose from. +He began to cough again, and Esther saw the drops of +sweat standing large on his forehead.</p> + +<p>It was now her turn to speak. She stood upright—a tall, +slim woman—a woman who had gone through a change so +great as almost to amount to a new birth—while Wyndham +had been telling his story.</p> + +<p>"Now," she said, "I am happy. I praise God for His +mercies, for it is given to me to comfort you."</p> + +<p>Wyndham raised his head; he was too exhausted to ask<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> +her what she meant, except with his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Your wife is well, and from this day forth you shall +hear news of her, fresh news, once a week. Every Sunday +you shall hear."</p> + +<p>"Esther, don't torture me. Are you telling me truth?"</p> + +<p>"I am telling you the solemn truth. Would I lie to a +man like you? Mr. Wyndham, do you know, has anyone +ever told you that you have a child?"</p> + +<p>"Nobody. Is this the case? My God, a child!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, a little boy; he is called after you. He is +three years old. You'd like to see him, maybe?"</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, Esther, this is like new wine to me. I +have a son of my own—Valentine's son!"</p> + +<p>He began to pace the floor.</p> + +<p>"And you would like to see him, wouldn't you, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—no—the joy might kill me. People have died of +joy."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't die of joy, sir. It has always been the +other way with you. Joy would make you live, would +cure that cough, and that sinking feeling you have told me +of."</p> + +<p>"And the hunger, Esther—the hunger which gnaws and +gnaws. Esther, you are a wonderful woman."</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Mr. Wyndham. Keep quiet. Don't get +excited. I'll do this for you. I made up the plan this +morning. It was about that I came to speak to you. The +baby wants a new nurse. To-morrow I am going to offer +for the place. I shall get it, too, no fear of that. I shall +live in the same house as your wife, every night your son +will sleep in my arms. Each Sunday I come here with my +news—my weekful of news. Some day I bring your son. +What more natural than that I should come to my father +once a week. Who will suspect? Mr. Wyndham, that +hunger of yours shall have one weekly meal. No fear, no +fear. And now, sir, go to bed, and may God Almighty +bless you!"</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> + +<p>Valentine Wyndham had often said that no greater +treasure of a nurse could be found than the one who +came to her when little Gerald was a month old. When +she saw Est<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>her, however, she changed her mind. Esther +was superior to Annette in personal appearance, in intellect, +and in a curious unspoken intangible sympathy which +brought a strange sense of comfort to Valentine's strained +and worn heart. Esther was full of tact. She was not +demonstrative, but her every look and word expressed +loving interest. Baby very soon ceased to fret for Annette. +With a child's fickleness he boldly declared that he liked +"noo nurse better than old nurse." His most loving +word for Esther was "noo nurse," and he was always contented +and happy when he lay in noo nurse's arms and +listened to her stories. She had wonderful stories for him, +stories which she never dreamt of telling in his mother's +presence, stories which always led to one termination—a +termination which had a wonderful fascination for baby. +They were about little fatherless boys, who in the most unlooked +for ways found their fathers. Baby revelled in these +tales.</p> + +<p>"I'se not got a farwer, noo nursie," he would generally +end sorrowfully.</p> + +<p>Then Esther would kiss him, and tell him to wait, and +to watch for the good fairies who were so kind to little +boys.</p> + +<p>His whooping cough soon got better, and he was able to +go out. One day Esther took him early into the Park. +He was dressed all in white fur. Esther told him he looked +like Baby Bunting.</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">"But I haven't got a farwer to buy me a wabbit-skin,"</span><br /> +quoth baby.</p> + +<p>That day, however, the father he did not know pressed +two or three burning kisses on his round cheek. Esther +sat down on a chai<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>r near a very worn and shabby-looking +man. His back was partly to her. She said a word and +he turned round. He looked at the child. Suddenly a +light filled his sunken eyes—a beautiful light. He stretched +out his arms, and straight as an arrow from a bow, Baby +Bunting found a shelter in their close embrace.</p> + +<p>"Kiss me," said the man.</p> + +<p>The little lips pressed his cheek.</p> + +<p>"I 'ove oo," said baby, in his contented voice. "Has +'oo little boys of 'oo own?"</p> + +<p>"One little boy."</p> + +<p>"Oo 'ove him, I pose?"</p> + +<p>"Ay."</p> + +<p>Three kisses were pressed on baby's face and he was +returned to Esther.</p> + +<p>"Nice man," he said patronizingly, by-and-bye. "But +he gived raver hard kisses when he crunched me up."</p> + +<p>That evening baby told his mother that a man met him +in the Park, who kissed him and looked sad, and said he +had a little boy of his own.</p> + +<p>"And he crunched me up with kisses, mover," concluded +baby.</p> + +<p>"Was this man a friend of yours, Esther?" queried Mrs. +Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"Yes, madam, a friend of mine, and of my father's. A +gentleman with a very sorrowful story. I think it comforted +him to kiss master baby."</p> + +<p>Esther was a woman of acute observation. It seemed +to her that if there was an individual on earth to be envied +it was Valentine Wyndham. What matter though she +thought herself a widow? Still she had won a love of a +quality and depth which surely must satisfy the most +exacting heart. Esther often said to herself that if she +were Valentine she must surely rest content. As to her forgetting +Wyndham that could surely, surely never be.</p> + +<p>These were Esther's thoughts, always supposing the case +to be her own; but she had not been many weeks in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> +house in Park-Lane before she began to open her eyes and +to suspect that matters were otherwise with her young +mistress. Valentine, although still a wife, supposed herself +a widow. All the world thought her such. What more +natural than that she should turn her thoughts once more +to love. At the time of her supposed widowhood she was +under twenty years of age. Why should she mourn for her +young husband all her days? Surely there was somebody +who considered that she ought not to mourn—somebody +who came almost daily to the house, whom Mrs. Wyndham +liked to talk to. For Esther noticed that her eyes +were bright after Adrian Carr went away. She did not +guess that their brightness was generally caused by the +shedding of tears.</p> + +<p>Esther began to feel very uncomfortable. Should she or +should she not tell Wyndham of the danger which was +threatening Valentine?</p> + +<p>There came a Sunday when Mrs. Wyndham entered her +nursery with a request.</p> + +<p>"Nurse, my head aches dreadfully. I know you stipulated +to have every Sunday afternoon to yourself, but if you +could stay at home to-day I should be grateful."</p> + +<p>No one could make requests more sweetly than Valentine, +and Esther felt herself coloring up with the pain +of refusing.</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry, madam," she said in a low constrained +voice; "but—but—my father will expect me. You know +it was an understood thing, madam, that I was to see him +once a week. You remember my telling you I am his only +child."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said Valentine, "and I have thought of that. +If you will take care of Gerry this one afternoon I will send +the page in a cab to your home to fetch your father here." +Esther changed color, from red to white.</p> + +<p>"I am m<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>ore sorry than I can express, my dear madam, +but it would make all the difference to my father seeing me +in my own little home and here. My father is very humble +in his ways, dear madam. I think, perhaps, if you have a +headache, Jane, the under housemaid, might be trusted for +once with master baby."</p> + +<p>"Jane has already gone out," replied Valentine coldly. +Then with an effort she swallowed down her resentment. +"I will be frank with you, Esther," she said. "If it was +simply a headache I could certainly take care of my little +boy, even at some inconvenience. But there is more +behind. I promised Miss Wyndham, who is now in town, +to meet her this afternoon at Mr. Carr's new church. She +is most anxious to hear him preach, and I should be sorry +to disappoint her."</p> + +<p>"You mean <i>you</i> are anxious to hear him preach," quoth +Esther, under her breath. "And is it on that account I +will leave a hungry heart to starve?" Aloud she said: +"Do you object to my taking master baby with me, +madam?"</p> + +<p>"I do object. The child must not be out so late. Then +you distinctly refuse to accommodate me, Esther?"</p> + +<p>"I am obliged to adhere to our arrangement, Mrs. +Wyndham. I am truly sorry."</p> + +<p>Valentine held out her hand to her little boy.</p> + +<p>"Come, then, Baby Bunting," she said. "Mother will +play with her boy; and poor Aunt Lilias must go to church +alone."</p> + +<p>She did not look at Esther, but went quietly away, holding +the child's hand.</p> + +<p>"What a brute I am," soliloquized the nurse. "And +yet, she, poor young lady, how can she—how can she forget?"</p> + +<p>Esther's home was in all its Sunday quiet when she +reached it. Helps was having his afternoon siesta in the +kitchen. Cherry was spending the day with the cousins +who admired her recitations. Helps started out of his +slumbers when his daughter came in.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Essie," he said, "I'm glad you've come. That young +man upstairs is very ill."</p> + +<p>Esther felt her heart sinking down. She pressed her hand +to her side.</p> + +<p>"Is he worse, father?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know that he's worse; he's bad enough as +it is, without going in for being worse. He coughs constant, +and Cherry says he don't eat enough to keep a robin +going. Esther, I wish to goodness we could get him out +of this."</p> + +<p>"Why so, father? He doesn't hurt you. Even Cherry +can't name any fault in him."</p> + +<p>"No, but suppose he was to die here. There'd be an +inquest, maybe, and all kinds of questions. Well, I'm not +hard-hearted, but I do wish he'd go."</p> + +<p>Esther sank down into the nearest chair.</p> + +<p>"You speak cruel words now and then, father," she said. +"Who talks of dying? <i>He</i> won't die. If it comes to that, +or any chance of it, I'll come back and nurse him to life +again."</p> + +<p>"Essie, you think a sight of that young man."</p> + +<p>"Well, I do. I'm not going to deny it. I'm going upstairs +to see him now."</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> + +<h4>AT THE SOUND OF THE CLOCK.</h4> + + +<p>She left the room, tripping lightly upstairs in her neat +nurse's dress. When she got to Wyndham's door and +knocked gently for admission her heart, however, was beating +so wildly that she feared he might notice it.</p> + +<p>"Come in," said his voice; she entered.</p> + +<p>He was lying back in his easy-chair. When he saw +Esther he took off the soft hat which he always wore in +Cherry's presence, and greeted her with that brightness in +his eyes which was the greatest reward he could possibly +offer her.</p> + +<p>"You are a little late," he said; "but I thought you +would not fail me."</p> + +<p>"I won't ever fail you, Mr. Wyndham; you know that."</p> + +<p>"Esther, it is safer to call me Brother Jerome."</p> + +<p>"Not at the present moment. The house is empty but +for my father. Still, if you wish it, sir."</p> + +<p>"I think I do wish it. A habit is a habit. The name +may slip out at a wrong moment, and then—my God, think +what would happen then!"</p> + +<p>"Don't excite yourself, sir. Esther Helps is never +likely to forget herself. Still I see the sense of your wishes. +You are Brother Jerome to me always from this out. And +now, before I go any further, I want to state a fact. Brother +Jerome, you are ill."</p> + +<p>"I am ill, Esther. Ill, nigh unto death."</p> + +<p>"My God, you shan't die!"</p> + +<p>"Hush; the question of dying does not rest with you +or me. I want to die, so probably I shall live."</p> + +<p>"You look like dying. Does Cherry feed you well?"</p> + +<p>"Better than well. I want for nothing."</p> + +<p>"Is your fire kept up all night?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p> +<p>"Esther, I have not come to requiring a night nurse yet. +My fire goes out in the early hours before the dawn."</p> + +<p>"The coldest part of the twenty-four hours. Brother +Jerome, you must give up visiting in East London at +present."</p> + +<p>"No, not while I can crawl. You forget that on a +certain night I surrendered my body as well as my spirit +to the service of comfort. While I can comfort others I will. +There is nothing else left to me."</p> + +<p>"Then, sir, you will die—you will deliberately kill yourself."</p> + +<p>"No, I tried that once. I won't again. Esther, what is +the matter? You are a good girl. It is a mistake for you +to waste your pity on me."</p> + +<p>"You must forgive me, sir. Pity comes to one unbidden. +Pity—and—and sympathy. If you get worse, I shall +leave my situation and come home and nurse you."</p> + +<p>"Then you will indeed kill me. You will take away my +last hope. My one goblet of new wine will be denied me. +Then I shall truly die. Esther, what is your budget of news? +How is my wife? Begin—go on—tell me everything."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Wyndham is well, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well? Do you mean by that that she is happy? Does +she laugh much? Does she sing?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes she laughs. Once I heard her sing."</p> + +<p>"Only once, Esther? She had a very sweet voice. I +used sometimes to tell her that it was never silent."</p> + +<p>"Once, sir, I heard her sing."</p> + +<p>"Oh, once? Was it a cheerful song?"</p> + +<p>"It was on a Sunday evening. She was singing to your +little boy. I think she sang the 'Happy Land.' I don't +quite remember. I came to fetch the boy to bed, and she +was singing to him. She took her hands off the piano +suddenly when I came in, and there were tears in her eyes."</p> + +<p>"Tears? She was always sensitive to music. And yet +you say she does not look sad."</p> + +<p>"I should not call her sad, Brother Jerome. Her face<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> +is calm and quiet. I think she is a very good young lady."</p> + +<p>"You need not tell me that, Esther; you managed very +well about the boy."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir. I think I did. What did you feel +when you saw him, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Rapture. All my blood flowed swiftly. I lived and +breathed. I had an exquisite five minutes."</p> + +<p>"The boy is not like his mother, sir."</p> + +<p>"No, nor like me. He resembles my sister Lilias. +Esther, I must see him again."</p> + +<p>"You shall, by-and-bye, but not too soon. We must +not run any risks."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. I will have much patience. Hold out +the hope only, and I will cling to it indefinitely."</p> + +<p>"You shall see the child again, Brother Jerome."</p> + +<p>"God abundantly bless you. Now go on. Tell me more. +How does my wife spend her time? Has she many +visitors?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes her father."</p> + +<p>"Only sometimes? They used to be inseparable."</p> + +<p>"Not now, sir. There is something wrong between +them. When they meet they are constrained with one +another, and they don't meet very often. I have orders, +though, to take the child every morning to see Mr. Paget."</p> + +<p>"Have you? I am sorry for that. He kisses my son, +does he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. He seems wrapped up in him; he——"</p> + +<p>"Don't talk of him. That subject turns my blood into +vinegar. Go on. Tell me more. What other visitor has +my wife?"</p> + +<p>"Sometimes your sister, Miss Lilias Wyndham."</p> + +<p>"My sister? Esther, you don't know what that name +recalls. All the old innocent days; the little hymns before +we went to bed, and the little prayers at our mother's knee. +I don't <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>think I can bear to hear much about Lilias; but I +am glad she loves my wife."</p> + +<p>"She does, sir. She is devoted to Mrs. Wyndham. I don't +think any other visitors come except Mr. Carr."</p> + +<p>"Adrian Carr, a clergyman?"</p> + +<p>Wyndham's tone had suddenly become alert and wakeful.</p> + +<p>"I believe the gentleman's name is the Rev. Adrian Carr. +Brother Jerome."</p> + +<p>"Why do you speak in that guarded voice, Esther? +Have you anything to conceal?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir, no. Don't excite yourself. I conceal nothing; +he comes, that is all."</p> + +<p>"But surely, not often? He is my father's curate; he +cannot often come to London."</p> + +<p>"He is not Mr. Wyndham's curate now, sir; he has a +church of his own, St. Jude's they call it, at the corner of +Butler-street."</p> + +<p>"And he comes constantly to my house? To—to see +my wife?"</p> + +<p>"Your—your widow, sir."</p> + +<p>"God help me, Esther! God help me! How am I +to endure this! My poor—my beloved—my sweet—and +are you exposed to this? Esther, Esther, this care turns +me into a madman."</p> + +<p>"You must stay quiet, Brother Jerome. Mr. Carr comes, +and your—your widow sees him."</p> + +<p>"Do you think she likes him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, I would rather die than have to tell it to you."</p> + +<p>"I cannot listen to your sentimentalisms. Does my wife +seem happy when Adrian Carr calls upon her?"</p> + +<p>"I think she is interested in him, Brother Jerome."</p> + +<p>"Does she see him alone?"</p> + +<p>"Often alone."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> +<p>"And you say she seems pleased?"</p> + +<p>"I think so. It is incomprehensible to me."</p> + +<p>"Never mind whether you understand it or not. Do +you know that by this news you are turning me into a +devil? I'll risk everything—everything. I'll expose the +whole vile conspiracy if my wife is entrapped into engaging +herself to Adrian Carr."</p> + +<p>Brother Jerome was no longer a weak-looking invalid; +he began to pace his attic floor; a fire burnt in his sunken +eyes, and he clenched his thin hands. For the time he was +strong.</p> + +<p>"Listen to me, Esther Helps. My wife shall run no risk +of that kind. It was in the contract that <i>that</i> should be +prevented. I sinned for her—yes, I willingly sinned for +her—but she shall never sin for me. Rather than that we'll +all go to penal servitude. I, and your father, and her +father."</p> + +<p>"Do quiet yourself, Mr. Wyndham. There may be +nothing in what I told you."</p> + +<p>Esther felt really frightened.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps the gentleman comes to see your sister, Miss +Wyndham. He certainly comes, but—but——"</p> + +<p>"Esther, the whole thing must be put a stop to—the faintest +shadow of risk must not be run. My wife thinks herself +a widow, but she must retain the feelings of a wife. It must +be impossible for her, while I live, to think of another +man."</p> + +<p>"Can you not bring yourself back to her memory, sir? +Is there no way?"</p> + +<p>"That is a good thought. Don't speak for a little. Let +me think."</p> + +<p>Wyndham continued to pace the floor. Esther softly +built up the fire with trembling fingers. In this mood she +was afraid of Wyndham. That fire in his eyes was new to +her. She was cowed—she shivered. With her mental +vision she already saw her grey-headed father in the prisoner's +dock.</p> + +<p>"Esther," said Wyndham, coming up to her suddenly. +"I have thought of a plan. It won't implicate anyone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> +and if a chord in Valentine's heart still beats true to me +this must touch it. At what hour does Carr generally call +to see my wife?"</p> + +<p>"He is a busy man; he comes mostly at night, about +nine o'clock. He has a cup of tea, and goes away at ten. +When Miss Wyndham is there he sometimes stays on till +nearly eleven."</p> + +<p>"He comes every night?"</p> + +<p>"Almost every night."</p> + +<p>"And he leaves at ten?"</p> + +<p>"A few minutes after ten. When the clock strikes ten +it seems to be a sort of a signal to him, and he gets up and +goes away."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. Ten, then, will be the hour. Esther, something +else may happen at ten of the clock. You need not +look so white. I said no risk would be run. It is possible, +however, that my wife may be agitated. No, you don't +suppose I am going to reveal myself to her—nothing of the +sort. Still, something will happen which may break down +her nerve and her calm. In that case she may even appeal +to you, Esther, you will be very guarded. You must remember +that on the success of this scheme of mine depends +your father's safety, for if she engages herself to Carr I +swear by the God above me that we three, Paget, your +father, and I, go to prison."</p> + +<p>"Sir, I must own that I feel dreadfully frightened."</p> + +<p>"Poor Esther! And you don't deserve it, for you are +the best of girls and quite innocent. But that is ever the +way. The innocent bear the sins of the guilty. In this +matter, however, Esther, you must trust me, and keep your +own counsel. Now, I want to know if you have any money +you can lend me?"</p> + +<p>"I have two sovereigns in my purse, sir. Will that +do?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span></p> +<p>"Plentifully. I will tell you what I want the money +for. I want to hire a violin—a good one. Once, Esther. +I used to express my feelings through the violin. It talked +for me. It revealed some of the tortures of my soul. The +violin shall speak again and to my wife. Now you are prepared +at all points. Good-bye. Be as brave as you are +good, and the worst may be averted."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLV.</h2> + + +<p>On the following night, as Esther was preparing to go to +bed, the nursery door was suddenly opened and Mrs. +Wyndham entered.</p> + +<p>"Esther," she said, "I want baby."</p> + +<p>"He is sound asleep, madam. You would not wake +him?"</p> + +<p>"He can be moved without disturbing him. I want +him to sleep in my bed. I want his company. My little +child?"</p> + +<p>She was trembling. She caught hold of the rails of the +baby's cot.</p> + +<p>"Little children are sacred innocent things, aren't they, +nurse? I want my little child to-night."</p> + +<p>"Strange," thought Esther. "I listened with all my +might, and I could not hear anything except the usual +barrel organs and German bands in the street. But she +has heard something, there isn't a doubt. How queer and +shaken she looks. Poor young thing, I do pity her; she +can't help thinking she is a widow when she is a wife."</p> + +<p>Aloud Esther complied with Mrs. Wyndham's request +cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, madam. The child will never know that +we are moving him. If you will go on to your room, +ma'am, I'll follow with master baby."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyndham turned away at once.</p> + +<p>When the nurse entered her mistress' room with the +child, there was a soft nest made in the big bed to receive +him, and the fire in the grate cast a cheerful glow over +everything.</p> + +<p>"Let me kiss him," said the mother. "My darling, my +beloved. I'll take him into my arms presently, nurse, and +then all fears will fly away."</p> + +<p>"Fears, Mrs. Wyndham? No one ought to fear in this +cheerful ro<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>om."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not, nurse; but sometimes I am superstitious—painfully +so. Yes, put baby there. Is he not a handsome +boy? Although I could wish he were more like his +father."</p> + +<p>"He seems to feature your sister-in-law, Miss Lilias +Wyndham, madam."</p> + +<p>"How queer that you should find that out! He is not +like what Lilias is now, but they all say she was just such +another little child. Nurse, I hate high winds—there is +going to be a storm to-night."</p> + +<p>"Would you like me to sleep on the sofa in your room, +madam?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, no—yes, oh, yes."</p> + +<p>"I will bring a shawl, and wrap it round me and lie +down."</p> + +<p>"No, don't, nurse, don't. I must not yield to this nameless +thing. I must—I will be brave. And the child, my +own little child, will comfort me."</p> + +<p>"What is the nameless thing, dear madam?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot—I won't speak of it. Esther, are you—are +you <i>going</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not, Mrs. Wyndham. I mean, not yet."</p> + +<p>"That is right. Take this chair; warm yourself. Esther. +I don't look on you as an ordinary nurse. Long ago I +used to be so much interested in you."</p> + +<p>"It was very kind of you, madam; young ladies, as a +rule, have no time to interest themselves in poor girls."</p> + +<p>"But I had plenty of time, and did interest myself. My +father was always so much attached to yours. I was an only +child and you were an only child. I used to wonder if +you and your father cared for each other as passionately, +as loyally, as I and my father cared."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that, madam; we did love each other. +Our love remains unchanged. True love ought never to +change, ought it?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p> +<p>"It ought never to change," repeated Mrs. Wyndham. +Her face grew white, her lips trembled. "Sometimes true +love is killed by a blow," she said suddenly. Then her +expression changed again, she tried to look cheerful. "I +won't talk any more. I am sleepy, and that nest near +baby looks inviting. Good-night, dear nurse."</p> + +<p>"Let me undress you, ma'am. Let me see you in your +nest beside the child."</p> + +<p>"No. Go now. Or rather—rather—<i>stay a moment or +two longer</i>. Esther, had you ever the heartache?"</p> + +<p>"There are a few women, madam, who don't know what +the heartache means."</p> + +<p>"I suppose that is true. Once I knew nothing about it. +Esther, you are lucky never to have married."</p> + +<p>Esther Helps made no response.</p> + +<p>"To marry—to love—and then to lose," dreamily +murmured Mrs. Wyndham. "To love, and then to lose. +Esther, it is a dreadful thing to be a widow, when you are +young."</p> + +<p>"But the widow can become a wife again," suddenly replied +Esther.</p> + +<p>The words seemed forced from her lips; she was sorry +the moment she had uttered them.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyndham opened her big eyes wide.</p> + +<p>"I suppose the widows who can become wives again +have not lost much," she responded in a cold voice.</p> + +<p>Then she moved over to the bedside and began to undress.</p> + +<p>A few moments later Esther left her. She felt puzzled, +perplexed, unhappy. She had no key to the thoughts which +were passing in her mistress' mind. Her impression was +that Valentine loved Carr, but felt a certain shame at the +fact.</p> + +<p>The next evening the vicar of St. Jude's called again. +He came hurriedly to the door, ran up the stairs without +being shown the way, and entered Valentine's presence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> +with a brisk step. Esther leant over the banisters to watch +him as he entered the drawing-room. It was half-past nine +when he arrived; he had been conducting a prayer meeting +and was later than usual.</p> + +<p>The drawing-room door was shut on the two, and Esther, +who had been sitting with the child, now crept softly +downstairs and entered a small bedroom at the back of +the drawing-room. This bedroom also looked on the +street. It was the room occupied by Lilias when she visited +her sister-in-law. Esther closed the door softly behind her. +The room was dark. She went up to the window and looked +eagerly up and down the gaily-lighted street.</p> + +<p>She could distinguish no words, but the soft murmur of +voices came to her through the drawing-room wall.</p> + +<p>"You are better to-night?" said Carr, in a cheery, confident +tone; "although you took it upon yourself to disobey +me."</p> + +<p>"I could not go to the prayer-meeting. I could not."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, you must act as you think best; only I +don't think staying at home is the best thing for you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I shan't get over-nervous; and Lilias is coming to +me next week."</p> + +<p>Carr's eyes brightened.</p> + +<p>"That is good," he said. "Well, I must not stay. I +just looked in for a moment. I knew you would not let +these superstitious fears get the better of you. Good-night."</p> + +<p>He held out his hand. Valentine put hers behind her.</p> + +<p>"No," she said; "you always stay until past ten. It +was at ten o'clock last night——" She trembled—more +words would not come.</p> + +<p>"And I will stay until past ten to-night," responded Carr +resuming his seat. "Now, don't look at the clock. Turn +your thoughts to me and my affairs. So Miss Wyndham +comes here next week?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She does."</p> + +<p>"Shall I put everything to the test, then?"</p> + +<p>Valentine's face grew bright.</p> + +<p>"Oh how earnestly I wish you would," she cried, clasping +her hands.</p> + +<p>"Do you, indeed? Then you must think there is some +chance for me. The fact is, Mrs. Wyndham, I am the +veriest coward that ever breathed. If I win, I win for ever. +I mean that I am made, body, soul, and spirit. If I lose, I +think morally I shall go under. A main spring will be +broken which has kept me right, kept my eyes looking +upwards ever since I knew your sister Lilias."</p> + +<p>"But even if she refuses you, you will live on," said Valentine, +in a dreamy voice. "We often have to live on +when the main spring is broken. We creep instead of running, +that is all."</p> + +<p>"Now you are getting gloomy again. As your spiritual +adviser I cannot permit it. You have put a daring thought +into my head, and you are bound to think of me, not yourself, +at present. Will you sing something to me before I +go? You know Lilias' song of triumph; you taught it to +her. Sing it to me to-night, it will be a good omen."</p> + +<p>Valentine hesitated for a moment. Then she went over +to the piano and opened it. Her fingers touched one or +two chords tremblingly. Suddenly she stopped, her face +worked. She looked at Carr with a piteous expression.</p> + +<p>"I cannot sing the triumph song," she said, "it is not +in me. I should do it no justice. This must take its place. +But it is not for you, remember. Oh, no, I pray God never +for you. Listen, don't scold me afterwards. Listen."</p> + +<p>Her fingers ran over the keys, her voice swelled and filled +the room:—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">"The murmur of the mourning ghost<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That keeps the shadowy kine.<br /></span> +<span>Oh, Keith of Ravelston.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sorrows of thy line!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Ravelston, Ravelston.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The merry path that leads<br /></span> +<span>Down the golden morning hill.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And through the silver meads.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>Ravelston, Ravelston.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The stile beneath the tree.<br /></span> +<span>The maid that kept her mother's kine.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The song that sang she.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>She sang her song, she kept her kine.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She sat beneath the thorn.<br /></span> +<span>When Andrew Keith of Ravelston<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rode through the Monday morn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span>His henchmen sing, his hawk bells ring.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His belted jewels shine—<br /></span> +<span>O, Keith of Ravelston.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sorrows of thy line!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div></div> +<p><br /></p> +<p>"Now, good-night," said Valentine, springing to her +feet. "Don't question me about the song. I sang it, but +I cannot speak of it. The clock is about to strike. It is +your hour for farewell. Oh, yes, I wish you all luck—all +luck. The clock is striking——! Oh, what a noise there +is in the street!"</p> + +<p>"What a silence you mean," said Carr, as he took her +hand.</p> + +<p>It was true. The thunderous rattle of a heavy waggon, +the discordant notes of a brass band, the din of a hurdy-gurdy +frightfully out of tune, suddenly stopped. It was as +if a wave of sound had been arrested, and in the quiet +floated up the passionate wail of a soul. There are no +other words to describe what the sound meant. It had a +voice and an interpretation. It was beautiful, but its +beauty was torture. Trembling in every limb, Valentine +sprang away from Carr, flew to one of the French windows, +wrested it open, and stepped on to the balcony. She was +in white, and the people in the street could see her. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>She +pressed to the front of the balcony and looked eagerly up +and down.</p> + +<p>The wailing of the lost soul grew more feeble—more +faint. It stopped. There was a pause of half a minute, +and then the waggon lumbered on, and the hurdy-gurdy +crashed out its discordant notes.</p> + +<p>"I saw nothing," said Carr, who had followed Mrs. +Wyndham on to the balcony and now led her back to the +drawing-room. "I saw nothing," he repeated. "I mean. +I did not see the man who played."</p> + +<p>"But you heard?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I heard."</p> + +<p>"You could not see. That was spirit music. My husband +played. Don't speak to me; don't touch me; you +tried to argue me out of my belief last night, but even <i>you</i> +heard to-night. My husband has come back in the spirit, +and he has played for me. Only <i>he</i> knows that air—only +he in all the world. That was 'Waves.' Once I told you +the story of 'Music waves.'"</p> + +<p>She did not faint, she crouched down by the fire; but +no face to be alive could be whiter than hers.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, Mr. Carr?" she said suddenly. +"Why cannot my husband's spirit rest? They say that +those spirits that are hurried out of life before their time +cannot rest. O, tell me what you think. O, tell me what +it means. You heard the music yourself to-night."</p> + +<p>"I did. I certainly heard it."</p> + +<p>"And at the same hour. When the clock struck."</p> + +<p>"That is a mere coincidence, not worth considering."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe in its being a coincidence."</p> + +<p>She beat her hands passionately together.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span></p> +<p>"The thing was planned—he planned it. He will come +again to-morrow night when the clock strikes ten."</p> + +<p>Again she beat her hands together; then she covered her +face with them.</p> + +<p>Carr looked at her anxiously. The weird soft wailing +music had affected even his nerves. Of course he did not +believe in the supernatural element, but he was touched by +the distress of the woman who was crouching at his feet. +This mental unrest, this superstitious terror, might have a +disastrous effect. He must do his utmost to check it. If +necessary he must even be cruel to be kind.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Wyndham," he said, "you must go away to-morrow; +you must go into the country for a few days."</p> + +<p>"I will not. I won't stir a step."</p> + +<p>"You ought, your nerves are shaken. There is nothing +for shaken nerves like change of air. Go to Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, +and talk to Lilias. She, too, loved your husband; +she will sympathize, but she will not lose sight of common-sense."</p> + +<p>"I will not stir from here."</p> + +<p>"I think for your child's sake you ought. The child +belongs to your husband as well as you, to your dead +husband. The child is fatherless as far as this world is +concerned. You have no right—it is very, very wicked of +you to do anything to make him motherless."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? Why do you speak to me in that +tone? I don't deserve it."</p> + +<p>"You do."</p> + +<p>"I think you are cruel."</p> + +<p>Valentine's eyes filled with sudden tears.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by saying that I will leave baby +motherless?"</p> + +<p>"I mean that if you encourage the fancy which has now +taken possession of you you are extremely likely to lose +your senses—to become, in short, insane. How can you +train your child if you are insane?"</p> + +<p>Valentine sh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>uddered.</p> + +<p>"But I did hear the music," she said. "The old story +music that he only played. How can I doubt the evidence +of my senses? Last night at ten o'clock I heard 'Waves' +played on the violin, my husband's favorite instrument—the +melody which he made, the harmony and melody with +all the passion and its story, which he made about himself +and me. No one else could produce those sounds. I +heard them last night at ten o'clock, you were here, but +you heard nothing. To-night there was silence in the +street, and we both heard—we both heard."</p> + +<p>"I certainly heard some very melancholy music."</p> + +<p>"Played on the violin?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, played on the violin."</p> + +<p>"In short, you heard 'Waves.'"</p> + +<p>"I heard something which I never heard before. I cannot +tell the name."</p> + +<p>"No. What you heard was 'Waves,' in other words +the cry of a soul."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Wyndham, get up. Give me your hand. Look +me in the face. Now, that is better. I am going to talk +common-sense to you. You have been from the first impressed +with the idea that foul play was done to your +husband. For a time I own I shared your apprehension. +I discovered one or two things in connection with his +death which far more than your words inclined me to this +belief. Since I came to London I have thought a great +deal over the matter. Last week a lucky chance brought +me in communication with Captain Jellyby of the <i>Esperance</i>. +Ah, you start. I saw him. I think you would +like me to bring him here some night. He entered into +minute particulars of Wyndham's last days. He would +like to tell you the story himself. I can only say that a +fairer story could not be recorded of any man. He was +beloved by every one on board the ship. 'We all loved +him,' said Captain Jellyby. 'Emigrants, passengers, sailors, +all alike. Sir,' he said, 'when Mr. Wyndham was +washed over, there wasn't a dry eye on board. But if <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>ever +a man humbly and cheerfully went forth to meet his Creator, +he was the man, sir. He met his death trying to help +the man at the wheel. Bless his heart, he spent all his life +trying to help other people.'"</p> + +<p>Valentine was silently crying.</p> + +<p>"You comfort me," she said; "you comfort me much. +Go on."</p> + +<p>"That is all, my dear friend, that is all. It set my mind +at rest with regard to your husband. It ought to set yours +at rest also. He is a glorious, and happy spirit in heaven +now. Is it likely that he would come back from there to +frighten you for no object or purpose? No, you must +dismiss the idea from your mind."</p> + +<p>"But the music—the unearthly music."</p> + +<p>"Played by a strolling musician with a talent for the +thing. That was all."</p> + +<p>"His air and mine—'Waves.' The air that no one else +knew, that was never written down."</p> + +<p>"You imagined the likeness to the air you mention. +Our imaginations play strange tricks with us. The air +played to-night was of a very minor character, and had +notes in common with the one your husband composed. +Hence a fleeting resemblance. It is more natural and in +accordance with sense to believe this than to suppose that +your husband came back from heaven to torture you. Now, +good-night. You are good. You will try and be brave. +I ask you to be brave for the sake of your noble husband's +child."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVI.</h2> + + +<p>As Carr was leaving the house he came across Esther, +who, very white, but with a resolute look on her face, met +him on the stairs.</p> + +<p>"How is my mistress, sir?"</p> + +<p>Carr felt nettled at her tone.</p> + +<p>"Why do you ask?" he said shortly; "when last you +saw her I presume she was well."</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"No?"</p> + +<p>Carr paused. He gave Esther a quick piercing look, +and his manner changed. Her face was strong, it could be +relied on.</p> + +<p>"You are the little boy's nurse, are you not?"</p> + +<p>"I am, Mr. Carr."</p> + +<p>"And you are attached to your mistress?"</p> + +<p>Esther hesitated.</p> + +<p>"I—I am," she said, but her voice trembled.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Wyndham wants some one who can be kind and +sympathetic near her. Some one who can be tactful, and +full of common-sense. Her nerves are greatly shaken. +For instance she was much agitated at some music she +heard in the street to-night."</p> + +<p>"I heard it, sir. I was surprised. It wasn't like ordinary +music."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you thought so, did you? For heaven's sake +don't repeat your thoughts to Mrs. Wyndham. You look +a sensible young woman."</p> + +<p>Esther dropped a curtsey.</p> + +<p>"I hope I am," she said in a demure voice.</p> + +<p>"Has your mistress a maid—a maid she likes?"</p> + +<p>"No. I render her what little services are necessary."</p> + +<p>"Can you stay in her room to-night? She ought not to +be alone."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I will sleep on the sofa in my mistress' room."</p> + +<p>"That is right. Don't allude to the music in the street +if you can help it."</p> + +<p>Carr ran downstairs and went away, and Esther, slowly +and hesitatingly, entered the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyndham was standing with her two arms clasped +round her husband's violin. The tears were raining from +her eyes. Before she could disengage herself Esther saw +the action, and a queer pang, half of pleasure, half of pain, +shot through her. She saw at a glance that Gerald Wyndham's +wife cared for no one but her husband. She stepped +across the room quickly, and without any thought of the +familiarity of the action put her hand through her mistress' +arm, and led her towards the door.</p> + +<p>"Come," she said, "you are tired and weak. Master +baby is in his nest, and he wants you. Come, I am going +to put you to bed."</p> + +<p>Valentine raised no objection. She was trembling and +cold. The tears were undried on her cheeks; the look of +infinite pathetic patience in her eyes almost crushed Esther +Helps.</p> + +<p>"What a fool I was to suppose she didn't love her husband," +she murmured. "As if any woman could be much +with him and not love him. Ah, lucky Mrs. Wyndham—notwithstanding +all your sorrow you are the woman I envy +most on earth."</p> + +<p>Valentine did not object to her maid's attentions. She +felt shaken and worn out, and was glad passively to submit. +When she was in bed she spoke for the first time.</p> + +<p>"Esther, get a shawl, and lie here, outside the clothes. +It comforts me to have you near."</p> + +<p>Esther obeyed without any comment. She wrapped a +thick shawl around her, and lay down near the edge of the +big bed. Valentine took her little rosy boy into her arms.</p> + +<p>"Now you must go to sleep, Mrs. Wyndham," said the +maid, and she resolutely shut her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> own dark eyes.</p> + +<p>For an hour she lay motionless, every nerve keenly +awake, and on tension. For an hour she never lifted her +eyelids. At the end of that time she opened them, and +glanced at her mistress. Valentine was lying as still as if +she were carved in marble. Her eyes were wide open. +They were looking straight before her out into the big +room. She scarcely seemed to breathe, and never saw +Esther when she glanced at her.</p> + +<p>"This won't do," thought the maid. "Poor little soul, +she has got an awful shock. She will be very ill if I don't +do something to rouse and interest her. I know she +loves her husband—I will speak of him."</p> + +<p>Esther moved on purpose somewhat aggressively. Valentine's +wide-open eyes never flinched or changed their +expression. The maid touched her mistress on the +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"This isn't good of you," she said; "you ought to be +asleep."</p> + +<p>Valentine started and shivered violently.</p> + +<p>"I thought I was asleep," she said. "At any rate I was +far away."</p> + +<p>"When people sleep they shut their eyes," quoth +Esther.</p> + +<p>"Were mine open? I did not know it. I was looking +at a picture—a picture in real life. It was lovely."</p> + +<p>"I like beautiful pictures," said Esther. "Tell me what +you saw."</p> + +<p>By this time these two women had forgotten the relative +positions they bore to each other. Valentine observed +no familiarity in Esther's tone. Esther spoke and thought +as though she were Valentine's social equal. She knew +she was above her mentally just then; it was necessary +for her to take the lead.</p> + +<p>"Tell me what you saw, madam," she said. "Describe +your beautiful picture."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p> +<p>Valentine obeyed with the docility of a child.</p> + +<p>"It was a seaside picture," she began. "The sun was +setting, and there was a path of light across the waters. +The path seemed to go right up into the sky, and melt, +and end there. And I—I thought of Jacob's ladder, from +earth to heaven, and the angels walking up and down. +On the shore a man and a girl sat. He had his arm round +her waist; and she was filling her hands with the warm +soft sand and letting it dribble away through her fingers. +She was happy. She felt warm and contented, and protected +against the whole world. Although she did not +know that she loved it so much, it was the arm that +encircled her that gave her that feeling."</p> + +<p>Valentine stopped suddenly.</p> + +<p>"That was a pretty picture, madam," said Esther. "A +pretty picture, and you described it well. I suppose the +gentleman was the girl's lover or husband."</p> + +<p>"Her lover and husband in one. They were married. +They sat like that once during their honeymoon. Presently +he, the husband, took up his violin, which he had beside +him, and began to play."</p> + +<p>"Don't go into the music part, please, Mrs. Wyndham. +I want just to keep to the picture alone. I want to guess +something. I am good at guessing. You were the happy +young girl."</p> + +<p>"I was; oh, I was."</p> + +<p>"And the gentleman was your husband; yes, your +husband, whom you dearly loved."</p> + +<p>"Don't talk of him, he is lost, gone. Esther, I'm a +miserable, miserable woman."</p> + +<p>Her icy quiet was broken up. Long-drawn sobs escaped +her; she shivered as she wept.</p> + +<p>"It is an awful thing to love too late—to love loo late," +she moaned.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> +<p>"Madam, I'm going to give you some sal-volatile and +water: when you have taken it you shall tell me the whole +story from first to last. Yes, you had better; you have +said too much or too little. I may be able to comfort you +if I know all."</p> + +<p>Esther administered the restorative. When the distressful +sobs were quieted, and Mrs. Wyndham lay back +exhausted on her pillow, she took her hand, and said with +infinite tact and tenderness:—</p> + +<p>"You love him you have lost very deeply. Is that not +so?"</p> + +<p>"Beyond words to describe."</p> + +<p>"You were young when you were married, Mrs. Wyndham; +you are a very young woman still. Perhaps, as a +young girl, as almost a child-girl, you did not know what +great love meant."</p> + +<p>"I always knew what great love meant. As a little girl +I used to idolize my father. I remember when I was very +young, not much older than baby here, lying down on the +floor and kissing the carpet over which his steps had walked. +I used to steal into his study and sit like a mouse; perfectly +happy while I was watching him. When I saw his face +that was bliss; when he took me in his arms I thought +Heaven could give me no more. You are an only child. +Esther Helps. Did you feel like that for your father?"</p> + +<p>"No, madam, I always loved my father after a quiet +fashion; I love him after a quiet fashion still. That kind +of intense love I did not know. And you feel it still for +Mr. Paget? I suppose it is natural. He is a handsome +gentleman; he has a way about him that attracts people. +For instance, my father would do anything for him. It is +still bliss to you, Mrs. Wyndham, to watch your father's +face."</p> + +<p>"Come near to me, Esther; let me whisper to you. +That love which I thought unquenchable is—dead!"</p> + +<p>"Madam, you astonish me! Dead?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It died, Esther Helps, on the morning my husband +sailed away."</p> + +<p>"Then you only love your husband now?"</p> + +<p>"I love many people. For instance, this little child; +for instance, my sister Lilias. What I feel for my husband +is high above all these things. I cannot describe it. It +lies here—in my heart—and my heart aches, and aches."</p> + +<p>"It would make Mr. Wyndham very happy to hear +you," said Esther.</p> + +<p>Her words were unguarded. Valentine began to sob +feebly.</p> + +<p>"He can never hear me," she said. "That is the dreadful +part. I loved him when we were married, but I did +not know it. Then the knowledge came to me, and I was +so happy. One evening I told him so. I said, 'I love +you!' I shall never forget his face. Often he was sad, +but his face seemed to shine when I said those words, and +he took me in his arms, and I saw a little way into the +depth of his great heart. Soon after that something happened—I +am not going to tell it, it doesn't matter—please +don't hold my hand, Esther. It is very queer that <i>you</i> +should be with me to-night."</p> + +<p>"Why, dear madam? Don't you like to have me with +you?"</p> + +<p>"I think I do. I really quite think I do. Still it is +strange that you should be here."</p> + +<p>"Your story interests me wonderfully, Mrs. Wyndham. +Will you tell me more?"</p> + +<p>"There is not a great deal to tell. For a time I misunderstood +my husband, and the love which really filled my +heart seemed to go back and back and back like the +waves when the tide is going out. Then the time came +for him to go to Sydney. He could not say good-bye; he +wrote good-bye. He said a strange thing in the middle of +the letter; he asked me if I really loved him to join him the +next morning on board the <i>Esperance</i>. Loved him! Of +course I loved him! I was so relieved. Everythi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>ng was +made clear to me. He was first—all others everywhere +were second. My father came in, and I told him what I +meant to do. He was angry, and tried to dissuade me. +When he saw that I would not yield he appeared to +consent, and promised to go with me the next morning to +Southampton. The <i>Esperance</i> was not to sail until noon. +There seemed lots of time. Still, for the first time, I began +to doubt my father. I determined not to wait for the train +he had arranged to travel by with me, but to go down by +a much earlier one. I went to Southampton with a German +maid I had at the time. We arrived there at eight in +the morning, we reached the docks soon after nine, the +<i>Esperance</i> was away—she had sailed at eight. Don't question +me about that day, Esther Helps. It was on that day +my love for my father died."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVII.</h2> + + +<p>It was nearly morning before Mrs. Wyndham fell asleep. +Before then, Esther had said a good deal.</p> + +<p>"I am not surprised at your loving your husband," she +began. "Men like your husband are worth loving. They +are loyal, true, and noble. They make the world a better +place. Once your husband helped me. I am going to +tell you the story.</p> + +<p>"Three years ago, Mrs. Wyndham, I was a very different +girl from the one who now is by your side. I was handsome, +and vain, and empty-headed. I thought most of +dress and of flirting. I had the silliest form of ambition. I +wanted to be a gentleman's wife. My mother had been a +lady by birth, and I thought it was only due to me to be +the same. My only chance of becoming a lady was by +marrying a gentleman, and I thought surely someone would +be found who would make me his wife for the sake of my +handsome face. I had nothing else to recommend me. +Mrs. Wyndham, for I was empty-headed and untrained, and +I had a shallow, vulgar soul.</p> + +<p>"One day I was skating in Regent's Park with some +friends. I fell on the ice and hurt my foot. A gentleman +picked me up. I looked into his face in the bold way I +had, and then all of a sudden I felt ashamed of myself, and +I looked down, and a modest, humble womanly feeling +crept over me. The gentleman was your husband, Mr. +Wyndham; the expression on his face impressed me, and +I could not forget it. He came to our house that evening +and brought a book to my father, and a present of flowers +from you to me. I felt quite silent and queer when he was +in the room; I did not talk, but I listened to every word +he said. He was so uncommon. I thought what a clergyman +he'd make, and how, if he were as eloquent in his +words as in his looks, he might make us all good in spite +of ourselves. He made a great impression on me, and I did +not like to think my low silly thoughts after he had gone.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span></p> +<p>"Soon afterwards I made the acquaintance of a Captain +Herriot, in the —th Hussars; he was a very fine gentleman, +and had very fine words, and although I did not love him a +bit nor a scrap, he turned my head with his flattery. He +did go on about my face—I don't know how I ever was +goose enough to believe him. He managed to get my +secrets out of me though, and when I told him that I meant +to be a gentleman's wife some day, he said that he was the +gentleman, and that I should marry him, and him alone. I +thought that would be fine, and I believed him. He made +all arrangements—oh, how I hate to think of what I afterwards +saw was his real meaning.</p> + +<p>"I was not to let out a thing to my father, and on a certain +night we were to go together to the Gaiety, and he was +to take me home afterwards, and the next morning we were +to go to church and be married. He showed me the +license and the ring, and I believed everything, and thought +it would be fine to be the wife of Captain Herriot.</p> + +<p>"I kept my secret from my father, but Cherry, a cousin +who lives with us, got some of it out of me, for I was mad +with vain triumph, and it was indirectly through her that +I came to be delivered. The night arrived, and I went away +from my home thinking how proudly I'd come back +to show myself in a day or two; and how Cherry would +open her eyes when I told her I was the wife of Captain +Herriot, of the—th Hussars. I reached the theatre, and +Captain Herriot gave me his arm, and led me into the house, +and we took our places in the stalls. People turned and +looked at me, and Captain Herriot said it was no wonder, +for I was the most beautiful woman in the Gaiety that +night.</p> + +<p>"Then the curtain rose, the house was darkened, and +some one took the empty stall at my other side. I turned +my head, Mr. Wyndham was sitting near me. He said a +courteous word or two. I bowed my head; I could not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> +speak. Madam, I did not see that play; I was there, +looking on, but I saw nothing. Captain Herriot whispered +in my ear; I pushed away from him. Suddenly he was +horrible to me. I felt like a girl who was placed between +an angel and a devil. Instantly the mask fell from my +eyes. Captain Herriot meant to ruin me, never to marry +me. Mr. Wyndham scarcely said a word to me till the +play was over, then he spoke.</p> + +<p>"'Your father wants you,' he said. 'Here is a cab, +get into it. I will take you to your father.'</p> + +<p>"He spoke out, quite loud and clear. I thought Captain +Herriot would have fought him. Not a bit of it. His +face turned an ugly color. He took off his hat to me, and +slunk away through the crowd. That was the last straw. +He had not even spirit to fight for the girl who thought +she was about to become his wife.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wyndham got on the box of the cab, and took +me to Mr. Paget's offices. My old father came out, and +helped me out of the cab, and put his arms round me. +He wrung Mr. Wyndham's hand, and said 'God bless you, +sir;' and then he led me inside, and told me how Cherry +had betrayed me, and how he (my father) had taken that +stall ticket intending to sit beside me that night, and give +Captain Herriot a blow in his face afterwards, as he was +known to be one of the greatest scoundrels going. Pressing +business kept my father at the office that night, and +Mr. Wyndham promised to go in his place.</p> + +<p>"'There isn't another young gentleman who would do +it,' said my father. 'No not another.'</p> + +<p>"After that, madam, I was changed; yes, a good bit. +I thought I'd live more worthy. Mr. Wyndham's face +used to come between me and frivolous ways and vain +sins. It seemed as if his were the hand to lead me up. +You don't mind, do you, madam, that he should have +rescued one poor girl from the pit of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>destruction, and +that she should love him—yes, love him for what he has +done?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Esther, do I mind? Come here, Esther, come +here. Let me put my arms round you. Kiss me. You +have lifted something from my heart—how much you can +never know. Esther, <i>I</i> was at the Gaiety that night, and +I saw my husband with you, and I—I doubted him."</p> + +<p>"Madam—<i>you</i>?" Esther sprang away—her whole face +became crimson.</p> + +<p>"I did, Esther; and that was when my love went away +like the tide going out; but now—now——Esther, lie +down. Let me hold your hand. I am sleepy. I can +sleep sweetly now."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2> + + +<p>When the wandering minstrel, with his violin under his +arm, left the neighborhood of Park-lane, he walked with a +somewhat feeble and faltering step through Grosvenor-square +and into Bond-street. A few people looked at him +as he passed, and a hungry-looking girl who was leaning +against a wall suddenly asked him to play for her. He +stopped at the sound of her voice and said a word or two.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry my violin only knows one air, and I have +played it."</p> + +<p>"Can you not play it again?"</p> + +<p>"It is not meant for you, poor girl. Good-night."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, kind sir. I'll say a prayer for you if you +like; you look miserable enough."</p> + +<p>The minstrel removed his soft hat, made a gesture of +thanks, and hurried on. He was going to Queen's Gate. +The walk was long, and he was very feeble. He had a few +coins in his pocket from the change of Esther's sovereigns; +he determined to ride, and mounted on the roof of a Hammersmith +omnibus in Piccadilly.</p> + +<p>By-and-bye he reached his destination, and found himself +in familiar ground. He walked slowly now, hesitating—sometimes +inclined to turn back. Presently he reached +a house; he went up the steps, and took shelter for a +moment from the biting east winds under the portico. It +was late, but the lights were still shining in the great mansion.</p> + +<p>He was glad of this; he could not have done what he +meant to do except under strong excitement, and sheltered +by the friendly gas light. He turned and gave the visitor's +bell a full peal. The door was opened almost instantly by +a liveried footman.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Paget within?"</p> + +<p>The man stared. The voice was not only refined, but to +a certain extent familiar. The voice, oh, yes; but then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> +the figure, the thin, long reed-like figure, slouching forward +with weakness, buttoned up tight in the seedy frock coat +whose better days must have been a matter of the very +distant past.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Paget within?"</p> + +<p>The tone was so assured and even peremptory that the +servant, in spite of himself, was overawed.</p> + +<p>"I believe so, sir," he said.</p> + +<p>"Ask if I can see him."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Paget is not very well, sir, and it is late."</p> + +<p>"Ask if I can see him."</p> + +<p>The footman turned a little surly.</p> + +<p>"I'll inquire," he said; "he's sure to say no, but I'll +inquire. Your name, if you please. My master will +require to know your name."</p> + +<p>"I am known as Brother Jerome. Tell your master +that my business is urgent. Go; I am in a hurry."</p> + +<p>"Rum party, that," murmured the servant. "Don't +understand him; don't like him. All the same, I can't +shut the door in his face. He's the sort of party as has +seen better days; 'ope as the umbrellas is safe."</p> + +<p>Then he walked across the hall and entered his master's +study.</p> + +<p>The room, with its old oak and painted glass, and electric +light, looked the perfection of comfort. The tall, +white-headed man who sat crushed up in the big armchair +was the envied of many.</p> + +<p>"If you please, sir," said the servant.</p> + +<p>"Yes; don't leave the door open. Who were you chatting +to in the hall?"</p> + +<p>"A man who has called, and wants to see you very particular, +sir."</p> + +<p>"I can't see him."</p> + +<p>"He says his nam<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>e is Brother Jerome."</p> + +<p>"I can't see him. Go away, and shut the door."</p> + +<p>"I knew it would be no use," muttered the footman. +"Only he seems a sort of a gentleman, sir, and in trouble +like."</p> + +<p>"I can't see him. Shut the door and go away!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you can see me," said a voice.</p> + +<p>The minstrel walked into the room.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!"</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XLIX.</h2> + + +<p>At the sound of his voice the footman fell back as white +as a sheet. Mr. Paget rose, walked over to him, took him +by the shoulders, and pushed him out of the room. He +locked the door behind him. Then he turned, and backing +step by step almost as far as the window, raised his +hands, and looked at his forbidden visitor with a frozen +expression of horror.</p> + +<p>Wyndham took his hat off and laid it on the table. Mr. +Paget raised his hands, covered his face with them, and +groaned.</p> + +<p>"Spirit!" he said. "Spirit, why have you come to torment +me before the time?"</p> + +<p>"I am no spirit," replied Wyndham, "I am a living man—a +defrauded and injured man—but as much alive as you +are."</p> + +<p>"It is false—don't touch me—don't come a step nearer—you +are dead—you have been dead for the last three +years. On the 25th April, 18—, you committed suicide by +jumping into the sea; you did it on purpose to revenge +yourself, and since then you have haunted me, and made +my life as hell. I always said, Wyndham, you would make +an awful ghost—you do, you do."</p> + +<p>"I am not a ghost," said Wyndham. "Touch me, and +you will see. This wrist and hand are thin enough, but +they are alive. I fell into the sea, but I was rescued. I +came to you to-night—I troubled you to-night because you +have broken our contract, because——What is the +matter? Touch me, you will see I am no ghost."</p> + +<p>Wyndham came nearer; Mr. Paget uttered a piercing +shriek.</p> + +<p>"Don't—don't!" he implored. "You are a lying +spirit; you have often lied—often—to me. You want to +take me with you; you know if you touch me I shall have +to go. Don't—oh, I beseech of you, leave me the little time +longer that I've got to live. Don't torment me before the +time."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span></p> + +<p>He dropped on his knees; his streaming white hair fell +behind him, his hands were raised in supplication.</p> + +<p>"Don't," said Wyndham, terribly distressed. "You +have wronged me bitterly, but I, too, am a sinner; I would +not willingly hurt mortal on this earth. Get up, don't degrade +yourself. I am a living man like yourself. I have +come to speak to you of my wife—of Valentine."</p> + +<p>"Don't breathe her name. I lost her through you. No, +you are dead—I have murdered you—your blood is on my +soul—but I won't go with you yet, not yet. Ha! ha! I'll +outwit you. Don't touch me!"</p> + +<p>He gave another scream, an awful scream, half of +triumph, half of despair, sprang to the door, unlocked it +and vanished.</p> + +<p>Wyndham took up his violin and left the house.</p> + +<p>"Mad, poor fellow!" he muttered to himself. "Who'd +have thought it? Even from a worldly point of view what +fools people are to sin! What luck does it ever bring +them? He made me his accomplice, his victim, in order +to keep his daughter's love, in order to escape dishonor +and penal servitude. He told me the whole story of that +trust money—to be his if there was no child—to be +kept for a child if there was. He was a good fellow +before he got the trust money I have no doubt. The friend +died, and soon afterwards Paget learned that he had left a +son behind him. Mr. Paget told me—how well I remember +his face when he told me how he felt about the son, +who was then only an infant, but to whom he must deliver +the trust money when he came of age. 'I wanted that +money badly,' he said, 'and I resolved to suppress the +trust papers and use the money. I thought the chances +were that the child would never know.'"</p> + +<p>The chances, however, were against Mr. Paget. The +friend who had left him the money in trust had not so absolutely +believed in him as he supposed. He had left duplica<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span>te +papers, and these papers were in the boy's possession. +One day Mr. Paget learned this fact. When he +knew this he knew also that when his friend's son came of +age he should have to repay the trust with interest; in +short, he would have to give the young man the enormous +sum of eighty thousand pounds or be branded as a thief +and a criminal.</p> + +<p>"I remember the night he told me this story," concluded +Wyndham with a sigh.</p> + +<p>He was walking slowly now in the direction of the Embankment.</p> + +<p>"So the plot was made up," he continued. "The insurance +on my life was to pay back the trust. Valentine +would never know her father's dishonor. She would continue +to love him best of all men, and he would escape +shame, ruin—penal servitude. How have matters turned +out? For the love of a woman I performed my part: for +the love of a woman and self combined, he performed his. +How has he fared? The woman ceases to love him, and +he is mad. I—how have matters fared with me? How? +The wages of sin are hard. I saw a sight to-night which +might well turn a stronger brain than mine. I saw my wife, +and the man who may soon be her husband. I must not +dwell on that, I dare not."</p> + +<p>Wyndham walked on, a burning fever gave him false +strength. He reached the Embankment and presently sat +down near a girl who looked even poorer and more miserable +than himself. There were several men and girls occupying +the same bench. It was a bitter cold, frosty night; +all the seats along the Embankment were full, some poor +creatures even lay about on the pavement. Wyndham +turned to look at the slight young creature by his side. +She was very young, rather fair in appearance, and very +poorly clad.</p> + +<p>"You are shivering," said Wyndham, in the voice whi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span>ch +still could be one of the kindest in the world.</p> + +<p>The poor worn young face turned to look at him in surprise +and even confidence.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the girl. "I'm bitter cold, and numb, and +starved. It's a cruel world, and I hate God Almighty for +having made me."</p> + +<p>"Hush, don't say that. It does no good to speak +against the one who loves you. Lean against me. Let +me put my arm round you. Think of me as a brother for +the next hour or two. I would not harm a hair of your +head."</p> + +<p>"I believe you," said the girl, beginning to sob.</p> + +<p>With a touching movement of absolute confidence she +laid her faded face against his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"That is better, is it not?" said Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"Yes, thank you, sir. I'm desperate sleepy, and I +shan't slip off the bench now. I was afraid to go to sleep +before, for if I slipped off somebody else would get my +seat, and I know I'd be dead if I lay on the pavement till +morning."</p> + +<p>"Well, go to sleep, now. I shan't let you slip off."</p> + +<p>"Sir, how badly you are coughing."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry if my cough disturbs you. I cannot help +giving way to it now and then."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir, it is not that; you seem like a good angel to +me. I even love the sound of your cough, for it is kind. +But have you not a home, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I certainly have a shelter for the night. Not a home +in the true sense of the word."</p> + +<p>"Ought you not to go to your shelter, sir?"</p> + +<p>"No, I shall stay here with you until you have had a +good sleep. Now shut your eyes."</p> + +<p>The girl tried to obey. For abo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span>ut ten minutes she sat +quiet, and Wyndham held her close, trying to impart some +of the warmth from his own body to her frozen frame. +Suddenly the girl raised her eyes, looked him in the face, +and smiled.</p> + +<p>"Sir, you are an angel."</p> + +<p>"You make a great mistake. On the contrary I have +sinned more deeply than most."</p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>"It is true."</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to preach to me, sir; but I know +from your face however you have sinned you have been +forgiven."</p> + +<p>"You make another mistake; my sin is unabsolved."</p> + +<p>"Sir?"</p> + +<p>The girl's astonishment showed itself in her tone.</p> + +<p>"Don't talk about me," continued Wyndham. "It is a +curious fact that I love God, although it is impossible for +Him to forgive me until I do something which I find impossible +to do. I go unforgiven through life, still I love +God. I delight in His justice, I glory in the love He has +even for me, and still more for those who like you can repent +and come to Him, and be really forgiven."</p> + +<p>He paused, he saw that he was talking over the girl's +head. Presently he resumed in a very gentle pleading +voice:—</p> + +<p>"I don't want to hear your story, but——"</p> + +<p>The girl interrupted him with a sort of cry.</p> + +<p>"It is the usual story, sir. There is nothing to conceal. +Once I was innocent, now I am what men and women +call <i>lost</i>. Lost and fallen. That's what they say of girls +like me."</p> + +<p>"God can say something quite different to you. He +can say found and restored. Listen. No one loves you +like God. Loving He forgives. All things are possible to +love."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>; when you speak like that you make me +weep."</p> + +<p>"Crying will do you good. Poor little girl, we are +never likely to meet again in this world. I want you to +promise me that you won't turn against God Almighty. +He is your best friend."</p> + +<p>"Sir! And He leaves me to starve. To starve, and +sin."</p> + +<p>"He wants you not to sin. The starving, even if it must +come, is only a small matter, for there is the whole of eternity +to make up for it. Now I won't say another word, except +to assure you from the lips of a dying man, for I know I +am dying, that God is your best friend, and that He loves +you. Go to sleep."</p> + +<p>The girl smiled again, and presently dropped off into an +uneasy slumber with her head on Wyndham's shoulder.</p> + +<p>By-and-bye a stout woman, with a basket on her arm, +came up. She looked curiously at Wyndham. He saw at +a glance that she must have walked from a long distance, +and would like his seat. He beckoned her over.</p> + +<p>"You are tired. Shall I give you my seat?"</p> + +<p>"Eh, sir, you are kind. I have come a long way and +am fair spent."</p> + +<p>"You shall sit here, if you will let this tired girl lay her +head on your breast."</p> + +<p>"Eh, but she don't look as good as she might be!"</p> + +<p>"Never mind. Jesus Christ would have let her put her +head on His breast. Thank you, I knew you were a kind +hearted woman. She will be much better near you than +near me. Here is a shilling. Give it her when she +wakes. Good-night."</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER L.</h2> + + +<p>Esther longed to go to Acacia Villas during the week. +She often felt on the point of asking Mrs. Wyndham to give +her leave, but then again she felt afraid to raise suspicions; +and besides her mistress was ill, and clung to her. +Although Esther listened with a kind of terror on the following +evening, the sound of the violin was not again +heard.</p> + +<p>Sunday came at last, and she could claim her privilege +of going home. She arrived at Acacia Villas with her +heart in a tumult. How much she would have to tell +Wyndham! It was in her power to make him happy, to +relieve his heart of its worst load.</p> + +<p>Cherry alone was in the kitchen when she arrived, and +Cherry was in a very snappish humor.</p> + +<p>"No, Esther, I don't know where uncle is. He's not +often at home now. I hear say that Mr. Paget is very bad—gone +in the head you know. They'll have to put him +into an asylum, and that'll be a good thing for poor uncle. +Take off your bonnet and cloak, Esther, and have a cup of +tea cosy-like. I'm learning one of Macaulay's Lays now +for a recitation. Maybe you'd hear me a few of the stanzas +when you're drinking your tea."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Cherry, dear, but I want to go up to Brother +Jerome first. I can see him while you're getting the kettle +to boil. I've a little parcel here which I want him to take +down to Sister Josephine to the Mission House to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Cherry laughed in a half-startled way.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Don't I know what?"</p> + +<p>"Why Brother Jerome ain't here; he went out on Tuesday +evening and never came home. I thought, for sure, +uncle would have gone and told you."</p> + +<p>"Never came home since Tuesday? No, I didn't hear."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span></p> +<p>Esther sat down and put her hand to her heart. Her +face was ghastly.</p> + +<p>"I knew it," murmured Cherry under her breath. "She +have gone and fallen in love with a chap from one of them +slums."</p> + +<p>Aloud she said in a brisk tone:—</p> + +<p>"Yes, he's gone. I don't suppose there's much in it. +He were tired of the attic, that's all. I sleep easy of nights +now. No more pacing the boards overhead, nor hack, hack, +hack coughing fit to wake the seven sleepers. What's the +matter, Esther?"</p> + +<p>"You are the most heartless girl I ever met," said Esther. +"No, I don't want your tea."</p> + +<p>She tied her bonnet strings and left the house without +glancing at her crestfallen cousin.</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p>That very same afternoon, as Mrs. Wyndham was sitting +in her bedroom, trying to amuse baby, who was in a slightly +refractory humor, there came a sudden message for her. +One of the maids came into the room with the information +that Helps was downstairs and wanted to speak to her +directly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wyndham had not left her room since Tuesday +evening. There was nothing apparently the matter with +her, and yet all through the week her pulse had beat too +quickly, and a hectic color came and went on her cheeks. +She ate very little, she slept badly, and the watchful +expression in her eyes took from their beauty and gave +them a strained appearance. She did not know herself +why she was watchful, or what she was waiting for, but she +was consciously nervous and ill at ease.</p> + +<p>When the maid brought the information that Helps was +downstairs, her mistress instantly started to her feet, almost +pushing the astonished and indignant baby aside.</p> + +<p>"Take care of Master Gerry," she said to the girl. "I +will go and speak to Mr. Helps; where is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> he?"</p> + +<p>"I showed him into the study, ma'am."</p> + +<p>Valentine ran downstairs; her eagerness and impatience +and growing presentiment that something was at hand +increased with each step she took. She entered the study, +and said in a brusque voice, and with a bright color in her +cheeks:—</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Paget has sent me to you, Mrs. Wyndham," said +Helps, in his uniformly weak tones. "Mr. Paget is ill, and +he wants to see you at once."</p> + +<p>Valentine stepped back a pace.</p> + +<p>"My father!" she said. "But he knows I do not care +to go to the house."</p> + +<p>"He knows that fact very well, Mrs. Wyndham."</p> + +<p>"Still he sent for me?"</p> + +<p>"He did, madam."</p> + +<p>"Is my father worse than usual?"</p> + +<p>"In some ways he is worse—in some better," replied +Helps in a dubious sort of voice. "If I were you I'd come. +Miss Valentine—Mrs. Wyndham, I mean."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Helps, I'll come; I'll come instantly. Will you +fetch a cab for me?"</p> + +<p>"There's one waiting at the door, ma'am."</p> + +<p>"Very well. I won't even go upstairs. Fetch me my +cloak from the stand in the hall, will you? Now I am +ready."</p> + +<p>The two got into the cab and drove away. No one in +the house even knew that they had gone.</p> + +<p>When they arrived at Queen's Gate, Helps still took the +lead.</p> + +<p>"Is my father in the library?" asked the daughter.</p> + +<p>"No, Mrs. Wyndham. Mr. Paget has been in his room +for the last day or two. I'll take you to him, if you please, +at once."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></p> +<p>"Thank you, Helps."</p> + +<p>Valentine left her cloak in the hall, and followed the old +servant upstairs.</p> + +<p>"Here's Mrs. Wyndham," said Helps, opening the door +of the sick man's room, and then shutting it and going +away himself.</p> + +<p>"Here's Valentine," said Mrs. Wyndham, coming forward. +"I did not know you were so ill, father."</p> + +<p>He was dressed, and sitting in a chair. She went up to +him and laid her hand gravely on his arm.</p> + +<p>"You have come, Valentine, you have come. Kneel +down by me. Let me look at you. Valentine, you have +come."</p> + +<p>"I have come."</p> + +<p>Never did hungrier eyes look into hers.</p> + +<p>"Kiss me."</p> + +<p>She bent forward at once, and pressed a light kiss on his +cheek.</p> + +<p>"Don't do it again," he said.</p> + +<p>He put up his hand and rubbed the place that her lips +had touched.</p> + +<p>"There's no love in a kiss like that. Don't give me such +another."</p> + +<p>"You are ill, father; I did not know you were so very +ill," replied his daughter in the quiet voice in which she +would soothe a little child.</p> + +<p>"I am ill in mind, Valentine, and sometimes my mind +affects my body. It did for the last few days. This afternoon +I'm better—I mean I am better in mind, and I sent +for you that I might get the thing over."</p> + +<p>"What thing, father?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind for a moment or two. You used to be so +fond of me, little Val."</p> + +<p>"I used—truly I used!"</p> + +<p>The tears filled her <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span>eyes.</p> + +<p>"I thought you'd give me one of the old kisses."</p> + +<p>"I can't. Don't ask it."</p> + +<p>"Is your love dead, child, quite dead?"</p> + +<p>"Don't ask."</p> + +<p>"My God," said the sick man; "her love is dead before +she knows—even before she knows. What a punishment +is here?"</p> + +<p>A queer light filled his eyes; Valentine remembered that +whispers had reached her with regard to her father's sanity. +She tried again to soothe him.</p> + +<p>"Let us talk common-places; it does not do every +moment to gauge one's feelings. Shall I tell you about +baby?"</p> + +<p>"No, no; don't drag the child's name into the conversation +of this hour. Valentine, one of two things is about +to happen to me. I am either going to die or to become +quite hopelessly mad. Before either thing happens I have +a confession to make."</p> + +<p>"Confession? Father!"</p> + +<p>Her face grew very white.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I want to confess to you. It won't pain me so +much as it would have done had any of your love for me +survived. It is right you should know. I have not the +least doubt when you do know you will see justice done. +Of late you have not troubled yourself much about my +affairs. Perhaps you do not know that I have practically +retired from my business, and that I have taken steps to +vest the whole concern absolutely in your hands. When +you know all you will probably sell it; but that is your +affair. I shall either be in my grave or a madhouse, so it +won't concern me. If any fragment of money survives +afterwards—I mean after you have done what you absolutely +consider just—you must hold it in trust for your son. Now +I am ready to begin. What is the matter, Valentine?"</p> + +<p>"Only that you frighten me very much. I have not been +quite—quite well lately. Do you mind my fetching a +chair?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I did not know you were ill, child. Yes, take that +chair. Oh, Valentine, for you my love was true."</p> + +<p>"Father, don't let us go back to that subject. Now I +am ready. I will listen. What have you got to say?"</p> + +<p>"In the first place, I am perfectly sane at this moment."</p> + +<p>"I am sure of that."</p> + +<p>"Now listen. Look away from me, Valentine, while I +speak. That is all I ask."</p> + +<p>Valentine slightly turned her chair; her trembling and +excitement had grown and grown.</p> + +<p>"I am ready. Don't make the story longer than you +can help," she said in a choked voice.</p> + +<p>"Years and years ago, child, before you were born, I +was a happy man. I was honorable then and good; I was +the sort of man I pretended to be afterwards. I married +your mother, who died at your birth. I had loved your +mother very dearly. After her death you filled her place. +Soon you did more than fill it; you were everything to me; +you gave early promise of being a more spirited and brilliant +woman than your mother. I lived for you; you were +my whole and entire world.</p> + +<p>"Before your birth, Valentine, a friend, a great friend of +mine, left me a large sum of money. He was dying at the +time he made his will; his wife was in New Zealand; he +thought it possible that she might soon give birth to a child. +If the child lived, the money was to be kept in trust for it +until its majority. If it died it was to be mine absolutely. +I may as well tell you that my friend's wife was a very +worthless woman, and he was determined she should have +nothing to say to the money. He died—I took possession—a +son was born. I knew this fact, but I was hard +pressed at the time, and I stole the money.</p> + +<p>"My belief was that neither the child nor the mother +could ever trace the money. Soon I was disappointed. I +received a letter from the boy's mother which showed m<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>e +that she knew all, and although not a farthing could be +claimed until the lad came of age, then I must deliver to +him the entire sum with interest.</p> + +<p>"From that moment my punishment began. The trust +fund, with interest, would amount to eighty thousand +pounds. Even if I made myself a beggar I could not restore +the whole of this great sum. If I did not restore it +at the coming of age of this young man, I should be +doomed to a felon's cell, and penal servitude. I looked +into your face; you loved me then; you worshipped me. +I idolized you. I resolved that disgrace and ruin should +not touch you.</p> + +<p>"Helps and I between us concocted a diabolical plot. +Helps was like wax in my hands; he had helped me to +appropriate the money; he knew my secrets right through. +We made the plot, and waited for results. I took you into +society, I wanted you to marry. My object was that you +should marry a man whom you did not love. Wyndham +came on the scene; he seemed a weak sort of fellow—weak, +pliable—passionately in love with you—cursedly +poor. Did you speak, Valentine?"</p> + +<p>"No; you must make this story brief, if you please."</p> + +<p>"It can be told in a few more words. I thought I could +make Wyndham my tool. I saw that his passion for you +blinded him to almost everything. Otherwise, he was the +most selfless person I ever met. I saw that his unselfishness +would make him strong to endure. His overpowering +love for you would induce him to sacrifice everything for +present bliss. Such a combination of strength and weakness +was what I had been looking for. I told Helps that I had +found my man. Helps did not like it; he had taken an +insane fancy for the fellow. What is the matter, Valentine? +How you fidget."</p> + +<p>"You had better be brief. My patience is nearly exhausted."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span></p> +<p>"I am very brief. I spoke to Wyndham. I made my +bargain; he was to marry you. Before marriage, with the +plausible excuse that the insurance was to be effected by +way of settlement, I paid premiums for insurances on the +young man's life for eighty thousand pounds. I insured +his life in four offices. You were married. He knew +what he had undertaken, and everything went well, except +for one cursed fact—you learned to love the fellow. I nearly +went mad when I saw the love for him growing into your +eyes. He was to sail on board the <i>Esperance</i>. He knew, +and I knew that he was never coming back. He was to +feign death. Our plans were made carefully. I was to +receive a proper certificate, and with that in my hand I +could claim the insurance money. Thus he was to save +you and me from dishonor, which is worse than death.</p> + +<p>"All our plans were laid. I waited for news. Valentine, +you make me strangely nervous. What is the +matter with you, child? Are you going to faint?"</p> + +<p>"No—no—no! Go on—go on! Don't speak to me—don't +address me again by my name. Just go on, or I——Oh. +God, I am a desperate woman! Go on, I must hear +the end."</p> + +<p>As Valentine grew excited her father became cool and +quiet: he waited until she had done speaking, then +dropping his head he continued his narrative in a dreary +monotone.</p> + +<p>"I waited for news—it was long in coming. At last it +arrived on the day my grandson was born. Wyndham had +outwitted me. He could not bear the load of a living death. +Shame on him. He could take his bliss, but not his punishment. +He leaped overboard the <i>Esperance</i>—he committed +suicide."</p> + +<p>"What? No, never. Don't dare to say such words."</p> + +<p>"I must say them, although they are cruel. He committed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> +suicide, and then he came to haunt me; he knew +that his blood would rest on my soul; he knew how best +to torture me for what I had done to him."</p> + +<p>"One question. Was the insurance money paid?"</p> + +<p>"Was it? Yes. I believe so. That part seemed all of +minor importance afterwards. But I believe it was paid. +I think Helps saw to it."</p> + +<p>"You believe that my husband committed suicide, and +yet you allowed the insurance offices to pay."</p> + +<p>"What of that? No one else knew my thoughts."</p> + +<p>"As you say, what of that? Is your story finished?"</p> + +<p>"Nearly. I lost your love, and for the last three years +I have been haunted by Wyndham. I see his shadow +everywhere. Once I met him in the street. A few nights +ago he came into the library and confronted me; he spoke +to me and tried to touch me; he pretended he was not +dead."</p> + +<p>"What night was that?"</p> + +<p>Valentine's voice had changed; there was a new ring in +it. Her father roused himself from his lethargic attitude to +look into her face. "What night did my husband come to +you?"</p> + +<p>"I forget—no, I remember. It was Tuesday night."</p> + +<p>"Did he carry a violin? Speak—did he?"</p> + +<p>"He carried something. It may have been a violin. +Do they use such instruments in the other world? He was +a spirit, you know, child. How queer, how very queer you +look!"</p> + +<p>"I feel queer."</p> + +<p>"He wanted me to touch him, child, but I wouldn't. I +was too knowing for that. If you touch a spirit you must +go with him. No, no, I knew a thing worth two of that. +He went on telling me he was alive. But I knew better, +he couldn't take me in. Valentine, everything seems so +far away. Valentine, I am faint, faint. Ah, there he is +again by the door. Look! No, he must not touch me—he +must not!"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span></p> +<p>Valentine glanced round. There was no one present. +Then she rang the bell. It was answered by the old housekeeper.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Marsh, my father is ill. Will you give him some +restorative at once? And send for the doctor, if necessary. +I must go, but I'll come back if possible to-night."</p> + +<p>She left the room without glancing at the sick man, who +followed her to the door with his dim eyes. She went +downstairs, put on her cloak and left the house.</p> + +<p>She had to walk a little distance before she met a hansom, +and one or two people stared at the tall, slim figure, +which was still young and girlish, but which bore on its +proud face such a hard expression, such a burning defiant +light in the eyes. Valentine soon reached home. Everything +was in a whirl in her brain. Esther Helps was standing +on the steps. She flew to Esther, clasped her hands +in a grasp of iron, and said in a husky choked voice:—</p> + +<p>"Esther, my husband is alive!"</p> + +<p>"He is, dear madam, he is, and I have come to take +you to him!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Esther, thank God!"</p> + +<p>"Come indoors, madam, you have not a moment to lose. +We will keep that cab, if you please. I have only just +come back. I was going to seek you. Stay one moment. +Mrs. Wyndham. You are in black; will you put on your +white dress—the one you wore on Tuesday night."</p> + +<p>"Oh, what does it matter? Let me go to him."</p> + +<p>"Little things sometimes matter a great deal; he saw +you last in your white dress."</p> + +<p>"He was really there on Tuesday night?"</p> + +<p>"He was there. Come, I will fly for the dress and put +it on you."</p> + +<p>She did so. Valentine put her <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span>cloak over it, and the +two drove away in the hansom. Valentine had no ears for +the direction given to the cabman.</p> + +<p>"I am in heaven," she said once, under her breath. +"He lives. Now I can forgive my father!"</p> + +<p>"Madam, your husband is very ill."</p> + +<p>Valentine turned her great shining eyes towards Esther.</p> + +<p>"All the better. I can nurse him," she said, with a smile, +and then she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head +and did not speak another word.</p> + +<p>The cab drew up at one of the entrances to St. Thomas' +Hospital.</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LI.</h2> + + +<p>"What place is this?" asked the wife.</p> + +<p>She was unacquainted with hospitals and sickness.</p> + +<p>"This is a place where they cure the sick, and succour +the dying, dear Mrs. Wyndham," gently remarked Esther +Helps.</p> + +<p>"They cure the sick here, do they? But I will cure +my husband myself. I know the way." She smiled. +"Take me to him, Esther. How slow you are. Beloved +Esther—I don't thank you—I have no words to say thank +you—but my heart is so happy I think it will burst."</p> + +<p>The porter came forward, then a nurse. Several ceremonies +had to be gone through, several remarks made, +several questions asked. Valentine heard and saw nothing. +Esther helped Valentine to take off her cloak; and she +stood in her simple long plain white dress, with her bright +hair like a glory round her happy face.</p> + +<p>The nurse who finally conducted them to the ward where +Wyndham lay looked at her in a sort of bewilderment. +Esther and the nurse went first, and Valentine slowly followed +between the long rows of beds; some of the men +said afterwards that an angel had gone through the ward +on the night that the strolling minstrel, poor fellow, died. +The sister who had charge of the ward turned and whispered +a word to Esther, then she pushed aside a screen +which surrounded one of the beds.</p> + +<p>"Your husband is very ill," she said, looking with a world +of pity into Valentine's bright eyes. "You ought to be +prepared; he is <i>very</i> ill."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I am quite prepared. I have come to cure +him."</p> + +<p>Then she went inside the screen, and Esther and the +nurse remained without.</p> + +<p>Wyndham was lying with his eyes closed; his sunken +cheeks, his deathly pallor, his quick and hurried breath +might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> have prepared the young wife for the worst. They +did not. She stood for a moment at the foot of the bed, +her hands clasped in ecstasy, her eyes shining, a wonderful +smile bringing back the beauty to her lips. Then she +came forward and lay gently down by the side of the dying +man. She slipped her hand under his head and laid her +cheek to his.</p> + +<p>"At last, Gerald," she said, "at last you have come +back! You didn't die. You are changed, greatly changed; +but you didn't die, Gerald."</p> + +<p>He opened his eyes and looked her full in the face.</p> + +<p>"Valentine!"</p> + +<p>"Hush, you are too weak to talk. Stay quiet, I am with +you. I will nurse you back to strength. Oh, my darling, +you didn't die."</p> + +<p>"Your darling, Valentine? Did you call me your darling?"</p> + +<p>"I said it. I say it. You are all the world to me; without +you the world is empty. Oh, how I love you—how I have +loved you for years."</p> + +<p>"Then it was good I didn't die," said Wyndham, he +raised his eyes, looked up and smiled. His smile was one +of ecstasy.</p> + +<p>"Of course it was good that you didn't die, and now +you are going to get well. Lie still. Do you like my +hand under your head?"</p> + +<p>"Like it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; you need not tell me. Let me talk to you; +don't answer me. Gerald, my father told me. He told +me what he had done; he told me what you had done. +He wants me to forgive him, but I'm not going to forgive +him. I'll never forgive him, Gerald. I have ceased to +love him, and I'll never forgive him; all my love is for +you."</p> + +<p>"Not all, wife—not quite all. Give him back a little, +and—forgive."</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span></p> +<p>"How weak you are, Gerald, and your voice sounds +miles away."</p> + +<p>"Forgive him, Valentine."</p> + +<p>"Yes, if you wish it. Lie still, darling."</p> + +<p>"Valentine—that money."</p> + +<p>"I know about it—that blood-money. The price of your +precious life. It shall be paid back at once."</p> + +<p>"Then God will forgive me. I thank Him, unspeakably."</p> + +<p>"Gerald, you are very weak. I can scarcely hear your +words. Does it tire you dreadfully to talk? See, I will +hold your hand; when you are too tired to speak your fingers +can press mine. Gerald, you were outside our house +on Tuesday night. Yes, I feel the pressure of your hand; +you were there. Gerald, you were very unhappy that +night."</p> + +<p>"But not now, darling," replied Wyndham. He had +found his voice; his words came out with sudden strength +and joy. "I made a mistake that night, wife. I won't +tell it to you. I made a mistake."</p> + +<p>"And you are really quite, quite happy now."</p> + +<p>"Happy! Sorrow is put behind me—the former things +are done away."</p> + +<p>"You will be happier still when you come home to baby +and me."</p> + +<p>"You'll come to me, Val; you and the boy."</p> + +<p>"What do you say? I can't hear you."</p> + +<p>"You'll come to me."</p> + +<p>"I am with you."</p> + +<p>"You'll come—<i>up</i>—to me."</p> + +<p>Then she began to understand.</p> + +<p>Half-an-hour later the nurse and Esther drew the screen +aside and came in. Valentine's face was nearly as white +as Wyndham's. She did not see the two as they came in. +Her eyes were fixed on her husband's, her hand still held +his.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p> +<p>"He wants a stimulant," said the nurse.</p> + +<p>She poured something out of a bottle and put it between +the dying man's lips. He opened his eyes when she did +this, and looked at Valentine.</p> + +<p>"Are you still there? Hold my hand."</p> + +<p>"Do you think I would let it go? I have been wanting +this hand to clasp mine for <i>so</i> long, oh, for <i>so</i> long."</p> + +<p>The nurse again put some stimulant between Gerald's +lips.</p> + +<p>"You must not tire his strength, madam," she said. +"Even emotion, even joyful emotion is more than he can +bear just now."</p> + +<p>"Is it, nurse? Then I will sit quiet, and not speak. I +don't mind how long I stay, nor how quiet I keep, if only +I can save him. Nurse, I know he is very ill, but, but——"</p> + +<p>Her lips quivered, and her eyes, dry and bright and hungry, +were fixed on the nurse. Wyndham, too, was looking +at the nurse with a question written on his face. She bent +down low, and caught his faint whisper.</p> + +<p>"Your husband bids you hope," she said then, turning +to Valentine. "He bids you take courage; he bids you +to have the best hope of all—the hope eternal. Madam, +when you clasp hands up there you need not part."</p> + +<p>"Did you tell her to say that to me, Gerald?" asked +the wife. "Oh, no, you couldn't have told her to say +those words. Oh, no, you love me too well to go away."</p> + +<p>"God loves you, Valentine," suddenly said Gerald. +"God loves <i>you</i>, and He loves me, and His eternal love +will surround us. I up there, you here. In that love we +shall be one."</p> + +<p>Only the nurse knew with what difficulty Wyndham +uttered these words, but Valentine saw the light in his +eyes. She bowed her head on his thin hand, her lips kissed +it—she did not speak.</p> + +<p>To the surpris<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span>e of the sister who had charge of the ward. +Wyndham lingered on for hours—during the greater part +of the night. Valentine and Esther never left him. Esther +sat a little in the shadow where her pale face could scarcely +be seen. If she felt personal grief she kept it under. The +chief actors in the tragedy, the cruelly-wronged husband +and wife, absorbed all her thoughts. No, she had no time, +no room, to think of herself.</p> + +<p>Wyndham was going—Brother Jerome would no longer +be known in the streets of East London; the poor, the +sorrowful, would grieve at not seeing his face again. The +touch of his hand could no longer comfort—the light in his +eyes could no longer bless. The Mission would have to do +without Brother Jerome—this missioner was about to +render up his account to the Judge of all.</p> + +<p>The little attic in Acacia Villas would also be empty; +the tired man would not need the few comforts that Esther +had collected round him—the tiresome cough, the weary +restless step would cease to disturb Cherry's rest, and +Esther's chief object in life would be withdrawn.</p> + +<p>He who for so long was supposed to be dead would be +dead in earnest. Valentine would be a real widow, little +Gerald truly an orphan.</p> + +<p>All these thoughts thronged through Esther's mind as +she sat in the shadow behind the screen and listened to +the chimes outside as they proclaimed the passing time, +and the passing away also of a life.</p> + +<p>Every moment lives of men go away—souls enter the +unknown country. Some go with regret, some with rejoicing. +In some cases there are many left behind to +sorrow—in other cases no one mourns.</p> + +<p>Wyndham had sinned, he had yielded to temptation; he +had been weak—a victim it is true—still a victim who with +his eyes open had done a great wrong. Yet Esther felt +that for some at least it was a good thing that Wyndham +was born.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span></p> +<p>"I, for one, thank God that I knew him," she murmured. +"He has caused me suffering, but he has raised me. I +thank God that I was permitted to know such a man. The +world would, I suppose, speak of him as a sinner, but to +my way of thinking, if ever there was a saint he is one."</p> + +<p>So the night passed on, and Valentine remained motionless +by the dying man's bed. What her thoughts were, +none might read.</p> + +<p>At last, towards the break of day, the time when so many +souls go away, Wyndham stirred faintly and opened his +eyes. Valentine moved forward with an eager gesture. He +looked at her, but there was no comprehension in his glance.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter?" said Valentine to the nurse. "I +scarcely know him—his face has altered."</p> + +<p>"It looks young, madam. Dying faces often do so. +Hark, he is saying something."</p> + +<p>"Lilias," said Wyndham. "Lilly—mother calls us—we +are to sing our evening hymn.</p> + +<p> +'Bright in the happy land!'<br /> +</p> + +<p>Lilias, do you <i>hear</i> mother; she is calling? Kneel down—our +evening prayers—by mother—we always say our +prayers by mother's knee. Kneel, Lilias, see, my hands are +folded—'Our Father'——"</p> + +<p>There was a long pause after the last words, a pause +followed by one more breath of infinite content, and then +the nurse closed the dead man's eyes.</p> + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span></p> +<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>CHAPTER LII.</h2> + +<h4>TWO YEARS AFTER.</h4> + + +<p>Augusta Wyndham was pacing up and down the broad +gravel walk which ran down the centre of the rectory garden +in a state of great excitement. She was walking quickly, +her hands clasped loosely before her, her tall and rather +angular figure drawn up to its full height, her bright black +eyes alert and watchful in their expression.</p> + +<p>"Now, if only they are not interrupted," she said, "if +only I can keep people from going near the rose-walk, he'll +do it—I know he'll do it—I saw it in his eyes when he +came up and asked me where Lilias was. He hasn't been +here for six months, and I had given up all hope; but hope +has revived to-day—hope springs eternal in the human +breast. Tra la, la—la, la. Now, Gerry, boy, what do you +want?"</p> + +<p>A sturdy little fellow in a sailor suit stood for a moment +in the porch of the old rectory, then ran with a gleeful +shout down the gravel walk towards Augusta. She held +out her arms to detain him.</p> + +<p>"Well caught, Gerry," she said.</p> + +<p>"It isn't well caught," he replied with an angry flush. "I +don't want to stay with you, Auntie Gussie; I want to go +to my—my own auntie. Let me pass, please."</p> + +<p>"You saucy boy, auntie's busy; you shall stay with me."</p> + +<p>"I won't. I'll beat you—I won't stay."</p> + +<p>"If I whisper something to you, Gerry—something about +Auntie Lil. Now be quiet, mannikin, and let me say my +say. You love Auntie Lil, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"You know that; you do talk nonsense sometimes. I +love father in heaven, and mother, and Auntie Lil."</p> + +<p>"And me, you little wretch."</p> + +<p>"Sometimes. Let me go to Auntie Lil n<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span>ow."</p> + +<p>"I want to whisper something to you, Gerry. Auntie +Lil is talking to someone she loves much better than you +or me or anyone else in the world, and it would be very +unkind to interrupt her."</p> + +<p>Gerry was sitting on Augusta's shoulder. From this +elevated position he could catch a glimpse of a certain +grey dress, and a quick flash of chestnut hair, as the sun +shone on it—that dress and that hair belonged to Auntie +Lil. It was no matter at all to Gerry that someone else +walked by her side, that someone was bending his dark +head somewhat close to hers, and that as she listened her +steps faltered and grew slow.</p> + +<p>Gerry's whole soul was wounded by Augusta's words. +His Aunt Lilias did not love anyone better than him. It +was his bounden duty, his first duty in life, to have such +an erroneous statement put right at once.</p> + +<p>He put forth all his strength, struggled down from Augusta's +shoulders, and before she was aware of it was speeding +like an arrow from a bow to his target, Lilias.</p> + +<p>"There, now, I give it up," said Augusta. "Awful child, +what mischief may he not make? Don't I hear his shrill +voice even here! Oh, I give it up now; I shall go into +the house. The full heat of the sun in July does not suit +me, and if in addition to all other troubles Lilias is to have +a broken heart, I may as well keep in sufficient health to +nurse her."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Gerry was having a very comfortable time +on Carr's shoulder; his dark eyes were looking at his +Aunt Lilias, and his little fat, hot hand was clasped in hers.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said suddenly, "which is it?"</p> + +<p>"Which is what, Gerry? I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"I think you are stoopid, Auntie Lil. Is it him or +me?"</p> + +<p>Then he laid his other fat hand on Carr's forehead.</p> + +<p>"Is it him or me?" said Gerry, "that you lo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span>ve the +most of all the peoples in the world?"</p> + +<p>"It's me, Gerry, it's me," suddenly said Adrian Carr; +"but you come next, dear little man. Kiss him, Lilias, and +tell him that he comes next."</p> + +<p>"Gerald's dear little boy," said Lilias. She took him in +her arms and pressed her head against his chubby neck.</p> + +<p>"Dear, dear little boy," she said. "I think you'll always +come second."</p> + +<p>She looked so solemn when she spoke, and so beautiful +was the light in her eyes when she raised her face to look +at Gerry, that even he, most despotic of little mortals, +could not but feel satisfied.</p> + +<p>He ran away presently to announce to all and everyone +within reach that Mr. Carr had kissed Auntie Lil like anything, +and the newly-betrothed pair were left alone.</p> + +<p>"At last, Lilias," said Carr.</p> + +<p>She looked shyly into his face.</p> + +<p>"I thought I should never win you," he continued. "I +have loved you for years, and I never had courage to tell +you so until to-day."</p> + +<p>"And I have loved you for years," replied Lilias Wyndham.</p> + +<p>"But not best, Lilly. Oh, I have read you like a book. +I never came before Gerald in your heart."</p> + +<p>"No," she said letting go his hand, and moving a step +or two away, so that she should face him. "I love you +well, beyond all living men, but Gerald stands alone. His +place can never be filled."</p> + +<p>The tears sprang into her eyes and rolled down her +cheeks.</p> + +<p>"And I love you better for loving him so, my darling," +answered her lover. He put his arms round her, and she +laid her head on his breast.</p> + +<p>For a long time they paced up and down the Rose-walk. +They had much to say, much to feel, much to be silent +over. The air was balmy overhead, and the rose-leaves +were tossed by the light summer breeze against Lilias'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> grey +dress.</p> + +<p>Presently she began to talk of the past. Carr asked +tenderly for Valentine.</p> + +<p>"Valentine is so noble," replied her sister-in-law. "You +don't know what she has been to me since that day when +she and I looked together at Gerald's dead face. Oh, that +day, that dreadful day!"</p> + +<p>"It is past, Lilias. Think of the future, the bright +future, and he is in that brightness now."</p> + +<p>"I know."</p> + +<p>She wiped the tears again from her eyes. Then she continued +in a changed voice:—</p> + +<p>"I will try and forget that day, which, as you say, is +behind Gerald and me. At the time I could scarcely think +of myself. I was so overcome with the wonderful brave +way in which Valentine acted. You know her father died +a month afterwards, and she was so sweet to him. She +nursed him day and night, and did all that woman could +do to comfort and forgive him. His brain was dreadfully +clouded, however, and he died at last in a state of unconsciousness. +Then Valentine came out in a new light. She +went to the insurance offices and told the whole story of +the fraud that had been practised on them, and of her +husband's part in it. She told the story in such a way that +hard business men, as most of these men were, wept. +Then she sold her father's great shipping business, which +had all been left absolutely to her, and paid back every +penny of the money.</p> + +<p>"Since then, as you know, she and Gerry live here. She +is really the idol of my old father's life; he and she are +scarcely ever parted. Yes, she is a noble woman. When I +look at her I say to myself, Gerald, at least, did not love +unworthily."</p> + +<p>"Then she is poor now?"</p> + +<p>"As the world speaks of poverty she is poor. Do you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span> +think Valentine minds that? Oh, how little her father understood +her when he thought that riches were essential to +her happiness. No one has simpler tastes than Valentine. +Do you know that she housekeeps now at the rectory, and +we are really much better off than we used to be. Alack +and alas! Adrian, you ought to know in time, I am such +a bad housekeeper."</p> + +<p>Lilias laughed quite merrily as she spoke, and Carr's dark +face glowed.</p> + +<p>"It is a bargain," he said, "that I take you with your +faults and don't reproach you with them. And what has +become of that fine creature, Esther Helps?" he asked +presently.</p> + +<p>"She works in East London, and comes here for her +holidays. Sometimes I think Valentine loves Esther Helps +better than anyone in the world after Gerry."</p> + +<p>"That is scarcely to be wondered at, is it?"</p> + +<p>Just then their conversation was interrupted by some +gleeful shouts, and the four little girls, no longer so very +small, came flying round the corner in hot pursuit of +Gerry.</p> + +<p>"Here they is!" exclaimed the small tyrant, gazing +round at his devoted subjects, and pointing with a lofty and +condescending air to Adrian and Lilias. "Here they is!" +he said, "and I 'spose they'll do it again if we ask them."</p> + +<p>"Do what again?" asked Lilias innocently.</p> + +<p>"Why, kiss one another," replied Gerry. "I saw you +do it, so don't tell stories. Joan and Betty they wouldn't +believe me. Please do it again, please do. Mr. Carr, +please kiss Auntie Lil again."</p> + +<p>"Oh, fie, Gerry," replied Lilias. She tried to turn away, +but Carr went up to her gravely, and he kissed her brow.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing in it," he continued, looking round at +the astonished little girls. "We are going to be husband +and wife in a week or two, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> husbands and wives always +kiss one another."</p> + +<p>"Then I was right," said Betty. "Joan and Rosie +wouldn't believe me, but I was right after all. I am glad +of that."</p> + +<p>"I believed you, Betty. I always believed you," said +Violet.</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps you did. The others didn't. I'm glad +I was right."</p> + +<p>"How were you right, Betty?" asked Carr.</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't ask her, Adrian. Let us come into the +house," interrupted Lilias.</p> + +<p>"Yes, we'll come into the house, of course. But I should +like to know how Betty was right."</p> + +<p>"Why you wanted to kiss her years ago. I knew it, and +I said it. Didn't you, now?"</p> + +<p>"Speak the trufe," suddenly commanded Gerry.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did," replied Carr.</p> + +<p>When Adrian Carr left the rectory that evening he had +to walk down the dusty road which led straight past the +church and the little village school-house to the railway +station. This road was full of associations to him, and he +walked slowly, thinking of past scenes, thanking God for +his present blessings.</p> + +<p>"It was here, by the turnstile, I first saw Lilias," he +said to himself. "She and Marjory were standing together, +and she came forward and looked at me, and asked me in +that sweet voice of hers if I were not Mr. Carr. She +reminded me of her brother, whom I just barely knew. It +was a fleeting likeness, seen more at first than afterwards.</p> + +<p>"Here, by this little old school-house the villagers stood +and rejoiced the last day Gerald came home. Poor Wyndham—most +blessed and most miserable of men. Well, he is +at rest now, and even here I see the cross which throws a +shadow over his grave!"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span></p> +<p>Carr looked at his watch. There was time. He entered +the little church-yard. A green mound, a white cross, +several wreaths of flowers, marked the spot where one who +had been much loved in life lay until the resurrection. The +cross was so placed as to bend slightly over the grave as +though to protect it. It bore a very brief inscription:—</p> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">In Peace.</span><br /> +<br /> +<big>GERALD WYNDHAM.</big><br /> +<span class="smcap">Aged 27.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 5%;" /> +<p class="center">THE END.</p> + + + +<hr class="double" /> +<h1>JELLY OF CUCUMBER AND ROSES.</h1> + + +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap"><b>MADE BY W.A. DYER & CO., MONTREAL</b></span>, 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. Sold by all Druggists.</p></blockquote> + +<div class="center"> +<b>Agents for United States—<br /> +CASWELL, MASSEY & CO., New York & Newport.</b><br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 40%;" /> +<h1>Teeth Like Pearls!</h1> +<hr style="width: 30%;" /> +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">IS A COMMON EXPRESSION.</span> The way to obtain it, use +Dyer's Arnicated Tooth Paste, fragrant and delicious. +Try it. Druggists keep it.</p></blockquote> + +<div class="center"><b>W.A. DYER & CO., MONTREAL.</b></div> +<hr class="double" /> + +<h1>DR. CHEVALIER'S RED SPRUCE GUM PASTE.</h1> + +<h2>DR. NELSON'S PRESCRIPTION,</h2> + +<p class="center"><i><span class="lg">GOUDRON de NORWEGE</span></i>.</p> + +<h4>ARE THE BEST REMEDIES</h4> + +<h2>For COUGHS and COLDS.</h2> + +<h5>Insist upon getting one of them.</h5> + +<h3>25c. each.</h3> + +<h5>For Sale by all Respectable Druggists.</h5> + +<h1>LAVIOLETTE & NELSON, Druggists,</h1> +<div class="center"><span class="smcap">AGENTS OF FRENCH PATENTS</span>. <b><big>1605 Notre Dame St.</big></b></div> + +<hr class="double" /> +<p> +<span class="sidenote">Burdock<span class="smcap"> BLOOD BITTERS</span></span> +<span class="sm">THE KEY TO HEALTH unlocks +all the clogged secretions of the Stomach, Liver. +Bowels and Blood, carrying off all humors and +impurities from the entire system, correcting Acidity, +and curing Biliousness, Dyspepsia, Sick Headache. +Constipation, Rheumatism, Dropsy, Dry +Skin, Dizziness, Jaundice, Heartburn, Nervous +and General Debility, Salt Rheum, Erysipelas. +Scrofula, etc. It purifies and eradicates from the +Blood all poisonous humors, from a common +Pimple to the worst Scrofulous Sore.</span> + + +</p> + +<hr class="double" /> + +<h1>DYSPEPSINE!</h1> +<hr class="double" /> +<h4>The Great American Remedy</h4> + +<h2>FOR DYSPEPSIA</h2> + +<h3>In all its forms.</h3> + +<p>As <b>Indigestion</b>, <b>Flatulency</b>, <b>Heartburn</b>, +<b>Waterbrash</b>, <b>Sick-Headache</b>, <b>Constipation</b>, +<b>Biliousness</b>, and all forms of <b>Dyspepsia</b>; regulating +the action of the stomach, and of the digestive organs.</p> +<hr style="width: 30%;" /> +<p class="center"> +Sold by all druggist, 5Oc. a bottle.</p> +<hr style="width: 30%;" /> +<p class="center"><b>Sole Proprietor, WALLACE DAWSON.</b> +<br /> +MONTREAL, CAN., ROUSES POINT, N.Y.<br /> +</p> +<p><br/><br/><br/></p> +<div class="cbox"> +<h1>BOOKS IN "STAR" SERIES.</h1> +<hr style="width: 30%;" /> +<p> +107. LUCK IN DISGUISE, <span class="smcap">by Wm. J. Zexter</span><span class="price2"> .30</span><br /> +108. THE BONDMAN, <span class="smcap">by Hall Caine</span> <span class="price2">.30</span><br /> +109. A MARCH IN THE RANKS, <span class="smcap">by Jessie Fothergill</span> <span class="price2"> .25</span><br /> +110. COSETTE, <span class="smcap">by Katherine S. Macquoid</span> <span class="price2"> .30</span><br /> +111. WHOSE WAS THE HAND? <span class="smcap">by Miss Braddon</span><span class="price2"> .25</span><br /> +112. THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW, <span class="smcap">by Rudyard Kipling</span> <span class="price2"> .25</span><br /> +113. THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, <span class="smcap">by Rudyard Kipling</span> <span class="price2"> .25</span><br /> +114. SOLDIERS THREE, <span class="smcap">and other Tales, by Rudyard Kipling</span> <span class="price2"> .25</span><br /> +115. PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS, <span class="smcap">by Rudyard Kipling</span> <span class="price2"> .25</span><br /> +116. THE DEMONIAC, <span class="smcap">by Walter Besant</span><span class="price2"> .25</span><br /> +117. BRAVE HEART AND TRUE, <span class="smcap">by Florence Marryat</span><span class="price2"> .25</span><br /> +118. WORMWOOD, <span class="smcap">by Marie Corelli</span> <span class="price2">.25</span><br /> +119. GOOD BYE, <span class="smcap">by John Strange Winter</span><span class="price2"> .25</span><br /> +</p> +<hr style="width: 30%;" /> +<h3>For Sale by all Booksellers.</h3></div> +<p><br/><br/><br/></p> + +<h2><i>Scarff's Marshmallow Cream</i></h2> +<blockquote> +<p>For the Skin and Complexion, superior to anything in use +for roughness, or any irritation of the skin, +sunburn, pimples, &c.</p></blockquote> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h3>TRY</h3> + +<h1>HOREHOUND AND HONEY</h1> + +<h2>COUGH BALSAM</h2> + +<p class="center">For Coughs, Colds, &c., Pleasant, Reliable, Effectual.</p> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> + +<h2>SCARFF'S</h2> + +<h1>SAPONACEOUS TOOTH WASH</h1> + +<p class="center">CARBOLATED.</p> + +<p class="center">Is the best preparation for Cleansing, Preserving and<br /> +Beautifying the Teeth and Gums.</p> + +<p class="center">PREPARED BY</p> + +<p class="center">CHAS. E. SCARFF, CHEMIST AND DRUGGIST</p> + +<p class="center"><i>2262 St. Catherine Street, opposite Victoria.</i></p> + +<hr class="double" /> +<h3>CATALOGUE</h3> + +<h3>OF LOVELL'S</h3> + +<h2>CANADIAN COPYRIGHT SERIES</h2> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<blockquote> +<p>All the books in the Copyright Series are by arrangement with +the Authors, to whom a Royalty is paid, and no American reprints can +lawfully be sold in Canada.</p> + +<p> +54. A Hidden Foe, by G.A. Henty <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +53. Lady Maude's Mania, by George Manville Fenn <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +51. A Double Knot, by Geo. Manville Fenn <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +49. Alas, by Rhoda Broughton <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +48. Name and Fame, by Adeline Sergeant <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +47. Marcia, by W.E. Norris <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +46. Black Box Murder, by Maarten Maartens <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +45. Famous or Infamous, by Bertha Thomas <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +44. Heart of Gold, by L.T. Meade <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +43. Lover or Friend, by Rosa Nouchette Carey <span class="price1"> .50</span><br /> +42. The Chief Justice, by Karl Emil Franzos <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +41. Ruffino, by Ouida <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +40. The Moment After, by Robert Buchanan <span class="price1"> .25</span><br /> +39. The Great Mill Street Mystery, by Adeline Sergeant <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +38. A Smuggler's Secret, by Frank Barrett <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +37. A True Friend, by Adeline Sergeant <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +36. A Scarlet Sin, by Florence Marryat <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +35. A Woman's Heart, by Mrs. Alexander <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +34. Her Last Throw, by The Duchess <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +33. The Burnt Million, by James Payn <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +32. Syrlin, by Ouida <span class="price1"> .50</span><br /> +31. The Lady Egeria, by John Berwick Harwood <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +30. By Order of the Czar, by Joseph Hatton <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +29. April's Lady, by The Duchess <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +28. The Firm of Girdlestone, by A. Conan Doyle <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +27. A Girl of the People, by L.T. Meade <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +26. Was Ever Woman in this Humor Wooed? by Charles Gibbon <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +25. The Mynns' Mystery, by George Manville Fenn <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +24. Sylvia Arden, by Oswald Crawford <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +23. Nurse Revel's Mistake, by Florence Warden <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +22. Hester Hepworth, by Kate Tannatt Woods <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +21. Joshua, a Story of Egyptian-Israelitish Life, by Georg Ebers <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +20. Hedri; or, Blind Justice, by Helen Mathers <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +19. Mount Eden, by Florence Marryat <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +18. Earth Born, by Spirito Gentil <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +17. Buttons and Bootles' Baby, by John Strange Winter <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +16. The Haute Noblesse, by George Manville Fenn <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +15. Kit Wyndham; or, Fettered for Life, by Frank Barrett <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +14. The Tree of Knowledge, by G.M. Robins <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +13. Comedy of a Country House, by Julian Sturgis <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +12. A Life Sentence, by Adeline Sergeant <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +11. An I.D.B. in South Africa, by Louise Vescelius Sheldon <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +10. The Curse of Carne's Hold, by G.A. Henty <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +9. That Other Woman, by Annie Thomas <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +8. Jezebel's Friends, by Dora Russell <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +7. Sophy Carmine, by John Strange Winter <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +5. The Luck of the House, by Adeline Sergeant <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +4. The Search for Basil Lyndhurst, by Rosa Nouchette Carey <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +2. The Fatal Phryne, by F.C. Phillips <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +1. The Wing of Azrael, by Mona Caird <span class="price1"> .30</span><br /> +</p></blockquote> + +<p><br /><br /></p> +<p class="center">JOHN LOVELL & SON'S PUBLICATIONS.</p> +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b><i>A Woman's Heart.</i></b></p> <div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">Mrs. Alexander</span>.</div> +<blockquote> +<p>An exciting and dramatically written story, full of woman's<br /> +tenderness and compassion under the most trying circumstances.<br /> +A captivating romance that is as interesting as it is elevating in<br /> +tone.</p> <div class="price"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.<br /></div></blockquote> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b><i>A True Friend.</i></b></p> <div class="author">By <span class="smcap">Adeline Sergeant</span>.</div> +<blockquote> +<p>The portrayal not the exaggeration of a noble character, from<br /> +whom the reader can draw healthy inspiration. </p> <div class="price"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.<br /></div></blockquote> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b><i>A Smuggler's Secret.</i></b> </p> <div class="author">By <span class="smcap">Frank Barrett</span>. </div> +<p><br /></p> +<blockquote><p>An exciting story of the Cornish Coast, full of adventure<br /> +well put together and of a pure tone.</p> <div class="price"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.<br /> </div></blockquote> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b><i>The Great Mill Street Mystery.</i></b></p> <div class="author">By <span class="smcap">Adeline Sergeant</span>.</div> +<p><br /></p> +<blockquote><p>The author is as usual true to life and true to her own noble<br /> +instincts. Added to a feminine perception, Miss Sergeant has a<br /> +dispassionateness and a sense of humor quite rare in her sex.</p> <div class="price"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.<br /> </div></blockquote> +<p><br /></p> +<p><b><i>The Moment After.</i></b></p> <div class="author"> By <span class="smcap">Robert Buchanan</span>.</div> +<p><br /></p> +<blockquote><p>A thrilling story, giving the experience in the hereafter of a<br /> +man who was hanged. It is weird but not revolting.</p> <div class="price"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 25 cents.<br /> </div></blockquote> +<p><b><i><br /> +The Bondman.</i> </b></p> <div class="author">By <span class="smcap">Hall Caine</span>.</div> +<p><br /></p> +<blockquote><p>It is vigorous and faithful, portrays with the intimacy of<br /> +entire acquaintanceship, not only the physical features of island<br /> +life in the Northern Seas, but the insular habits of thought of the<br /> +dwellers on those secluded haunts of the old Sea Kings or Vikings<br /> +of the past.</p> <div class="price"> <span class="smcap">Price</span> 30 cents.<br /> </div></blockquote> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center">JOHN LOVELL & SON, PUBLISHERS, MONTREAL.</p> + +<p><br /><br /></p> + + +<h2>SECOND EDITION.</h2> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h1>"<span class="smcap">A Daughter of St. Peter's</span>"</h1> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By Janet C. Conger.</span><br /> + +(<span class="smcap">Mrs. Wm. Cox Allen.</span>)</p> + +<p class="center"> +In Paper Cover, 30 Cents,<br /> +In Cloth Cover, 50 Cents,<br /> +</p> + +<h2>Lovell's Canadian Authors' Series, No. 60.</h2> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<p>The authoress is a Canadian, and her story is remarkably well told.—<i>Advertiser</i>. +London.</p> + +<p>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.—"<i>Intelligencer</i>," Belleville.</p> + +<p>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 <i>in posse</i>. The other <i>dramatis personæ</i>, 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.—<i>The +Gazette</i>, Montreal.</p> + +<p>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."—<i>Free Press</i>. +London.</p> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<div class="dbox"><br /> + <big>Transcriber's Note:</big><br /><br /> Punctuation has been normalized.<br /><br /> + + Page 66; removed extra "one" (Wyndham was one one).<br /> + Page 336; inserted "be" (lawfully be sold in Canada).<br /><br /> + + The list of titles on page 336 is incomplete in the original,<br /> + i.e. mlssing: 52, 50, etc.<br /><br /> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Life For a Love, by L. T. 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Meade + +Release Date: August 16, 2011 [EBook #37107] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LIFE FOR A LOVE *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Ron Stephens and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions +(www.canadiana.org)) + + + + + + + + + + + + + A LIFE FOR A LOVE. + + A NOVEL + + BY + + L.T. MEADE, + + _Author of "Heart of Gold," "A Girl of the People," + 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. + + + + + +JOHN LOVELL & SON'S PUBLICATIONS. + + +=April's Lady.= By THE DUCHESS. + +A story written in the author's most striking vein, highly original and +deeply interesting, and certainly not the least entertaining of her +works. PRICE 30 cents. + +=By Order of the Czar.= By JOS. HATTON. + +A thrilling story of Russian outrages on the Jews, of Nihilistic +plotting and revenge. It admirably supplements the papers of George +Kennan, which have filled so much of the public eye of late. PRICE 30 +cents. + +=The Lady Egeria.= By JOHN BERWICK HOWARD. + +This book is avowedly of the sensational kind, and of a different class +of fiction from the author's previous story of "Paul Knox. Pitman;" the +dramatic passages and vivid description of Indian life and scenery are +exceptionally fine. PRICE 30 cents. + +=Syrlin.= By OUIDA. + +A tale of London social and political life. A characteristic Ouida +novel, not too highly spiced, and holds the attention throughout. PRICE +30 cents. + +=The Burnt Million.= By JAMES PAYN. + +The delicate suggestive humor and quiet sarcasm, combined with a good +plot, makes every chapter of this book a delight. PRICE 30 cents. + +=Her Last Throw.= By THE DUCHESS. + +Like all the works from the pen of this popular author, this little +book is a gem in the ocean of fiction. PRICE 30 cents. + +=A Scarlet Sin.= By FLORENCE MARRYAT. + +An exceedingly interesting and readable book. PRICE 30 cents. + +=The Haute Noblesse.= By GEO. MANVILLE FENN. + +A cleverly written book, with exceptional characters. The plot and +description of scenery are alike inimitable. PRICE 30 cents. + +=Buttons and Bootles' Baby.= By JOHN STRANGE WINTER. + +Two military tales, abounding in the most grotesque situations and +humorous touches, which will greatly amuse the reader. PRICE 30 cents. + +=Mount Eden.= By FLORENCE MARRYAT. + +A charming romance of English life, and probably the greatest effort of +this popular authoress. PRICE 30 cents. + +=Hedri, or Blind Justice.= By HELEN MATHERS. + +An exciting story in which love plays only a secondary part. 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. + + + + +LOVELL'S CANADIAN COPYRIGHT SERIES OF CHOICE FICTION. + + +The Series now numbers over 60 books, and contains the latest jewels of +such well-known authors as + + Ouida, The Duchess, Geo. Manville Fenn, + Rosa Nouchette Carey, Florence Marryat, + A. Conan Doyle, Georg Ebers, James Payn, + Miss Braddon, Frank Barrett, Mrs. Alexander, + Edna Lyall, Katherine S. Macquoid, G.M. Robins, + G.A. Henty, Adeline Sergeant, Mona Caird, + John Strange Winter, Joseph Hatton, + Dora Russell, Julian Sturgis, + Kate Tannatt Woods, + Florence Warden, Annie Thomas, + W.E. Norris, Helen Mathers, + Jessie Fothergill, Hall Caine, + Oswald Crawfurd, Rhoda Broughton, + F.C. Phillips, Robert Buchanan, + Charles Gibbon, L.T. Meade, John Berwick Harwood, + +From whose pens books have been issued during the past year, and others +now in preparation, make the Series the best in the Dominion. + +The books are printed on good paper with new type. + +All the books are published by arrangement with the authors, to whom a +royalty is paid, and are issued simultaneously with their publication +in England. + +For sale at all Bookstores. + +JOHN LOVELL & SON, PUBLISHERS. MONTREAL. + + + + +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=. + + + + +A LIFE FOR A LOVE. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +The time was July, and the roses were out in great profusion in the +rectory garden. The garden was large, somewhat untidily kept, but it +abounded in all sweet old-fashioned flowers; there was the invariable +tennis-court, empty just now, and a sweet sound of children laughing +and playing together, in a hay-field near by. The roses were showering +their petals all over the grass, and two girls, sisters evidently, were +pacing up the broad walk in the centre of the garden arm-in-arm. They +were dark-eyed girls, with chestnut, curling hair, rosy lips full of +curves and smiles, and round, good-humored faces. They were talking +eagerly and excitedly one to the other, not taking the smallest notice +of the scene around them--not even replying when some children in the +hay-field shouted their names, but coming at last to a full stand-still +before the open window of the old-fashioned rectory study. Two men were +standing under the deep-mullioned window; one tall, slightly bent, with +silvery-white hair, aquiline features, and dark brown eyes like the +girls. He was the Rector of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and the man he was +addressing was his only son, and the brother of the eager +bright-looking girls. + +"I can't understand it, Gerald," he was saying. "No, don't come in at +present, my dears;" he waved his white, delicate hand to his daughters. +"We'll join you in the tennis-court presently. Yes, Gerald, as I was +saying, it seems the most incomprehensible and unheard-of arrangement." + +The girls smiled gently, first into their brother's face, then at one +another. They moved away, going through a little shrubbery, and passing +out into a large kitchen garden, where Betty, the old cook, was now +standing, picking raspberries and currants into a pie-dish. + +"Betty," said Lilias, the eldest girl, "has Martha dusted our trunks +and taken them upstairs yet? And has Susan sent up the laces and the +frilled things? We want to set to work packing, as soon as ever the +children are in bed." + +"Bless your hearts, then," said old Betty, laying her pie-dish on the +ground, and dropping huge ripe raspberries into it with a slow +deliberate movement, "if you think that children will go to bed on the +finest day of the year any time within reason, you're fine and mistook, +that's all. Why, Miss Joey, she was round in the garden but now, and +they're all a-going to have tea in the hay-field, and no end of butter +they'll eat, and a whole batch of my fresh cakes. Oh, weary, weary me, +but children's mouths are never full--chattering, restless, untoward +things are children. Don't you never go to get married, Miss Marjory." + +"I'll follow your example, Betty," laughed back Marjory Wyndham. "I +knew that would fetch the old thing," she continued, turning to her +sister. "She does hate to be reminded that she's an old maid, but she +brings it on herself by abusing matrimony in that ridiculous fashion." + +"It's all because of Gerald," answered Lilias--"she is perfectly wild +to think of Gerald's going away from us, and taking up his abode in +London with those rich Pagets. I call it odious, too--I almost feel +to-night as if I hated Valentine. If Gerald had not fallen in love +with her, things would have been different. He'd have taken Holy +Orders, and he'd have been ordained for the curacy of +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and then he need never have gone away. Oh, I +hate--I detest to think of the rectory without Gerald." + +"Oh, Lilias," replied Marjory, "you really are--you really--you really +are----" + +"What, miss? Speak out, or I'll shake you, or pinch you, or do +something malicious. I warn you that I am quite in the mood." + +"Then I'll stand here," said Marjory, springing to the other side of a +great glowing bed of many-colored sweet-williams. "Here your arm can't +reach across these. I will say of you, Lilias Wyndham, that you are +without exception the most contradictory and inconsistent person of my +acquaintance. Here were you, a year ago, crying and sobbing on your +knees because Gerald couldn't marry Valentine, and now, when it's all +arranged, and the wedding is to be the day after to-morrow, and we have +got our promised trip to London, and those lovely brides-maid +dresses--made by Valentine's own express desire at Elise's--you turn +round and are grumpy and discontented. Don't you know, you foolish +silly Lilias, that if Gerald had never fallen in love with Valentine +Paget he'd have met someone else, and if he was father's curate, those +horrid Mortimer girls and those ugly Pelhams would have one and all +tried to get him. We can't keep Gerald to ourselves for ever, so +there's no use fretting about the inevitable, say I." + +Lilias' full red lips were pouting; she stooped, and recklessly +gathering a handful of sweet-williams, flung them at her sister. + +"I own to being inconsistent," she said, "I own to being cross--I own +to hating Valentine for this night at least, for it just tears my heart +to give Gerald up." + +There were real tears now in the bright, curly-fringed eyes and the +would-be-defiant voice trembled. + +Marjory shook the sweet-william petals off her dress. + +"Come into the house," she said in a softened tone. "Father and Gerald +must have finished that prosy discussion by now. Oh, do hark to those +children's voices; what rampageous, excitable creatures they are. Lilly, +did we ever shout in such shrill tones? That must be Augusta: no one +else has a voice which sounds like the scraping of a coal-scoop in an +empty coal-hod. Oh, of course that high laugh belongs to Joey. Aren't +they feeding, and wrangling, and fighting? I am quite sure, Lil, that +Betty is right, and they won't turn in for hours; we had better go and +do our packing now." + +"No, I see Gerald," exclaimed Lilias. And she flew up the narrow +box-lined path to meet her brother. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +Gerald Wyndham was not in the least like his rosy, fresh-looking +sisters. He was tall and slenderly made, with very thick and rather +light-brown hair, which stood up high over his low, white forehead--his +eyes were large, but were deeply set, they were grey, not brown, in +repose were dreaming in expression, but when he spoke, or when any +special thought came to him, they grew intensely earnest, luminous and +beautiful. The changing expression of his eyes was the chief charm of a +highly sensitive and refined face--a face remarkable in many ways, for +the breadth of his forehead alone gave it character, but with some weak +lines about the finely cut lips. This weakness was now, however, hidden +by a long, silken moustache. Lilias and Marjory thought Gerald's face +the most beautiful in the world, and most people acknowledged him to be +handsome, although his shoulders were scarcely broad enough for his +height, and his whole figure was somewhat loosely hung together. + +"Here you are at last," exclaimed Lilias, linking her hand in her +brother's arm. "Here, take his other arm. Maggie. Oh, when, and oh, +when, and oh, when shall we have him to ourselves again, I wonder?" + +"You little goose," said Gerald. He shook himself as if he were half in +a dream, and looked fondly down into Lilias' pretty dimpled, excitable +face. "Well, girls, are the trunks packed, and have you put in plenty +of finery? I promise you Mr. Paget will give a dinner-party every +night--you'll want heaps of fine clothes while you stay at Queen's +Gate." + +Marjory began to count on her fingers. + +"We arrive on Wednesday," she said. "On Wednesday evening, dinner +number one, we wear our white Indian muslins, with the Liberty sashes, +and flowers brought up from the dear old garden. Thursday evening, +dinner number two, and evening of wedding day, our bridesmaids' toggery +must suffice; Friday, dinner number three, those blue nun's veiling +dresses will appear and charm the eyes. That's all. Three dresses for +three dinners, for it's home, sweet home again on Saturday--isn't it, +Lilias?" + +"Of course," said Lilias, "that is, I suppose so," she added, glancing +at her brother. + +"Valentine wanted to know if you would stay in town for a week or ten +days, and try to cheer up her father," said Gerald. "Mr. Paget and +Valentine have scarcely been parted for a single day since she was +born. Valentine is quite in a state at having to leave him for a month, +and she thinks two bright little girls like you may comfort him +somewhat." + +"But we have our own father to see to," pouted Marjory; "and Sunday +school, and choir practising, and the library books----" + +"And I don't see how Valentine can mind leaving her father--if he were +the very dearest father in the world--when she goes away with you," +interrupted Lilias. + +Gerald sighed, just the faintest shadow of an impatient sigh, +accompanied by the slightest shrug of his shoulders. + +"Augusta can give out the library books," he said. "Miss Queen can +manage the choir. I will ask Jones to take your class, Lilias, and Miss +Peters can manage yours with her own, Marjory. As to the rector, what +is the use of having five young daughters, if they cannot be made +available for once in a way? And here they come, and there's the +governor in the midst of them. He doesn't look as if he were likely to +taste the sweets of solitude, eh, Marjory?" + +Not at that moment, certainly, for a girl hung on each arm, and a +smaller girl sat aloft on each square shoulder, while a fifth shouted +and raced, now in front, now behind, pelting this moving pyramid of +human beings with flowers, and screaming even more shrilly than her +sisters, with eager exclamation and bubbling laughter. + +"There's Gerry," exclaimed Augusta. + +She was the tallest of the party, with a great stretch of stockinged +legs, and a decided scarcity of skirts. She flew at her brother, flung +her arms round his neck and kissed him rapturously. + +"You darling old Gerry--don't we all just hate and detest that horrible +Valentine Paget." + +"Hush, Gussie," responded Gerald, in his quiet voice. "You don't know +Valentine, and you pain me when you talk of her in that senseless +fashion. Here, have a race with your big brother to the other end of +the garden. Girls," turning to his elder sisters--"seriously speaking I +should like you to spend about a fortnight with the Pagets. And had you +not better go and pack, for we must catch the eleven o'clock train +to-morrow morning. Now, Gussie--one, two, three, and away." + +Two pairs of long legs, each working hard to come off victorious in the +race, flew past the group--the rector and the little girls cheered and +shouted--Marjory and Lilias, laughing at the sight, turned slowly and +went into the house; Gerald won the race by a foot or two, and Gussie +flung herself panting and laughing on the grass at the other end of the +long walk. + +"Well done, Augusta," said her brother. "You study athletics to a +purpose. Now, Gussie, can't you manage to give away the library books +on Sunday?" + +"I? You don't mean it?" said Augusta. Her black eyes sparkled; she +recovered her breath, and the full dignity of her five feet five and +a-half of growth on the instant. "Am I to give away the library books, +Gerry?" + +"Yes, I want Lilias to stay in London for a few days longer than she +intended." + +"And Marjory too?" + +"Of course. The girls would not like to be parted." + +"Galuptions! Won't I have a time of it all round! Won't I give old +Peters a novel instead of his favorite Sunday magazines? And won't I +smuggle Pailey's 'Evidences of Christianity' into the hand of Alice +Jones, the dressmaker. She says the only books she cares for are Wilkie +Collins 'Woman in White,' and the 'Dead Secret,' so she'll have a +lively time of it with the Evidences. Then there's 'Butler's Analogy,' +it isn't in the parish library, but I'll borrow it for once from +father's study. That will exactly suit Rhoda Fleming. Oh, what fun, +what fun. I won't take a single story-book with me, except the 'Woman +in White,' for Peters. He says novels are 'rank poison,' so he shall +have his dose." + +"Now look here, Gussie," said Gerald, taking his sister's two hands in +his, and holding them tight--"you've got to please me about the library +books, and not to play pranks, and make things disagreeable for Lilias +when she comes back. You're thirteen now, and a big girl, and you ought +to act like one. You're to make things comfortable for the dear old +pater while we are all away, and you'll do it if you care for me, +Gussie." + +"Care for you!" echoed Augusta. "I love you, Gerry. I love you, and I +hate----" + +"No, don't say that," said Gerald, putting his hand on the girl's +mouth. + +Gussie looked droll and submissive. + +"It is so funny," she exclaimed at length. + +"You can explain that as we walk back to the house," responded her +brother. + +"Why, Gerry, to see you so frightfully in love! You are, aren't you? +You have all the symptoms--oh, before I----" + +"I love Valentine," responded Gerald. "That is a subject I cannot +discuss with you, Augusta. When you know her you will love her too. I +am going to bring her here in the autumn, and then I shall want you all +to be good to her, and to let her feel that she has a great number of +real sisters at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, who will be good to her if she +needs them, by-and-bye." + +"As if she ever could need us," responded Gussie. "She'll have you. +Yes, I'll do my best about the books--good-night. Gerald. Good-night, +dear old darling king. That's Miss Queen's voice. Coming, Miss Queen, +coming! Good-night, old Gerry. My love to that Val of yours. Oh, what a +nuisance it is to have ever to go to bed." + +Gussie's long legs soon bore her out of sight, and Gerald stepped into +the silent and now empty study. To an initiated eye this room bore one +or two marks of having lately witnessed a mental storm. Close to the +rector's leather armchair lay a pile of carefully torn-up papers--the +family Bible, which usually occupied a place of honor on his desk, had +been pushed ruthlessly on one side, and a valuable work on theology lay +wide open and face downwards on the floor. Otherwise the room was in +perfect order--the only absolutely neat apartment in the large old +house. Not the most daring of all the young Wyndhams would disturb a +volume here, or play any wild pranks in the sacred precincts of the +rector's study. As Gerald now entered the room and saw these signs of +mental disquiet round Mr. Wyndham's chair, the pleasant and somewhat +cheerful look left his face, his eyes grew dark, earnest and full of +trouble, and flinging himself on the sofa, he shaded them with his +white long fingers. There was an oil painting of a lady over the +mantel-piece, and this lady had Gerald's face. From her he inherited +those peculiar and sensitive eyes, those somewhat hollow cheeks, and +that noble and broad white brow. From her, too, came the lips which +were curved and beautiful, and yet a little, a little wanting in +firmness. In Mrs. Wyndham the expressive mouth only added the final +touch of womanliness to a beautiful face. In her son it would have +revealed, could it have been seen, a nature which might be led astray +from the strictest paths of honor. + +Wyndham sat motionless for a few moments, then springing to his feet, +he paced restlessly up and down the empty study. + +"Everything is fixed and settled now," he said, under his breath. "I'm +not the first fellow who has sold himself for the sake of a year's +happiness. If my mother were alive, though, I couldn't have done it, +no, not even for Valentine. Poor mother! She felt sure I'd have taken +Holy Orders, and worked on here with the governor in this sleepy little +corner of the world. It's a blessing she can't be hurt by anything now, +and as to the governor, he has seven girls to comfort him. No, if I'm +sorry for anyone it's Lilias, but the thing's done now. The day after +to-morrow Val will be mine. A whole year! My God, how short it is. My +God, save and pity me, for afterwards comes hell." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +The human face has been often spoken of as an index of the mind. There +are people who boldly declare that they know a man by the height of his +forehead, by the set of his eyes, by the shape of his head, and by the +general expression of his countenance. Whether this rule is true or +not, it certainly has its exceptions. As far as outward expression goes +some minds remain locked, and Satan himself can now and then appear +transformed as an angel of light. + +Mortimer Paget, Esq., the head and now sole representative of the once +great ship-broking firm of Paget Brothers, was one of the handsomest +and most striking-looking men in the city. On more than one occasion +sculptors of renown had asked to be permitted to take a cast of his +head to represent Humanity, Benevolence, Integrity, or some other +cardinal virtue. He had a high forehead, calm velvety brown eyes, +perfectly even and classical features, and firm lips with a sweet +expression. His lips were perfectly hidden by his silvery moustache, +and the shape of his chin was not discernible, owing to his long +flowing beard. But had the beard and moustache both been removed, no +fault could have been found with the features now hidden--they were +firmly and well-moulded. On this beautiful face no trace of a sinister +cast lurked. + +Mortimer Paget in his business transactions was the soul of honor. No +man in the city was more looked up to than he. He was very shrewd with +regard to all money matters, but he was also generous and kind. The old +servants belonging to the firm never cared to leave him; when they +died off he pensioned their widows and provided for their orphans. He +was a religious man, of the evangelical type, and he conducted his +household in every way from a religious point of view. Family prayers +were held night and morning in the great house in Queen's Gate, and the +servants were expected each and all to attend church twice on Sundays. +Mr. Paget had found a church where the ritual was sufficiently low to +please his religious views. To this church he went himself twice on +Sundays, invariably accompanied by a tall girl, richly dressed, who +clung to his side and read out of the same book with him, singing when +he sang, and very often slipping her little hand into his, and closing +her bright eyes when he napped unconsciously during the prosy sermon. + +This girl was his only child, and while he professed to be actuated by +the purest love for both God and his fellow creatures, the one being +for whom his heart really beat warmly, the one being for whom he could +gladly have sacrificed himself was this solitary girl. + +Valentine's mother had died at her birth, and since that day Valentine +and her father had literally never been parted. She was his shadow, +like him in appearance, and as far as those who knew her could guess +like him in character. + +The house in Queen's Gate was full of all the accompaniments of wealth. +It was richly and splendidly furnished; the drawing-rooms were +spacious, the reception rooms were all large. Valentine had her own +boudoir, her own special school-room, her own bedroom and +dressing-room. Her father had provided a suite of rooms for her, each +communicating with the other, but except that she tossed off her +handsome dresses in the dressing-room, and submitted at intervals +during the day with an unwilling grace to the services of her maid, and +except that she laid her bright little curling head each evening on +the softest of down-pillows, Valentine's suite of rooms saw very little +of their young mistress. + +There was an old library in the back part of the house--an essentially +dull room, with windows fitted with painted glass, and shelves lined +with books, most of them in tarnished and worm-eaten bindings, where +Mr. Paget sat whenever he was at home, and where in consequence +Valentine was to be found. Her sunny head, with its golden wavy hair, +made a bright spot in the old room. She was fond of perching herself on +the top of the step-ladder, and so seated burrowing eagerly into the +contents of some musty old volume. She devoured the novels of Smollett +and Fielding, and many other books which were supposed not to be at all +good for her, in this fashion--they did her no harm, the bad part +falling away, and not touching her, for her nature was very pure and +bright, and although she saw many shades of life in one way or another, +and with all her expensive education, was allowed to grow up in a +somewhat wild fashion, and according to her own sweet will, yet she was +a perfectly innocent and unsophisticated creature. + +When she was seventeen, Mr. Paget told her that he was going to +inaugurate a new state of things. + +"You must go into society, Val," he said. "In these days the daughters +of city men of old standing like myself are received everywhere. I will +get your mother's third cousin, Lady Prince, to present you at the next +Drawing-room, and then you must go the usual round, I suppose. We must +get some lady to come here to chaperon you, and you will go out to +balls and assemblies, and during the London season turn night into +day." + +Val was seated on the third rung of the step-ladder when her father +made this announcement. She sprang lightly from her perch now, and ran +to his side. + +"I won't go anywhere without you, dad; so that's settled. Poor old +man!--dear old man!" + +She put her arms round his neck, and his white moustache and beard +swept across her soft, peach-like cheek. + +"But I hate going out in the evening, Val. I'm getting an old +man--sixty next birthday, my dear--and I work hard all day. There's no +place so sweet to me in the evening as this worm-eaten, old +armchair;--I should find myself lost in a crowd. Time was when I was +the gayest of the gay. People used to speak of me as the life and soul +of every party I went to, but that time is over for me. Val; for you it +is beginning." + +"You are mistaken, father. I perch myself on the arm of this wretched, +worm-eaten, old chair, and stay here with you, or I go into society +with you. It's all the same to me--you can please yourself." + +"Don't you know that you are a very saucy lass, miss?" + +"Am I? I really don't care--I go with you, or I stay with you--that's +understood. Dad--father dear--that's always to be the way, you +understand. You and I are to be always together--all our lives. You +quite see what I mean?" + +"Yes, my darling. But some day you will have a husband. Val. I want you +to marry, and have a good husband, child; and then we'll see if your +old father still comes first." + +Valentine laughed gaily. + +"We'll see," she repeated. "Father, if you are not awfully busy, I must +read you this bit out of Roderick Random--listen, is not it droll?" + +She fetched the volume with its old-fashioned type and obsolete s'es, +and the two faces so alike and so beautiful, and so full of love for +one another, bent over the page. + +Valentine Paget had her way, and when she made her _debut_ in the world +of fashion she was accompanied by no other chaperon than her handsome +father. A Mrs. Johnstone, a distant relative of Valentine's mother had +been asked to come to drive with the young lady in the Parks, and to +exercise a very mild surveillance over her conduct generally, when she +received her visitors at five o'clock tea, but in the evenings Mr. +Paget alone took her into society. The pair were striking enough to +make an instant success. Each acted as a foil and heightener to the +beauty of the other. Mortimer Paget was recognized by some of his old +cronies--fair ladies who had known him when he was young, reproached +him gently for having worn so well, professed to take a great interest +in his girl, and watched her with narrow, critical, but not unkindly +eyes. The girl was fresh and _naive_, perfectly free and untrammelled, +a tiny bit reckless, a little out of the common. Her handsome face, her +somewhat isolated position, and her reputed fortune, for Mortimer Paget +was supposed to be one of the richest men in the city, soon made her +the fashion. Valentine Paget, in her first season, was spoken about, +talked over, acknowledged to be a beauty, and had, of course, plenty of +lovers. + +No one could have taken a daughter's success with more apparent +calmness than did her father. He never interfered with her--he never +curbed her light and graceful, although somewhat eccentric, ways; but +when any particular young man had paid her marked attention for more +than two nights running, had anyone watched closely they might have +seen a queer, alert, anxious look come into the fine old face. The +sleepy brown eyes would awake, and be almost eagle-like in the keenness +of their glance. No one knew how it was done, but about that possible +suitor inquiries of the closest and most delicate nature were instantly +set on foot; and as these inquiries, from Mr. Paget's point of view, in +each case proved eminently unsatisfactory, when next the ardent lover +met the beautiful Miss Paget, a thin but impenetrable wall of ice +seemed to have started up between them. Scarcely any of Valentine's +lovers came to the point of proposing for her; they were quietly +shelved, they scarcely knew how, long before matters arrived at this +crisis. Young men who in all respects seemed eligible of the +eligible--men with good names and rent-rolls, alike were given a sort +of invisible _conge_. The news was therefore received as a most +startling piece of information at the end of Valentine's first season, +that she was engaged, with the full consent and approval of her most +fastidious father, to about the poorest man of her acquaintance. + +Gerald Wyndham was the only son of a country clergyman--he was young, +only twenty-two; he was spoken about as clever, but in the eyes of +Valentine's friends seemed to have no one special thing to entitle him +to aspire to the hand of one of the wealthiest and most beautiful girls +of their acquaintance. + +It was reported among Mr. Paget's friends that this excellent, +honorable and worthy gentleman must surely have taken leave of his +senses, for Gerald Wyndham had literally not a penny, and before his +engagement to Valentine, the modest career opening up before him was +that of Holy Orders in one of its humblest walks. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +Wyndham before his engagement was one of the most boyish of men. All +the sunshine, the petting, the warmth, the love, which encircled him as +the prime favorite of many sisters and an adoring father at +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, seemed to have grown into his face. His deep +grey-blue changeful eyes were always laughing--he was witty, and he +said witty and laughable things by the score. The young man had plenty +of talent, and a public school and university education had developed +these abilities to a fine point of culture. His high spirits, and a +certain Irish way which he inherited from his mother, made him a +universal favorite, but at all times he had his grave moments. A look, +a word would change that beaming, expressive face, bring sadness to the +eyes, and seriousness to the finely curved lips. The shadows passed as +quickly as they came. Before Wyndham met Valentine they were simply +indications of the sensitiveness of a soul which was as keenly strung +to pain as to joy. + +It is a trite saying that what is easily attained is esteemed of little +value. Valentine found lovers by the score; in consequence, the fact of +a man paying her attention, looking at her with admiration, and saying +pretty nothings in her ear, gave her before her first season was over +only a slightly added feeling of ennui. At this juncture in her life +she was neither in love with her lovers nor with society. She was +younger than most girls when they make their entrance into the world, +and she would infinitely have preferred the sort of half school-room, +half nursery existence she used to lead. She yawned openly and wished +for bed when she was dragged out night after night, and when fresh +suitors appeared she began really to regard them as a weariness to the +flesh. + +Gerald Wyndham did not meet Valentine in quite the ordinary fashion. + +On a certain hot day in July, she had been absolutely naughty, the heat +had enervated her, the languor of summer was over her, and after a late +dinner, instead of going dutifully upstairs to receive some final +touches from her maid, before starting for a great crush at the house +of a city magnate near by, she had flown away to the library, turned on +the electric light, and mounting the book-ladder perched herself on her +favorite topmost rung, took down her still more favorite "Evelina," and +buried herself in its fascinating pages. Past and present were both +alike forgotten by the young reader, she hated society for herself, but +she loved to read of Evelina's little triumphs, and Lord Orville was +quite to her taste. + +"If I could only meet a man like him," she murmured, flinging down her +book, and looking across the old library with her starry eyes, "Oh, +father, dear, how you startled me! Now, listen, please. I will not go +out to-night--I am sleepy--I am tired--I am yawning dreadfully. Oh, +what have I said?--how rude of you, sir, to come and startle me in that +fashion!" + +For Valentine's light words had not been addressed to Mr. Paget, but to +a young man in evening dress, a perfect stranger, who came into the +room, and was now looking up and actually laughing at her. + +"How rude of you," said Valentine, and she began hastily to descend +from her elevated position. In doing so she slipped, and would have +fallen if Wyndham had not come to the rescue, coolly lifting the +enraged young lady into his arms and setting her on the floor. + +"Now I will beg your pardon as often as you like," he said. "I was +shown in here by a servant. I am waiting for Mr. Paget--I was +introduced to him this morning--my father turns out to be an old +friend, and he was good enough to ask me to go with you both to the +Terrells to-night." + +"Delightful!" said Valentine. "I'll forgive you, of course; you'll take +the dear old man, and I'll stay snugly at home. I'm so anxious to +finish 'Evelina.' Have you ever read the book?--Don't you love Lord +Orville?" + +"No, I love Evelina best," replied Gerald. + +The two pairs of eyes met, both were full of laughter, and both pairs +of lips were indulging in merry peals of mirth when Mr. Paget entered +the room. + +"There you are, Val," he said. "You have introduced yourself to +Wyndham. Quite right. Now, was there ever anything more provoking? I +have just received a telegram." Here Mr. Paget showed a yellow +envelope. "I must meet a business man at Charing Cross in an hour, on a +matter of some importance. I can't put it off, and so. Val, I don't see +how I am to send you to the Terrells all alone. It is too bad--why, +what is the matter, child?" + +"Too delightful, you mean," said Valentine. "I wasn't going. I meant to +commit high treason to-night. I was quite determined to--now I needn't. +Do you mean to go to the Terrells by yourself, Mr. Wyndham?" + +"The pleasure held out was to go with you and your father," responded +Wyndham, with an old-fashioned bow, and again that laughing look in his +eyes. + +Mr. Paget's benevolent face beamed all over. + +"Go up to the drawing-room, then, young folks, and amuse yourselves," +he said. "Our good friend, Mrs. Johnstone, will bear you company. Val, +you can sing something to Wyndham to make up for his disappointment. +She sings like a bird, and is vain of it, little puss. Yes, go away, +both of you, and make the best of things." + +"The best of things is to remain here," said Valentine. "I hate the +drawing-room, and that dear, good Mrs. Johnstone, if she must act +chaperon, can bring her knitting down here. I am so sorry for you, Mr. +Wyndham, but I don't mean to sing a single song to-night. Had you not +better go to the Terrells?" + +"No, I mean to stay and read 'Evelina,'" replied the obdurate young +man. + +Mr. Paget laughed again. + +"I will send our good friend, Mrs. Johnstone, to make tea for you," he +said, and he hurried out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +This was the very light and airy beginning of a friendship which was to +ripen into serious and even appalling results. Wyndham was a man who +found it very easy to make girls like him. He had so many sisters of +his own that he understood their idiosyncrasies, and knew how to humor +their little failings, how to be kind to their small foibles, and how +to flatter their weaknesses. More than one girl had fallen in love with +this handsome and attractive young man. Wyndham was aware of these +passionate attachments, but as he could not feel himself particularly +guilty in having inspired them, and as he did not in the slightest +degree return them, he did not make himself unhappy over what could not +be cured. It puzzled him not a little to know why girls should be so +silly, and how hearts could be so easily parted with--he did not know +when he questioned his own spirit lightly on the matter that the day of +retribution was at hand. He lost his own heart to Valentine without +apparently having made the smallest impression upon this bright and +seemingly volatile girl. + +On that very first night in the old library Wyndham left his heart at +the gay girl's feet. He was seriously in love. Before a week was out he +had taken the malady desperately, and in its most acute form. It was +then that a change came over his face, it was then for the first time +that he became aware of the depths of his own nature. Great abysses of +pain were opened up to him--he found himself all sensitiveness, all +nerves. He had been proud of his rather athletic bringing-up, of his +intellectual training. He had thought poorly of other men who had +given up all for the sake of a girl's smile, and for the rather +doubtful possession of a girl's fickle heart. He did not laugh at them +any longer. He spent his nights pacing his room, and his days haunting +the house at Queen's Gate. If he could not go in he could linger near +the house. He could lounge in the park and see Valentine as she drove +past, and nodded and smiled to him brightly. His own face turned pale +when she gave him those quick gay glances. She was absolutely +heart-whole--a certain intuition told him this, whereas he--he found +himself drivelling into a state bordering on idiotcy. + +Almost all men have gone through similar crises, but Wyndham at this +time was making awful discoveries. He was finding out day by day the +depths of weakness as well as pain within him. + +"I'm the greatest fool that ever breathed," he would say to himself. +"What would Lilias say if she saw me now? How often she and I have +laughed over this great momentous matter--how often we have declared +that we at least would never lose ourselves in so absurd a fashion. +Poor Lilias, I suppose her turn will come as mine has come--I cannot +understand myself--I really must be raving mad. How dare I go to Mr. +Paget and ask him to give me Valentine? I have not got a halfpenny in +the world. This money in my pocket is my father's--I have to come to +him for every sixpence! I am no better off than my little sister Joan. +When I am ordained, and have secured the curacy of +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, I shall have exactly L160 a year. A large sum +truly. And yet I want to marry Valentine Paget--the youngest heiress of +the season--the most beautiful--the most wealthy! Oh, of course I must +be mad--quite mad. I ought to shun her like the plague. She does not in +the least care for me--not in the least. I often wonder if she has got +a heart anywhere. She acts as a sort of siren to me--luring me +on--weakening and enfeebling my whole nature. She is a little flirt in +her way, but an unconscious one. She means nothing by that bright look +in her eyes, and that sparkling smile, and that gay clear laugh. I +wonder if any other man has felt as badly about her as I do. Oh, I +ought to shun her--I am simply mad to go there as I do. When I get an +invitation--when I have the ghost of a chance of seeing her--it seems +as if thousands of invisible ropes pulled me to her side. What is to +come of it all? Nothing--nothing but my own undoing. I can never marry +her--and yet I must--I will. I would go through fire and water to hold +her to my heart for a moment. There, I must have been quite mad when I +said that--I didn't mean it. I'm sane now, absolutely sane. I know what +I'll do. I won't dine there to-night. I'll send an excuse, and I'll run +down to the old rectory until Monday, and get Lilias to cure me." + +The infatuated young man seized a sheet of notepaper, dashed off an +incoherent and decidedly lame excuse to Mr. Paget, and trembling with +fear that his resolution would fail him even at the eleventh hour, +rushed out and dropped the letter into the nearest pillar-box. This +action was bracing, he felt better, and in almost gay spirits, for his +nature was wonderfully elastic. He took the next train to Jewsbury, and +arrived unexpectedly at the pleasant old rectory late on Saturday +evening. + +The man who is made nothing of in one place, and finds himself +absolutely the hero of the hour in another, cannot help experiencing a +very soothed sensation. Valentine Paget had favored Gerald with the +coolest of nods, the lightest of words, the most indifferent of +actions. She met him constantly, she was always stumbling up against +him, and when she wanted him to do anything for her she issued a brief +and lordly command. Her abject slave flew to do her bidding. + +Now at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold the slave was in the position of master, +and he could not help enjoying the change. + +"Augusta, wheel that chair round for Gerald. Sit there. Gerald, +darling--oh, you are in a draught. Shut the door, please, Marjory. +Joan, run to the kitchen, and tell Betty to make some of Gerald's +favorite cakes for supper. Is your tea quite right, Gerry; have you +sugar enough--and--and cream?" + +Gerald briefly expressed himself satisfied. Lilias was superintending +the tea-tray with a delicate flush of pleasure on her cheeks, and her +bright eyes glancing moment by moment in admiration at her handsome +brother. Marjory had placed herself on a footstool at the hero's feet, +and Augusta, tall and gawky, all stockinged-legs, and abnormally thin +long arms, was standing at the back of his chair, now and then +venturing to caress one of his crisp light waves of hair with the tips +of her fingers. + +"It is too provoking!" burst from Marjory,--"you know, Lilias, we can't +put Gerald into his old room, it is being papered, and you haven't +half-finished decorating the door. Gerry, darling, you might have let +us know you were coming and we'd have worked at it day and night. Do +you mind awfully sleeping in the spare room? We'll promise to make it +as fresh as possible for you?" + +"I'll--I'll--fill the vases with flowers--" burst spasmodically from +Augusta. "Do you like roses or hollyhocks best in the tall vases on the +mantel-piece, Gerry?" + +"By the way, Gerald," remarked the rector, who was standing leaning +against the mantel-piece, gazing complacently at his son and daughters, +"I should like to ask your opinion with regard to that notice on +Herring's book in the _Saturday_. Have you read it? It struck me as +over critical, but I should like to have your opinion." + +So the conversation went on, all adoring, all making much of the +darling of the house. Years afterwards, Gerald Wyndham remembered that +summer's evening, the scent of the roses coming in at the open window, +the touch of Marjory's little white hand as it rested on his knee, the +kind of half-irritated, half-pleased thrill which went through him when +Augusta touched his hair, the courteous and proud look on the rector's +face when he addressed him, above all the glow of love in Lilias' +beautiful eyes. He remembered that evening--he was not likely ever to +forget it, for it was one of the last of his happy boyhood, before he +took upon him his manhood's burden of sin and sorrow and shame. + +After tea Lilias and Gerald walked about the garden arm-in-arm. + +"I am going to confess something to you," said the brother. "I want +your advice, Lilly. I want you to cure me, by showing me that I am the +greatest fool that ever lived." + +"But you are not, Gerald; I can't say it when I look up to you, and +think there is no one like you. You are first in all the world to +me--you know that, don't you?" + +"Poor Lil, that is just the point--that is where the arrow will pierce +you. I am going to aim a blow at you, dear. Take me down from your +pedestal at once--I love someone else much, much better than I love +you." + +Lilias' hand as it rested on Gerald's arm trembled very slightly. He +looked at her, and saw that her lips were moving, and that her eyes +were looking downwards. She did not make any audible sound, however, +and he went on hastily:-- + +"And you and I, we always promised each other that such a day should +not come--no wonder you are angry with me, Lil." + +"But I'm not, dear Gerald--I just got a nasty bit of jealous pain for a +minute, but it is over. I always knew that such a day would come, that +it would have to come--if not for me, at least for you. Tell me about +her, Gerry. Is she nice--is she half--or a quarter nice enough for +you?" + +Then Gerald launched into his subject, forgetting what he supposed +could only be a very brief sorrow on Lilias' part in the enthralling +interest of his theme. Valentine Paget would not have recognized the +portrait which was drawn of her, for this young and ardent lover +crowned her with all that was noble, and decked her with attributes +little short of divine. + +"I am absolutely unworthy of her," he said in conclusion, and when +Lilias shook her head, and refused to believe this latter statement, he +felt almost angry with her. + +The two walked about and talked together until darkness fell, but, +although they discussed the subject in all its bearings, Gerald felt by +no means cured when he retired to rest, while Lilias absolutely cried +herself to sleep. + +Marjory and she slept in little white beds, side by side. + +"Oh, Lil, what's the matter?" exclaimed the younger sister, disturbed +out of her own sweet slumbers by those unusual tokens of distress. + +"Nothing much," replied Lilias, "only--only--I am a little +lonely--don't ask me any questions, Maggie, I'll be all right in the +morning." + +Marjory was too wise to say anything further, but she lay awake herself +and wondered. What could ail Lilias?--Lilias, the brightest, the gayest +of them all. Was she fretting about their mother. But it was seven +years now since the mother had been taken away from the rectory +children, and Lilias had got over the grief which had nearly broken her +child-heart at the time. + +Marjory felt puzzled and a little fearful,--the evening before had been +so sweet,--Gerald had been so delightful. Surely in all the world there +was not a happier home than Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. Why should Lilias +cry, and say that she was lonely? + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +On Monday morning Wyndham returned to town. His father had strained a +point to give his only son the season in London, and Gerald was paying +part of the expenses by coaching one or two young fellows for the next +Cambridge term. He had just concluded his own University course, and +was only waiting until his twenty-third birthday had passed, to be +ordained for the curacy which his father was keeping for him. Gerald's +birthday would be in September, and the rectory girls were looking +forward to this date as though it were the beginning of the millennium. + +"Even the cats won't fight, nor the dogs bark when Gerald is in the +room," whispered little Joan. "I 'spect they know he don't like it." + +Wyndham returned to London feeling both low and excited. His +conversation with Lilias and the rather pallid look of her face, the +black shadows under her eyes, and the pathetic expression which the +shedding of so many tears had given to them, could not cure him nor +extinguish the flame which was burning into his heart, and making all +the other good things of life seem but as dust and ashes to his taste. + +He arrived in town, went straight to his lodgings, preparatory to +keeping his engagement with one of his young pupils, and there saw +waiting for him a letter in the firm upright handwriting of Mortimer +Paget. He tore the envelope open in feverish haste. The lines within +were very few:-- + + DEAR WYNDHAM. + + Val and I were disappointed at your not putting in an appearance at + her dinner-party last night, but no doubt you had good reasons for + going into the country. This note will meet you on your return. + Can you come and lunch with me in the City on Monday at two + o'clock? Come to my place in Billiter-square. I shall expect you + and won't keep you waiting. I have a matter of some importance I + should like to discuss with you.--Yours, my dear Wyndham, + sincerely, + + "MORTIMER PAGET." + + + +Wyndham put the letter into his pocket, flew to keep his appointment +with his pupil, and at two o'clock precisely was inquiring for Mr. +Paget at the offices of the shipping firm in Billiter-square. + +Mortimer Paget was now head of the large establishment. He was the sole +surviving partner out of many, and on him alone devolved the carrying +out of one of the largest business concerns in the city. + +Wyndham never felt smaller than when he entered those great doors, and +found himself passed on from one clerk to another, until at last he was +admitted to the ante-room of the chief himself. + +Here there was a hush and stillness, and the young man sank down into +one of the easy chairs, and looked around him expectantly. He was in +the ante chamber of one of the great kings of commerce, the depressing +influence of wealth when we have no share in it came over him. He +longed to turn and fly, and but that his fingers, even now, fiddled +with Mr. Paget's very pressing note he would have done so. What could +the great man possibly want with him? With his secret in his breast, +with the knowledge that he, a poor young expectant curate, had dared to +lift up his eyes to the only daughter of this great house, he could not +but feel ill at ease. + +When Wyndham was not at home with any one he instantly lost his charm. +He was painfully conscious of this himself, and felt sure that he would +be on stilts while he ate his lunch with Mr. Paget. Nay more, he was +almost sure that that astute personage would read his secret in his +eyes. + +A clerk came into the room, an elderly man, with reddish whiskers, +small, deep-set eyes, and thin hair rapidly turning white. He stared +inquisitively at young Wyndham, walked past him, drew up the blinds, +arranged some papers on the table, and then as he passed him again said +in a quick, half-frightened aside: + +"If I was you, young man, I'd go." + +The tone in which this was said was both anxious and familiar. Wyndham +started aside from the familiarity. His face flushed and he gazed +haughtily at the speaker. + +"Did you address me?" he said. + +"I did, young man, don't say nothing, for the good Lord's sake, don't +say nothing. My name is Jonathan Helps. I have been here man and boy +for close on forty years. I know the old house. Sound! no house in the +whole city sounder, sound as a nut, or as an apple when _it's rotten at +the core_. You keep that to yourself, young man--why I'd venture every +penny I have in this yer establishment. I'm confidential clerk here! +I'm a rough sort--and not what you'd expect from a big house, nor from +a master like Mr. Paget. Now, young man, you go away, and believe that +there ain't a sounder house in all the city than that of Paget, Brake +and Carter. I, Jonathan Helps, say it, and surely I ought to know." + +An electric bell sounded in the other room. Wiping his brow with his +handkerchief as though the queer words he had uttered had cost him an +effort, Helps flew to answer the summons. + +"Ask Mr. Wyndham to walk in and have lunch served in my room," said an +authoritative voice. "And see here. Helps, you are not to disturb us on +any excuse before three o'clock." + +Shutting the door behind him, Helps came back again to Gerald's side. + +"If you don't want to run away at once you're to go in there," he +said. "Remember, there isn't a sounder house in all London than that of +Paget, Brake and Carter. Paget's head of the whole concern now. Don't +he boss it over us though! Oh, you're going in?--you've made up your +mind not to run away. Surely in vain is the net spread in the sight of +any bird. Good Lord, if that ain't the least true word that David ever +writ. Well, here you are. Don't forget that this house is sound--sound +as an apple when it is--Mr. Wyndham, sir." + +"You seem to have got a very extraordinary clerk," said Gerald, when he +had shaken hands with his host, who had expressed himself delighted to +see him. + +"Helps?" responded Mr. Paget. "Yes, poor fellow--has he been +entertaining you--telling you about the soundness of the house, eh? +Poor Helps--the best fellow in the world, but just a little--a very +little--touched in the head." + +"So I should think," said Gerald, laughing; "he compared me to a bird +in the fowler's net, and all kinds of ridiculous similes. What a snug +room you have here." + +"I am glad you think it so. I have a still snugger room at the other +side of this curtain, which I hope to introduce to you. Come along and +see it. This was furnished at Val's suggestion. She comes here to have +lunch with me once a week. Friday is her day. Will you come and join us +here next Friday at two o'clock?" + +"I--I shall be delighted," stammered Wyndham. + +"She has good taste, hasn't she, little puss? All these arrangements +are hers. I never saw any one with a better eye for color, and she has +that true sympathy with her surroundings which teaches her to adapt +rooms to their circumstances. Now, for instance, at Queen's Gate we are +all cool greys and blues--plenty of sunshine comes into the house at +Queen's Gate. Into this room the sun never shows his face. Val +accordingly substitutes for his brightness golden tones and warm +colors. Artistic, is it not? She is very proud of the remark which +invariably falls from the lips of each person who visits this sanctum +sanctorum, that it does not look the least like an office." + +"Nor does it," responded Gerald. "It is a lovely room. What a beautiful +portrait that is of your daughter--how well those warm greys suit her +complexion." + +"Yes, that is Richmond's, he painted her two years ago. Sit down at +this side of the table, Wyndham, where you can have a good view of the +saucy puss. Does she not look alive, as if she meant to say something +very impertinent to us both. Thanks, Helps, you can leave us now. Pray +see that we are not disturbed." + +Helps withdrew with noiseless slippered feet. A curtain was drawn in +front of the door, which the clerk closed softly after him. + +"Excellent fellow, Helps," said Mr. Paget, "but mortal, decidedly +mortal. If you will excuse me, Wyndham. I will take the precaution of +turning the key in that door. This little room, Val's room, I call it, +has often been privileged to listen to state secrets. That being the +case one must take due precautions against eaves-droppers. Now, my dear +fellow, I hope you are hungry. Help yourself to some of those +cutlets--I can recommend this champagne." + +The lunch proceeded, the elder man eating with real appetite, the +younger with effort. He was excited, his mind was full of trouble--he +avoided looking at Valentine's picture, and wished himself at the other +side of those locked doors. + +"You don't seem quite the thing," said Mr. Paget, presently. "I hope +you have had no trouble at home, Wyndham. Is your father well? Let me +see, he must be about my age--we were at Trinity College, Cambridge, +some time in the forties." + +"My father is very well, sir," said Gerald. "He is a hale man, he does +not look his years." + +"Have some more champagne? I think you told me you had several +sisters." + +"Yes, there are seven girls at home." + +"Good heavens--Wyndham is a lucky man. Fancy seven Valentines filling a +house with mirth! And you are the only son--and your mother is dead." + +"My mother is not living," responded Wyndham with a flush. "And--yes, I +am the only son. I won't have any more champagne, thank you, sir." + +"Try one of these cigars--I can recommend them. Wyndham, I am going to +say something very frank. I have taken a fancy to you. There, I don't +often take fancies. Why, what is the matter, my dear fellow?" + +Gerald had suddenly risen to his feet, his face was white. There was a +strained, eager, pained look in his eyes. + +"You wouldn't, if you knew," he stammered. "I--I have made a fool of +myself, sir. I oughtn't to be sitting here, your hospitality chokes me. +I--I have made the greatest fool of myself in all Christendom, sir." + +"I think I know what you mean," said Mr. Paget, also rising to his +feet. His voice was perfectly calm, quiet, friendly. + +"I am not sorry you have let it out in this fashion, my poor lad. You +have--shall I tell you that I know your secret, Wyndham?" + +"No, sir; don't let us talk of it. You cannot rate me for my folly more +severely than I rate myself. I'll go away now if you have no objection. +Thank you for being kind to me. Try and forget that I made an ass of +myself." + +"Sit down again, Wyndham. I am not angry--I don't look upon you as a +fool. I should have done just the same were I in your shoes. You are in +love with Valentine--you would like to make her your wife." + +"Good heavens, sir, don't let us say anything more about it." + +"Why not? Under certain conditions I think you would make her a +suitable husband. I guessed your secret some weeks ago. Since then I +have been watching you carefully. I have also made private inquiries +about you. All that I hear pleases me. I asked you to lunch with me, +to-day, on purpose that we should talk the matter over." + +Mr. Paget spoke in a calm, almost drawling, voice. The young man +opposite to him, his face deadly white, his hands nervously clutching +at a paper-knife, his burning eyes fixed upon the older man's face, +drank in every word. It was an intoxicating draught, going straight to +Gerald Wyndham's brain. + +"God bless you!" he said, when the other had ceased to speak. He turned +his head away, for absolute tears of joy had softened the burning +feverish light in his eyes. + +"No, don't say that, Wyndham," responded Mr. Paget, his own voice for +the first time a little shaken. "We'll leave God altogether out of this +business, if you have no objection. It is simply a question of how much +a man will give up for love. Will he sell himself, body and soul, for +it? That is the question of questions. I know all about you, Wyndham; I +know that you have not a penny to bless yourself with; I know that you +are about to embrace a beggarly profession. Oh, yes, we'll leave out +the religious aspect of the question. A curacy in the Church of England +is a beggarly profession in these days. I know too that you are your +father's only son, and that you have seven sisters, who will one day +look to you to protect them. I know all that; nevertheless I believe +you to be the kind of man who will dare all for love. If you win +Valentine, you have got to pay a price for her. It is a heavy one--I +won't tell you about it yet. When you agree to pay this price, for the +sake of a brief joy for yourself, for necessarily it must be brief; and +for her life-long good and well-being, then you rise to be her equal in +every sense of the word, and you earn my undying gratitude, Wyndham." + +"I don't understand you, sir. You speak very darkly, and you hint at +things which--which shock me." + +"I must shock you more before you hold Valentine in your arms. You have +heard enough for to-day. Hark, someone is knocking at the door." + +Mr. Paget rose to open it, a gay voice sounded in the passage, and the +next moment a brilliant, lovely apparition entered the room. + +"Val herself!" exclaimed her father. "No, my darling. I cannot go for a +drive with you just now, but you and Mrs. Johnstone shall take Wyndham. +You will like a drive in the park, Wyndham. You have got to scold this +young man, Val, for acting truant on Saturday night. Now go off, both +of you, I am frightfully busy. Yes, Helps, coming, coming. Valentine, +be sure you ask Mr. Wyndham home to tea. If you can induce him to dine, +so much the better, and afterwards we can go to the play together." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +On a certain evening about ten days after the events related in the +last chapter, Valentine Paget and her father were seated together in +the old library. Good-natured Mrs. Johnstone had popped in her head at +the door, but seeing the girl's face bent over a book, and Mr. Paget +apparently absorbed in the advertisement sheet of the _Times_, she had +discreetly withdrawn. + +"They look very snug," soliloquized the widowed and childless woman +with a sigh. "I wonder what Mortimer Paget will do when that poor +handsome Mr. Wyndham proposes for Val? I never saw anyone so far gone. +Even my poor Geoffrey long ago, who said his passion consumed him to +tatters--yes, these were poor dear Geoffrey's very words--was nothing +to Mr. Wyndham. Val is a desperately saucy girl--does not she see that +she is breaking that poor fellow's heart? Such a nice young fellow, +too. He looks exactly the sort of young man who would commit suicide. +Dear me, what is the world coming to? That girl seems not in the very +least troubled about the matter. How indifferent and easy-going she is! +I know _I_ could not calmly sit and read a novel when I knew that I was +consuming the vitals out of poor dear Geoffrey. But it's all one to +Val. I am very much afraid that girl is developing into a regular +flirt. How she did go on and amuse herself with Mr. Carr at the cricket +match to-day. Adrian Carr has a stronger face than poor young +Wyndham--not half as devoted to Val--I doubt if he even admires her, +and yet how white Gerald Wyndham turned when he walked her off across +the field. Poor Val--it is a great pity Mr. Paget spoils her so +dreadfully. It is plain to be seen she has never had the advantage of a +mother's bringing up." + +Mrs. Johnstone entered the beautifully-furnished drawing-room, seated +herself by the open window, and taking up the third volume of a novel, +soon forgot Valentine's love affairs. + +Meanwhile that young lady with her cheeks pressed on her hands, and her +eyes devouring the final pages of "Jane Eyre," gave no thought to any +uncomfortable combinations. Her present life was so full and happy that +she did not, like most girls, look far ahead--she never indulged in +day-dreams, and had an angel come to her with the promise of any golden +boon she liked to ask for, she would have begged of him to leave her +always as happy as she was now. + +She came to the last page of her book, and, drumming with her little +fingers on the cover, she raised her eyes in a half-dreaming fashion. + +Mr. Paget had dropped his sheet of the _Times_--his hand had fallen +back in the old leathern armchair--his eyes were closed--he was fast +asleep. + +In his sleep this astute and careful and keen man of business dropped +his mask--the smiling smooth face showed wrinkles, the gay expression +was succeeded by a careworn look--lines of sadness were about the +mouth, and deep crow's-feet wrinkled and aged the expression round the +eyes. + +The mantle of care had never yet touched Valentine. For the first time +in all her life a pang of keen mental pain went through her as she +gazed at her sleeping father. For the first time in her young existence +the awful possibility stared her in the face that some time she might +have to live in a cold and dreary world without him. + +"Why, my father looks quite old," she half stammered. "Old, and--yes, +unhappy. What does it mean?" + +She rose very gently, moved her chair until it touched his, and then +nestling up close to him laid her soft little hand on his shoulder. + +Paget slept on, and the immediate contact of Valentine's warm, loving +presence, made itself felt in his dreams--his wrinkles disappeared, and +his handsome lips again half smiled. Val laid her hand on his--she +noticed the altered expression, and her slightly roused fears +slumbered. There was no one to her like her father. She had made a +mistake just then in imagining that he looked old and unhappy. No +people in all the world were happier than he and she. He was not +old--he was the personification in her eyes of all that was manly and +strong and beautiful. + +The tired man slept on, and the girl, all her fears at rest, began idly +to review the events of the past day. There had been gay doings during +that long summer's afternoon, and Valentine, in the prettiest of summer +costumes, had thoroughly enjoyed her life. She had spent some hours at +Lords, and had entered with zest into the interest of the Oxford and +Cambridge Cricket Match. She lay back in her chair now with her eyes +half closed, reviewing in a lazy fashion the events of the bygone +hours. A stalwart and very attractive young man in cricketing flannels +mingled in these dreams. He spoke to her with strength and decision. +His dark eyes looked keenly into her face, he never expressed the +smallest admiration for her either by look or gesture, but at the same +time he had a way of taking possession of her which roused her +interest, and which secured her approbation. She laughed softly to +herself now at some of the idle nothings said to her by Adrian Carr, +and she never once gave a thought to Wyndham, who had also been at +Lords. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +"Val, child, what are you humming under your breath?" said her father, +suddenly rousing himself from his slumbers and looking into his +daughter's pretty face. "Your voice is like that of a bird, my darling. +I think it has gained in sweetness a good deal lately. Have you and +Wyndham been practising much together. Wyndham has one of the purest +tenor voices I ever heard in an amateur." + +"Oh, what a worry Mr. Wyndham is," said Valentine, rising from her seat +and shaking out her muslin dress. "Everybody talks to me of his +perfections. I'm perfectly tired of them. I wish he wouldn't come here +so often. No, I was not thinking of any of his songs. I was humming +some words Mr. Carr sings--'Bid me to Live'--you know the words--I like +Mr. Carr so much--don't you, dad, dear?" + +"Adrian Carr--yes," replied Mr. Paget in a slow deliberate voice. "Yes, +a good sort of fellow, I've no doubt. I heard some gossip about him at +my club yesterday--what was it? Oh, that he was engaged, or about to be +engaged, to Lady Mabel Pennant. You know the Pennants, don't you, Val? +Have you seen Lady Mabel? She is one of the youngest, I think." + +"Yes, she's a fright," responded Valentine, with a decided show of +temper in her voice. + +Her face had flushed too, she could not tell why. + +"I did not know Lady Mabel was such a plain girl," responded Mr. Paget +drily. "At any rate it is a good connection for Carr. He seems a fairly +clever fellow. Valentine, my child, I have something of importance to +talk to you about. Don't let us worry about Carr just now--I have +something to say to you, something that I'm troubled to have to say. +You love your old father very much, don't you, darling?" + +"Love you, daddy! Oh, you know--need you ask? I was frightened about +you a few minutes ago, father. When you were asleep just now, your face +looked old, and there were lines about it. It frightens me to think of +you ever growing old." + +"Sit close to me, my dear daughter. I have a great deal to say. We will +leave the subject of my looks just at present. It is true that I am not +young, but I may have many years before me yet. It greatly depends on +you." + +"On me, father?" + +"Yes. I will explain to you by-and-bye. Now I want to talk about +yourself. You have never had a care all your life, have you, my little +Val?" + +"I don't think so, daddy--at least only pin-pricks. You know I used to +hate my spelling lessons long ago, and Mdlle. Lacount used to worry me +over the French irregular verbs. But such things were only pin-pricks. +Yes, I am seventeen, and I have never had a real care all my life." + +"You are seventeen and four months, Valentine. You were born on the +14th of February, and your mother and I called you after St. Valentine. +Your mother died when you were a week old. I promised her then that her +baby should never know a sorrow if I could help it." + +"You have helped it, daddy; I am as happy as the day is long. I don't +wish for a thing in the wide world. I just want us both to live +together as we are doing now. Of course we will--why not? Shall we go +up to the drawing-room now, father?" + +"My dear child, in a little time. I have not said yet what I want to +say. Valentine, you were quite right when you watched my face as I +slumbered. Child, I have got a care upon me. I can't speak of it to +anybody--only it could crush me--and--and--part us, Valentine. If it +fell upon you, it--it--would crush you, my child." + +Mr. Paget rose. Valentine, deadly white and frightened, clung to him. +She was half crying. The effect of such terrible and sudden words +nearly paralyzed her; but when she felt the arm which her father put +round her tremble, she made a valiant and brave effort--the tears which +filled her brown eyes were arrested, and she looked up with courage in +her face. + +"You speak of my doing something," she whispered. "What is it? Tell me. +Nothing shall part us. I don't mind anything else, but nothing shall +ever part us." + +"Val, I have not spoken of this care to any one but you." + +"No, father." + +"And I don't show it in my face as a rule, do I?" + +"Oh, no! Oh, no! You always seem bright and cheerful." + +Her tears were raining fast now. She took his hand and pressed it to +her lips. + +"But I have had this trouble for some time, my little girl." + +"You will tell me all about it, please, dad?" + +"No, my darling, you would not understand, and my keenest pain would be +that you should ever know. You can remove this trouble, little Val, and +then we need not be parted. Now, sit down by my side." + +Mr. Paget sank again into the leathern armchair. He was still trembling +visibly. This moment through which he was passing was one of the most +bitter of his life. + +"You will not breathe a word of what I have told you to any mortal, +Valentine?" + +"Death itself should not drag it from me," replied the girl. + +She set her lips, her eyes shone fiercely. Then she looked at her +trembling father, and they glowed with love and pity. + +"I can save you," she whispered, going on her knees by his side. "It is +lovely to think of saving you. What can I do?" + +"My little Val--my little precious darling!" + +"What can I do to save you, father?" + +"Valentine, dear--you can marry Gerald Wyndham." + +Valentine had put her arms round her father's neck, now they dropped +slowly away--her eyes grew big and frightened. + +"I don't love him," she whispered. + +"Never mind, he loves you--he is a good fellow--he will treat you well. +If you marry him you need not be parted from me. You and he can live +together here--here, in this house. There need be no difference at all, +except that you will have saved your father." + +Paget spoke with outward calmness, but the anxiety under his words made +them thrill. Each slowly uttered sentence fell like a hammer of pain on +the girl's head. + +"I don't understand," she said again in a husky tone. "I would, I will +do anything to save you. But Mr. Wyndham is poor and young--in some +things he is younger than I am. How can my marrying him take the load +off your heart, father? Father, dear, speak." + +"I can give you no reason, Valentine, you must take it on trust. It is +all a question of your faith in me. I do not see any loophole of +salvation but through you, my little girl. If you marry Wyndham I see +peace and rest ahead, otherwise we are amongst the breakers. If you do +this thing for your old father, Valentine, you will have to do it in +the dark, for never, never, I pray, until Eternity comes, must you know +what you have done." + +Valentine Paget had always a delicate and bright color in her cheeks. +It was soft as the innermost blush of a rose, and this delicate and +lovely color was one of her chief charms. Now it faded, leaving her +young face pinched and small and drawn. She sank down on the hearthrug, +clasping her hands in her lap, her eyes looking straight before her. + +"I never wanted to marry," she said at last. "Certainly not yet, for I +am only a child. I am only seventeen, but other girls of seventeen are +old compared to me. When you are only a child, it is dreadful to marry +some one you don't care about, and it is dreadful to do a deed in the +dark. If you trusted me, father--if you told me all the dreadful truth +whatever it is, it might turn me into a woman--an old woman even--but +it would be less bad than this. This seems to crush me--and oh, it does +frighten me so dreadfully." + +Mr. Paget rose from his seat and walked up and down the room. + +"You shan't be crushed or frightened," he said. "I will give it up." + +"And then the blow will fall on _you_?" + +"I may be able to avert it. I will see. Forget what I said to-night, +little girl." + +Mortimer Paget's face just now was a good deal whiter than his +daughter's, but there was a new light in his eyes--a momentary gleam of +nobility. + +"I won't crush you, Val," he said, and he meant his words. + +"And _I_ won't crush _you_," said the girl. + +She went up to his side, and, taking his hand, slipped his arm round +her neck. + +"We will live together, and I will have perfect faith in you, and I'll +marry Mr. Wyndham. He is good--oh, yes, he is good and kind; and if he +did not love me so much, if he did not frighten me with just being too +loving when I don't care at all, I might get on very well with him. +Now dismiss your cares, father. If this can save you, your little Val +has done it. Let us come up to the drawing-room. Mrs. Johnstone must +think herself forsaken. Shall I sing to you to-night, daddy, some of +the old-fashioned songs? Come, you have got to smile and look cheerful +for Val's sake. If I give myself up for you, you must do as much for +me. Come, a smile if you please, sir. 'Begone, dull care.' You and I +will never agree." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +It was soon after this that Valentine Paget's world became electrified +with the news of her engagement. Wyndham was congratulated on all +sides, and those people who had hitherto not taken the slightest notice +of a rather boyish and unpretentious young man, now found much to say +in his favor. + +Yes, he was undoubtedly good-looking--a remarkable face, full of +interest--he must be clever too--he looked it. And then as to his +youth--why was it that people a couple of months ago had considered him +a lad, a boy--why, he was absolutely old for his two-and-twenty years. +A grave thoughtful man with a wonderfully sweet expression. + +It was plain to be seen that Wyndham, the expectant curate of +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and Wyndham, the promised husband of Valentine +Paget, were totally different individuals. Wyndham's prospects were +changed, so was his appearance--so, in very truth, was the man himself. + +Where he had been too young he was now almost too old, that was the +principal thing outsiders noticed. But at twenty-two one can afford +such a change, and his gravity, his seriousness, and a certain proud +thoughtful look, which could not be classified by any one as a sad +look, was vastly becoming to Wyndham. + +His future father-in-law could not make enough of him, and even +Valentine caught herself looking at him with a shy pride which was not +very far removed from affection. + +Wyndham had given up the promised curacy--this was one of Mr. Paget's +most stringent conditions. On the day he married Valentine he was to +enter the great shipping firm of Paget, Brake and Carter as a junior +partner, and in the interim he went there daily to become +acquainted--the world said--with the ins and outs of his new +profession. + +It was all a great step in the direction of fortune and fame, and the +Rectory people ought, of course, to have rejoiced. + +They were curious and unworldly, however, at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and +somehow the news of the great match Gerald was about to contract +brought them only sorrow and distress. Lilias alone stood out against +the storm of woe which greeted the receipt of Wyndham's last letter. + +"It is a real trouble," she said, her voice shaking a good deal; "but +we have got to make the best of it. It is for Gerald's happiness. It is +selfish for us just to fret because we cannot always have him by our +side." + +"There'll be no millennium," said Augusta in a savage voice. "I might +have guessed it. That horrid selfish, selfish girl has got the whole of +our Gerald. I suppose he'll make her happy, nasty, spiteful thing; but +she has wrecked the happiness of seven other girls--horrid creature! I +might have known there was never going to be a millennium. Where are +the dogs? Let me set them fighting. Get out of that, madame puss--you +and Rover and Drake will quarrel now to the end of the chapter, for +Gerald is never coming home to live." + +Augusta's sentiments were warmly shared by the younger girls, and to a +great extent she even secured the sympathy of Marjory and the rector. + +"I don't understand you, Lilias," said her pet sister. "I thought you +would have been the worst of us all." + +"Oh, don't," said Lilias, tears springing to her eyes. "Don't you see, +Marjory, that I really feel the worst, so I must keep it all in? Don't +let us talk it over, it is useless. If Valentine makes Gerald happy I +have not a word to say, and if I am not glad I must pretend to be glad +for his sake." + +"Poor old Lil!" said Marjory. + +And after this little speech she teased her sister no more. + +A fortnight after his engagement Gerald came to the rectory for a brief +visit. He was apparently in high spirits, and never made himself more +agreeable to his sisters. He had no confidential talks, however, with +Lilly, and they all noticed how grave and quiet and handsome he had +grown. + +"He's exactly like my idea of the god Apollo," remarked Augusta. "No +wonder that girl is in love with him. Oh, couldn't I just pull her hair +for her. I can't think how Lilly sits by and hears Gerald praise her! +I'd like to give her a piece of my mind, and tell her what I think of +her carrying off our ewe-lamb. Yes, she's just like David in the Bible, +and I only wish I were the prophet Nathan, to go and have it out with +her!" + +Augusta was evidently mixed in her metaphors, for it was undoubtedly +difficult to compare the same person to Apollo and a ewe-lamb. +Nevertheless, she carried her audience with her, and when now and then +Gerald spoke of Valentine he received but scant sympathy. + +On the day he went away, the rector called Lilias into his study. + +"My dear," he said, "I want to have a little talk with you. What do you +think of all this? Has Gerald made you many confidences? You and he +were always great chums. He was reserved with me, remarkably so, for he +was always such an open sort of a lad. But of course you and he had it +all out, my dear." + +"No, father," replied Lilias. "That is just it. We hadn't anything +out." + +"What--eh--nothing? And the boy is in love. Oh, yes, anyone can see +that--in love, and no confidences. Then, my dear, I was afraid of +it--now I am sure--there must be something wrong. Gerald is greatly +changed. Lilias." + +"Yes," said Lilias. "I can't quite define the change, but it is there." + +"My dear girl, he was a boy--now he is a man. I don't say that he is +unhappy, but he has a good weight of responsibility on his shoulders. +He was a rather heedless boy, and in the matter of concealment or +keeping anything back, a perfect sieve. Now he's a closed book. +Closed?--locked I should say. Lilias, neither you nor I can understand +him. I wish to God your mother was alive!" + +"He told me," said Lilias, "that he had talked over matters with +you--that--that there was nothing much to say--that he was perfectly +satisfied, and that Valentine was like no other girl in the wide world. +To all intents and purposes Gerald was a sealed book to me, father; but +I don't understand your considering him so, for he said that he had +spoken to you very openly." + +"Oh, about the arrangements between him and Paget. Yes, I consider it a +most unprecedented and extraordinary sort of thing. Gerald gives up the +Church, goes into Paget's business--early next summer marries his +daughter, and on the day of his wedding signs the deeds of partnership. +He receives no salary--not so much as sixpence--but he and his wife +take up their abode at the Pagets' house in Queen's Gate, Paget making +himself responsible for all expenses. Gerald, in lieu of providing his +wife with a fortune, makes a marriage settlement on her, and for this +purpose is required to insure his life very heavily--for thousands, I +am told--but the exact sum is not yet clearly defined. Paget undertakes +to provide for the insurance premium. I call the whole thing unpleasant +and derogatory, and I cannot imagine how the lad has consented. +Liberty? What will he know of liberty when he is that rich fellow's +slave? Better love in a cottage, with a hundred a year, say I." + +"But, father, Mr. Paget would not have given Val to Gerald to live in a +cottage with her--and Gerald, he has consented to this--this that you +call degradation, because he loves Val so very, very much." + +"I suppose so, child. I was in love once myself--your mother was the +noblest and most beautiful of women; that lad is the image of her. +Well, so he never confided in you, Lil? Very strange, I call it very +strange. I tell you what. Lilias, I'll run up to town next week, and +have a talk with Paget, and see what sort of girl this is who has +bewitched the boy. That's the best way. I'll have a talk with Paget, +and get to the bottom of things. I used to know him long ago at +Trinity. Now run away, child. I must prepare my sermon for to-morrow." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +At this period of her life Valentine was certainly not in the least in +love with the man to whom she was engaged--she disliked caresses and +what she was pleased to call honeyed words of flattery. Wyndham, who +found himself able to read her moods like a book, soon learned to +accommodate himself to her wishes. He came to see her daily, but he +kissed her seldom--he never took her hand, nor put his arm round her +slim waist; they sat together and talked, and soon discovered that they +had many subjects of interest in common--they both loved music, they +both adored novels and poetry. Wyndham could read aloud beautifully, +and at these times Valentine liked to lie back in her easy chair and +steal shy glances at him, and wonder, as she never ceased to wonder, +from morning to night, why he loved her so much, and why her father +wanted her to marry him. + +If Valentine was cold to this young man, she was, however, quite the +opposite to the rector of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. Mr. Wyndham came to +town, and of course partook of the hospitality of the house in Queen's +Gate. In Valentine's eyes the rector was old, older than her +father--she delighted for her father's sake in all old men, and being +really a very loveable and fascinating girl soon won the rector's +heart. + +"I'm not a bit surprised, Gerald," the good man said to his son on the +day of his return to his parish duties. "She's a wilful lass, and has a +spirit of her own, but she's a good girl, too, and a sweet, and a young +fellow might do worse than lose his heart to her. Valentine is open as +the day, and when she comes to me as a daughter, I'll give her a +daughter's place in my heart. Yes, Valentine is all right enough, and +I'll tell Lilias so, and put her heart at rest, poor girl, but I'm not +so sure about Paget. I think you are putting yourself in a very +invidious position, if you will allow me to say so, my boy, coming into +Paget's house as a sort of dependent, even though you are his girl's +husband. I don't like the sound of it, and you won't care for the +position, Gerald, when you've experienced it for a short time. +However--oh, there's my train--yes, porter, yes, two bugs and a rag--I +mean two bags and a rug--Here, this way, this way. Dear, dear, how +confused one gets! Yes, Gerald, what was I saying? Oh, of course you're +of age, my boy, you are at liberty to choose for yourself. Yes, I like +the girl thoroughly. God bless you. Gerry; come down to the old place +whenever you have a spare Saturday." + +The younger Wyndham smiled in a very grave fashion, saw to his father's +creature comforts, as regarded wraps, newspapers, etc., tipped the +porter, who had not yet done laughing at the reverend gentleman's +mistake, and left the station. + +He hailed a cab and drove at once to his future father-in-law's +business address. He was quite at home now in the big shipping office, +the several clerks regarding him with mixed feelings of respect and +envy. Gerald had a gracious way with everyone, he was never distant +with his fellow-creatures, but there was also a slight indescribable +touch about him which kept those who were beneath him in the social +scale from showing the smallest trace of familiarity. He was +sympathetic, but he had a knack of making those who came in contact +with him treat him as a gentleman. The clerks liked Wyndham, and with +one exception were extremely civil to him. Helps alone held himself +aloof from the new-comer, watching him far more anxiously than the +other clerks did, but, nevertheless, keeping his own counsel, and +daring whenever he had the opportunity to use covert words of warning. + +On his arrival, to-day, Wyndham sent a message to the chief, asking to +see him as soon as convenient. While he waited in the ante-room, for in +reality he had little or nothing to do in the place, the door was +opened to admit another visitor, and then Adrian Carr, the young man +whom Valentine had once spoken of with admiration, stepped across the +threshold. The two young men were slightly acquainted, and while they +waited they chatted together. + +Carr was a great contrast to Wyndham--he was rather short, but thin and +wiry, without an atom of superfluous flesh anywhere--his shoulders were +broad, he was firmly knit and had a very erect carriage. Wyndham, tall, +loosely built, with the suspicion of a stoop, looked frail beside the +other man. Wyndham's dark grey eyes were too sensitive for perfect +mental health. His face was pallid, but at times it would flush +vividly--his lips had a look of repression about them--the whole +attitude of the man to a very keen observer was tense and watchful. + +Carr had dark eyes, closely cropped hair, a smooth face but for his +moustache, and a keen, resolute, bold glance. He was not nearly as +handsome as Wyndham, beside Wyndham he might even have been considered +commonplace, but his every gesture, his every glance betokened the +perfection of mental health and physical vigor. + +After a few desultory nothings had been exchanged between the two, Carr +alluded to Wyndham's engagement, and offered him his congratulations. +He did this with a certain guardedness of tone which caused Gerald to +look at him keenly. + +"Thank you--yes, I am very lucky," he replied. "But can we not exchange +good wishes, Carr? I heard a rumor somewhere, that you also were about +to be married." + +Carr laughed. + +"These rumors are always getting about," he said, "half of them end in +smoke. In my case you yourself destroyed the ghost of the chance of +such a possibility coming about." + +"I? What do you mean?" said Wyndham. + +"Nothing of the least consequence. As matters have turned out I am +perfectly heart-whole, but the fact is, the only girl I ever took the +slightest fancy to is going to be your wife. Oh, I am not in love with +her! You stopped me in time. I really only tell you this to show you +how much I appreciate the excellence of your taste." + +Wyndham did not utter a word, and just then Helps came to say that Mr. +Paget would see Mr. Carr for a few moments. Carr instantly left the +room, and Wyndham went over to the dusty window, leant his elbow +against one of the panes, and peered out. + +Apparently there was nothing for him to see--the window looked into a +tiny square yard, in the centre of which was a table, which contained a +dish of empty peapods, and two cabbages in a large basin of cold water. +Not a soul was in the yard, and Wyndham staring out ought in the usual +order of things soon to have grown weary of the objects of his +scrutiny. Far from that, his fixed gaze seemed to see something of +peculiar and intense interest. When he turned away at last, his face +was ghastly white, and taking out his handkerchief he wiped some drops +of moisture from his forehead. + +"My master will see you now, sir," said Helps, in a quiet voice. He had +been watching Wyndham all the time, and now he looked up at him with a +queer significant glance of sympathy. + +"Oh, ain't you a fool, young man?" he said. "Why, nothing ain't worth +what you're a-gwine through." + +"Is Carr gone?" asked Wyndham. + +"Oh yes, sir, he's a gent as knows what he's after. No putting his foot +into holes with him. He knows what ground he'll walk on. Come along, +sir, here you are." + +Helps always showed Wyndham into the chief's presence with great +parade. Mr. Paget was in a genial humor. When he greeted the young man +he actually laughed. + +"Sit down, Gerald; sit down, my dear boy. Now, you'll never guess what +our friend Adrian Carr came to see me about. 'Pon my word, it's quite a +joke--you'll never guess it, Gerald." + +"I'm sure of that, sir, I never guessed a riddle in my life." + +Something in the hopeless tone in which these few words were uttered +made Mr. Paget cease smiling. He favored Gerald with a lightning +glance, then said quietly: + +"I suppose I ought not to have laughed, but somehow I never thought +Carr would have taken to the job. He wants me to introduce him to your +father, Gerald. He is anxious to be ordained for the curacy which you +have missed. Fancy a man like Carr in the Church! He says he never +thought of such a profession until you put it into his head--now he is +quite keen after it. Well, perhaps he will make an excellent +clergyman--I rather fancy I should like to hear him preach." + +"If I were you," said Gerald, "I would refuse to give him that +introduction." + +"Refuse to give it him! My dear boy, what do you mean? I am not quite +such a churl. Why, I have given it him. I wrote a long letter to your +excellent father, saying all sorts of nice things about Carr, and he +has taken it away in his pocket. Her Majesty's post has the charge of +it by this time, I expect. What is the matter, Wyndham? You look quite +strange." + +"I feel it, sir--I don't like this at all. Carr and I have got mixed +somehow. He takes my curacy, and he confessed that but for me he'd +have gone in for Val. Now you see what I mean. He oughtn't to have the +curacy." + +Mr. Paget looked really puzzled. + +"You are talking in a strange way, Gerald," he said. "If poor Carr was +unfortunate enough to fall in love with a girl whom you have won, +surely you don't grudge him that poor little curacy too. My dear lad, +you are getting positively morbid. There, I don't think I want you for +anything special to day. Go home to Val--get her to cheer your low +spirits." + +"She cannot," replied Gerald. "You don't see, sir, because you won't. +Carr is not in love with Valentine, and Valentine is not in love with +him, but they both might be. I have heard Val talk of him--once. I +heard him speak of her--to day. By-and-bye, sir--in the future, they +may meet. You know what I mean. Carr ought not to go to +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold--it is wrong. I will not allow it. I will myself +write to the rector. I will take the responsibility, whoever gets my +old berth it must not be Adrian Carr." + +Wyndham rose as he spoke--he looked determined, all trace of weakness +or irresolution left his face. Paget had never before seen this young +man in his present mood. Somehow the sight gave him intense pleasure. A +latent fear which he had scarcely dared to whisper even to his own +heart that Wyndham had not sufficient pluck for what lay before him +vanished now. He too rose to his feet, and laid his hand almost +caressingly on the lad's shoulder. + +"My boy, you have no cause to fear in this matter. In the future I +myself will take care of Valentine, but I love you for your +thoughtfulness, Gerald." + +"You need not, sir. I have something on my mind which I must say now. I +have entered into your scheme. I have----" + +"Yes, yes--let me shut and lock the door, my boy." + +Wyndham, arrested in his speech, drew one or two heavy breaths. + +He spoke again in a sort of panting way. His eyes grew bright and +almost wild. + +"I have promised you," he continued. "I'll go through with it. It's a +million times worse fate for me than if I had killed someone, and then +was hung up by the neck until I died. That, in comparison to this, +would be--well, like the sting of a gnat. I'll go through with it, +however, and you need not be afraid that I'll change my mind. I do it +solely and entirely because I love your daughter, because I believe +that the touch of dishonor would blight her, because unfortunately for +herself she loves you better than any other soul in the world. If she +did not, if she gave me even half of the great heart which she bestows +upon you, then I would risk all, and feel sure that dishonor and +poverty with me would be better than honor and riches with you. You're +a happy man during these last six weeks. Mr. Paget. You have found your +victim, and you see a way of salvation for yourself, and a prosperous +future for Valentine. She won't grieve long--oh, no, not long for the +husband she never loved--but look here, you have to guard her against +the possibility in the future of falling in love with another--of being +won by another man, who will ask her to be his wife and the mother of +his children. Though she does not love me, she must remain my widow all +her days, for if she does not, if I hear that she, thinking herself +free, is about to contract marriage with another, I will return--yes, I +will return from the dead--from the grave, and say that it shall not +be, and I will show all the world that you are--what you have proved +yourself to be to me--a devil. That is all. I wanted to say this to +you. Carr has given me the opportunity. I won't see Val to-day, for I +am upset--to-morrow I shall have regained my composure." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +Wyndham was engaged to Valentine Paget very nearly a year before their +wedding. One of the young lady's stipulations was that under no +circumstances would she enter into the holy estate of matrimony before +she was eighteen. Paget made no objection to this proviso on Val's +part. In these days he humored her slightest wish, and no happier pair +to all appearance could have been seen driving in the Park, or riding +in the Row, than this handsome father and daughter. + +"What a beautiful expression he has," remarked many people. And when +they said this to the daughter she smiled, and a sweet proud light came +into her eyes. + +"My father is a darling," she would say. "No one knows him as I do. I +believe he is about the greatest and the best of men." + +When Val made enthusiastic remarks of this kind. Wyndham looked at her +sorrowfully. She was very fond of him by this time--he had learned to +fit himself to her ways, to accommodate himself to her caprices, and +although she frankly admitted that she could not for an instant compare +him to her father, she always owned that she loved him next best, and +that she thought it would be a very happy thing to be his wife. + +No girl could look sweeter than Val when she made little speeches of +this kind, but they had always a queer effect upon her lover, causing +him to experience an excitement which was scarcely joy, for nothing +could have more fatally upset Mr. Paget's plans than Valentine really +to fall in love with Wyndham. + +The wedding day was fixed for the first week in July, and Valentine was +accompanied to the altar by no less than eight bridesmaids. It was a +grand wedding--quite one of the events of the season, and those who saw +it spoke of the bride as beautiful, and of the bridegroom as a grave, +striking-looking man. + +If a man constantly practises self-repression there comes a time when, +in this special art, he almost reaches perfection. Wyndham had come to +this stage, as even Lilias, who read her brother like a book, could see +nothing amiss with him on his wedding day. All, therefore, went merrily +on this auspicious occasion, and the bride and bridegroom started for +the continent amid a shower of blessings and good wishes. + +"Gerald, dear, I quite forgive you," said Lilias, as at the very last +minute she put her arms round her brother's neck. + +"What for, Lilly?" he asked, looking down at her. + +Then a shadow of great bitterness crossed the sunshine of his face. He +stooped and kissed her forehead. + +"You don't know my sin, so you cannot forgive it, Lilly," he continued. + +"Oh, my darling, I know you," she said. "I don't think you could sin. I +meant that I have learned already to love Valentine a little, and I am +not surprised at your choice. I forgive you fully, Gerald, for loving +another girl better than your sister Lilias. Good-bye, dear old Gerry. +God bless you!" + +"He won't do that, Lilly--he can't. Oh, forgive me, dear, I didn't mean +those words. Of course I'm the happiest fellow in the world." + +Gerald turned away, and Lilias kissed Valentine, and then watched with +a queer feeling of pain at her heart as the bridal pair amid cheers and +blessings drove away. + +Gerald's last few words had renewed Lilias' anxiety. She felt restless +in the great, grand house, and longed to be back in the rectory. + +"What's the matter, Lil?" said Marjory; "your face is a yard long, and +you are quite white and have dark lines under your eyes. For my part I +did not think Gerald's wedding would be half so jolly, and what a nice +unaffected girl Valentine is." + +"Oh, yes, I'm not bothering my head about her," said Lilias. "She's all +right, just what father said she was. I wish we were at home again, +Maggie." + +"Yes, of course, so do I," said Marjory. "But then we can't be, for we +promised Gerald to try and make things bright for Mr. Paget. Isn't he a +handsome man, Lilly? I don't think I ever saw anyone with such a +beaming sort of benevolent expression." + +"He is certainly very fond of Valentine, and she of him," answered +Lilias. "No, I did not particularly notice his expression. The fact is +I did not look at anyone much except our Gerald. Marjory, I think it is +an awful thing for girls like us to have an only brother--he becomes +almost too precious. Marjory, I cannot sympathize with Mr. Paget. I +wish we were at home. I know our dear old dad will want us, and there +is no saying what mess Augusta will put things into." + +"Father heard from Mr. Carr on the morning we left," responded Marjory. +"I think he is coming to the rectory on Saturday. If so, father won't +miss us: he'll be quite taken up showing him over the place." + +"I shall hate him," responded Lilias, in a very tart voice. "Fancy his +taking our Gerald's place. Oh, Maggie, this room stifles me--can't we +change our dresses, and go out for a stroll somewhere? Oh, what folly +you talk of it's not being the correct thing! What a hateful place this +London is! Oh, for a breath of the air in the garden at home. Yes, what +is it, Mrs. Johnstone?" + +Lilias' pretty face looked almost grumpy, and a decidedly discontented +expression lurked in the dark, sweet eyes she turned upon the good lady +of the establishment. + +"Lilly has an attack of the fidgets," said Marjory. "She wants to go +out for a walk." + +"You shall both come in the carriage with me, my dears. I was coming in +to propose it to you. We won't dine until quite late this evening." + +"Delightful," exclaimed Marjory, and the two girls ran out of the room +to get ready. Mrs. Johnstone followed them, and a few moments later a +couple of young men who were staying in the house sauntered lazily into +the drawing-room. + +"What do you think of Wyndham's sisters, Exham?" said one to the other. + +Exham, a delicate youth of about nineteen, gave a long expressive +whistle. + +"The girls are handsome enough," he said. "But not in my style. The one +they call Lilias is too brusque. As to Wyndham, well--" + +"What a significant 'well,' old fellow--explain yourself." + +"Nothing," returned Exham, who seemed to draw out of any further +confidences he was beginning to make. "Nothing--only, I wouldn't be in +Wyndham's shoes." + +The other man, whose name was Power, gave a short laugh. + +"You need not pretend to be so wise and close, Exham," he retorted. +"Anyone can see with half an eye that Wyndham's wife is not in love +with him. All the same. Wyndham has not done a bad thing for +himself--stepping into a business like this. Why, he'll have everything +by-and-bye. I don't see how he can help it." + +"Did you hear that funny story," retorted Exham, "about Wyndham's life +being insured?" + +"No, what?--Most men insure their lives when they marry." + +"Yes, but this is quite out of the common. At four offices, and +heavily. It filtered to me through one of the clerks at the office. He +said it was all Paget's doing." + +"What a villain that clerk must be to let out family secrets," +responded Power. "I don't believe there's anything in it, Exham. Ah, +here comes the young ladies. Yes, Mrs. Johnstone, I should like to go +for a drive very much." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +Some people concern themselves vey much with the mysteries of life, +others take what good things fall into their way without question or +wonder. These latter folk are not of a speculating or strongly +reasoning turn; if sorrow arrives they accept it as wise, painful, +inevitable--if joy visits them they rejoice, but with simplicity. They +are the people who are naturally endowed with faith--faith first of all +in a guiding providence, which as a rule is accompanied by a faith in +their fellow men. The world is kind to such individuals, for the world +is very fond of giving what is expected of it--to one hate and +distrust, to another open-handed benevolence and cordiality. People so +endowed are usually fortunate, and of them it may be said, that it was +good for them to be born. + +All people are not so constituted--there is such a thing as a noble +discontent, and the souls that in the end often attain to the highest, +have nearly suffered shipwreck, have spent with St. Paul a day and a +night in the deep--being saved in the end with a great +deliverance--they have often on the road been all but lost. Such people +often sin very deeply--temptation assails them in the most subtle +forms, many of them go down really into the deep, and are never in this +life heard of again--they are spoken of as "lost," utterly lost, and +their names are held up to others as terrible warnings, as examples to +be shunned, as reprobates to be spoken of with bated breath. + +It may be that some of these so-called lost souls will appear as +victors in another state; having gone into the lowest depths of all +they may also attain to the highest heights; this, however, is a +mystery which no one can fathom. + +Gerald Wyndham was one of the men of whom no one could quite say it was +good for him to have been born. His nature was not very easily read, +and even his favorite sister Lilias did not quite know him. From his +earliest days he was so far unfortunate as never to be able to take +things easily; even in his childhood this characteristic marked him. +Sorrows with Gerald were never trivial; when he was six years old he +became seriously ill because a pet canary died. He would not talk of +his trouble, nor wail for his pet like an ordinary child, but sat +apart, and refused to eat, and only his mother at last could draw him +away from his grief, and show him it was unmanly to be rebellious. + +His joys were as intense as his woes--he was an intense child in every +sense of the word; eager, enthusiastic, with many noble impulses. All +might have gone well with him but for a rather strange accompaniment to +his special character; he was as reserved as most such boys would be +open. It was only by the changing expression of his eyes that on many +occasions people knew whether a certain proposition would plunge him in +the depths of woe or raise him to the heights of joy. He was innately +very unselfish, and this characteristic must have been most strongly +marked in him, for his father and his mother and his seven sisters did +their utmost to make him the reverse. Lilias said afterwards that they +failed ignobly. Gerald would never see it, she would say. Talk of +easy-chairs--he would stand all the evening rather than take one until +every other soul in the room was comfortably provided. Talk of the best +in anything,--you might give it to Gerald, but in five minutes he would +have given it away to the person who wanted it least. It was +aggravating beyond words, Lilias Wyndham often exclaimed, but before +you could even attempt to make old Gerry decently comfortable you had +to attend to the wants of even the cats and dogs. + +Wyndham carrying all his peculiarities with him went to school and then +to Cambridge. He was liked in both places, and was clever enough to win +distinction, but for the same characteristic which often caused him at +the last moment to fail, because he thought another man should win the +honor, or another schoolboy the prize. + +His mother wished him to take holy orders, and although he had no very +strong leaning in that direction he expressed himself satisfied with +her choice, and decided for the first few years of his life as deacon +and priest to help his father at the dear old parish of +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. + +Then came his meeting with Valentine Paget, the complete upheaval of +every idea, the revolution which shook his nature to its depths. His +hour had come, and he took the malady of young love--first, earnest, +passionate love--as anyone who knew him thoroughly, and scarcely anyone +did know the real Wyndham, might have expected. + +One pair of eyes, however, looked at this speaking face, and one keen +mental vision pierced down into the depths of an earnest and chivalrous +soul. Mortimer Paget had been long looking for a man like Wyndham. It +was not a very difficult matter to make such a lad his victim, hence +his story became one of the most sorrowful that could be written, as +far as this life is concerned. Had his mother, who was now in her grave +for over seven years, known what fate lay before this bright beautiful +boy of hers, she would have cursed the day of his birth. Fortunately +for mothers, and sisters too, the future lies in darkness, for +knowledge in such cases would make daily life unendurable. + +Valentine and her husband extended their wedding tour considerably over +the original month. They often wrote home, and nothing could exceed +the cheerfulness of the letters which Mr. Paget read with anxiety and +absorbing interest--the rectory folks with all the interest minus the +anxiety. Valentine frankly declared that she had never been so happy in +her life, and it was at last, at her father's express request, almost +command, that the young couple consented to take up their abode in +Queen's Gate early in the November which followed their wedding. They +spent a fortnight first at the old rectory, where Valentine appeared in +an altogether new character, and commenced her career by swearing an +eternal friendship with Augusta. She was in almost wild spirits, and +they played pranks together, and went everywhere arm-in-arm, +accompanied by the entire bevy of little sisters. + +Lilias and Marjory began by being rather scandalized, but ended by +thoroughly appreciating the arrangement, as it left them free to +monopolize Gerald, who on this occasion seemed to have quite recovered +his normal spirits. He was neither depressed nor particularly exultant, +he did not talk a great deal either about himself or his wife, but was +full of the most delighted interest in his father's and sisters' +concerns. The new curate, Mr. Carr, was now in full force, and Gerald +and he found a great deal to say to one another. The days were those +delicious ones of late autumn, when nature quiet and exhausted, as she +is after her time of flower and fruit, is in her most soothing mood. +The family at the rectory were never indoors until the shades of night +drove them into the long, low, picturesque, untidy drawing-room. + +Then Gerald sang with his sisters--they had all sweet voices, and his +was a pure and very sympathetic tenor. Valentine's songs were not the +same as those culled from old volumes of ballads, and selected from the +musical mothers' and grandmothers' store, which the rectory folk +delighted in. Hers were drawing-room melodies of the present day, +fashionable, but short-lived. + +The first night the young bride was silent, for even Augusta had left +her to join the singers round the piano. Gerald was playing an +accompaniment for his sisters, and the rector, standing in the back +ground, joined the swell of harmony with his rich bass notes. Valentine +and Carr, who was also in the room, were the silent and only listeners. +Valentine wore a soft white dress, her bright wavy locks of golden hair +were a little roughened, and her starry eyes were fixed on her husband. +Carr, who looked almost monastic in his clerical dress, was gazing at +her--her lips were partly open, she kept gentle time to the music with +her little hand. A very spirited glee was in full tide, when there came +a horrid discordant crash on the piano--everyone stopped singing, and +Gerald, very white, went up to Val, and took her arm. + +"Come over here and join us," he said almost roughly. + +"But I don't know any of that music, Gerald, and it is so delicious to +listen." + +"Folly," responded her husband. "It looks absurd to see two people +gaping at one. I beg your pardon, Carr--I am positively sensitive, +abnormally so, on the subject of being stared at. Girls, shall we have +a round game? I will teach Val some of Bishop's melodies to-morrow +morning." + +"I am going home," said Carr, quietly. "I did not know that anyone was +looking at you except your wife. Wyndham. Good-night?" + +It was an uncomfortable little scene, and even the innocent, +unsophisticated rectory girls felt embarrassed without knowing why. +Marjory almost blamed Gerald afterwards, and would have done so +roundly, but Lilias would not listen to her. + +At the next night's concert, Valentine sang almost as sweetly as the +others, but Carr did not come back to the rectory for a couple of +days. + +"I evidently acted like a brute, and must have appeared one," said +Gerald to himself. "But God alone knows what all this means to me." + +It was a small jar, the only one in that happy fortnight, when the +girls seemed to have quite got their brother back, and to have found a +new sister in pretty, bright Valentine. + +It was the second of November when the bride and bridegroom appeared at +a big dinner party made in their honor at the house in Queen's Gate. + +All her friends congratulated Valentine on her improved looks, and told +Wyndham frankly that matrimony had made a new man of him. He was +certainly bright and pleasant, and took his part quite naturally as the +son of the house. No one could detect the shadow of a care on his face, +and as to Val, she sat almost in her father's pocket, scarcely turning +her bright eyes away from his face. + +"I always thought that dear Mr. Paget the best and noblest and most +Christian of men," remarked a certain Lady Valery to her daughter as +they drove home that evening. "I am now more convinced of the truth of +my views than ever." + +"Why so, mother?" asked her daughter. + +"My dear, can you not see for yourself? He gave that girl of his--that +beautiful girl, with all her fortune--to a young man with neither +position nor money, simply and entirely because she fell in love with +him. Was there ever anything more disinterested? Yes, my dear, talk to +me of every Christian virtue embodied, and I shall invariably mention +my old friend, Mortimer Paget." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +"Valentine," said her husband, as they stood together by the fire in +their bedroom that night, "I have a great favor to ask of you." + +"Yes, Gerald--a favor! I like to grant favors. Is it that I must wear +that soft white dress you like so much to-morrow evening? Or that I +must sing no songs but the rectory songs for father's visitors in the +drawing-room. How solemn you look, Gerald. What is the favor?" + +Gerald's face did look careworn. The easy light-hearted expression +which had characterized it downstairs had left him. When Valentine laid +her hand lovingly on his shoulder, he slipped his arm round her waist, +however, and drew her fondly to his side. + +"Val, the favor is this," he said. "You can do anything you like with +your father. I want you to persuade him to let us live in a little +house of our own for a time, until, say next summer." + +Valentine sprang away from Gerald's encircling arm. + +"I won't ask that favor," she said, her eyes flashing. "It is mean of +you, Gerald. I married you on condition that I should live with my +father." + +"Very well, dear, if you feel it like that, we won't say anything more +about it. It is not of real consequence." + +Gerald took a letter out of his pocket, and opening the envelope began +leisurely to read its contents. Valentine still, however, felt ruffled +and annoyed. + +"It is so queer of you to make such a request," she said. "I wonder +what father would say. He would think I had taken leave of my senses, +and just now too when I have been away from him for months. And when +it is such a joy, such a deep, deep joy, to be with him again." + +"It is of no consequence, darling. I am sorry I mentioned it. See, +Valentine, this letter is from a great friend of mine, a Mrs. +Price--she wants to call on you; she is coming to-morrow. You will be +at home in the afternoon, will you not?" + +Valentine nodded. + +"I will be in," she said. Then she added, her eyes filling with +tears--"You don't really want to take me away from my father, Gerald?" + +"I did wish to do so, dear, but we need not think of it again. The one +and only object of my life is to make you happy, Val. Now go to bed, +and to sleep, dearest. I am going downstairs to have a smoke." + +The next morning, very much to her surprise, Mr. Paget called his +daughter into his study, and made the same proposition to her which +Gerald had made the night before. + +"I must not be a selfish old man, Val," he said. "And I think it is +best for young married folks to live alone. I know how you love me, my +child, and I will promise to pay you a daily visit. Or at least when +you don't come to me, I will look you up. But all things considered, it +is best for your husband and you to have your own house. Why, what is +it, Valentine, you look quite queer, child." + +"This is Gerald's doing," said Valentine--her face had a white set +look--never before had her father seen this expression on it. "No, +father, I will not leave you; I refuse to do so; it is breaking our +compact; it is unfair." + +She went up to him, and put her arms round his neck, and again her +golden locks touched his silvered head, and her soft cheek pressed his. + +"Father darling, you won't break your own Val's heart--you couldn't; it +would be telling a lie. I won't live away from you--I won't, so +there." + +Just at this moment Wyndham entered the room. + +"What is it, sir?" he said, almost fiercely. "What are you doing with +Val? Why, she is crying. What have you been saying to her?" + +"My father said nothing," answered Valentine for him. "How dare you +speak to my father in that tone? It is you. Gerald; you have been mean +and shabby. You went to my father to try to get him on your side--to +try and get him--to try and get him to aid you in going away--to live +in another house. Oh, it was a mean, cowardly thing to do, but you +shan't have your way, for I'm not going; only I'm ashamed of you, +Gerald, I'm ashamed of you." + +Here Valentine burst into a tempest of angry, girlish tears. + +"Don't be silly, Val," said her husband, in a quiet voice. "I said +nothing about this to Mr. Paget. I wished for it, but as I told you +last night, when you disapproved, I gave it up. I don't tell lies. Will +you explain to Valentine, please, sir, that I'm guiltless of anything +mean, or, as she expresses it, shabby, in this matter." + +"Of course, Wyndham--of course, you are," said Paget. "My dear little +Val, what a goose you have made of yourself. Now run away, Wyndham, +there's a good fellow, and I'll soothe her down. You might as well go +to the office for me. Ask Helps for my private letters, and bring them +back with you. Now, Valentine, you and I are going to have a drive +together. Good-bye, Wyndham." + +Wyndham slowly left the room--Valentine's head was still on her +father's shoulder--as her husband went away he looked back at her, but +she did not return his glance. + +"The old man is right," he soliloquized bitterly. "I have not a chance +of winning her heart. No doubt under the circumstances this is the only +thing to be desired, and yet it very nearly maddens me." + +Wyndham did not return to Queen's Gate until quite late; he had only +time to run up to his room and change his dress hastily for dinner. +Valentine had already gone downstairs, and he sighed heavily as he +noticed this, or he felt that unwittingly he had managed to hurt her in +her tenderest feelings that morning. + +"If there is much of this sort of thing," he said to himself. "I shall +not be so sorry when the year is up. When once the plunge is over I may +come up another man, and anything is better than perpetually standing +on the brink." Yet half an hour later Wyndham had completely changed +his mind, for when he entered the drawing-room, a girlish figure jumped +up at once out of an easy-chair, and ran to meet him, and Valentine's +arms were flung about his neck and several of her sweetest kisses +printed on his lips. + +"Forgive me for being cross this morning, dear old darling. Father has +made me see everything in quite a new light, and has shown me that I +acted quite like a little fiend, and that you are very nearly the best +of men. And do you know, Gerry, he wishes us so much to live alone, and +thinks it the only right and proper thing to do, that I have given in, +and I quite agree with him, quite. And we have almost taken the +sweetest, darlingest little bijou residence in Park-lane that you can +imagine. It is like a doll's house compared to this, but so exquisite, +and furnished with such taste. It will feel like playing in a +baby-house all day long, and I am almost in love with it already. You +must come with me and see it the first thing in the morning. Gerry, for +if we both like it, father will arrange at once with the agent, and +then, do you know the very first thing I mean to do for you, Gerry? Oh, +you need not guess, I'll tell you. Lilias shall come up to spend the +winter with us. Oh, you need not say a word. I'm not jealous, but I can +see how you idolize Lilias, Gerry." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +At the end of a week the Wyndhams were settled in their new home, and +Valentine began her duties as wife and housekeeper in earnest. She, +too, was more or less impulsive, and beginning by hating the idea she +ended by adopting it with enthusiasm. After all it was her father's +plan, not Gerald's, and that in her heart of hearts made all the +difference. + +For the first time in her life, Valentine had more to get through than +she could well accomplish. Her days, therefore, just now were one long +delight to her, and even Gerald felt himself more or less infected by +her high spirits. It was pretty to see her girlish efforts at +housekeeping, and even her failures became subjects of good-humored +merriment. Mr. Paget came over every day to see her, but he generally +chose the hours when her husband was absent, and Wyndham and his young +wife were in consequence able to spend many happy evenings alone. + +By-and-bye this girlish and thoughtless wife was to look back on these +evenings, and wonder with vain sighs of unavailing regret if life could +ever again bring her back such sweetness. Now she enjoyed them +unthinkingly, for her time for wakening had not come. + +When the young couple were quite settled in their own establishment, +Lilias Wyndham came up from the country to spend a week with them. +Nothing would induce her to stay longer away from home. Although +Valentine pleaded and coaxed, and even Gerald added a word or two of +entreaty, she was quite firm. + +"No," she said, "nothing would make me become the obnoxious +sister-in-law, about whom so much has been written in all the story +books I have ever read." + +"Oh, Lilias, you darling, as if you could!" exclaimed Val, flying at +her and kissing her. + +"Oh, yes, my dear, I could," calmly responded Lilly--"and I may just as +well warn you at once that my ways are not your ways in a great many +particulars, and that you'd find that out if I lived too long with you. +No, I'm going home to-morrow--to my own life, and you and Gerald must +live yours without me. I am ready to come, if ever either of you want +me, but just now no one does that as much as Marjory and my father." + +Lilias returned to Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and Valentine for some days +continued to talk of her with enthusiasm, and to quote her name on all +possible occasions. + +"Lilias says that I'll never make a good housekeeper, unless I bring my +wants into a fixed allowance, Gerald. She says I ought to know what I +have got to spend each week, and not to exceed it, whether it is a +large or small sum. She says that's what she and Marjory always do. +About how much do you think I ought to spend a week on housekeeping, +Gerry?" + +"I don't know, darling. I have not the most remote idea." + +"But how much have we to spend altogether? We are very rich, are we +not?" + +"No, Valentine, we are very poor. In fact we have got nothing at all." + +"Why, what a crease has come between your brows; let me smooth it +out--there, now you look much nicer. You have got a look of Lilias, +only your eyes are not so dark. Gerald, I think Lilias so pretty. I +think she is the very sweetest girl I ever met. But what do you mean by +saying we are poor? Of course we are not poor. We would not live in a +house like this, and have such jolly, cosy, little dinners if we were +poor. Why, I know that champagne that we have a tiny bottle of every +evening is really most costly. I thought poor people lived in attics, +and ate bread and American cheese. What do you mean by being poor, +Gerald?" + +"Only that we have nothing of our own, dearest; we depend on your +father for everything." + +"You speak in quite a bitter tone. It is sweet to depend on my father. +But doesn't he give us an allowance?" + +"No, Valentine, I just take him all the bills, and he pays them." + +"Oh, I don't like that plan. I think it is much more important and +interesting to pay one's own bills, and I can never learn to be a +housekeeper if I don't understand the value of money. I'll speak to +father about this when he comes to-morrow. I'll ask him to give me an +allowance." + +"I wouldn't," replied Gerald. He spoke lazily, and yawned as he uttered +the words. + +"There's no use in taking up things that one must leave off again," he +added, somewhat enigmatically. Then he opened a copy of Browning which +lay near, and forgot Valentine and her troubles, at least she thought +he forgot her. + +She looked at him for a moment, with a half-pleased, half-puzzled +expression coming into her face. + +"He is very handsome and interesting," she murmured under her breath. +"I like him, I certainly do like him, not as well as my father of +course--I'm not sorry I married him now. I like him quite as well as I +could ever have cared for the other man--the man who wore white +flannels and had a determined voice, and now has been turned into a +dreadful prosy curate. Yes, I do like Gerald. He perplexes me a good +deal, but that is interesting. He is mysterious, and that is +captivating--yes, yes--yes. Now, what did he mean by that queer remark +about my housekeeping--'that it wasn't worth while?' I hope he's not +superstitious--if anything could be worth while it would be well for a +young girl like me to learn something useful and definite. I'll ask him +what he means." + +She drew a footstool to her husband's side, and taking one of his hands +laid her cheek against it. Wyndham dropped his book and smiled down at +her. + +"Gerry, do you believe in omens?" she asked. + +Gerald gave a slight start. Circumstances inclined him to +superstition--then he laughed. He must not encourage his wife in any +such folly. + +"I don't quite understand you, my love," he replied. + +"Only you said it was not worth my while to learn to housekeep. Why do +you say that? I am very young, you are young. If we are to go on always +together, I ought to become wise and sensible. I ought to have +knowledge. What do you mean, Gerald? Have you had an omen? Do you think +you will die? Or perhaps that I shall die? I should not at all like it. +I hope--I trust--no token of death has been sent to you about me." + +"None, my very dearest, none. I see before you a life of--of peace. +Peace and plenty--and--and--honor--a good life, Valentine, a guarded +life." + +"How white you are, Gerald. And why do you say 'you' all the time? The +life, the peaceful life, and it sounds rather dull, is for us both, +isn't it?" + +"I don't know--I can't say. You wouldn't care, would you, Val--I +mean--I mean----" + +"What?" + +Valentine had risen, her arms were thrown round Gerald's neck. + +"Are you trying to tell me that I could be happy now without you?" she +whispered. "Then I couldn't, darling. I don't mind telling you I +couldn't. I--I----" + +"What, Val, what?" + +"I like you, Gerald. Yes, I know it--I do like you--much." + +It ought to have been the most dreadful sound to him, and yet it +wasn't. Wyndham strained his wife to his heart. Then he raised his +eyes, and with a start Valentine and he stepped asunder. + +Mr. Paget had come into the room. He had come in softly, and he must +have heard Valentine's words, and seen that close embrace. + +With a glad cry the girl flew to his side, but when he kissed her his +lips trembled, he sank down on the nearest chair like a man who had +received a great shock. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +"I'm afraid I can't help it, sir," said Wyndham. + +Mr. Paget and his son-in-law were standing together in the very +comfortable private room before alluded to in the office of the former. + +Wyndham was standing with his back to the mantel-piece; Valentine's +lovely picture was over his head. Her eyes, which were almost dancing +with life, seemed to have something mocking in them to Mr. Paget, as he +encountered their gaze now. As eyes will in a picture, they followed +him wherever he moved. He was restless and ill at ease, and he wished +either that the picture might be removed, or that he could take up +Wyndham's position with his back to it. + +"I tell you," he said, in a voice that betrayed his perturbation, "that +you must help it. It's a clear breaking of contract to do otherwise." + +"You see," said Wyndham, with a slow smile, "you under-rated my +attractions. I was not the man for your purpose after all." + +"Sit down for God's sake, Wyndham. Don't stand there looking so +provokingly indifferent. One would think the whole matter was nothing +to you." + +"I am not sure that it is much; that is, I am not at all sure that I +shall not take my full meed of pleasure out of the short time allotted +to me." + +"Sit down, take that chair, no, not that one--that--ah, that's better. +Valentine's eyes are positively uncomfortable the way they pursue me +this evening. Wyndham, you must feel for me--you must see that it will +be a perfectly awful thing if my--my child loses her heart to you." + +"Well, Mr. Paget, you can judge for yourself how matters stand. I--I +cannot quite agree with you about what you fear being a catastrophe." + +"You must be mad, Wyndham--you must either be mad, or you mean to cheat +me after all." + +"No, I don't. I have a certain amount of honor left--not much, or I +shouldn't have lent myself to this, but the rag remaining is at your +service. Seriously now, I don't think you have grave cause for alarm. +Valentine is affectionate, but I am not to her as you are." + +"You are growing dearer to her every day. I am not blind, I have +watched her face. She follows you with her eyes--when you don't eat she +is anxious, when you look dismal--you have an infernally dismal face at +times, Wyndham--she is puzzled. It wasn't only what I saw last night. +Valentine is waking up. It was in the contract that she was not to wake +up. I gave you a child for your wife. She was to remain a child +when----" + +"When she became my widow," Wyndham answered calmly. + +"Yes. My God, it is awful to think of it. We must go in, we daren't +turn back, and she may suffer, she may suffer horribly, she has a great +heart--a deep heart. It is playing with edged tools to make it live." + +"Can't you shorten the time of probation?" asked Wyndham. + +"I wish to heaven I could, but I am powerless. Wyndham, my good friend, +my son--something must be done." + +"Don't call me your son," said the younger man, rising and shaking +himself. "I have a father who besides you is--there, I won't name what +I think of you. I have a mother--through your machinations I shall +never see her face any more. Don't call me your son. You are very wise, +you have the wisdom of a devil, but even you can overreach yourself. +You thought you had found everything you needed, when you found +me--the weak young fool, the despairing idiotic lover. Poor? Yes, +cursedly poor, and with a certain sense of generosity, but nothing at +all in myself to win the heart of a beautiful young girl. You should +have gone down to Jewsbury-on-the-Wold for a little, before you summed +up your estimate of my character, for the one thing I have always found +lying at my feet is--love. Even the cats and dogs loved me--those to +whom I gave nothing regarded me with affection. Alack--and alas--my +wife only follows the universal example." + +"But it must be stopped, Wyndham. You cannot fail to see that it must +be stopped. Can you not help me--can you not devise some plan?" + +Wyndham dropped his head on his hands. + +"Hasten the crisis," he said. "I want the plunge over; hasten it." + +There came a tap at the room door. Mr. Paget drew back the curtain +which stood before it, slipped the bolts, and opened it. + +"Ah, I guessed you were here!" said Valentine's gay voice; "yes, and +Gerald too. This is delightful," added she, as she stepped into the +room. + +"What is it, Val?" asked her father. "I was busy--I was talking to your +husband. I am very much occupied this afternoon. I forgot it was the +day you generally called for me. No, I'm afraid I can't go with you, my +pet." + +Valentine was looking radiant in winter furs. + +"I'll go with Gerald, then," she said. "He's not too busy." + +She smiled at him. + +"No, my dear, I'll go with you," said the younger man. "I don't think, +sir," he added, turning round, with a desperately white but smiling +face, "that we can advance business much by prolonging this interview, +and if you have no objection, I should like to take a drive with my +wife as she has called." + +Valentine instinctively felt that these smoothly spoken words were +meant to hide something. She glanced from the face of one man to +another; then she went up to her father and linked her hand in his arm. + +"Come, too, daddy," she said. "You used always to be able to make +horrid business wait upon your own Valentine's pleasure." + +Mr. Paget hesitated for a moment. Then he stooped and lightly kissed +his daughter's blooming cheek. + +"Go with your husband, dear," he said, gently. "I am really busy, and +we shall meet at dinner time." + +"Yes, we are to dine with you to-night--I've a most important request +to make after dinner. You know what it is, Gerry. Won't father be +electrified? Promise beforehand that you'll grant it, dad." + +"Yes, my child, yes. Now run away both of you. I am really much +occupied." + +Valentine and her husband disappeared. Mr. Paget shut and locked the +door behind them--he drew the velvet curtains to insure perfect +privacy. Then he sank down in his easy-chair to indulge in anxious +meditation. + +He thought some of those hard thoughts, some of those abstruse, +worrying, almost despairing thoughts, which add years to a man's life. + +As he thought the mask dropped from his handsome face; he looked old +and wicked. + +After about a quarter-of-an-hour of these meditations, he moved +slightly and touched an electric bell in the wall. His signal was +answered in about a minute by a tap at the room door. He slipped the +bolts again, and admitted his confidential clerk, Helps. + +"Sit down, Helps. Yes, bolt the door, quite right. Now, sit down. +Helps, I am worried." + +"I'm sorry to observe it, sir," said Helps. "Worries is nat'ral, but +not agreeable. They come to the good and they come to the bad alike; +worries is like the sun--they shines upon all." + +"A particularly agreeable kind of glare they make," responded Mr. +Paget, testily. "Your similes are remarkable for their aptitude, Helps. +Now, have the goodness to confine yourself to briefly replying to my +questions. Has there been any news from India since last week?" + +"Nothing fresh, sir." + +"No sign of stir; no awakening of interest--of--of--suspicion?" + +"Not yet, sir. It isn't to be expected, is it?" + +"I suppose not. Sometimes I get impatient, Helps." + +"You needn't now, sir. Your train is, so to speak, laid. Any moment you +can apply the match. Any moment, Mr. Paget. Sometimes, if you'll excuse +me for speaking of that same, I have a heart in my bosom that pities +the victim. You shouldn't have done it from among the clergy. Mr. +Paget, and him an only son, too." + +"Hush, it's done. There is no help now. Helps, you are the only soul in +the world who knows everything. Helps, there may be two victims." + +Helps had a sallow face. It grew sickly now. + +"I don't like it," he muttered. "I never did approve of meddling with +the clergy--he was meant for the Church, and them is the Lord's +anointed." + +"Don't talk so much," thundered Mr. Paget. "I tell you there are two +victims--and one of them is my child. She is falling in love with her +husband. It is true--it is awful. It must be prevented. Helps, you and +I have got to prevent it." + +Helps sat perfectly still. His eyes were lowered; they were following +the patterns of the carpet. He moved his lips softly. + +"It must be prevented," said Mr. Paget. "Why do you sit like that? Will +you help me, or will you not?" + +Helps raised his greeny-blue eyes with great deliberation. + +"I don't know that I will help you, Mr. Paget," he replied; and then he +lowered them again. + +"You won't help me? You don't know what you are saying, Helps. Did you +understand my words? I told you that my daughter was falling in love +with that scamp Wyndham." + +"He ain't a scamp," replied the clerk. "He's in the conspiracy, poor +lad, he's the victim of the conspiracy, but he's no scamp. Now I never +liked it. I may as well own to you, Mr. Paget, that I never liked your +meddling with the clergy. I said, from the first, as no good would come +of it. It's my opinion, sir--" here Helps rose, and raising one thin +hand shook it feebly at his employer, "it's my opinion as the Lord is +agen you--agen us both for that matter. We can't do nothing if He is, +you know. I had a dream last night--I didn't like the dream, it was a +hominous dream. I didn't like your scheme, Mr. Paget, and I don't think +I'll help you more'n I have done." + +"Oh, you don't? You are a wicked old scoundrel. You think you can have +things all your own way. You are a thief. You know the kind of +accommodation thieves get when their follies get found out. Of course, +it's inexpensive, but it's scarcely agreeable." + +Helps smiled slightly. + +"No one could lock me up but you, and you wouldn't dare," he replied. + +These words seemed somehow or other to have a very calming effect on +Mr. Paget. He did not speak for a full moment, then he said quietly-- + +"We won't go into painful scenes of the past, Helps. Yes; we have both +committed folly, and must stand or fall together. We have both got only +daughters--it is our life's work to shield them from dishonor, to guard +them from pain. Suppose, Helps, suppose your Esther was in the +position of my child? Suppose she was learning to love her husband, and +you knew what that husband had before him, how would you feel, Helps? +Put yourself in my place, and tell me how you'd feel." + +"It 'ud all turn on one point," said Helps. "Whether I loved the girl +or myself most. Ef I saw that the girl was going deep in love with her +husband--deep, mind you--mortal deep--so I was nothing at all to her +beside him, why then, maybe, I'd save the young man for her sake, and +go under myself. I might do that, it 'ud depend on how much I loved." + +"Nonsense; you would bring dishonor and ruin on her. How could she ever +hold up her head again?" + +"Maybe he'd comfort her through it. There's no saying. Love, deep love, +mind you, does wonders." + +Mr. Paget began to pace up and down the room. + +"You are the greatest old fool I ever came across," he said. "Now, mind +you, your sentiments with regard to your low-born daughter are nothing +at all to me. _Noblesse oblige_ doesn't come into the case with you as +it does with my child. Dishonor shall never touch her; it would kill +her. She must be guarded against it. Listen, Helps. We have talked +folly and sentiment enough. Now to business. That young man must not +rise in my daughter's esteem. There is such a thing--listen, Helps, +come close--such a thing as blackening a man's character. You think it +over--you're a crafty old dog. Go home and look at Esther, and think it +over. God bless me, I'd not an idea how late it was. Here's a five +pound note for your pretty girl, Helps. Now go home and think it +over." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +Helps buttoned on his great coat, said a few words to one of the +clerks, and stepped out into the foggy night. He hailed a passing +omnibus, and in the course of half-an-hour found himself fumbling with +his latch-key in the door of a neat little house, which, however, was +at the same moment thrown wide open from within, and a tall girl with a +pale face, clear grey eyes, and a quantity of dark hair coiled about +her head stood before him. + +"It's father, Cherry," she said to a little cousin who popped round the +corner. "Put the sausages on, and dish up the potatoes. Now don't be +awkward. I'm glad you're in good time, father--here, give us a kiss. Do +I look nice in this dress? I made it all myself. Here, come up to the +gas, and have a good look at it. How does it fit? Neat, eh?" + +The dress was a dark green velveteen, made without attempt at ornament, +but fitting the slim and lissom figure like a glove. + +"It's neat, but plain, surely," replied Helps, looking puzzled, proud, +and at the same time dissatisfied. "A bit more color now,--more +flouncing--Why, what's the matter, Essie? How you do frown, my girl." + +"Come in out of the cold, father. Oh, no, not the kitchen, I've ordered +supper to be laid in the dining-room. Well, perhaps the room it does +smoke, but that will soon clear off. Now, father, I want to ask you an +important question. Do I look like a lady in this dress?" + +She held herself very erect, the pure outline of her grand figure was +shown to the best advantage, her massive head had a queenly pose, and +the delicate purity of her complexion heightened the effect. Her accent +was wrong, her words betrayed her--could she have become dumb, she +might have passed for a princess. + +"Do I look like a lady?" she repeated. + +Little Helps stepped back a pace or two--he was puzzled and annoyed. + +"You look all right, Essie," he said. "A lady? Oh, well--but you ain't +a lady, my girl. Look here, Esther, this room is mortal cold--I'd a +sight rather have my supper cosy in the kitchen." + +"You can't then, father. You must take up with the genteel ways. After +supper we're going into the drawing-room, and I'll play to you on the +pianner, pa; I have been practising all day. Perhaps, too, we'll have +company--there's no saying." + +"Company?" repeated Helps. "Who--what?" + +"Oh, I'm not going to say, maybe he won't come. I met him in the +park--I was skating with the Johnsons, and I fell, and he picked me up. +I might have been hurt but for him. Then he heard George Johnson +calling me by my name, and it turned out that he knew you. Oh, wasn't +he a swell, and didn't he look it! And hadn't he a name worth boasting +of! 'Mr. Gerald Wyndham.' Why, what's the matter, father? He said that +he had often promised to look you up some evening, to bring you some +stupid book or other. He said maybe he would come to-night. That's why +I had the drawing-room and dining-room all done up. He said perhaps +he'd call, and took off his hat most refined. I took an awful fancy to +him--his ways was so aspiring. He said he might come to-night, but he +wasn't sure. I didn't know you had young men like that at your office, +father. And what is the matter?--why, you're quite white!" + +"I never talk of what goes on at the place of business," replied +Helps, in quite a brusque voice for him. "And as to that young gent, +Esther, he's our Miss Valentine's husband." + +"Married? Oh, lor, he didn't look it! And who is 'our Miss Valentine?' +if I may be bold enough to ask." + +"Mr. Paget's daughter. I said I didn't mention matters connected with +the place of business." + +"You always were precious close, father. But you're a dear, good, old +dad, all the same, and Cherry and I would sooner die than have you +scolded about anything. Cherry, my fine beau's a married man--pity, +aint it? I thought maybe he'd suit me." + +"Then you needn't have lit the fire in the drawing-room," answered +Cherry, a very practical and stoutly-built little maid of fifteen. + +"Maybe I needn't, but there's no harm done. I suppose I can talk to +him, even if he is married. Won't I draw him out about Miss Valentine, +and tell him how father always kept her a secret from us." + +"Supper's ready, uncle," said Cherry. "Oh, bother that fire! It's quite +out. Don't the sausages smell good, uncle? I cooked them myself." + +The three sat down to the table, poor Helps shivering not a little, and +casting more than one regretful glance at the warm and cosy kitchen. He +was feeling depressed for more than one reason this evening, and a +sense of dismay stole over him at Esther's having accidentally made +Wyndham's acquaintance. + +"It's a bad omen," he said, under his breath, "and Esther's that +contrary, and so taken up with making a lady of herself, and she's +beautiful as a picter, except when she talks folly. + +"I liked that young man from the first," he murmured. "I took, so to +speak, a fancy to him, and warned him, and I quoted scripter to him. +All to no good. The glint of a gel's eye was too much for him, he sold +himself for her--body and soul he sold himself for her. Still, I went +on keeping up a fancy for him, and I axed him to look me up some +evening, and have a pipe--he's wonderful on words too--he can derivate +almost as many as I can. I'm sorry now I asked him--Esther's that +wilful, and as beautiful as a picter. She talks too much to young men +that's above her. She's set on being a lady. Mr. Wyndham's married, of +course, but Esther wouldn't think nothing of trying to flirt with him +for all that." + +"Esther," he said, suddenly, raising his deep-set eyes, and fixing them +on his daughter, "ef the young man calls, it's to see me, mind +you--he's a married man, and he has got the most beautiful wife in the +world, and he loves her. My word, I never heard tell of nobody loving +their wife so much!" + +Esther's big grey eyes opened wide. + +"How you look at me, dad," she said. "One would think I wanted to steal +Mr. Wyndham from his wife! I'm glad he loves her, it's romantic, it +pleases me." + +"And there's his ring at the door," suddenly exclaimed Cherry. "Esther +was right to prepare the drawing-room. I'm glad he have come. I like to +look at handsome gents, particular when they are in love." + +Gerald's arrival was accidental after all. He and his wife were dining +in Queen's Gate, and after dinner he remembered his adventure on the +ice, and told the story in an amusing way. + +"A most beautiful girl, but with such an accent and manner," he said. +"And who do you think she turned out to be, sir?" he added, turning to +his father-in-law. "Why, your cracked clerk's daughter. She told me her +name was Esther Helps, and I found they were father and daughter." + +"Has old Helps got a daughter?" exclaimed Valentine. + +"How funny that I should never have known it. I have always been rather +fond of old Helps." + +"He has an only daughter, as I have an only daughter," replied Mr. +Paget. Valentine was sitting close to him; he put his arm around her +waist as he spoke. + +"How queer that I should never have known," continued Valentine. "And +her name is Esther? It is a pretty name. And you say that she is +handsome, Gerry? What is she like?" + +"Tall and pale, with an expressive face," replied Wyndham, lightly. +"She is lady-like, and even striking-looking until she opens her +lips--then----" he made an expressive grimace. + +"Poor girl, as if she could help that," replied Val. "She has never +been educated, you know. Her father is poor, and he can't give her +advantages. Does old Helps love his daughter very much, dad?" + +"I suppose so, Val. Yes, I think I may say I am sure he does." + +"I am so interested in only girls with fathers," continued Mrs. +Wyndham. "I wish I had seen Esther Helps. I hope you were kind to her, +Gerald." + +"I picked her up, dear, and gave her to her friends. By-the-way, I said +I'd call to see old Helps this evening. He has a passion for the +derivation of words, and I have Trench's book on the subject. Shall I +take Esther a message from you, Val?" + +"Yes, say something nice. I am not good at making up messages. Tell her +I am interested in her, and the more she loves her father, the greater +my interest must be. See, this is much better than any mere +message--take her this bunch of lilies--say I sent them. Now, Gerald, +is it likely I should be lonely? Father and I are going to have two +hours all to ourselves." + +But as Valentine said these light words, her hand lingered on her +husband's shoulder, and her full brown eyes rested on his face. +Something in their gaze made his heart throb. He put his arm round her +neck and kissed her forehead. + +"I shan't be two hours away," he said. + +He took up the flowers, put "Trench on Words" into his pocket, and went +out. + +Wyndham had a pleasant way with all people. His words, his manner, his +gentle courteous smile won for him hearts in all directions. He was +meant to be greatly beloved; he was born to win the most dangerous +popularity of all--that which brought to him blind and almost +unreasoning affection. + +He was received at No. 5 Acadia Terrace with enthusiasm. Esther and +Cherry were open-eyed in their admiration, and Helps, a little +sorrowful--somehow Helps if he wasn't cynical was always +sorrowful--felt proud of the visit. + +Gerald insisted on adjourning to the kitchen. He and Helps had a long +discussion on words--Cherry moved softly about, putting everything in +order--Esther sat silent and lovely, glancing up now and then at Gerald +from under her black eyelashes. Valentine's flowers lay in her lap. +They were dazzlingly white, and made an effective contrast to her dark +green dress. It was a peaceful little scene--nothing at all remarkable +about it. Gerald fell more contented than he had done for many a day. +Who would have thought that out of such innocent materials mischief of +the deadliest sort might be wrought to him and his. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +When Wyndham came back to Queen's Gate his wife met him with sparkling +eyes. + +"How much time can you give me to-morrow?" she said. "I want to go out +with you. I have been speaking to father, and he accedes to all our +wishes--he will give us an income. He says he thinks a thousand a year +will be enough. Oh, he is kind, and I feel so excited. Don't let us +drive, let us walk home, Gerry. I know the night is fine. I feel that +everything is bright just now, and you will come with me to-morrow, +won't you, Gerry? Father, could you spare Gerald from business +to-morrow? You know it is so important." + +Mr. Paget was standing a little in the shadow, his face was beaming, +his eyes smiling. When Valentine turned to him, he laid his hand +lightly on her shoulder. + +"You are an inconsistent little girl," he said. "You want to become a +business woman yourself. You want to be practical, and clever, and +managing, and yet you encourage that husband of yours to neglect his +work." + +Gerald flushed. + +"I don't neglect my work," he said. "My heavy work has never a chance +of being neglected, it is too crushing." + +Valentine looked up in alarm, but instantly Mr. Paget's smiling face +was turned to the young man, and his other hand touched his arm. + +"Your work to-morrow is to go with your wife," he said gently. "She +wants to shop--to spend--to learn saving by expenditure. You have to go +with her to give her the benefit of your experience. Look out for cheap +sales, my dear child--go to Whiteley's, and purchase what you don't +want, provided it is a remnant, and sold under cost price. Save by +learning, Val, and, Gerald, you help her to the best of your ability. +Now good-night, my children, good-night, both of you, bless you." + +"It almost seemed to me," said Valentine, as they walked home +together--it was a starry night and she clung affectionately to her +husband's arm--"it almost seemed to me that father was put out with +you, and you with him. He was so sweet while you were out, but although +he smiled all the time after you returned I don't think he was really +sweet, and you didn't speak nicely to him, Gerald, about the work I +mean. Is the work at the office very heavy. Gerald? You never spend +more than about two hours a day there." + +"The work is heavy, Val, and it will grow more so. I don't complain, +however--I have not the shadow of a right to complain. I am sorry I +spoke to your father so as to vex you, dearest----I won't do so again." + +"I want you to love him, Gerry; I want you to feel for him a little +bit, as I do, as if he were the first of men, you understand. Don't you +think you could try. I wish you would." + +"You see I have my own father, darling." + +"Oh yes, but really now--the rector is a nice old man, but, Gerry, if +you were to speak from your inmost heart, without any prejudice, you +know; if you could detach from your mind the fact that you are the son +of the rector, you would not compare them, Gerry, you could not." + +"As you say, Valentine, I could not. They stand on different pedestals. +Now let us change the subject. So you are the happy possessor of a +thousand a year." + +"We both possess that income, Gerry. Is not it sweet of father--he felt +for me at once. He said he was proud of me, that I was going to make a +capital wife--he said you were a lucky fellow, Gerry." + +"Yes, darling, so I am, so I am." + +"Then he spoke of a thousand a year to begin with. He mentioned a lot +more, but he said a thousand was an income on which I might begin to +learn to save. And he gave me a cheque for the first quarter to-night. +He said we had better open a banking account. As soon as we get in, I'm +going to give you the cheque, I'm afraid to keep it. Father said we +might open a separate account in his bank." + +"My father has always banked at the Westminster," said Gerald. "It +would suit me best to take the money there." + +They had reached the house by this time. Gerald opened the door with a +latch-key, and the two went into the pretty, cosy drawing-room. +Valentine threw off her white fur wrap, and sank down into an +easy-chair. Her dinner dress was white, and made in a very simple +girlish fashion--her hair, which was always short and curled in little +rings about her head and face, added to the extreme youth of her +appearance. She raised her eyes to her husband, who stood by the +mantel-piece. The expression she wore was that of a happy, excited, +half-spoiled child, a creature who had been somebody's darling from her +birth. This was the predominating expression of her face, and yet--and +yet--Gerald seemed to read something more in the gaze of the sweet eyes +to-night; a question was half coming into them, the dawn of a possible +awakening might even be discerned in them. + +"My darling," he said, suddenly coming up to her, putting his arm about +her, and kissing her with passion, "I love you better than my +life--better--better than my hope of heaven. Can you love me a little, +Valentine--just a little?" + +"I do love you, Gerald." But she spoke quietly, and without any +answering fire. + +His arms dropped, the enthusiasm went out of his face; he went back +again to his old position with his back to the fire. + +"What kind of girl is Esther Helps, Gerald?" + +"A beautiful girl." + +"As beautiful as I am?" + +"In her way quite as beautiful." + +"Why do you say 'in her way?' Beauty must always be beauty." + +"It has degrees, Esther Helps is not a lady." + +Valentine was silent for half a minute. + +"I should like to know her," she said then. "I wonder how much she +cares for old Helps." + +"Look here, Valentine, Esther Helps is not the least like you. I don't +know that she has any romantic attachment for that old man. She is a +very ordinary girl--a most commonplace person with just a beautiful +face." + +"How queerly you speak, Gerald. As if it were something strange for an +only daughter to be attached to her father." + +"The amount of attachment you feel, darling, is uncommon." + +"Is it? Well, I have got a very uncommon father." + +"My dear Valentine, God knows you have." + +Gerald sank down into a chair by the fire. He turned his face, dreary, +white and worn, to the blaze. Valentine detected no hidden sarcasm in +his tones. After a time she took the cheque out of her purse and handed +it to him. + +"Here, Gerry, you will put this into your bank to-morrow, won't you? We +will open an account in our joint names, won't we? And then we can +calculate how much we are to spend weekly and monthly. Oh, won't it be +interesting and exciting. So much for my clothes, so much for yours, so +much for servants, so much for food--we need not spend so much on food, +need we? So much for pleasures--I want to go to the theatre at least +twice a week--oh, we can manage it all and have something to spare. And +no debts, remember, Gerry--ready money will be our system. We'll go in +omnibuses, too, to save cabs--I shall love to feel that I am doing for +a penny what might cost a shilling. Gerald darling, do you know that +just in one way you have vexed my father a little?" + +"Vexed him--how, Valentine?" + +"He says it is very wrong of you to croak, and have gloomy +prognostications. You know you said it was not worth while for me to +learn to housekeep. Just as if you were going to die, or I were going +to die. Father was quite vexed when I told him. Now you look vexed, +Gerry. Really between such a husband and such a father, a poor girl may +sometimes feel puzzled. Well, have you nothing to say?" + +"I'm afraid I have nothing to say, Valentine." + +"Then you won't croak any more." + +"Not for you--I have never croaked for you." + +"Nor for yourself." + +"I cannot promise. Sometimes fits of depression come over me. There, +good-night, sweet. Go to bed. I am not sleepy. I shall read for a time. +Your future is all right, Valentine." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +"I don't like it," said Lilias. + +She was sitting in the sunny front parlor, the room which was known as +the children's room at the rectory. An open letter lay on her dark +winter dress; her sunny hair was piled up high on her shapely head, and +her eyes, wistful and questioning, were raised to Marjory's brisker, +brighter face, with a world of trouble in them. + +The snow lay thick outside, covering the flower beds and the grassy +lawn, and laying in piles against the low rectory windows. Marjory was +standing by a piled up fire, one of those perfect fires composed of +great knobs of sparkling coal and well dried logs of wood. She, too, +had on a dark dress, but it was nearly covered by a large holland apron +with a bib. Her sleeves were protected by cuffs of the same, on her +hands she wore chamois leather gloves with the tips cut off. She looked +all bright, and active, and sparkling, and round her on the table and +on the floor lay piles and bales of unbleached calico, of coarse red +flannel, of bright dark blue and crimson merino. In one of Marjory's +capable hands was a large pair of cutting-out scissors, and she paused, +holding this implement slightly open, to listen to Lilias' lugubrious +words. + +"If you must croak to-day," she said, "get it over quickly, and come +and help me. Twenty-four blue frocks and twenty-four red to be ready by +the time the girls come at four o'clock, besides the old women's +flannel and this unlimited supply of unbleached calico. If there is a +thing which ruffles my equanimity it is unbleached calico, it fluffs +so, and makes one so messy. Now, what do you want to say, Lilias?" + +"I'm troubled," said Lilias, "it's about Gerald. I've the queerest +feeling about him--three times lately I've dreamt--intangible dreams, +of course, but all dark and foreboding." + +"Is that a letter from Gerry in your lap, Lilias?" + +"No, it is from Val--a nice little letter, too, poor child. I am sure +she is doing her best to be a good wife to Gerald. Do you know that she +has taken up housekeeping in real earnest." + +"Does she say that Gerald is ill?" + +"No, she scarcely mentions his name at all." + +"Then what in the name of goodness are you going into the dismals for +on this morning of all mornings. Twenty-four blue frocks and +twenty-four red between noon and four o'clock, and the old women coming +for them to the moment. Really, Lilias, you are too provoking. You are +not half the girl you were before Gerald's marriage. I don't know what +has come to you. Oh, there's Mr. Carr passing the window, I'll get him +to come in and help us. Forgive me, Lil, I'll just open this window a +tiny bit and speak to him. How do you do, Mr. Carr? You can step in +this way--you need not go round through all the slush to the front +door. There, you can wipe your feet on that mat. Lilias, say 'how do +you do' to Mr. Carr, that is if you are not too dazed." + +"How do you do, Miss Wyndham? How do you do, Miss Lilias?" said Carr in +a brisk tone. "It is very good of you both to let me into this pleasant +room after the cold and snow outside. And how busy you are! Surely, +Miss Wyndham, your family don't require such a vast amount of +re-clothing." + +"Yes," said Marjory, "these bales of goods are for my shivering +widows," and she pointed to the red flannel and unbleached calico. "And +those are for my pretty orphans--our pretty orphans, Lilly darling, +twenty-four in the West Refuge, twenty-four in the East; the Easterns +are apparelled in red, the Westerns in blue. Now, Mr. Carr, I'll put it +to you as our spiritual pastor, is it right for Lilias to sit and croak +instead of helping me with all this prodigious work?" + +"But croaking for nothing is not Miss Lilias' way," said Carr, favoring +her with a quick glance, a little anxious, a little surprised. + +Lilias sprang up with almost a look of vexation. Valentine's letter +fell unheeded on the floor. + +"You are too bad, Maggie," she said, with almost a forced laugh. "I +suppose there are few people in this troublesome world who are not now +and then attacked with a fit of the blues. But here goes. I'll shake +them off. I'll help you all I can." + +"You must help, too," said Marjory in a gay voice, turning to Carr. +"Please take off your great coat--put it anywhere. Now then, are your +hands strong? are your arms steady? You have got to hold this bale of +red merino while Lilly cuts dress lengths from it. Don't forget, Lil, +nine lengths of three-and-a-half yards each, nine lengths of four yards +each, and six lengths of five yards each. Oh, thank you, Mr. Carr, that +will be a great assistance." + +Carr was a very energetic, wide-awake, useful man. He could put his +hands to anything. No work, provided it was useful, was derogatory in +his eyes--he was always cheerful, always bright and obliging. Even +Gerald Wyndham could scarcely have made a more popular curate at +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold than did this young man. + +"If anything could provoke me about him, it is that he is too sunny," +Marjory said one day to her sister. + +Lilias was silent. It occurred to her, only she was not sure, that in +those dark, quick, keen eyes there could come something which might +sustain and strengthen on a day of clouds as well as sunshine. + +It came now, when Marjory suddenly left the room, and Carr abruptly let +the great bale of merino drop at his feet. + +"Are you worried about anything?" he asked, in that direct fashion of +his which made people trust him very quickly. + +Lilias colored all over her face. + +"I suppose I ought not to be silly," she said, "but my brother--you see +he is my only brother--his marriage has made a great gulf between us." + +Carr looked at her sharply. + +"You are not jealous?" he said. + +"I don't know--we used to be great chums. I think if I were sure he was +happy I should not be jealous?" + +Carr walked to the fireplace. + +"It would not be folly if you were," he said. "All sisters must face +the fact of their brothers taking to themselves wives, and, of course, +loving the wives best. It is the rule of nature, and it would be +foolish of you to fret against the inevitable." + +He spoke abruptly, and with a certain coldness, which might have +offended some girls. Lilias' slow earnest answer startled him. + +"I don't fret against the inevitable," she said. "But I do fret against +the intangible. There is a mystery about Gerald which I can't attempt +to fathom. I know it is there, but I can't grapple with it in any +direction." + +"You must have some thought about it, though, or it would not have +entered into your head." + +"I have many thoughts, but no clues. Oh, it would take me a long, long +time to tell you what I fear, to bring my shadowy dread into life and +being. I have just had a letter from Valentine, a sweet nice letter, +and yet it seems to me full of mystery, although I am sure she does not +know it herself. Yes, it is all intangible--it is kind of you to listen +to me. Marjory would say I was talking folly." + +"You are talking as if your nerves were a little out of sorts. Could +you not have a change? Even granted that there is trouble, and I don't +suppose for an instant that anything of the kind is in store for your +brother, it is a great waste of life to meet it half way." + +Lilias smiled faintly. + +"I am silly," she said. And just then Marjory came into the room, +followed by Augusta, and the cutting out proceeded briskly. + +Carr was an invaluable help. Some people would have said that he was a +great deal too gay and cheerful--a great deal too athletic and +well-knit and keen-eyed for a curate. + +This was not the case; he made an excellent clergyman, but he had a +great sense of the fitness of things, and he believed fully in a time +for everything. + +Helping three merry girls to cut out red and blue merino frocks, on a +cold day in January, seemed to him a very cheerful occupation. Gay +laughter and light and innocent chatter filled the room, and Lilias +soon became one of the merriest of the party. + +In the midst of their chatter the rector entered. + +"I want you, Carr," he said, abruptly; he was usually a very polite +man, almost too ceremonious. Now his words came with a jerk, and the +moment he had uttered them he vanished. + +As Carr left the room in obedience to this quick summons. Lilias' face +became once more clouded. + +The rector was pacing up and down his study. When Carr entered he asked +him to bolt the door. + +"Is anything the matter, sir?" asked the young man. + +Mr. Wyndham's manner was so perturbed, so unlike himself, that it was +scarcely wonderful that Carr should ask this question. It received, +however, a short and sharp reply. + +"I hope to goodness, Carr, you are not one of those imaginative people +who are always foreboding a lion in the path. What I sent for you +was--well----" the rector paused. He raised his eyes slowly until they +rested upon the picture of Gerald's mother; the face very like Gerald's +seemed to appeal to him; his lips trembled. + +"I can't keep it up, Carr," he said, with an abandon which touched the +younger man to the heart. "I'm not satisfied about my son. Nothing +wrong, oh, no--and yet--and yet--you understand, Carr, I have only one +son--a lot of girls, God bless them all!--and only one son." + +Carr came over and stood by the mantel-piece. If he felt any surprise, +he showed none. His words came out gently, and in a matter-of-fact +style. + +"If you have any cause to be worried, Mr. Wyndham--and--and--you think +I can help you, I shall be proud to be trusted." Then his thoughts flew +to Lilias, and his firm, rather thin lips, took a faint smile. + +"I have no doubt I am very foolish," replied the rector. "I had a +letter this morning from Gerald. He tells me in it that he is going to +Australia in March, on some special business for his father-in-law's +firm--you know he is a partner in the firm. His wife is not to +accompany him." + +The rector paused. + +Carr made no answer for a moment. Then he said, feeling his way-- + +"This will be a trial for Mrs. Wyndham." + +"One would suppose so. Gerald doesn't say anything on the subject." + +"Well," said the rector, "how does it strike you? Perhaps I'm +nervous--Lilly, poor girl, is the same, and Marjory laughs at us both. +How does this intelligence strike you as an outsider, Carr? Pray give +me your opinion." + +"Yes," said Carr, simply. "I do not think my opinion need startle +anyone. Doubtless, sir, you know facts which throw a different +complexion on the thing. It all seems to me a commonplace affair. In +big business houses partners have often to go away at short notice. It +will certainly be a trial for Mrs. Wyndham to do without her husband. I +don't like to prescribe change of air for you, Mr. Wyndham, as I did +for Miss Lilias just now, but I should like to ask you if your nerves +are quite in order?" + +The rector laughed. + +"You are a daring fellow to talk of nerves to me, Carr," he said. "Have +not I prided myself all my life on having no nerves? Well, well, the +fact is, a great change has come over the lad's face. He used to be +such a boy, too light-hearted, if anything, too young, if anything, for +his years--the most unselfish fellow from his birth. Give away? Bless +you, there was nothing Gerald wouldn't give away. Why, look here, Carr, +we all tried to spoil the boy amongst us--he was the only one--and his +mother taken away when he so young--and he the image of her. Yes, all +the girls resemble me, but Gerald is the image of his mother. We all +tried to teach him selfishness, but we couldn't. Now. Carr, you will be +surprised at what I am going to say, but if a man can be unselfish to a +_fault_, to a fault mind you--to the verge of a crime--it's my son +Gerald. I know this. I have always seen it in him. Now my boy's +father-in-law. Mortimer Paget, is as selfish as my lad is the reverse. +Why did he want a poor lad like mine to marry his rich and only +daughter? Why did he make him a partner in his house of business, and +why did he insure my boy's life? Insure it heavily? Answer me that. My +boy would have taken your place here, Carr; humbly but worthily would +he have served the Divine Master, no man happier than he. Is he happy +now? Is he young for his years now? Tell me, Carr, what you really +think?" + +"I don't know, sir. I have not looked at things from your light. You +are evidently much troubled, and I am deeply troubled for you. I don't +know Wyndham very well but I know him a little. I think that marriage +and the cares of a house of business and all his fresh +responsibilities may be enough to age your son's face. As to the +insurance question, all business is so fluctuating that Mr. Paget was +doubtless right in securing his daughter and her children from possible +want in the future. See here, Mr. Wyndham, I am going up to town this +evening for two or three days. Shall I call at Park-lane and bring you +my own impressions with regard to your son?" + +"Thank you, Carr, that is an excellent thought, and what is more you +shall escort Lilias or Marjory up to town. They have a standing +invitation to my boy's house, and a little change just now would +do--shall I say Lilias?--good." + +"Miss Lilias wants a change, sir. She is affected like yourself with, +may I call it, an attack of the nerves." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +Valentine really made an excellent housekeeper. Nobody expected it of +her; her friends, the ladies, old and young, the girls, married or +otherwise, who knew Valentine as they supposed very intimately, +considered the idea of settling this remarkably ignorant young person +down with a fixed income and telling her to buy with it, and contrive +with it, and make two ends meet with it, quite one of the best jokes of +the day. + +Valentine did not regard it as a joke at all. She honestly tried, +honestly studied, and honestly made a success as housekeeper and +household manager. + +She was a most undeveloped creature, undeveloped both in mind and +heart; but she not only possessed intense latent affections, but latent +capacities of all sorts. She scarcely knew the name of poverty, she had +no experience with regard to the value of money, but nature had given +her an instinct which taught her to spend it wisely and well. She found +a thousand a year a larger income than she and Gerald with their modest +wants needed. She scarcely used half of what she received, and yet her +home was cheerful, her servants happy, her table all that was +comfortable. + +When she brought her housekeeping books to her husband to balance at +the end of the first month, he looked at her with admiration, and then +said in a voice of great sadness:-- + +"God help me, Valentine, have I made a mistake altogether about you? Am +I dreaming, Valentine, are you meant for a poor man's wife after all?" + +"For your wife, whether rich or poor," she said; and she knelt down by +his side, and put her hand into his. + +She had always possessed a sweet and beautiful face, but for the last +few weeks it had altered; the sweetness had not gone, but resolution +had grown round the curved pretty lips, and the eyes had a soft +happiness in them. + +"Pretty, charming creature!" people used to say of her. "But just a +trifle commonplace and doll-like." + +This doll-like expression was no longer discernible in Valentine. + +Gerald touched her hair tenderly. + +"My little darling!" he said. His voice shook. Then he rose abruptly, +with a gesture which was almost rough. "Come upstairs, Val; the +housekeeping progresses admirably. No, my dear, you made a mistake, you +were never meant for a poor man's wife." + +Valentine kissed his brow: she looked at him in a puzzled way. + +"Do you know," she said, laying her hands on his, with a gesture half +timid, half appealing; "don't go up to the drawing-room for a moment, +Gerald, I want to say a thing, something I have observed. I am loved by +two men, by my father and by you. I am loved by them very much--by both +of them very much. Oh, yes, Gerald, I know what you feel for me, and +yet I can't make either of them happy. My father is not happy. Oh, yes, +I can see--love isn't blind. I never remembered my father quite, quite +happy, and he is certainly less so than ever now. He tries to look all +right when people are by; even succeeds, for he is so unselfish, and +brave, and noble. But when he is alone--ah, then. Once he fell asleep +when I was in the room, he looked terrible in that sleep; his face was +haggard--he sighed--there was moisture on his brow. When he woke he +asked me to marry you. I didn't care for you then, Gerald, but I said +yes because of my father. He said if I married you he would be +perfectly happy. I did so--he is not happy." + +Gerald did not say a word. + +"And you aren't happy, dear," she continued, coming a little nearer to +him. "You used to be; before we were engaged you had such a gay face. I +could never call you gay since, Gerald. You are so thin, and sometimes +at night I lie awake, and I hear you sigh. Why, what is the matter. +Gerald? You look ghastly now. Am I hurting you? I wouldn't hurt you, +darling." + +Wyndham turned round quickly. He had been white almost to fainting, now +a great light seemed to leap out of his eyes. + +"What did you say? What did you call me? Say it again." + +"Darling." + +"Then I thank my God--everything has not been in vain." + +He sank down on the nearest chair and burst into tears. Tragedies go on +where least expected. The servants in the servants' hall thought their +young master and mistress quite the happiest people in the world. Were +they not gay, young, rich? Did they not adore one another? Gerald's +devotion to Valentine was almost a joke with them, and Valentine's +increasing regard for him was very observable to those watchful +outsiders. + +Certainly the pair stayed in a good deal in the evenings, and why +to-night in particular did they linger so long in the dining-room, +rather to the inconvenience of the kitchen regime. But presently their +steps were heard going upstairs, and then Valentine accompanied +Gerald's violin on the piano. + +Wyndham played very well for an amateur, so well that with a little +extra practice he might almost have taken his place as a professional +of no mean ability. He had exquisite taste and a sensitive ear. Music +always excited him, and perhaps was not the safest recreation for such +a highly strung nature. + +Valentine could accompany well; she, too, loved music, but had not her +husband's facility nor grace of execution. In his happiest moments +Gerald could compose, and sometimes even improvise with success. + +During their honeymoon it seemed to him one day as he looked at the +somewhat impassive face of the girl for whom he had sold himself body +and soul--as he looked and felt that not yet at least did her heart +echo even faintly to any beat of his, it occurred to him that he might +tell his story in its pain and its longing best through the medium of +music. He composed a little piece which, for want of another title, he +called "Waves." It was very sweet in melody, and had some minor notes +of such pathos that when Valentine first heard him play it on the +violin she burst into tears. He told her quite simply then that it was +his story about her, that all the sweetness was her share, all the +graceful melody, the sparkling joyous notes which coming from Gerald's +violin seemed to speak like a gay and happy voice, represented his +ideal of her. The deeper notes and the pain belonged to him; pain must +ever come with love when it is strongest, she would understand this +presently. + +Then he put his little piece away--he only played it once for her when +they were in Switzerland; he forgot it, but she did not. + +To-night, after her confession, when they went up to the drawing-room, +his heart immeasurably soothed and healed, and hers soft with a +wonderful joy which the beginning of true love can give, he remembered +"Waves," and thought he would play it for her again. It did not sound +so melancholy this time, but strange to say the gay notes were not +quite so gay, the warble of a light heart had deepened. As Wyndham +played and Valentine sat silent, for she offered no accompaniment to +this little fugitive piece, he found that he must slightly reconstruct +the melody. The minor keys were still minor, but there was a ring of +victory through them now; they were solemn, but not despairing. + +"He that loseth his life shall find it," Wyndham said suddenly, looking +full into her eyes. + +The violin slipped from his hand, coming down with a discordant crash, +the door was flung open by the servant, as Lilias Wyndham and Adrian +Carr came into the room. + +In a minute all was gay bustle and confusion. Gerald forgot his cares, +and Valentine was only too anxious to show herself as the hospitable +and attentive hostess. + +A kind of improvised meal between dinner and tea was actually brought +up into the drawing-room. Lilias ate chicken and ham holding her plate +on her lap. Carr, more of a stranger, was not allowed to feel this +fact. In short, no four could have looked merrier or more free from +trouble. + +"It is delightful to have you here--delightful, Lilias," said +Valentine, taking her sister-in-law's hand and squeezing it +affectionately. + +"Do you know, Lil," said Gerald, "that this little girl-wife of mine, +with no experience whatever, makes a most capable housekeeper. With all +your years of knowledge I should not like you to enter the lists with +her." + +"With all my years of failure, you mean," answered Lilias. "I always +was and always will be the most incompetent woman with regard to beef +and mutton and pounds, shillings and pence who walks this earth." + +She laughed as she spoke; her face was cloudless, her dark eyes serene. +For one moment before he went away Carr found time to say a word to +her. + +"Did I not tell you it was simply a case of nerves?" he remarked. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +Esther Helps was certainly neither a prudent nor a careful young woman. +She meant no harm, she would have shuddered at the thought of actual +sin, but she was reckless, a little defiant of all authority, even her +father's most gentle and loving control, and very discontented with her +position in life. + +Morning, noon, and night, Esther's dream of dreams, longing of +longings, was to be a lady. She had some little foundation for this +desire. The mother who had died at her birth had been a poor +half-educated little governess, whose mother before her had been a +clergyman's daughter. Esther quickly discovered that she was beautiful, +and her dream of dreams was to marry a gentleman, and so go back to +that station in life where her mother had moved. + +Esther had no real instincts of ladyhood. She spoke loudly, her +education had been of a very flashy and superficial order. From the +time she left the fourth-rate boarding-school where her father alone +had the means to place her, she had stayed at home and idled. Idling +was very bad for a character like hers; she was naturally active and +energetic--she had plenty of ability, and would have made a capital +shopwoman or dressmaker. But Esther thought it quite beneath her to +work, and her father, who could support her at home, was only too +delighted to have her there. He was inordinately proud of her--she was +the one sunbeam in his dull, clouded timorous life. He adored her +beauty, he found no fault with her Cockney twang, and he gave her in +double measure the love which had lain buried for many years with his +young wife. + +Esther, therefore, when she left school, sat at home, and made her own +dresses, and chatted with her cousin Cherry, who was an orphan, and +belonged to Helps' side of the house. Cherry was a very capable, +matter-of-fact hearty little girl, and Esther thought it an excellent +arrangement that she should live with them, and take the drudgery and +the cooking, and in short all the household work off her hands. Esther +was very fond of Cherry, and Cherry, in her turn, thought there was +never anyone quite so grand and magnificent as her tall, stately +cousin. + +"Well, Cherry," said Esther, as the two were going to bed on the night +after Wyndham's visit, "what do you think of him? Oh, I needn't ask, +there's but one thing to be thought of him." + +"Elegant, I say," interrupted Cherry. She was looking particularly +round and dumpy herself, and her broad face with her light grey eyes +was all one smile. "An elegant young man, Essie--a sort of chevalier, +now, wouldn't you say so?" + +"It's just like you, Cherry, you take up all your odd moments with +those poetry books. Mr. Wyndham ain't a chevalier--he's just a +gentleman, neither more nor less--a real gentleman, oh dear. I call it +a cruel disappointment. Cherry," and she heaved a profound sigh. + +"What's a disappointment?" asked unsuspicious Cherry, as she tumbled +into bed. + +"Why, that he's married, my dear. He'd have suited me fine. Well, +there's an end of that." + +Cherry thought there was sufficiently an end to allow her to drop off +to sleep, and Esther, after lying awake for a little, presently +followed her example. + +The next day she was more restless than ever, once or twice even openly +complaining to Cherry of the dullness of her lot, and loudly +proclaiming her determination to become a lady in spite of everybody. + +"You can't, Essie," said her father, in his meek, though somewhat +high-pitched voice, when he overheard some of her words that evening. +"It ain't your lot, child--you warn't born in the genteel line; there's +all lines and all grooves, and yours is the narrowing one of the +poverty-struck clerk's child." + +"I think it's mean of you to talk like that, father," said Esther, her +eyes flashing. "It's mean of you, and unkind to my poor mother, who was +a lady born." + +"I don't know much about that," replied Helps, looking more despondent +than ever. "She was the best of little wives, and if she was born a +lady, which I ain't going to deny, for I don't know she warn't a lady +bred, I mind me she thought it a fine bit of a rise to leave off +teaching the baker's children, and come home to me. Poor little +Essie--poor, dear little Essie. You don't take much after her, Esther, +my girl." + +"If she was spiritless, and had no mind for her duties, which were in +my opinion to uphold her station in life, I don't want to take after +her," answered Esther, and she flounced out of the room. + +Helps looked round in an appealing way at Cherry. + +"I don't want to part with her," he said, "but it will be a good thing +for us all when Essie is wed. I must try and find some decent young +fellow who will be likely to take a fancy to her. Her words fret me on +account of their ambition. Cherry, child." + +"I wouldn't be put out if I was you, uncle," responded Cherry in her +even, matter-of-fact voice. "Esther is took up with a whim, and it will +pass. It's all on account of the chevalier." + +"The what, child?" + +"The chevalier. Oh, my sakes alive, there's the milk boiling all over +the place, and my hearth done up so beautiful. Here, catch hold of this +saucepan, uncle, while I fetch a cloth to wipe up. My word, ain't this +provoking. I thought to get time to learn a verse or two out of the +poetry book to-night; but no such luck--I'll be brushing and blacking +till bed-time." + +In the confusion which ensued, Helps forgot to ask Cherry whom she +meant by the chevalier. + +A few days after this, as Helps was coming home late, he was rather +dismayed to find his daughter returning also, accompanied by a young +man who was no better dressed than half the young men with whom she +walked, but who had a certain air and a certain manner which smote upon +the father's heart with a dull sense of apprehension. + +"Essie, my girl," he said, when she had bidden her swain good-bye, and +had come into the house, with her eyes sparkling and her whole face +looking so bright and beautiful, that even Cherry dropped her poetry +book to gaze in admiration. "Essie," said Helps, all the tenderness of +the love he bore her trembling in his voice, "come here. Kiss your old +father. You love him, don't you?" + +"Why, dad, what a question. I should rather think I did." + +"You wouldn't hurt him now, Essie? You wouldn't break his heart, for +instance?" + +"I break your heart, dad? Is it likely? Now, what can the old man be +driving at?" she said, looking across at Cherry. + +"It's this," responded Helps, "I want to know the name of the +fellow--yes, the--the fellow, who saw you home just now?" + +"Now, father, mightn't he be Mr. Gray, or Mr. Jones, or Mr. Abbott; +some of those nice young men you bring up now and then from the city? +Why mightn't he be one of them, father?" + +"But he wasn't, my dear. The young men you speak of are honest lads, +every one of them. I wouldn't have no sort of objection to your +walking with them, Esther. It wasn't none of my friends from the city I +saw you with to-night. Essie." + +"And why shouldn't this be an honest fellow, too?" answered Esther, her +eyes sparkling dangerously. + +"I don't know, my dear. I didn't like the looks of him. What's his +name, Essie, my love?" + +"Captain Herriot, of the ---- Hussars." + +"There! Esther, you're not to walk with Captain Herriot any more. +You're not to know him. I won't have it--so now." + +"Highty-tighty!" said Esther. "There are two to say a word to that +bargain, father. And pray, why may I walk with Mr. Jones and not with +Captain Herriot? Captain Herriot's a real gentleman, and Mr. Jones +ain't." + +"And that's the reason, my child. If Jones walked with you, he'd +maybe--yes, I'm sure of it--he'd want all his heart and soul to make +you his honest wife some day. Do you suppose Captain Herriot wants to +make you his wife. Essie?" + +"I don't say. I won't be questioned like that." Her whole pale face was +in a flame. "Maybe we never thought of such a thing, but just to be +friends, and to have a pleasant time. It's cruel of you to talk like +that, father." + +"Well, then, I won't, my darling, I won't. Just promise you'll have +nothing more to say to the fellow. I'd believe your word against the +world, Essie." + +"Against the world? Would you really, dad? I wouldn't, though, if I +were you. No, I ain't going to make a promise I might break." She went +out of the room, she was crying. + +A short time after this, indeed the very day after Lilias Wyndham's +visit to London, Gerald noticed that Helps followed his every movement +as he came rather languidly in and out of the office, with dull +imploring eyes. The old clerk was particularly busy that morning, he +was kept going here, there, and everywhere. Work of all kinds, work of +the most unexpected and unlooked for nature seemed to descend to-day +with the force of a sledge hammer on his devoted head. + +Gerald saw that he was dying to speak to him, and at the first +opportunity he took him aside, and asked him if there was anything he +could do for him. + +"Oh, yes, Mr. Wyndham, you can, you can. Oh, thank the good Lord for +bringing you over to speak to me when no one was looking. You can save +Esther for me--that's what you can do, Mr. Wyndham. No one can save her +but you. So you will, sir; oh, you will. She's my only child, Mr. +Wyndham." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +"I will certainly do what I can," responded Wyndham, in his grave, +courteous voice. + +He was leaning against the window-ledge in a careless attitude; Helps, +looking up at him anxiously, noticed how pale and wan his face was. + +"Ah," he responded, rising from his seat, and going up to the younger +man. "'Tis them as bears burdens knows how to pity. Thank the Lord +there's compensation in all things. Now look here, Mr. Wyndham, this is +how things are. You have seen my Essie, she's troublesome and +spirited--oh, no one more so." + +Helps paused. + +"Yes," answered Gerald, in a quiet, waiting voice. He was not +particularly interested in the discussion of Esther Helps' character. + +"And she's beautiful, Mr. Wyndham. Aye, there's her curse. Beautiful +and hambitious and not a lady, and dying to be one. You understand, Mr. +Wyndham--you must understand." + +Wyndham said nothing. + +"Well, a month or so ago I found out there was a gentleman--at least a +man who called himself a gentleman--walking with her, and filling her +head with nonsense. His name was Herriot, a captain in the Hussars. I +told her she was to have nought to say to him, but I soon found that +she disobeyed me. Then I had to spy on her--you may think how I felt, +but it had to be done. I found that she walked with him, and met him at +all hours. I made inquiries about his character, and I found he was a +scoundrel, a bad fellow out and out. He'd be sure to break my Essie's +heart if he did no worse. Then I was in a taking, for the girl kept +everything in, and would scarcely brook me so much as to look at her. I +was that upset that I took Cherry into my confidence. She's a very good +girl, is Cherry--the Lord hasn't cursed her with no beauty. Last week +she brought me word that Esther was going to the Gaiety with Captain +Herriot, that he had taken two stalls and they were to have a fine +time. She said Esther was almost out of her mind with delight, as it +was always her dream to be seen at the theatre, beautifully dressed, +with a real gentleman. She had shown the tickets to Cherry, and Cherry +was smart enough to take the numbers and keep them in the back of her +head. She told me, and I can tell you, Mr. Wyndham, I was fit to kill +someone. I went straight off to the Gaiety office, and by good luck or +the grace of God, I found there was a vacant stall next to +Esther's--just one, and no more. I paid for that stall, here's the +ticket in my pocket." + +"Yes," said Wyndham, "and you mean to go with Esther to-night? A very +good idea--excellent. But how will she take it?" + +"How will she take it, Mr. Wyndham? I feel fit to pull my grey hairs +out. How would she have taken it, you mean? For it's all a thing of the +past, sir. Oh, I had it all planned fine. I was to wait until she and +that fellow had taken their places, and then I'd come in quite natural, +and sit down beside her, and answer none of her questions, only never +leave her, no, not for a quarter of a minute. And if he spoke up, the +ruffian, I had my reply for him. I'd stay quiet enough till we got +outside, and then just one blow in the middle of his face--yes, just +one, to relieve a father's feelings. Then home with my girl, and I +think it's more than likely we wouldn't have been troubled with no more +of Captain Herriot's attentions." + +Helps paused again. + +"You speak in the past tense," said Gerald. "Why cannot you carry out +this excellent programme?" + +"That's it, sir, that's what about maddens me. I came to the office +this morning, and what has happened hasn't happened this three months +past. There's business come in of a nature that no one can tackle but +myself. Business of a private character, and yet what may mean the loss +or gain of thousands. Oh, I can't explain it, Mr. Wyndham, even though +you are a partner; there are things that confidential clerks know that +are hid from junior partners. I can't leave here till eleven o'clock +to-night, Mr. Wyndham, and if you don't help me Esther may be a lost +girl. Yes, there's no mincing matters--lost, beyond hope. Will you help +me, Mr. Wyndham? I'll go mad if my only girl, my beautiful girl, comes +to that." + +"I? Can I help you?" asked Wyndham. There was hesitation and distress +in his voice. He saw that he was going to be asked to do something +unpleasant. + +"You can do this, sir. You can make it all right. Bless you, sir, who's +there to see? And you go with the best intentions. You go in a noble +cause. You can afford to risk that much, Mr. Wyndham. I want you to +take my place at the Gaiety to-night; take my ticket and go there. Talk +pleasant to Esther: not much, but just a little, nothing to rouse her +suspicions. Let her think it was just a coincidence your being there. +Then, just at the end, give her this letter from me. I've said a thing +in it that will startle her. She'll get a fright and turn to you. Put +her into a cab then, and bring her here. You can sit on the box if you +like. That's all. Put her into my arms and your task is done. Here's +the ticket and the letter. Do it, Mr. Wyndham, and God will bless you. +Yes, yes, my poor young sir--He'll bless you." + +"Don't talk of God when you speak of me," said Wyndham. "Something has +happened which closes the door of religion for me. The door between +God and me is closed. I am still open, however, to the call of +humanity. You want me to go to the Gaiety to-night to save your +daughter. It is very probable that if I went I should save her. I am +engaged, however, for to-night. My sister is in town. We are going to +make a party to the Haymarket." + +"Oh, sir, what of that? Send a telegram to say you have an engagement. +Think of Esther. Think what it means if you fail me now." + +"I do think of it, Helps. I will do what you want. Give me the letter +and the theatre ticket." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +Valentine was delighted to have Lilias as her companion. She was in +excellent spirits just now, and Lilias and she enjoyed going about +together. They had adventures which pleased them both, such simple +adventures as come to poorer girls every day--a ride in an omnibus to +Kew, an excursion up the river to Battersea in a penny steamer, and +many other mild intoxicants of this nature. Sometimes Gerald came with +them, but oftener they went alone. They laughed and chatted at these +times, and people looked at them, and thought them two particularly +merry good-looking school-girls. + +Valentine was very fond of going to the theatre, and of course one of +the principal treats in store for Lilias was a visit to the play. +Valentine decided that they would go to some entertainment of a +theatrical character nearly every evening. On the day of Helps' strange +request to Wyndham they were to see _Captain Swift_ at the Haymarket. +Mr. Paget had taken a box for the occasion, and Valentine's last +injunction to her husband was to beg of him to be home in good time so +that they might have dinner in peace, and reach the Haymarket before +the curtain rose. + +Lilias and she trotted about most of the morning, and sat cosily now in +the pretty drawing-room in Park-Lane, sipping their tea, examining +their purchases, or chatting about dress, and sundry other trivial +matters after the fashion of light-hearted girls. + +Presently Valentine pulled a tiny watch out of her belt. + +"Gerald is late," she said. "He promised faithfully to be in to tea, +and it is now six o'clock. We dine at half-past. Had we not better go +and dress, Lilias?" + +Lilias was standing on the hearthrug, she glanced at the clock, then +into the ruddy flames, then half-impatiently towards the door. + +"Oh, wait a moment or two," she said. "If Gerald promised to come he is +safe to be here directly. I never met such a painfully conscientious +fellow; he would not break his word even in a trifle like this for all +the world. Give him three minutes longer. You surely will not take +half-an-hour to dress." + +"How solemnly you speak, Lilias," responded Valentine. "If Gerald is +late, that could scarcely be considered a breaking of his word. I mean +in a promise of that kind one never knows how one may be kept. That is +always understood, of course." + +There came a pealing ring and a double knock at the door, and a moment +after the page entered with a telegram which he handed to his mistress. +Valentine tore the yellow envelope open, and read the contents of the +pink sheet. + +"No answer, Masters," she said to the boy. Then she she turned to +Lilias. "Gerald can't go with us to-night. He is engaged. You see, of +course, he would not break his word, Lilias. He is unavoidably +prevented coming. It is too bad." + +Some of the brightness went out of her face, and her spirits went down +a very little. + +"Well, it can't be helped," she said, "only I am disappointed." + +"So am I, awfully disappointed," responded Lilias. + +Then the two went slowly upstairs to change their dresses. + +When they came down again, Mr. Paget, who was to dine with them, was +waiting in the drawing-room. There was a suppressed excitement, a +suppressed triumph in his eyes, which, however, only made him look more +particularly bright and charming. + +When Valentine came in in the pure white which gave her such a girlish +and even pathetically innocent air, he went up and kissed her almost +fiercely. He put his arm round her waist and drew her close to him, and +looked into her eyes with a sense of possession which frightened her. +For the first time in all her existence she half shrank from the father +whom she idolized. She was scarcely conscious of her own shrinking, of +the undefinable something which made her set herself free, and stand on +the hearthrug by Lilias' side. + +"I don't see your husband, my pet," said Mr. Paget. "He ought to have +come home long before now, that is, if he means to come with us +to-night." + +"But he doesn't, father," said Valentine. "That's just the grief. I had +a telegram from him, half-an-hour ago; he is unavoidably detained." + +Mr. Paget raised his eyebrows. + +"Not at the office," he said, in a markedly grave voice, and with +another significant raise of his brows. "That I know, for he left +before I did. Ah, well, young men will be young men." + +Neither Valentine nor Lilias knew why they both flushed up hotly, and +left a wider space between them and Valentine's handsome father. + +He did not take the least notice of this movement on both their parts, +but went on in a very smooth, cheerful voice. + +"Perhaps Gerald does not miss as much as he thought," he said. "Since I +saw you this morning, Val, our programme has been completely altered. +We go to _Captain Swift_ to-morrow night. I went to the office and +exchanged the box. To-night we go to the Gaiety. I have been fortunate +in securing one of the best boxes in the whole house, and _Monte +Christo Junior_ is well worth seeing." + +"I don't know that I particularly care for the Gaiety, father," said +Valentine. "How very funny of you to change our programme." + +"Well, the fact is, some business friends of mine who were just passing +through town were particularly anxious to see _Captain Swift_, so as I +could oblige them, I did. It is all the better for your husband, +Valentine; he won't miss this fine piece of drama." + +"No, that is something to be thankful for," responded Valentine. "But +I'm sorry you selected the Gaiety as an exchange. I don't think Lilias +will care for _Monte Christo_. However, it can't be helped now, and +dinner waits. Shall we go downstairs?" + +Mr. Paget and his party were in good time in their places. Valentine +took a seat rather far back in the box, but her father presently coaxed +her to come to the front, supplied both her and Lilias with opera +glasses, and encouraged both girls to look about them, and watch the +different people who were gradually filing into their places in the +stalls. + +Mr. Paget himself neither wore glasses nor aided his vision with an +opera glass. His face was slightly flushed, and his eyes, keen and +bright, travelled round the house, taking in everything, not passing +over a single individual. + +Valentine was never particularly curious about her neighbors, and as +Lilias knew no one, they both soon leant back in their chairs, and +talked softly to one another. + +The curtain rose, and each girl bent forward to see and enjoy. The rest +of the house was now comparatively dark, but just before the lights +were lowered, Mr. Paget might have been heard to give a faint quick +sigh of relief. + +A tall girl in cream-color and soft furs walked slowly down the length +of stalls, and took her place in such a position that Valentine could +scarcely look down without seeing her. This girl's beauty was so marked +that many eyes were turned in her direction as she appeared. She was +very regal looking, very quiet and dignified in manner. Her features +were classical and pure in outline, and her head, with its wealth of +raven black hair, was splendidly set. + +She was accompanied by a tall, fairly good-looking man who sat next to +her. + +When the curtain rose and the lights were lowered the stall at her +other side was vacant. + +Mr. Paget felt his heart beat a trifle too fast. Would that stall be +full or empty when the curtain dropped at the close of the first act? +Would his heart's desire, his wicked and treacherous heart's desire be +torn from him in the very moment of apparent fruition. Suppose Gerald +did not put in an appearance at the Gaiety? Suppose at the eleventh +hour he changed his mind and resolved to leave Esther Helps to her +fate? Suppose--pshaw!--where was the use of supposing? To leave a girl +to her fate would not be his chivalrous fool of a son-in-law's way. No, +it was all right; even now he could dimly discern a faint commotion in +the neighborhood of Esther Helps--the kind of commotion incident on the +arrival of a fresh person, the gentle soft little movement made by the +other occupants of the stalls to let the new comer, who was both late +and tiresome, take his reserved seat in comfort. Mr. Paget sank back in +his seat with a sensation of relief; he had not listened for nothing +behind an artfully concealed curtain that morning. + +The play proceeded. Much as he had said about it beforehand, it had no +interest for Mr. Paget. He scarcely troubled to look at the stage. +There was no room in his heart that moment for burlesque: he was too +busily engaged over his own terrible life's drama. On the result of +this night more or less depended all his future happiness. + +"If she turns back to me after what she sees to-night then I can +endure," he said to himself. "I can go on to the bitter end--if +not--well, there are more expedients than one for a ruined man to throw +up the sponge." + +The curtain fell, the theatre was in a blaze of light; Valentine and +Lilias sank back in their seats and began to fan themselves. They had +been pleased and amused. Lilias, indeed, had laughed so heartily that +the tears came to her eyes. + +"I hate to cry when I laugh," she said, taking out her handkerchief to +wipe them away. "It's a tiresome trick we all have in our family, +Gerald and all." + +She had a habit of bringing in Gerald's name whenever she spoke of her +family, as if he were the topmost stone, the crowning pride and +delight. + +Mr. Paget had his back slightly turned to the girls. Once more he was +devouring the stalls with his eager bright eyes. Yes, Gerald Wyndham +was in his stall. He was leaning back, not exerting himself much; he +looked nonchalant and strikingly handsome. Mr. Paget did not wish him +to appear too nonchalant when Valentine first caught sight of him. +No--ah, that was better. Esther was turning to speak to him. By Jove, +what a face the girl had! + +Mr. Paget had often seen Helps' only daughter, for he found it +convenient occasionally to call to see Helps at Acadia Villa. But he +had never before seen her dress becomingly, and he was positively +startled at the pure, high type of her beauty. At this distance her +common accent, her poor uneducated words, could not grate. All her +gestures were graceful; she looked up at Gerald, said something, +smiled, then lowered her heavy black lashes. + +It was at that moment, just as Wyndham was bending forward to reply to +her remark, and she was leaning slightly away from her other cavalier, +so that he scarcely seemed to belong to her party, that Valentine, +tired of doing nothing, came close to her father, and allowed her eyes +to wander round the house. Suddenly she uttered a surprised +exclamation. + +"Look, father, look! Is that Gerald? Who is with him? Who is he talking +to? How is it that he comes to be here? Yes, it is Gerald! Oh, what a +lovely girl he is talking to!" + +Valentine's words were emphatic and slightly agitated, for she was +simply overpowered with astonishment, but they were spoken in a low +key. Lilias did not hear them. She was reading her programme over for +the twentieth time, and wondering when the curtain would rise and the +play go on. + +"Look, father," continued Valentine, clutching her father's arm. "Isn't +that Gerald? How strange of him to be here. Who can he be talking to? I +don't know her--do you? Do you see him, father? Won't you go down and +tell him we are here, and bring him up--and--and--the lady who is with +him. Go, please, father, you see where he is, don't you?" + +"I do, my child. I have seen him for some time past. Would you like to +come home, Valentine?" + +"Home! What in the world do you mean? How queer you look! Is there +anything wrong? Who is with Gerald? Who is he talking to? How lovely +she is. I wish she would look up again." + +"That girl is not a lady, Valentine. She is Esther Helps--you have +heard of her. Yes, now I understand why your husband could not come +with us to the Haymarket to-night. My poor child! Don't look at them +again, Valentine, my darling." + +Valentine looked full into her father's eyes; full, long, and steadily +she gazed. Then slowly, very slowly, a crimson flood of color suffused +her whole face; it receded, leaving her deathly pale. She moved away +from her father and took a back seat behind Lilias. + +The curtain rose again, the play continued. Lilias was excited, and +wanted to pull Valentine to the front. + +"No," she said. "My head aches; I don't care to look any more." + +She sat back in her seat, very white and very calm. + +"Would you like to come home?" said her father, bending across to her, +and speaking in a voice which almost trembled with the emotion he felt. + +"No," she said in reply, and without raising her eyes. "I will sit the +play out till the end." + +When the curtain fell again she roused herself with an effort and +coaxed Lilias to come into the back of the box with her. The only keen +anxiety she was conscious of was to protect her husband from Lilias' +astonished eyes. + +Mr. Paget felt well satisfied. He had managed to convey his meaning to +his innocent child's heart; an insinuation, a fall of the voice, a look +in the eyes, had opened up a gulf on the brink of which Valentine drew +back shuddering. + +"I was only beginning to love him; it doesn't so much matter," she said +many times to herself. Even now she thought no very bad things of her +husband; that is no very bad things according to the world's code. To +her, however, they were black. He had deceived her--he had made her a +promise and broken it. Why? Because he liked to spend the evening with +another girl more beautiful than herself. + +"Oh, no, I am not jealous," said Valentine, softly under her breath. "I +won't say anything to him either about it, poor fellow. It does not +matter to me, not greatly. I was only beginning to love him. Thank God +there is always my dear old father." + +When the curtain rose for the final act of the play. Valentine moved +her chair so that she could slightly lean against Mr. Paget. He took +her hand and squeezed it. He felt that he had won the victory. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + +Gerald had found his task most uncongenial. In the first place he was +disappointed at not spending the evening with Valentine and Lilias. In +the second the close proximity of such a girl as Esther Helps could not +but be repugnant to him. Still she was a woman, a woman in danger, and +her father had appealed to him to save her. Had he been ordained for +the Church, such work--ah, no, he must not think of what his life would +have been then. After all, it was good of the distracted father to +trust him, and he must not betray the trust. + +He went to the theatre and acquitted himself with extreme tact and +diplomacy. When Gerald chose to exert himself his manner had a quieting +effect, a compelling, and almost a commanding effect on women. Esther +became quiet and gentle; she talked to Captain Herriot, but not +noisily; she laughed, her laugh was low and almost musical. Now and +then her quick eyes glanced at Wyndham; she felt thirsty for even his +faintest approval--he bestowed it by neither word nor movement. + +As they were leaving the theatre, however, and the gallant captain, who +inwardly cursed that insufferable prig who happened to have a slight +acquaintance with his beautiful Esther, grew cheerful under the +impression that now his time for enjoyment was come, Gerald said in a +low, grave voice:-- + +"Your father has given me a letter for you. Pray be quiet, don't excite +yourself. It is necessary that you should go to your father directly. +Allow me to see you into a cab. Your father is waiting for you--it is +urgent that you should join him at once." + +Scarcely knowing why she did it, Esther obeyed. She murmured some eager +agitated words to Captain Herriot; she was subdued, frightened, shaken; +as Gerald helped her into a cab he felt her slim fingers tremble in +his. He took his seat upon the box beside the driver, and ten minutes +later had delivered Esther safely to her father. His task was done, he +did not wait to hear a word of Helps' profuse thanks. He drew a sigh of +relief as he hurried home. Soon he would be with his wife--the wife +whom he idolized--the wife who was beginning to return his love. +Suppose her passion went on and deepened? Suppose a day came when to +part from him would be a sorer trial than poverty or dishonor! Oh, if +such a day came--he might--ah, he must not think in that direction. He +pushed his hand through his thick hair, leant back in his cab, and shut +his eyes. + +When he reached the little house in Park-lane he found that the lights +in the drawing-room were out, and the gas turned low in the hall. He +was later even than he had intended to be. The other theatre-goers had +returned home and gone to bed. He wondered how they had enjoyed +_Captain Swift_. For himself he had not the least idea of what he had +been looking at at the Gaiety. + +He let himself in with a latch-key, and ran up at once to his room. He +wanted to kiss Valentine, to look into her eyes, which seemed to him to +grow sweeter and softer every day. He opened the door eagerly and +looked round the cheerful bedroom. + +Valentine was not there. + +He called her. She was not in the dressing-room. + +"She is with Lilias," he said to himself. "How these two young things +love to chatter." + +He sat down in an easy chair by the fire, content to wait until his +wife should return. He was half inclined to tell her what he had been +doing; he had a great longing to confide in her in all possible ways, +for she had both brains and sense, but he restrained himself. The +subject was not one he cared to discuss with his young wife, and, +besides, the secret belonged to Esther and to her father. + +He made up his mind to say nothing about it. He had no conception then +what this silence was to cost him, and how different all his future +life might have been had he told his wife the truth that night. + +Presently Valentine returned. Her face was flushed, and her eyes had an +unquiet troubled expression. She had been to Lilias with a somewhat +strange request. + +"Lilias, I want you to promise me something, to ask no questions, but +just like a kind and truthful sister to make me a faithful promise." + +"You look strange, Valentine; what do you want me to promise?" + +"_Will_ you promise it?" + +"If I can, I will promise, to please you; but I never make promises in +the dark." + +"Oh, there's Gerald's step, I must go. Lilias, I've a very particular +reason, I cannot explain it to you. I want you not to tell Gerald, now +or at any time, that we were at the Gaiety to-night." + +"My dear Val, how queer! Why shouldn't poor Gerald know? And you look +so strange. You are trembling." + +"I am. I'm in desperate earnest. Will you promise?" + +"Yes, yes, you silly child, if you set such store on an utterly +ridiculous promise you shall have it. Only if I were you, Valentine, I +wouldn't begin even to have such tiny little secrets as that from my +husband. I wouldn't, Val; it isn't wise--it isn't really." + +Valentine neither heard nor heeded these last words. She gave Lilias a +hasty, frantic kiss, and rushed back to her own room. + +"Now," she said to herself, "now--now--now--if he tells me everything, +every single thing, all may be well. I won't ask him a question; but +if he tells, tells of his own accord, all may be quite well yet. Oh, +how my heart beats! It is good I have not learned to love him any +better." + +Gerald rose up at her entrance and went to meet her eagerly. + +"Ah, here's my bright little wife," he said. "Give me a kiss, +Valentine." + +She gave it, and allowed him to fold her in his arms. She was almost +passive, but her heart beat hard--she was so eagerly waiting for him to +speak. + +"Sit down by the fire, darling. I don't like long evenings spent away +from you, Val. How did you enjoy _Captain Swift_?" + +"We didn't go to the Haymarket; no, we are going to-morrow. Father +thought it a pity you should miss such a good play." + +"Then where did you go? You and Lil did not stay at home the whole +evening?" + +"No, father took us to another theatre. I can't tell you the name; +don't ask me. I hate theatres--I detest them. I never want to go inside +one again as long as I live!" + +"How strongly you talk, my dear little Val. Perhaps you found it dull +to-night because your husband was not with you." + +She moved away with a slight little petulant gesture. When would he +begin to speak? + +Gerald wondered vaguely what had put his sweet-tempered Valentine out. +He stirred the fire, and then stood with his back to it. She looked up +at him, his face was very grave, very calm. Her own Gerald--he had a +nice face. Surely there was nothing bad behind that face. Why was he +silent? Why didn't he begin to tell his story? Well she would--she +would--help him a little. + +She cleared her throat, she essayed twice to find her voice. When it +came out at last it was small and timorous. + +"Was it--was it business kept you from coming with me to-night, Gerry?" + +"Business? Yes, my darling, certainly." + +Her heart went down with a great bound. But she would give him another +chance. + +"Was it--was it business connected with the office?" + +"You speak in quite a queer voice, Valentine. In a measure it was +business connected with the office--in a measure it was not. What is +it, Valentine? What is it, my dear?" + +She had risen from her seat, put her arms round his neck, and laid her +soft young head on his shoulder. + +"Tell me the business, Gerry, Tell your own Val." + +He kissed her many times. + +"It doesn't concern you, my dear wife," he said. "I would tell you +gladly, were I not betraying a trust. I had some painful work to do +to-night, Valentine. Yes, business, certainly. I cannot tell it, dear. +Yes, what was that you said?" + +For she had murmured "Hypocrite!" under her breath. Very low she had +said it, too faintly for him to catch the word. But he felt her loving +arms relax. He saw her face grow grave and cold, something seemed to go +out of her eyes which had rendered them most lovely. It was the wounded +soul going back into solitude, and hiding its grief and shame in an +inmost recess of her being. + +Would Gerald ever see the soul, the soul of love, in his wife's eyes +again? + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +A few days after the events related in the last chapter Mr. Paget asked +his son-in-law to have a few minutes' private conversation with him. +Once more the young man found himself in that inner room at the rich +merchant's office which represented more or less a torture-chamber to +him. Once more Valentine's untroubled girlish innocent eyes looked out +of Richmond's beautiful picture of her. + +Wyndham hated this room, he almost hated that picture; it had +surrounded itself with terrible memories. He turned his head away from +it now as he obeyed Mr. Paget's summons. + +"It's this, Gerald," said his father-in-law. "When a thing has to be +done the sooner the better. I mean nobody cares to make a long +operation of the drawing of a tooth for instance!" + +"An insufficient metaphor," interrupted Wyndham roughly. "Say, rather, +the plucking out of a right eye, or the cutting off a right hand. As +you say, these operations had better be got quickly over." + +"I think so--I honestly think so. It would convenience me if you sailed +in the _Esperance_ on the 25th of March for Sydney. There is a _bona +fide_ reason for your going. I want you to sample----" + +"Hush," interrupted Wyndham. "The technicalities and the gloss and all +that kind of humbug can come later. You want me to sail on the 25th of +March. That is the main point. When last you spoke of it, I begged of +you as a boon to give me an extension of grace, say until May or June. +It was understood by us, although there was no sealed bond in the +matter, that my wife and I should spend a year together before +this--this _temporary_ parting took place. I asked you at one time to +shorten my season of grace, but a few weeks ago I asked you to extend +it." + +"Precisely, Wyndham, and I told you I would grant your wish, if +possible. I asked you to announce to your own relatives that you would +probably have to go away in March, for a time; but I said I would do my +utmost to defer the evil hour. I am sorry to say that I cannot do so. I +have had news from India which obliges me to hasten matters. Such a +good opportunity as the business which takes you out in the _Esperance_ +will probably not occur again. It would be madness not to avail +ourselves of it. Do not you think so? My dear fellow, do take a chair." + +"Thank you, I prefer to stand. This day--what is this day?" He raised +his eyes; they rested on the office calendar. "This day is the 24th of +February. A spring-like day, isn't it? Wonderful for the time of year. +I have, then, one month and one day to live. Are these Valentine's +violets? I will help myself to a few. Let me say good-morning, sir." + +He bowed courteously--no one could be more courteous than Gerald +Wyndham--and left the room. + +His astonished father in-law almost gasped when he found himself alone. + +"Upon my word," he said to himself, "there's something about that +fellow that's positively uncanny. I only trust I'll be preserved from +being haunted by his ghost. My God! what a retribution that would be. +Wyndham would be awful as a ghost. I suppose I shall have retribution +some day. I know I'm a wicked man. Hypocritical, cunning, devilish. +Yes, I'm all that. Who'd have thought that soft-looking lad would turn +out to be all steel and venom. I hate him--and yet, upon my soul, I +admire him. He does more for the woman he loves than I do--than I could +do. The woman _we both love_. His wife--_my child_." + +"There, I'll get soft myself if I indulge in these thoughts any longer. +Now is the time for him to go. Valentine has turned from him; any fool +can see that. Now is the time to get him out of the way. How lucky that +I overheard Helps that day. Never was there a more opportune thing." + +Mr. Paget went home early that evening. Valentine was dining with him. +Lately, within the last few weeks, she often came over alone to spend +the evening with her father. + +"Where's your husband, my pet?" the old man used to say to her on these +occasions. + +And she always answered him in a bright though somewhat hard little +voice. + +"Oh, Gerald is such a book-worm--he is devouring one of those abstruse +treatises on music. I left him buried in it," or, "Gerald is going out +this evening," or, "Gerald isn't well, and would like to stay quiet, +so"--the end was invariably the same--"I thought I'd come and have a +cosy chat with you, dad." + +"And no one more welcome--no one in all the wide world more welcome," +Mortimer Paget would answer, glancing, with apparent pleased unconcern, +but with secret anxiety, at his daughter's face. + +The glance always satisfied him; she looked bright and well--a little +hard, perhaps--well, the blow must affect her in some way. What had +taken place at the Gaiety would leave some results even on the most +indifferent heart. The main result, however, was well. Valentine's +dawning love had changed to indifference. Had she cared for her husband +passionately, had her whole heart been given into his keeping, she must +have been angry; she must have mourned. + +As, evening after evening, Mr. Paget came to this conclusion, he +invariably gave vent to a sigh of relief. He never guessed that if he +could wear a mask, so also could his child. He never even suspected +that beneath Valentine's gay laughter, under the soft shining of her +clear eyes, under her smiles, her light easy words, lay a pain, lay an +ache, which ceased not to trouble her day and night. + +Mr. Paget came home early. Valentine was waiting for him in the +drawing-room. + +"We shall have a cosy evening, father," she said. "Oh, no, Gerald can't +come. He says he has some letters to write. I think he has a headache, +too. I'd have stayed with him, only he prefers being quiet. Well, we'll +have a jolly evening together. Kiss me, dad." + +He did kiss her, then she linked his hand in her arm, and they went +downstairs and dined together, as they used to do in the old days +before either of them had heard of Gerald Wyndham. + +"Let us come into the library to-night," said Valentine. "You know +there is no room like the library to me." + +"Nor to me," said Mr. Paget brightly. "It reminds me of when you were a +child, my darling." + +"Ah, well, I'm not a child now, I'm a woman." + +She kept back the sigh which rose to her lips. + +"I think I like being a child best, only one never can have the old +childish time back again." + +"Who knows, Val? Perhaps we may. If you have spoiled your teeth enough +over those filberts, shall we go into the library? I have something to +tell you--a little bit of news." + +"All right, you shall tell it sitting in your old armchair." + +She flitted on in front, looking quite like the child she more or less +still was. + +"Now isn't this perfect?" she said, when the door was shut, Mr. Paget +established in his armchair, and the two pairs of eyes fixed upon the +glowing fire. "Isn't this perfect?" + +"Yes, my darling--perfect. Valentine, there is no love in all the world +like a father's for his child." + +"No greater love has come to me," replied Valentine slowly; and now +some of the pain at her heart, notwithstanding all her brave endeavors, +did come into her face. "No greater love has come to me, but I can +imagine, yes. I can imagine a mightier." + +"What do you mean, child?" + +"For instance--if you loved your husband perfectly, and he--he loved +you, and there was nothing at all between--and the joy of all joys was +to be with him, and you were to feel that in thought--in word--in +deed--you were one, not two. There, what am I saying? The wildest +nonsense. There isn't such a thing as a love of that sort. What's your +news, father?" + +"My dear child, how intensely you speak!" + +"Never mind! Tell me what is your news, father." + +Mr. Paget laughed, his laugh was not very comfortable. + +"Has Gerald told you anything, Valentine?" + +"Gerald? No, nothing special; he had a headache this evening." + +"You know, Val--at least we often talked the matter over--that Gerald +might have to go away for a time. He is my partner, and partners in +such a firm as mine have often to go to the other side of the world to +transact important business." + +"Yes, you and Gerald have both spoken of it. He's not going soon, is +he?" + +"That's it, my pet. The necessity has arisen rather suddenly. Gerald +has to sail for Sydney in about a month." + +Valentine was sitting a little behind her father. He could not see the +pallor of her face; her voice was quite clear and quiet. + +"Poor old Gerry," she said; "he won't take me, will he, father?" + +"Impossible, my dear--absolutely. You surely don't want to go." + +"No, not particularly." + +Valentine yawned with admirable effect. + +"She really can't care for him at all. What a wonderful piece of luck," +muttered her father. + +"I daresay Gerald will enjoy Sydney," continued his wife. "Is he likely +to be long away?" + +"Perhaps six months--perhaps not so long. Time is always a matter of +some uncertainty in cases of this kind." + +"I could come back to you while he is away, couldn't I, dad?" + +"Why, of course, my dear one, I always intended that. It would be old +times over again--old times over again for you and your father, +Valentine." + +"Not quite, I think," replied Valentine. "We can't go back really. +Things happen, and we can't undo them. Do you know, father, I think +Gerald must have infected me with his headache. If you don't mind, I'll +go home." + +Mr. Paget saw his daughter back to Park-lane, but he did not go into +the house. Valentine rang the bell, and when Masters opened the door +she asked him where her husband was. + +"In the library, ma'am; you can hear him can't you? He's practising of +the violin." + +Yes, the music of this most soul-speaking, soul-stirring instrument +filled the house. Valentine put her finger to her lips to enjoin +silence, and went softly along the passage which led to the library. +The door was a little ajar--she could look in without being herself +seen. Some sheets of music were scattered about on the table, but +Wyndham was not playing from any written score. The queer melody which +he called Waves was filling the room. Valentine had heard it twice +before--she started and clasped her hands as its passion, its +unutterable sadness, its despair, reached her. Where were the triumph +notes which had come into it six weeks ago? + +She turned and fled up to her room, and locking the door, threw herself +by her bedside and burst into bitter weeping. + +"Oh, Gerald, I love you! I do love you; but I'll never show it. No, +never, until you tell me the truth." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +"Yes," said Augusta Wyndham, "if there is a young man who suits me all +round it's Mr. Carr. Yes," she said, standing very upright in her short +skirts, with her hair in a tight pig-tail hanging down her back, and +her determined, wide open, bright eyes fixed upon an admiring audience +of younger sisters. "He suits me exactly. He's a kind of +hail-fellow-well-met; he has no nonsensical languishing airs about him; +he preaches nice short sermons, and never bothers you to remember what +they are about afterwards; he's not bad at tennis or cricket, and he +really can cannon quite decently at billiards; but for all that, if +_you_ think, you young 'uns, that he's going to get inside of Gerry, or +that he's going to try to pretend to know better than Gerry what I can +or can't do, why you're all finely mistaken, so there!" + +Augusta turned on her heel, pirouetted a step or two, whistled in a +loud, free, unrestrained fashion, and once more faced her audience. + +"Gerry said that I _could_ give out the library books. Now is it likely +that Mr. Carr knows more of my capacities after six months' study than +Gerry found out after fifteen years?" + +"But Mr. Carr doesn't study _you_, Gus. It's Lilias he's always looking +at," interrupted little Rosie. + +"You're not pretty, are you, Gus?" asked Betty. "Your cheeks are too +red, aren't they? And nurse says your eyes are as round as an owl's!" + +"Pretty!" answered Augusta, in a lofty voice. "Who cares for being +pretty? Who cares for being simply pink and white? I'm for intellect. +I'm for the march of mind. Gerry believes in me. Hurrah for Gerry! Now, +girls, off with your caps, throw them in the air, and shout hurrah for +Gerry three times, as loud as you can!" + +"What an extraordinary noise the children are making on the lawn," said +Lilias to Marjory. "I hear Gerald's name. What can they be saying about +Gerald? One would almost think he was coming down the avenue to see the +state of excitement they are in! Do look, Meg, do." + +"It's only one of Gussie's storms in a tea-cup," responded Marjory, +cheerfully. "I am so glad, Lil, that you found Gerald and Val hitting +it off so nicely. You consider them quite a model pair for affection +and all that, don't you, pet?" + +"Quite," said Lilias. "My mind is absolutely at rest. One night Val +puzzled me a little. Oh, nothing to speak of--nothing came of it, I +mean. Yes, my mind is absolutely at rest, thank God! What are all the +children doing. Maggie? They are flying in a body to the house. What +can it mean?" + +"We'll know in less than no time," responded Marjory, calmly. And they +did. + +Four little girls, all out of breath, all dressed alike, all looking +alike, dashed into the drawing-room, and in one breath poured out the +direful intelligence that Augusta had mutinied. + +"Mr. Carr forbade her to give away the library books," they said, "and +she has gone up now to the school-room in spite of him. She's off; she +said Gerry said she might do it, long ago. Isn't it awful of her? She +says beauty's nothing, and she's only going to obey Gerry," continued +Betty. "What shall we do? She'll give all the books away wrong, and Mr. +Carr will be angry." + +They all paused for want of breath. Rosie went up and laid her fat red +hand on Lilias' knee. + +"I said it was you he stared at," she remarked. "_You_ wouldn't like +him to be vexed, would you?" + +The words had scarcely passed her lips before the door was opened, and +the object of the children's universal commiseration entered. A deep +and awful silence took possession of them. Lilias clutched Rosie's +hand, and felt an inane desire to rush from the room with her. + +Too late. The terrible infant flew to Adrian Carr, and clasping her +arms around his legs, looked up into his face. + +"Never mind," she said, "it _is_ wrong of Gussie, but it isn't Lilias' +fault. She wouldn't like to vex you, 'cause you stare so at her." + +"Nursie says that you admire Lilias; do you?" asked Betty. + +"Oh, poor Gussie!" exclaimed the others, their interest in Lilias and +Carr being after all but a very secondary matter. "We all do hope you +won't do anything dreadful to her. You can, you know. You can +excommunicate her, can't you?" + +"But what has Augusta done?" exclaimed Carr, turning a somewhat flushed +face in the direction not of Lilias, but of Marjory. "What a frightful +confusion--and what does it mean?" + +Marjory explained as well as she was able. Carr had lately taken upon +himself to overhaul the books of the lending library. He believed in +literature as a very elevating lever, but he thought that books should +not only be carefully selected in the mass, but in lending should be +given with a special view to the needs of the individual who borrowed. +Before Gerald's marriage Marjory had given away the books, but since +then, for various reasons, they had drifted into Augusta's hands, and +through their means this rather spirited and daring young lady had been +able to inflict a small succession of mild tyrannies. For instance, +poor Miss Yates, the weak-eyed and weak-spirited village dressmaker, +was dosed with a series of profound and dull theology; and Macallister, +the sexton and shoemaker, a canny Scot, who looked upon all fiction as +the "work of the de'il," was put into a weekly passion with the novels +of Charles Reade and Wilkie Collins. + +These were extreme cases, but Augusta certainly had the knack of giving +the wrong book to the wrong person. Carr heard mutterings and +grumbling. The yearly subscriptions of a shilling a piece diminished, +and he thought it full time to take the matter in hand. He himself +would distribute the village literature every Saturday, at twelve +o'clock. + +The day and the hour arrived, and behold Miss Augusta Wyndham had +forestalled him, and was probably at this very moment putting "The +Woman in White" into the enraged Macallister's hand. Carr's temper was +not altogether immaculate; he detached the children's clinging hands +from his person, and said he would pursue the truant, publicly take the +reins of authority from her, and send her home humiliated. He left the +rectory, walking fast, and letting his annoyance rather increase than +diminish, for few young men care to be placed in a ridiculous +situation, and he could not but feel that such was his in the present +instance. + +The school-house was nearly half a mile from the rectory, along a +straight and dusty piece of road; very dusty it was to-day, and a +cutting March east wind blew in Carr's face and stung it. He approached +the school-house--no, what a relief--the patient aspirants after +literature were most of them waiting outside. Augusta, then, could not +have gone into the school-room. + +"Has Miss Augusta Wyndham gone upstairs?" he asked of a rosy-cheeked +girl who adored the "Sunday At Home." + +"No, please, sir. Mr. Gerald's come, please, Mr. Carr, sir," raising +two eyes which nearly blazed with excitement. "He shook 'ands with me, +he did, and with Old Ben, there; and Miss Augusta, she give a sort of +a whoop, and she had her arms round his neck, and was a-hugging of him +before us all, and they has gone down through the fields to the +rectory." + +"About the books," said Carr; "has Miss Augusta given you the books?" + +"Bless your 'eart, sir," here interrupted Old Ben, "we ain't of a mind +for books to-day. Mr. Gerald said he'd come up this evening to the +Club, and have a chat with us all, and Sue and me, we was waiting here +to tell the news. Litteratoor ain't in our line to-day, thank you, +sir." + +"Here's Mr. Macallister," said Sue. "Mr. Macallister, Mr. Gerald's +back. He is, truly. I seen him, and so did Old Ben." + +"And he'll be at the Club to-night," said Ben, turning his wrinkled +face upwards towards the elongated visage of the canny Scot. + +"The Lord be praised for a' His mercies," pronounced Macallister, +slowly, with an upward wave of his hand, as if he were returning thanks +for a satisfying meal. "Na, na. Mr. Carr, na books the day." + +Finding that his services were really useless, Carr went away. The +villagers were slowly collecting from different quarters, and all faces +were broadening into smiles, and all the somewhat indifferent sleepy +tones becoming perceptibly brighter, and Gerald Wyndham's name was +passed from lip to lip. Old Miss Bates wiped her tearful eyes, as she +hurried home to put on her best cap. Widow Simpkins determined to make +up a good fire in her cottage, and not to spare the coals; the festive +air was unmistakeable. Carr felt smitten with a kind of envy. What +wonders could not Wyndham have effected in this place, he commented, as +he walked slowly back to his lodgings. Later in the day he called at +the rectory to find the hero surrounded by his adoring family, and +bearing his honors gracefully. + +Gerald was talking rather more than his wont; for some reason or other +his face had more color than usual, his eyes were bright, he smiled, +and even laughed. Lilias ceased to watch him anxiously, a sense of +jubilation filled the breast of every worshipping sister, and no one +thought of parting or sorrow. + +Perhaps even Gerald himself forgot the bitterness which lay before him +just then; perhaps his efforts were not all efforts, and that he really +felt some of the old home peace and rest with its sustaining power. + +You can know a thing and yet not always realize it. Gerald knew that he +should never spend another Saturday in the old rectory of +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. That Lilias' bright head and Lilias' tender, +steadfast earnest eyes would be in future only a memory. He could never +hope again to touch that hair, or answer back the smile on that beloved +and happy face. The others, too--but Lilias, after his wife, was most +dear of all living creatures to Gerald. Well, he must not think; he +resolved to take all the sweetness, if possible, out of this Saturday +and Sunday. He resolved not to tell any of his people of the coming +parting until just before he left. + +The small sisters squatted in a semicircle on the floor round their +hero; Augusta, as usual, stood behind him, keeping religious guard of +the back of his head. + +"If there is a thing I simply adore," that vigorous young lady was +often heard to say, "it's the back of Gerry's head." + +Lilias sat at his feet, her slim hand and arm lying across his knee; +Marjory flitted about, too restless and happy to be quiet, and the tall +rector stood on the hearthrug with his back to the fire. + +"It is good to be home again," said Gerald. Whereupon a sigh of content +echoed from all the other throats, and it was at this moment that Carr +came into the room. + +"Come in, Carr, come in," said the rector. "There's a place for you, +too. You're quite like one of the family, you know. Oh, of course you +are, my dear fellow, of course you are. We have got my son back, +unexpectedly. Gerald, you know Carr, don't you." + +Gerald stood up, gave Carr's hand a hearty grip, and offered him his +chair. + +"Oh, not that seat, Gerry," groaned Augusta, "it's the only one in the +room I can stand at comfortably. I can't fiddle with your curls if I +stand at the back of any other chair." + +Gerald patted her cheek. + +"Then perhaps, Carr, you'll oblige Augusta by occupying another chair. +I am sorry that I am obliged to withhold the most comfortable from +you." + +Carr was very much at home with the Wyndhams by now. He pulled forward +a cane chair, shook his head at Augusta, and glanced almost timidly at +Lilias. He feared the eight sharp eyes of the younger children if he +did more than look very furtively, but she made such a sweet picture +just then that his eyes sought hers by a sort of fascination. For the +first time, too, he noticed that she had a look of Gerald. Her face +lacked the almost spiritualized expression of his, but undoubtedly +there was a likeness. + +The voices, interrupted for a moment by the curate's entrance, soon +resumed their vigorous flow. + +"Why didn't you bring my dear little sister Valentine down, Gerald?" It +was Lilias who spoke. + +He rewarded her loving speech by a flash, half of pleasure, half of +pain in his eyes. Aloud he said:-- + +"We thought it scarcely worth while for both of us to come. I must go +away again on Monday." + +A sepulchral groan from Augusta. Rosie, Betty and Joan exclaimed almost +in a breath:-- + +"And we like you much better by yourself." + +"Oh, hush, children," said Marjory. "We are all very fond of Val." + +"You have brought a great deal of delight into the village. Wyndham," +said Carr, and he related the little scene which had taken place around +the school-house. "I'd give a good deal to be even half as popular," he +said with a sigh. + +"You might give all you possessed in all the world, and you wouldn't +succeed," snapped Gussie. + +"Augusta, you really are too rude," said Lilias with a flush on her +face. + +"No, I'm not, Lil. Oh, you needn't stare at me. I like him, and he +knows it," nodding with her head in the direction of Adrian Carr; "but +you have to be born in a place, and taught to walk in it, and you have +had to steal apples in it and eggs out of birds' nests, and to get +nearly drowned when fishing, and to get some shot in your ankle, and +you've got to know every soul in all the country round, and to come +back from school to them in the holidays, and for them first to see +your moustache coming; and then, beyond and above all that, you've got +just to be _Gerry_, to have his way of looking, and his way of walking, +and his way of shaking your hand, and to have his voice and his heart, +to be loved as well. So how _could_ Mr. Carr expect it?" + +"Bravo, Augusta," said Adrian Carr. "I'd like you for a friend better +than any girl I know." + +"Please, Gerry, tell us a story," exclaimed the younger children. They +did not want Augusta to have all the talking. + +"Let it be about a mouse, and a cricket on the hearth, and a white +elephant, and a roaring bull, and a grizzly bear." + +"And let the ten little nigger-boys come into it," said Betty. + +"And Bo-Peep," said Rosie. + +"And the Old Man who wouldn't say his prayers," exclaimed Joan. + +"And let it last for hours," exclaimed they all. + +Gerald begged the rest of the audience to go away, but they refused to +budge an inch. So the story began. All the characters appeared in due +order; it lasted a long time, and everybody was delighted. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +Lilias Wyndham never forgot that last Sunday with Gerald spent at +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. The day in itself was perfect, the air blew +softly from the west, the sun shone in a nearly cloudless heaven; the +gentle breezes, the opening flowers, the first faint buds of spring on +tree and hedge-row seemed all to give a foretaste of summer. Nobody +knew, none could guess, that in one sense they foretold the desolation +of dark winter. + +It was in this light that Wyndham himself regarded the lovely day. + +"I leap from calm to storm," he said to himself. "Never mind, I will +enjoy the present bliss!" + +He did enjoy it, really, not seemingly. He took every scrap of +sweetness out of it, almost forgetting Valentine for the time being, +and living over again the days when he was a light-hearted boy. + +He went to church twice, and sat in the corner of the square family pew +which had always been reserved for him. As of old, Lilias sat by his +side, and when the sermon came he lifted little Joan into his arms, and +she fell asleep with her golden head on his breast. The rector preached +and Gerald listened. It was an old-fashioned sermon, somewhat long for +the taste of the present day. It had been carefully prepared, and was +read aloud, for the benefit of the congregation, in a clear, +gentlemanly voice. + +Gerald almost forgot that he was a man with an unusual load of +suffering upon him, as he listened to the time-honored softly-flowing +sentences. + +"Blessed are the pure in heart," was the rector's text, and it seemed +to more than one of that little village congregation that he was +describing his own son when he drew his picture of the man of purity. + +In the evening Carr preached. He was as modern as the rector was the +reverse. He used neither M.S. nor notes, and his sermon scarcely +occupied ten minutes. + +"To die is gain" was his text. There were some in the congregation who +scarcely understood the vigorous words, but they seemed to one weary +man like the first trumpet notes of coming battle. They spoke of a +fight which led to a victory. Wyndham remembered them by-and-bye. + +It was the custom at the rectory to have a kind of open house on Sunday +evening, and to-night many of Gerald's friends dropped in. The large +party seemed a happy one. The merriment of the night before had +deepened into something better. Lilias spoke of it afterwards as bliss. + +"Do you remember," she said to Marjory, in the desolate days which +followed, "how Gerald looked when he played the organ in the hall? Do +you remember his face when we sang 'Sun of my soul?'" + +The happiest days come to an end. The children went to bed, the friends +one by one departed. Even Lilias and Marjory kissed their brother and +bade him good-night. He was to leave before they were up in the +morning. This he insisted on, against their will. + +"But we shall see you soon in London," they both said, for they were +coming up in a few weeks to stay with an aunt. Then they told him to +kiss Valentine for them, and went upstairs, chatting lightly to one +another. + +The rector and his son were alone. + +"We have had a happy day," said Gerald, abruptly. + +"We have, my son. It does us all good to have you with us, Gerald. I +could have wished--but there's no good regretting now. Each man must +choose his own path, and you seem happy, my dear son; that is the main +thing." + +"I never thought primarily of happiness," responded Gerald. "Did you +listen to Carr's sermon to-night? He proved his case well. To die _is_ +sometimes gain." + +The rector, who was seated by the fire, softly patted his knee with one +hand. + +"Yes, yes," he said, "Carr proved his case ably. He's a good fellow. A +_little_ inclined to the broad church, don't you think?" + +"Perhaps so." + +Gerald stood up. His face had suddenly grown deadly white. + +"Father, I kept a secret from you all day. I did not wish to do +anything to mar the bliss of this perfect Sunday. You--you'll break it +to Lilias and Maggie, and the younger children. I'm going to Sydney on +Wednesday. I came down to say good-bye." + +He held out his hand. The rector stood up and grasped it. + +"My dear lad--my boy. Well--well--you'll come back again. Of course, I +did know that you expected to go abroad on business for your firm. My +dear son. Yes, my boy--aye--you'll come back again soon. How queer you +look, Gerald. Sit down. I'm afraid you're a little overdone." + +"Good-bye, father. You're an old man, and Sydney is a long way off. +Good-bye. I have a queer request to make. Grant it, and don't think me +weak or foolish. Give me your blessing before I go." + +Suddenly Wyndham fell on his knees, and taking his father's hand laid +it on his head. + +"I am like Esau," he said. "Is there not one blessing left for me?" + +The rector was deeply moved. + +"Heaven above bless you, my boy," he said. "Your mother's God go with +you. There, Gerald, you are morbid. You will be back with me before +the snows of next winter fall. But God bless you, my boy, wherever you +are and whatever you do!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +Valentine was sitting in her pretty drawing-room. It was dinner time, +but she had not changed her dress. She was too young, too fresh, and +unused to trouble, for it yet to leave any strong marks on her face. +The delicate color in her cheeks had slightly paled, it is true, her +bright hair was in confusion, and her eyes looked larger and more +wistful than their wont, but otherwise no one could tell that her heart +was beating heavily and that she was listening eagerly for a footstep. + +Seven o'clock came--half-past seven. This was Gerald's last night at +home; he was to sail in the _Esperance_ for Sydney to-morrow. Valentine +felt stunned and cold, though she kept on repeating to herself over and +over:-- + +"This parting is nothing. He's sure to be home in six months at the +latest. Six months at the very latest. In these days there is really no +such thing as distance. What is a six months' parting? Besides, it is +not as if I were really in love with him. Father asked me the question +direct last night, and I said I wasn't. How could I love him with all +my heart when I remember that scene at the Gaiety? Oh, that scene! It +burns into me like fire, and father's look--I almost hated father that +night. I did really. Fancy, Valentine hating her father! Oh, of course +it passed. There is no one like my father. Husbands aren't like +fathers, not in the long run. Oh, Gerald, you might have told me the +truth? I'd have forgiven you, I would really, if you had told me the +truth. Oh, why don't you come? _Why_ don't you come? You might be in +time this last evening. It is a quarter to eight now. I am +impatient--I am frightened. Oh, there's a ring at the hall door. Oh, +thank God. No, of course, Gerald, I don't love you--not as I could have +loved--and yet I do--I _do_ love you--I _do_!" + +She clasped her hands--a footstep was on the stairs. The door was +opened, Masters brought her a thick letter on a salver. + +"Has not Mr. Wyndham come? Was not that ring Mr. Wyndham's?" + +"No, madam, a messenger brought this letter. He said there was no +answer." + +The page withdrew, and Valentine tore open the envelope. A letter +somewhat blotted, bearing strong marks of agitation, but in her +husband's writing, lay in her hand. Her eager eyes devoured the +contents. + + "I can't say good-bye, my darling--there are limits even to my + endurance--I can't look at you and hear you say 'Good-bye, Gerald.' + I bade you farewell this morning when you were asleep. I am not + coming home to-night, but your father will spend the evening with + you. You love him better than me, and I pray the God of all mercy + that he may soften any little pang that may come to you in this + separation. When you are reading this I shall be on my way to + Southampton. I have bid your father good-bye, and he will tell you + everything there is to tell about me. The _Esperance_ sails at noon + to-morrow, and it is a good plan to be on board in good time. I + cannot tell you. Valentine, what my own feelings are. I cannot + gauge my love for you. I don't think anything could probe it to its + depths. I am a sinful man, but I sometimes hope that God will + forgive me, because I have loved as much as the human heart is + capable of loving. You must remember that, dear. You must always + know that you have inspired in one man's breast the extreme of + love! + + "Good-bye, my darling. It is my comfort to know that the bitterness + of this six months' separation falls on me. If I thought otherwise, + if I thought even for a moment that you cared more for your husband + than you do for the world's opinion, or for riches, or for honor, + that you would rather have him with poverty and shame, that he was + more to you even than the father who gave you your being, then I + would say even now, at the eleventh hour, 'fly to me, Valentine. + Let us go away together on board the _Esperance_, and forget all + promises and all honor, and all truth.' Yes, I would say it. But + that is a mad dream. Forget this part of my letter. Valentine. It + has been wrung from a tortured and almost maddened heart. Good-bye, + my wife. Be thankful that you have not it in you to love + recklessly. + + "Your husband, + + "GERALD WYNDHAM." + + +"But I have!" said Valentine. She raised her eyes. Her father was in +the room. + +"Yes, I can love--I too can give back the extreme of love. Father, I am +going to my husband. I am going to Southampton. What's the matter? What +are you looking at me like that for? Why did you send Gerald away +without letting him come to say good-bye? Not that it matters, for I am +going to him. I shall take the very next train to Southampton." + +"My darling," began Mr. Paget. + +"Oh, yes, father, yes. But there's no time for loving words just now. +I've had a letter from my husband, and I'm going to him. I'm going to +Sydney with him. Yes--you can't prevent me!" + +"You are talking folly, Valentine," said Mr. Paget. "You are excited, +my child; you are talking wildly. Going with your husband? My poor +little girl. There, dear, there. He'll soon be back. You can't go with +him, you know, my love. Show me his letter. What has he dared to say +to excite you like this?" + +"No, you shan't see a word of his dear letter. No, not for all the +world. I understand him at last, and I love him with all my heart and +soul. Yes, I do. Oh, no, I don't love you as I love my husband." + +Mr. Paget stepped back a pace or two. There was no doubting Valentine's +words, no doubting the look on her face. She was no longer a child. She +was a woman, a woman aroused to passion, almost to fury. + +"I am going to my husband," she said. And she took no notice of her +father when he sank into the nearest chair and pressed his hand to his +heart. + +"I have got a blow," he said. "I have got an awful blow." + +But Valentine did not heed him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +"Yes, my darling," said Mr. Paget, two hours later; his arms were round +his daughter, and her head was on his shoulder. "Oh, yes, my dear one, +certainly, if you wish it." + +"And you'll go with me, father? Father, couldn't you come too? Couldn't +we three go? Yes, that would be nice, that would be happiness." + +"A good idea," said Mr. Paget, reflectively. "But really, Val, really +now, don't you think Wyndham and I rather spoil you? You discover at +the eleventh hour that you can't live without your husband, that as he +must cross to the other side of the world, you must go there too. And +now in addition _I_ have to accompany you. Do you think you are worth +all this? That any girl in the world is worth all this?" + +"Perhaps not, father." + +Valentine was strangely subdued and quiet. + +"I suppose it would be selfish to bring you," she said; "and we shall +be back in six months." + +"True," said Mr. Paget in a thoughtful voice; "and even for my +daughter's sake my business must not go absolutely to the dogs. Well, +child, a wilful woman--you know the proverb--a wilful woman must have +her way. I own I'm disappointed. I looked forward to six months all +alone with you. Six months with my own child--a last six months, for of +course I always guessed that when Wyndham came back you'd give yourself +up to him body and soul. Oh, no, my dear, I'm not going to disappoint +you. A wife fretting and mourning for her husband is the last person I +should consider a desirable companion. Run upstairs now and get your +maid to put your things together. I shall take you down to Southampton +by an early train in the morning, and in the meantime, if you'll excuse +me, Valentine, I'll go out and send a telegram to your husband." + +"To tell him that I'm coming?" + +"Yes, are you not pleased?" + +"No, don't do that. I will meet him on board the boat. I know exactly +what the scene will be. He'll be looking--no, I shan't say how he'll be +looking--but I'll steal up behind him, and slip my hand through his +arm, and then--and then! Father, kiss me. I love you for making me so +happy." + +Mr. Paget pressed his lips to his daughter's forehead. For a brief +moment his eyes looked into hers. She remembered by-and-bye their queer +expression. Just now, however, she was too overwrought and excited to +have room for any ideas except the one supreme longing and passion +which was drawing her to her husband. + +"Shall we have dinner?" said Mr. Paget after another pause. + +Valentine laughed rather wildly. + +"Dinner? I can't eat. Had not you better go home and have something? +Perhaps I did order dinner, but I can't remember. My head feels queer; +I can't think properly. Go home and have something to eat, father. You +can come back later on. I am going upstairs now to pack." + +She left the room without a word, and Mortimer Paget heard her light +step as she ran up to her bedroom. He began to talk vehemently to +himself. + +"Does that child, that little girl, whom I reared and fostered--that +creature whom I brought into existence--think she will checkmate me now +at the supreme moment. No, there are limits. I find that even my love +for Valentine has a bottom, and I reach it when I see the prisoner's +cell, solitary confinement, penal servitude, looming large on the +horizon. Even your heart must suffer, little Valentine, to keep such a +fate as that from my door. Poor little Val! Well, the best schemes, the +most carefully laid plans sometimes meet with defeat. It did not enter +into my calculations that Val would fall madly in love with that +long-faced fellow. Pah! where's her taste? What men women will admire. +Well, Valentine, you must pay the penalty, for my plans cannot be +disturbed at the eleventh hour!" + +Mr. Paget went softly out of the house, but he did not go, as Valentine +innocently supposed, home to dinner. No, he had something far more +important to attend to. Something in which he could be very largely +assisted by that confidential clerk of his, Jonathan Helps. + +Meanwhile, Valentine and her maid were having a busy time. Dresses were +pulled out, trunks dusted and brought into the middle of the room, and +hasty preparations were made for a journey. + +Valentine's low spirits had changed to high ones. She was as happy as +some hours ago she had been miserable. Her heart was now at rest, it +had acknowledged its own need--it had given expression to the love +which was fast becoming its life. + +"You are surprised, Suzanne," said Mrs. Wyndham to her maid. "Yes, it +is a hurried journey. I had no idea of going with Mr. Wyndham, but +he--poor fellow--he can't do without me, Suzanne, so I am going. I +shall join him on board the _Esperance_ in the morning. You can fancy +his surprise--his pleasure. Put in plenty of dinner dresses, Suzanne. +Those white dresses that Mr. Wyndham likes--yes, that is right. Of +course I shall dress every evening for dinner on board the _Esperance_. +I wonder if many other ladies are going. Not that it matters--I shall +have my husband. What are you saying, Suzanne?" + +"That it is beautiful to lof," replied the maid, looking up with +adoring eyes at her pretty animated young mistress. + +She was both young and pretty herself, and she sympathized with +Valentine, and admired her immensely for her sudden resolve. + +"Yes, love is beautiful," answered Valentine gravely. Her eyes filled +with sudden soft tears of happiness. "And there is something better +even than love," she said, looking at Suzanne, and speaking with a +sudden burst of confidence. "The highest bliss of all is to give joy to +those who love you." + +"And you will do that to-morrow, madame," replied Suzanne fervently. +"Oh, this lof, so beautiful, so rare--you will lay it at monsieur's +feet--he is goot, monsieur is, and how great is his passion for +madame." + +The young Swiss girl flitted gaily about, and by-and-bye the packing +even for this sudden voyage was accomplished. + +"You will take me with you, madame?" said Suzanne. + +"No, Suzanne, there is no time to arrange that, nor shall I really want +you. We may have to rough it a little, my husband and I; not that we +mind, it will be like a continual picnic--quite delicious." + +"But madame must be careful of her precious health." + +The color flushed into Valentine's cheeks. + +"My husband will take care of me," she said. "No. Suzanne, I shall not +take you with me. You will stay here for the present, and my father +will arrange matters for you. Now you can go downstairs and have some +supper. I shall not want you again to-night." + +The girl withdrew, and Valentine stood by the fire, gazing into its +cheerful depths, and seeing many happy dream pictures. + +"Yes, I shall certainly go with him. Even if what I dread and hope and +long for is the case, I shall be with him. I can whisper it first to +him. I ought to be with _him_--I ought to be with my husband then. Why +did Suzanne speak about my health? No one will take such care of me as +Gerald. Even my father cannot approach Gerald for tenderness, for +sympathy when one is out of sorts. How soothing is Gerald's hand; how +quieting. Once I was ill for a few hours. Only a bad headache, but it +went when he made me lie very still, and when he clasped my two hands +in one of his. Yes, I quite believe in Gerald. Even though I do not +understand that night at the Gaiety, still I absolutely believe in my +husband. He is too noble to tell a lie; he had a reason for not +explaining what looked so strange that night. He had a right reason, +probably a good and great one. Perhaps I'll ask him again some day. +Perhaps when he knows there's a little--little _child_ coming he'll +tell me himself. Oh, God, kind, good, beautiful God, if you are going +to give me a child of my very own, help me to be worthy of it. Help me +to be worthy of the child, and of the child's father." + +Mr. Paget's ring was heard at the hall door, and Valentine ran down to +meet him. He had made all arrangements he told her. They would catch +the 8.5 train in the morning from Waterloo, and he would call for her +in a cab at a sufficiently early hour to catch it. + +His words were brief, but he was quite quiet and business-like. He +kissed his daughter affectionately, told her to go to bed at once, and +soon after left the house. + +Valentine gave directions for the morning and went back to her room. +She got quickly into bed, for she was determined to be well rested for +what lay before her on the following day. She laid her head on the +pillow, closed her eyes, and prepared to go to sleep. Does not +everybody know what happens on these occasions? Does not each +individual who in his or her turn has especially desired for the best +and most excellent reason a long sleep, a deep sleep, an unbroken and +dreamless sleep found it recede further and further away--found eyes +more watchful--brain more active, limbs more restless, as the precious +moments fly by? How loud the watch ticks, how audible are the minutest +sounds! + +It was thus with Valentine Wyndham that night. No sleep came near her, +and by slow degrees as the fire grew faint and the night deepened in +silence and solemnity, her happy excitement, her childish joy, gave +place to vague apprehensions. All kinds of nameless terrors came over +her. Suppose an accident happened to the train? Suppose the _Esperance_ +sailed before its time? Above all, and this idea was agonizing, was so +repellant that she absolutely pushed it from her--suppose her father +was deceiving her. She was horrified as this thought came, and came. It +would come, it would not be banished. Suppose her father was deceiving +her? + +She went over in the silence of the night the whole scene of that +evening. Her own sudden and fierce resolve, her father's opposition, +his disappointment--then his sudden yielding. The more she thought, the +more apprehensive she grew; the more she pondered, the longer, the more +real grew her fears. At last she could bear them no longer. + +She lit a candle and looked at her watch. Three o'clock. Had ever +passed a night so long and dreadful? There would not be even a ray of +daylight for some time. She could not endure that hot and restless +pillow. She would get up and dress. + +All the time she was putting on her clothes the dread that her father +was deceiving her kept strengthening--strengthening. At last it almost +reached a panic. What a fool she had been not to go to Southampton the +night before. Suppose Gerald's ship sailed before she reached it or +him. + +Suddenly an idea came like a ray of light. Why should she wait for her +father? Why should she not take an earlier train to Southampton? The +relative depths of Valentine's two loves were clearly shown when she +did not reject this thought. It mattered nothing at all to her at this +supreme moment whether she offended her father or not. She determined +to go to Southampton by the first train that left Waterloo that +morning. She ran downstairs, found a time-table, saw that a train left +at 5.50, and resolved to catch it. She would take Suzanne with her, and +leave a message for her father; he could follow by the 8.5 train if he +liked. + +She went upstairs and woke her maid. + +"Suzanne, get up at once. Dress yourself, and come to me, to my room." + +In an incredible short time Suzanne had obeyed this mandate. + +"I am going to take you with me to Southampton. Suzanne. I mean to +catch the train which leaves here at ten minutes to six. We have plenty +of time, but not too much. Can you make some coffee for us both? And +then either you or Masters must find a cab." + +Suzanne opened her bright eyes wide. + +"I will go with you, my goot madam," she said to herself. "The early +hour is noting, the strangeness is noting. That olt man--I hate that +olt man! I will go alone with you, mine goot mistress, to find the goot +husband what is so devoted. Ach! Suzanne does not like that olt man!" + +Coffee was served in Valentine's bedroom. Mistress and maid partook of +it together. Masters was aroused, was fortunate enough in procuring a +cab, and at five o'clock, for Valentine's impatience could brook no +longer delay, she and Suzanne had started together for Waterloo. + +Once more her spirits were high. She had dared something for Gerald. It +was already sweet to her to be brave for his sake. + +Before she left she wrote a short letter to her father--a constrained +little note--for her fears stood between her and him. + +She and Suzanne arrived at Waterloo long before the train started. + +"Oh, how impatient I am!" whispered Mrs. Wyndham to her maid. "Will +time never pass? I am sure all the clocks in London must be wrong, this +last night has been like three." + +The longest hours, however, do come to an end, and presently Valentine +and Suzanne found themselves being whirled out of London, and into the +early morning of a bright clear March day. + +The two occupied a compartment to themselves. Suzanne felt wide awake, +talkative, and full of intense curiosity; but Valentine was strangely +silent. She ceased either to laugh or to talk. She drew down her veil, +and establishing herself in a corner kept looking out at the swiftly +passing landscape. Once more the fear which had haunted her during the +night returned. Even now, perhaps, she would not be in time! + +Then she set to work chiding herself. She must be growing silly. The +_Esperance_ did not leave the dock until noon, and her train was due at +Southampton soon after eight. Of course there would be lots of time. +Even her father who was to follow by the later train could reach the +_Esperance_ before she sailed. + +The train flew quickly through the country, the slow moments dropped +into space one by one. Presently the train slackened speed--presently +it reached its destination. + +Then for the first time Valentine's real difficulties began. She had +not an idea from which dock the _Esperance_ was to sail. A porter +placed her luggage on a fly. She and Suzanne got in, and the driver +asked for directions. No, the _Esperance_ was not known to the owner of +the hackney coach. + +When the porter and the cabman questioned Mrs. Wyndham she suddenly +felt as if she had come up against a blank wall. There were miles of +ships all around. If she could afford no clue to the whereabouts of the +_Esperance_ the noon of another day might come before she could reach +the dock where it was now lying at anchor. + +At last it occurred to her to give the name of her father's shipping +firm. It was a great name in the city, but neither the porter nor the +cabman had come under its influence. They suggested, however, that most +likely the firm of Paget Brothers had an office somewhere near. They +said further that if there was such an office the clerks in it could +give the lady the information she wanted. + +Valentine was standing by her cab, trying not to show the bewilderment +and distress which had seized her, when a man who must have been +listening came up, touched his hat, and said civilly:-- + +"Pardon, madam. If you will drive or walk down to the quay, this quay +quite close, there is an office, you cannot fail to see it, where they +can give you the information you desire, as they are always posted up +with regard to the out-going and in-coming vessels. That quay, quite +near, cabby. Messrs. Gilling and Gilling's office." + +He touched his hat again and vanished, being rewarded by Valentine with +a look which he considered a blessing. + +"Now," she said, "now, I will give you double fare, cabman, treble +fare, if you will help me to get to the _Esperance_ in time; and first +of all, let us obey that good man's directions and go to Messrs. +Gilling and Gilling." + +The quay was close, and so was the office. In two minutes Valentine was +standing, alas, by its closed doors. A sudden fierce impatience came +over her, she rang the office bell loudly. Three times she rang before +any one answered her summons. Then a rather dishevelled and +sleepy-looking boy opened the door wide enough to poke his head out and +asked her her business. + +"I want to get news of the ship called the _Esperance_." + +"Office don't open till nine." + +He would have pushed the door to, but Suzanne stepping forward deftly +put her foot in. + +"Mine goot boy, be civil," she said. "This lady has come a long way, +and she wants the tidings she asks very sore." + +The office boy looked again at Valentine. She certainly was pretty; so +was Suzanne. But the office really did not open till nine, and the boy +could not himself give any tidings. + +"You had better step in," he said. "Mr. Jones will be here at nine. No, +I don't know nothing about the ship." + +It was now twenty-five minutes past eight. Valentine sank down on the +dusty chair which the boy pushed forward for her, and Suzanne stood +impatiently by her side. + +Outside, the cabman whistled a cheerful air and stamped his feet. The +morning was cold; but what of that? He himself was doing a good +business; he was certain of an excellent fare. + +"Suzanne," said Valentine suddenly. "Do you mind going outside and +waiting in the cab. I cannot bear anyone to stare at me just now." + +Suzanne obeyed. She was not offended. She was too deeply interested and +sympathetic. + +The slow minutes passed. Nine o'clock sounded from a great church near, +and then more gently from the office clock. At three minutes past nine +a bilious-looking clerk came in and took his place at one of the desks. +He started when he saw Valentine, opened a ledger, and pretended to be +very busy. + +"Can you tell me, at once, please, from which dock the _Esperance_ +sails?" asked Mrs. Wyndham. + +Her voice was impressive, and sharp with pain and waiting. The clerk +thought he might at least stare at her. Things were slow and dull at +this hour of the morning, and she was a novelty. He could have given +the information at once, but it suited him best to dawdle over it. +Valentine could have stamped with her increasing impatience. + +The clerk, turning the leaves of a big book slowly, at last put his +finger on an entry. + +"_Esperance_ sails for Sydney 25th inst., noon. Albert and Victoria +Docks." + +"Thank you, thank you," said Valentine. "Are these docks far away?" + +"Three miles off, madam." + +"Thank you." + +She was out of the office and in the cab almost before he had time to +close his book. + +"Drive to the Albert and Victoria Docks, instantly, coachman. I will +give you a sovereign if you take me there in less than half an hour." + +Never was horse beaten like that cabby's, and Valentine, the most +tender-hearted of mortals, saw the whip raised without a pang. Now she +was certain to be in time; even allowing for delay she would reach the +_Esperance_ before ten o'clock, and it did not sail until noon. Yes, +there was now not the most remote doubt she was in good time. And yet, +and yet--still she felt miserable. Still her heart beat with a strange +overpowering sense of coming defeat and disaster. Good cabman--go +faster yet, and faster. Ah, yes, how they were flying! How pleasant it +was to be bumped and shaken, and jolted--to feel the ground flying +under the horse's feet, for each moment brought her nearer to the +_Esperance_ and to Gerald. + +At last they reached the dock. Valentine sprang out of the cab. A +sailor came forward to help with her luggage. Valentine put a sovereign +into the cabman's hand. + +"Thank you," she said, "oh, thank you. Yes, I am in good time." + +Her eyes were full of happy tears, and the cabman, a rather hardened +old villain, was surprised to find a lump rising in his throat. + +"Which ship, lady?" asked the sailor, touching his cap. + +"The _Esperance_, one of Paget Brothers' trading vessels. I want to go +on board at once; show it to me. Suzanne, you can follow with the +luggage. Show me the _Esperance_, good man, my husband is waiting for +me." + +"You don't mean the _Experiance_, bound for Sydney?" asked the man. +"One of Paget Brothers' big ships?" + +"Yes, yes; do you know her? Point her out to me." + +"Ay, I know her. I was helping to lade her till twelve last night." + +"Just show her to me. I am in a frightful hurry. She is here--this is +the right dock." + +"Ay, the Albert and Victoria. The _Experiance_ sailing for Sydney, +noon, on the 25th." + +"Well, where is she? I will go and look for her by myself." + +"You can't, lady, she's gone." + +"What--what do you mean? It isn't twelve o'clock. Suzanne, it isn't +twelve o'clock." + +"No, lady." + +The old sailor looked compassionate enough. + +"Poor young thing," he soliloquized under his breath, "some one has +gone and done her. The _Experiance_ was to sail at noon," he continued, +"and she's a bunny tidy ship, too. I was lading her up till midnight; +for last night there came an order, and the captain--Captain Jellyby's +is his name--he was all flustered and in a taking, and he said we was +to finish and lade up, and she was to go out of port sharp at eight +this morning. She did, too, sharp to the minute. I seen her weigh +anchor. That's her, lady--look out there--level with the horizon--she's +a fast going ship and she's making good way. Let me hold you up, +lady--now, can you see her now? _That's_ the _Experiance_." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +The _Esperance_ was a well-made boat; she was about four thousand tons, +with improved engines which went at great speed. She was a trading +ship, one of the largest and most important of those belonging to Paget +Brothers, but she sometimes took out emigrants, and had room for a few +saloon passengers; old travellers, who knew what comfort was, sometimes +preferred to go in such ships as the _Esperance_ to the more +conventional lines of steamers. There was less crowding, less fuss; +there was also more room and more comfort. The meals were good and +abundant, and the few passengers, provided they were in any sense of +the word congenial spirits, became quickly friends. + +Gerald, as one of the members of the firm, was of course accommodated +with the very best the _Esperance_ could offer. He had a large state +room, well furnished, to himself; he was treated with every possible +respect, and even consulted with regard to trivial matters. Only, +however, with regard to very trivial matters. + +When he arrived at Southampton on the evening of the 24th, he went at +once on board the _Esperance_. + +"We shall sail at noon to-morrow," he said to the captain. + +Captain Jellyby was a pleasant old salt, with a genial, open, sunburnt +face, and those bright peculiar blue eyes which men who spend most of +their lives on the sea often have, as though the reflection of some of +its blue had got into them. + +"At noon to-morrow," replied the captain. "Yes, and that is somewhat +late; but we shan't have finished coaling before." + +"But we stop at Plymouth surely?" + +"Well, perhaps. I cannot positively say. We may be able to go straight +on to Teneriffe." + +Gerald did not make any further comments. He retired to his cabin and +unpacked one or two things, then he went into the saloon, and taking up +a book appeared to be absorbed with its contents. + +In reality he was not reading. He had written a desperate letter that +morning, and he was upheld even now in this moment of bitterness by a +desperate hope. + +Suppose Valentine suddenly found her slumbering heart awake? Suppose +his words, his wild, weak and foolish words, stung it into action? +Suppose the wife cried out for her husband, the awakened heart for its +mate. Suppose she threw all prudence to the winds, and came to him? She +could reach him in time. + +He could not help thinking of this as he sat with his hand shading his +eyes, pretending to read in the state saloon of the _Esperance_, the +vessel which was to carry him away to a living death. + +If Valentine came, oh yes, if Valentine came, there would be no death. +There might be exile, there might be poverty, there might be dishonor, +but no death. It would be all life then--life, and the flush of a +stained victory. + +He owned to himself that if the temptation came he would take it. If +his wife loved him enough to come to him he would tell her all. He +would tell her of the cruel promise wrung from him, and ask her if he +must keep it. + +The hours flew by; he raised his head and looked at the clock. Nine, it +was striking nine. He heard a sound on board, and his pulses quickened. +It passed--it was nothing. The clock struck ten, it was a beautiful +starlight night. All the other passengers who had already come on board +were amusing themselves on deck. + +Gerald was alone in the saloon. Again there was a sound a little +different from the constant cries of the sailors. + +Captain Jellyby's name was shouted, and there was a rush, followed by +renewed activity. Gerald rose slowly, shut his book, and went on deck. +It was a dark night although the sky was clear and full of stars. A man +in an overcoat and collar turned well up over his ears brushed past +Wyndham, made for the gangway and disappeared. + +"Good heavens--how like that man was to old Helps," soliloquized +Gerald. + +He stayed on deck a little longer; he thought his imagination had +played him a trick, for what could bring Helps on board the +_Esperance_. Presently the captain joined him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +"I am sorry, Mr. Wyndham," said Captain Jellyby, "to have to offer you +on your very first night on board my good ship very broken slumbers. We +shall be lading with coals all night. Are you easily disturbed by +noise! But I need scarcely ask, for that noise would almost rouse the +dead." + +Gerald smiled. + +"A broken night is nothing," he said; "at least to me. I suppose there +always is a great commotion the last night before a vessel sails on a +long voyage." + +"Not as a rule--at least that isn't my way. We meant to break off and +have a quiet time at midnight, and start operations again at six +o'clock in the morning. But I've had directions from head quarters +which oblige me to quicken my movements. Doocid inconvenient, too!" + +"What do you mean?" said Gerald, the pulses round his heart suddenly +quickening. "We sail at noon to-morrow." + +"We sail at eight in the morning, my good sir, and I, for one, call it +doocid inconvenient. (Yes, Cadgers, what do you want? Get all hands +possible on board.) I beg your pardon, Mr. Wyndham. (Yes, Cadgers.) +Back with you presently, sir." + +The captain disappeared, and Wyndham went down to his cabin. + +What did this sudden change mean? Who had given the order? Was that +really Helps who had been on board? Well, Wyndham was in a manner +master on this vessel. It was his own, part of his property; he had +been told over and over again by his father-in-law that on this +voyage, this pleasant voyage, he could give his own orders, and short +of anything which would jeopardize the safety of the boat, the captain +would humor his wishes. He would countermand an order which was putting +everybody out; he did not choose to leave his native shore before the +time specified--noon on the following day. In such a short life as his +even four hours were of moment. He would not lose the four hours of +hope, of the possibility of hope yet left to him. + +He went on deck, sought out the captain where he was standing, shouting +out hoarse directions to gangs of energetic looking sailors. + +"A word with you, Captain Jellyby," he said. "There is some mistake in +the order which you have received. I mean that I am in a position to +cancel it. I do not wish the _Esperance_ to sail before noon +to-morrow." + +His voice was very distinct and penetrating, and the sailors stopped +work and looked at him. Astonishment was written legibly on their +faces. + +"Lade away boys, work with a will," said the captain. Then he put his +hand on Gerald's shoulder, turned him round, and walked a pace or two +away. + +"I quite understand your position, Mr. Wyndham," he said. "And in all +possible matters I shall yield you due deference. But----" + +"Yes," said Wyndham. + +"But--we sail at eight to-morrow morning, sharp." + +"What do you mean? Who has given you the order?" + +"I am not prepared to say. My orders are explicit. Another time, when +Captain Jellyby can meet the wishes of Mr. Wyndham with a clear +conscience, his orders shall also be explicit." + +The captain bowed, laid his hand across his heart and turned away. + +Wyndham went back to his own cabin, and was tortured all night by a +desire, sane or otherwise, he could not tell which, to leave the +_Esperance_ and return to London and Valentine. + +The lading of the vessel went on ceaselessly, and sharp at eight the +following morning she weighed anchor and steamed away. Wyndham had lain +awake all night, but at seven in the morning he fell into a doze. The +doze deepened into quietness, into peaceful and refreshing slumber: the +lines departed from his young face; he had not undressed, but flung +himself as he was on his berth. When the _Esperance_ was flying merrily +through the water, Captain Jellyby had time to give Wyndham a thought. + +"That is a nice lad," he said to himself. "He has a nice face, young +too. I don't suppose he has seen five-and-twenty, but he knows what +trouble means. My name is not Jack Jellyby if that young man does not +know what pretty sharp trouble means. Odd, too, for he's rich and has +married the chief's daughter, and what a fuss the chief made about his +reception here. No expense to be spared; every comfort given, every +attention shown, and his orders to be obeyed within reason. Ay, my +pretty lad, there's the rub--within reason. You looked keen and vexed +enough last night when I had to hasten the hour for the departure of +the _Esperance_. I wonder what the chief meant by that. Well, I'll go +and have a look at young Wyndham; he may as well come with me and see +the last of his native shore. As the morning is fine it will be a +pretty sight." + +The captain went and begged for admission to Wyndham's cabin. There was +no answer, so he opened the door and poked his red smiling face round. + +"Bless me, the boy's asleep," he said; and he came up and took a good +look at his new passenger. + +Gerald was dreaming now, and a smile played about his lips. Suddenly he +opened his eyes and said:-- + +"Yes, Valentine, yes, I'm coming!" and sprang to his feet. + +The captain was standing with his legs a little apart, looking at him. +The vessel gave a lurch, and Wyndham staggered. + +"Are we off?" he said. "Good God, are we really off?" + +"We were off an hour ago, young sir. Come up on deck and see what a +pretty coast line we have just here." + +Wyndham put his hand to his forehead. + +"I have been cheated," he said suddenly. "Yes. I've been cheated. I +can't speak about it; things weren't clear to me last night, but I had +a dream, and I know now what it all means. I woke with some words on my +lips. What did I say, captain?" + +"You called to some fellow of the name of Valentine--your brother, +perhaps." + +"I haven't a brother. The person to whom I called was a woman--my wife. +She was coming on board. She would have sailed with me if we had +waited. Now it is too late." + +The captain raised his shaggy brows the tenth of an inch. + +"They must be sending him on this voyage on account of his health," he +mentally soliloquized. "Now I see daylight. A little touched, poor +fellow. Pity--nice fellow. Well, the chief might have trusted me. Of +course I must humor him, poor lad. Come on deck," he said aloud. "It's +beastly close down here. You should have the porthole open, the sea is +like glass. Come on deck and get a breath of fresh air. Isn't Valentine +a rather uncommon name for a woman? Yes, of course, I heard you were +married. Well, well, you'll be home again in six months. Now come on +deck and look around you." + +"Look here, captain," said Gerald suddenly. "I can't explain matters. +I daresay you think me queer, but you're mistaken." + +"They all go on that tack," muttered the captain. "Another symptom. +Well, I must humor him. I don't think you queer," he said, aloud. +"You're finely mistaken. You had a dream, and you called on your wife, +whom you have just parted from. What more natural? Bless you. I know +all about it. I was married myself." + +"And you left your wife?" + +"I left her, and what is worse she left me. She went up to the angels. +Bless her memory, she was a young thing. I see her yet, as she bade me +good-bye. Come on deck, lad." + +"Yes; come on deck," said Gerald hoarsely. + +All that day he was silent, sitting mostly apart and by himself. + +But the captain had his eye on him. In the evening he came again to +Captain Jellyby. + +"You touch at Plymouth, don't you?" + +"Sometimes." + +"This voyage, I mean." + +"No." + +"I wish you to stop at Plymouth." + +"Look here, my lad. 'No' is the only word I can give you. We don't +touch land till we get to Teneriffe. Go and lie down and have a sleep. +We shall have a calm sea to-night, and you look fagged out." + +"Are you a man to be bribed?" began Wyndham. + +"I am ashamed of you. I am not." + +The captain turned his back on him. Wyndham caught him by his shoulder. + +"Are you a man to be moved to pity?" + +"Look here, my lad, I can pity to any extent; but if you think any +amount of compassion will turn me from my duty, you're in the wrong +box. It's my duty, clear as the sky above, to go straight on to +Teneriffe, and on I shall go. You understand?" + +"Yes," said Gerald, "I understand. Thank you, captain, I won't bother +you further." + +His voice had altered, his brow had cleared. He walked away to the +further end of the deck, whistling a light air. The captain saw him +stop to pay some small attention to a lady passenger. + +"Bless me, if I understand the fellow!" he muttered. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + +When a die has been cast--cast irrevocably--as a rule there follows a +calm. It is sometimes the calm of peace, sometimes that of despair; but +there is always a stillness, effort is over, words don't avail, actions +are paralyzed. + +Gerald Wyndham sat on deck most of that evening. There was a married +lady, a certain Mrs. Harvey, on board, she was going to Australia with +her husband and one little girl. She was about thirty, and very +delicate. Gerald's face took her fancy, and they struck up an +acquaintance. + +The evening was so calm, so mild, the water so still, the sky above so +clear that the passengers brought wraps and lingered long on deck. Mrs. +Harvey talked all the time to Gerald. He answered her not only politely +but with interest. She was an interesting woman, she could talk well, +she had great sympathy, and she wanted to draw Wyndham out. In this she +failed, although she imagined she succeeded. He learned much of her +history, for she was very communicative, but when she joined her +husband downstairs later that evening she could not tell him a single +thing about their fellow-passenger. + +"He has a nice face," they both remarked, and they wondered who he was. + +It did not occur to them to speak of him as sad-looking. On the +contrary, Mrs. Harvey spoke of his cheerful smile and of his strong +appreciation of humor. + +"It is delightful to meet a man who can see a joke," she said. "Most of +them are so dense." + +"I wonder which family of Wyndhams he belongs to," remarked the +husband. + +"I wonder if he is married," added the wife. + +Then they both resolved that they would find out to-morrow. But they +did not, for the next day Wyndham did not come on deck at all. He +stayed in his own cabin, and had one or two interviews with the +captain. + +"You know very little about me, Captain Jellyby," he said, once. + +"I know that you are married to Miss Paget," replied the captain, "and +I am given to understand that she is a very charming young lady." + +"I want you to keep the fact of my marriage to yourself." + +The captain looked a little surprised. + +"Certainly, if you wish it," he said. + +"I do wish it. I am knocked over to-day, for the fact is, I--I have +gone through some trouble, but I don't mean to inflict my troubles on +you or my fellow-passengers. I hope I shall prove an acquisition rather +than otherwise on board the _Esperance_. But what I do not want, what +would be particularly repellant to me, is that the other saloon +passengers should gossip about me. When they find that I don't talk +about myself, or my people, or my wife, they will become curious, and +ply you with questions. Will you be mum on the subject?" + +"Mum as the grave," said the captain rising and stretching himself. +"Lord, we'll have some fun over this. If there are a deadly curious, +gossiping, wrangling, hole-picking set in this wide world, it's the +saloon passengers on board a boat of this kind. I'll make up a +beautiful mystery about you, my fine fellow. Won't they enjoy it! Why, +it will be the saving of them." + +"Make up any mystery you like," replied Wyndham, "only don't tell them +the truth. That is, I mean, what you know of the truth." + +"And that's nothing," muttered the captain to himself as he went away. +"Bless me, he is a queer fellow. Touched--he must be touched." + +Gerald spent twenty-four hours in God only knows what deep waters of +mental agony. The other passengers thought he was suffering from an +attack of sea-sickness, for they were just now meeting the heavy +channel sea, and the captain did not undeceive them. They passed +Plymouth before Gerald again appeared on deck, and when he once more +joined his fellow-passengers they were outside the Bay of Biscay. + +Gerald had not suffered from any bodily discomfort, but others on board +the _Esperance_ were less fortunate, and when he once more took his +place in the saloon, and went up on deck, he found that work, which all +his life long seemed to fall to his share, once more waiting for him. +It was the work of making other people comfortable. The Harveys' little +girl was very weak and fretful. She had gone through a bad time, but +when Wyndham lifted her in his arms, sat down with her in a sheltered +part of the deck, and told her some funny fairy tales, his influence +worked like the wand of a good magician. She smiled, told Mr. Wyndham +he was a very nice man, gave him a kiss, and ran downstairs presently +to eat her supper with appetite. + +Little Cecily Harvey was not the only person who came under Wyndham's +soothing influence. During this first evening he found himself more or +less in the position of a sort of general sick-nurse. But the next day +people were better, and then he appeared in another _role_. He could +entertain, with stories, with music, with song. He could recite; above +all things he could organize, and had a knack of showing off other +people to the best advantage. Long before a week had passed, Wyndham +was the most popular person on board. He was not only popular with +saloon passengers, but with the emigrants. There were several on +board, and he often spent some hours with them, playing with the +children, and talking with the mothers, or, rather, getting the mothers +to talk to him. + +They were flying south now, and every day the air grew more balmy and +the sea smoother. The emigrants, boys and girls, fathers and mothers, +used to lie out on the deck in the sun, and a very pretty picture they +made; the children rolling about laughing and playing, and the mothers, +most of them were young mothers, looking on and regarding them with +pride. + +There was scarcely an emigrant mother on board that ship who had not +confided her story, her hopes and her fears to Wyndham, before the +voyage was over. + +Soon that thing happened which had happened long ago at +Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, which had happened in the small house in +Park-lane, which had happened even with the odds against him to his +wife--everybody loved Wyndham. Hearts warmed as he came near, eyes +brightened when they looked at him. He was in the position of a +universal favorite. That sometimes is a dangerous position. But not in +his case, for he was too unselfish to make enemies. + +All this time, while his life was apparently drifting, while the hours +were apparently gliding on to no definite or especial goal, to a +landing at Melbourne--to a journey across a new Continent--while his +days were going by to all intents and purposes like anybody else's +days, he knew that between him and them lay an immeasurable gulf. He +knew that he was not drifting, but going very rapidly down a hill. The +fact is, Wyndham knew that the end, as far as he was concerned, was +near. + +His father-in-law had planned one thing, but he had planned another. He +told no one of this, he never whispered this to a living creature, but +his own mind was inexorably made up. He knew it when he bade his +father good-bye that last Sunday; when he looked at Lilias and +Marjory, and the other children, he knew it; he knew it when he kissed +his wife's cheek that last morning when she slept. In his own way he +could be a man of iron will. His will was as iron in this special +matter. Only once had his determination been shaken, and that was when +he pleaded with Valentine, and when he hoped against hope that she +would listen to his prayer. The last lingering sparks of that hope died +away when the captain refused to touch at Plymouth. After that moment +his own fixed will never wavered. + +His father-in-law had asked him for half a death; he should have a +whole one. That was all. Many another man had done what he meant to do +before. Still it was the End--the great End. No one could go beyond it. + +He made his plans very carefully; he knew to effect his object he must +be extremely careful. He would die, but it must never be supposed, +never breathed by mortal soul that he had passed out of this world +except by accident. He knew perfectly what the captain thought of him +during the first couple of days of his residence on board the +_Esperance_. + +"Captain Jellyby is positive that I am touched in the head," thought +Wyndham. "I must undo that suspicion." + +He took pains, and he succeeded admirably. Wyndham was not only a +favorite on board, but he was cheerful, he was gay. People remarked not +on his high but on his good spirits. + +"Such a merry, light-hearted fellow," they said of him. + +Wyndham overheard these remarks now and then. The captain openly +delighted in him. + +"The ship will never be lucky again when you leave her," he said. +"You're worth a free passage to any captain. Why you keep us all in +good humor. Passengers, emigrants, sailors and all. Here, come along. I +thought you rather a gloomy young chap when first I set eyes on you; +but now--ah, well, you were homesick. Quite accountable. Here, I have a +request from the second mate, and one or two more of the jack tars down +there. They want you to sing them a song after supper. They say it +isn't fair that we should have you to ourselves in the saloon." + +Gerald laughed, said he would be happy to oblige the sailors, and +walked away. + +"As jolly a chap as ever I laid eyes on," muttered the captain. "I +liked him from the first, but I was mistaken in him. I thought him +gloomy. Not a bit. I wonder his wife could bear to let him out of her +sight. I wouldn't if I were a lass. There, hark to him now! Bless me, +we are having a pleasant voyage this time." + +So they were. No one was ill; the amount of rough weather was decidedly +below the average, and cheerfulness and contentment reigned on board. + +The ship touched at Teneriffe, but only for a few hours, and then sped +on her way to the Cape. It was now getting very hot, and an awning was +spread over the deck. Under this the saloon passengers sat, and smoked +and read. No one suspected, no one had the faintest shadow of a +suspicion that black care lurked anywhere on board that happy ship, +least of all in the breast of the merriest of its crew, Gerald Wyndham. + +The _Esperance_ reached the Cape in safety, there some of the +passengers, Gerald amongst them, landed, for the captain intended to +lie at anchor for twenty-four hours. Then again they were away, and now +they were told they must expect colder weather for they were entering +the Southern Ocean, and were approaching high latitudes of polar cold. +They would have to go through the rough sea of the "Roaring Forties," +and then again they would emerge into tropical sunshine. + +Soon after they left the Cape, little Cecily Harvey fell ill. She +caught a chill and was feverish, and the doctor and her mother forbade +her to go on deck. She was only eight years old, a pretty, winsome +child. Gerald felt a special tenderness for her, for she reminded him +of his own little sister Joan. During this illness she often lay for +hours in his arms, with her little feverish cheek pressed against his, +and her tiny hot hand comforted by his firm cool clasp. + +"Mr. Wyndham," she said on one of these occasions. "I wish you wouldn't +do it." + +"Do what, Cecily?" + +"Run up the rigging as you do. I heard one of the sailors talking to +Mrs. Meyrich the other day, and he said you were too daring, and some +day you'd have a slip, and be overboard, if you did not look sharp." + +"Oh, I'll take care of myself, Cecily. At one time I thought of being a +sailor, and I was always climbing, always climbing at home. There isn't +the least fear. I'm not rash. I'm a very careful fellow." + +"Are you? I'm glad of that. Had you tall trees at your home?" + +Gerald gave the little hand a squeeze. + +"They were like other trees," he said. "Don't let us talk of them." + +"Mustn't we? I'm sorry. I wanted to hear all about your home." + +"I haven't a home, Cecily. Once I had one, but you can understand that +it is painful to speak of what one has lost." + +"I'm very sorry for you, dear Mr. Wyndham. Did you lose a little +sister, too? Is that why you squeeze me so tight?" + +"I have lost many little sisters; we won't talk of them, either. What +is the matter, Cecily? Do you feel faint?" + +"No, but I hate this rough, choppy sea. I want it to be smooth again as +it used to be. Then I can go on deck, and lie under the awning, and you +can sit near me, and tell me stories. Will you?" + +Gerald did not answer. + +"_Will_ you, Mr. Wyndham?" + +"I can lie to everyone else but not to the child," muttered Gerald. + +He roused himself, and sought to divert her attention. + +"We are in the 'Roaring Forties' now," he said. "Isn't that a funny +name? The sea is always very choppy and rough here, but it won't last +long. You will soon be in pleasant weather and smooth seas again." + +Cecily was not satisfied, and Gerald presently left her and went on +deck. + +The weather was not pleasant just now, it was cold and squally, always +veering about and causing a choppy and disagreeable motion with the +ship. Some of the ladies took again to their beds, and went through +another spell of sea-sickness; the more fortunate ones sat and chatted +in the great saloon--not one of them ventured on deck. Gerald, who was +not in the least indisposed in body, found plenty to do in his _role_ +of general cheerer and comforter. When he was not nursing little Cecily +he spent some time with the emigrants, amongst whom he was a great +favorite. + +On this particular day a round-faced young woman of five and twenty, a +certain Mrs. Notley, came up to him the moment he appeared on the lower +deck. + +"They do say it, sir, and I thought I'd speak to you, so that you +wouldn't mind. They do say you're over rash in helping the +sailors--over rash, and none so sure-footed as you think yourself." + +"Folly," said Gerald, laughing good-humoredly. "So I can't run up a +rope or tighten a rigging without people imagining that I am putting my +precious life in jeopardy. Don't you listen to any foolish tales, Mrs. +Notley. I'm a great deal too fond of myself to run any risks. I shan't +slip, if that's what you mean--for that matter I have always been +climbing, since I was a little chap no bigger than that urchin of yours +there." + +"Ay, sir, that's all very well, but it's different for all that on +board ship; there may come a lurch when you least look for it, and then +the surest-footed and the surest-handed is sometimes outwitted. You'll +excuse my mentioning of it, sir, but you're a bonny young gentleman, +and you has the goodwill of everyone on board." + +"Thank you, Mrs. Notley, I like to hear you say so. It is pleasant to +be liked." + +"Ah, sure you are that, and no mistake, and you'll forgive me +mentioning it, sir, but you'll be careful, won't you? You ain't married +for sure, for your face is too lightsome for that of a married man. But +maybe you has a mother and a sweetheart, and you might think of them, +sir, and not be over daring." + +Wyndham's face grew suddenly white. + +"As it happens I have neither a mother nor sweetheart," he said. Then +he turned away somewhat abruptly, and Mrs. Notley feared she had +offended him. + +The sailors prophesied "dirty weather;" they expected it, for this was +the roughest part of the voyage. Gerald was very fond of talking to the +sailors and getting their opinions. He strolled over to where a group +of them were standing now, and they pointed to some ugly looking +clouds, and told him that the storm would be on them by night. + +Nothing very bad, or to be alarmed at, they said, still a rough and +nasty sea, with a bit of a gale blowing. The women and children +wouldn't like it, poor things, and it would be a dark night too, no +moon. + +Gerald asked a few more questions. + +"I have a great anxiety to see a storm," he said. "If it gets really +stormy, I'll come up; I can shelter beside the man at the wheel." + +"Better not, sir," one or two said. "The vessel is sure to lurch over a +good bit, and it takes more sea-weather legs than yours to keep their +footing at such a time." + +"All the same," remarked a burly-looking sailor, who was to take his +place at the wheel for some hours that night, and thought Gerald's +company would be a decided acquisition, "I could put the gent into a +corner where he'd be safe enough round here, and it's something to see +a gale in these parts--something to live for--not that there'll be much +to-night, only a bit of a dirty sea; but still----" + +"Expect me, Loggan, if it does come," said Wyndham. He laughed and +turned away. He walked slowly along the upper deck. Captain Jellyby +came up and had a word with him. + +"Yes, we're in for a dirty night," he remarked. + +Then Wyndham went downstairs. He chatted for a little with the ladies +in the saloon. Then he went into his own cabin. He shut the door. The +time had arrived--the hour had come. + +He felt wonderfully calm and quiet; he was not excited, nor did his +conscience smite him with a sense of any special wrong-doing. Right or +wrong he was going to do something on which no blessing could be asked, +over which no prayer could be uttered. He had been brought up in a +house where prayers had been many; he had whispered his own baby +prayers to his mother when he was a little child. Well, well, he would +not think of these things now. The hour was come, the moment for action +was ripe. There was a little daylight, and during that time he meant to +occupy himself with one last task; he would write a letter to his wife, +a cheerful, bright everyday letter, to the wife for whose sake he was +about to rush unbidden into the arms of death. He had a part to act, +and this letter was in the programme. To make all things safe and above +suspicion he must write it, and leave it carelessly on his table, so +that the next ship they touched should convey it to her. + +He took out a sheet of foreign notepaper, and wrote steadily. His hand +did not shake, he covered the whole sheet of paper; his words were +bright, contented; no shadow of gloom touched them. They were full of +anticipation, of pleasure in the moment--of pleasure in the coming +reunion. + +The writing of this letter was the very hardest task of the man's whole +life. When it was over great drops of sweat stood on his forehead. He +read it steadily, from beginning to end, however, and his only fear was +that it was too bright, and that she might see through it, as in a +mirror, the anguish beneath. + +The letter was written, and now Wyndham had nothing to do. He had but +to sit with his hands before him, and wait for the gathering darkness +and the ever-increasing gale. + +He sat for nearly an hour in his own cabin, he was past any consecutive +thought now; still, so great was the constraint he was able to put over +himself that outwardly he was quite calm. Presently he went into the +saloon. Cecily Harvey alone was there, all the ladies having gone in to +dinner. She sprang up with a cry of delight when she saw Gerald. + +"Mr. Wyndham, have you come to stay with me? Why aren't you at dinner? +How white you look." + +"I am not hungry, Cecily. I thought you would be alone, and I came out +to see you. I wanted you to give me a kiss." + +"Of course I will--of course I will," said the affectionate child, +throwing her arms around his neck. + +"You remind me of one of the little sisters I have lost," he said +hurriedly. "Thank you, Cecily, thank you. Be a good child, always. I +would say 'God bless you' if I dared." + +"Why don't you dare? You are a good man, a very good man, the best I +know." + +"Hush, Cecily, you don't know what you are talking about. Give me +another kiss. Thank you sweet little girl." + +He went back again to his own cabin. The longing for compassion at this +crucial moment had made him run a risk in talking so to Cecily. He +blamed himself, but scarcely regretted the act. + +It was certainly going to be a dirty night, and already the sailors +were busy overhead. The good ship creaked and strained as she to fought +her way through the waters. The ladies loudly expressed their +uneasiness, and the gentleman-passengers fought down some qualms which +they considered unmanly. + +Wyndham rose from his seat in the dark, pressed his lips to the letter +he had written to his wife, suddenly he started, reeled a step and fell +back. + +There is no accounting for what happened--but happen it did. + +_Valentine herself stood beside him, stretched out her arms to him, +uttered a brief cry, and then vanished._ + +He felt like a madman; he pressed his hands to his head and rushed on +deck. + + * * * * * + +"Stand there, Mr. Wyndham, there," said the sailor Loggan. "You'll be +safe enough. Oh, yes, more than one wave will wash us. Shall I lash you +to the wheel, sir? Maybe it would be safer." + +"No, no, thank you." + +The voice was quite quiet and calm again. + +Certainly the night was a rough one, but between and under the loud +voice of the storm, Loggan and his companion exchanged some cheerful +phrases. + +"No, sir, I ain't never afeared." + +"What if you were to go to the bottom?" + +"The will of the good God be done, sir. I'd go a-doing of my duty." + +"You're an honest fellow, Loggan; shake hands with me." + +"That I will, Mr. Wyndham. What are you doing with that rope, sir? It's +cold, it's slippery--oh, the knot has got loose, I'll call a man to +tighten it, sir; let me--let me. You'll be over, sir, if you don't look +out; we're going to lunge this way. Take care, sir--take care--_for +God's sake, take care_!" + +Wyndham took care. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + +The summer came early that year. The rectory was a charming place in +the summer, and on this particular bright day in June one of the +numerous school-feasts was in course of preparation, and all the young +Wyndhams were working with a will and energy which could scarcely be +surpassed. The feast was in full progress; the village children +consumed tea and buns, as only village children can. Augusta was +refusing to help the babies to any more; Joan and Betty were +half-crying because she snatched the rich currant buns out of their +hands; Marjory was leading the most obstreporous members of her flock +away to the other end of the long meadow, where they could play orange +and lemons, nuts in May, and other festive games; and Lilias, as she +helped to pack away the remnants of the feast, was answering some +questions of Carr's. + +"We ought to have heard by now," she was saying. "My father is a little +uneasy, but I am not--at least, of course, I am anxious for Valentine. +The suspense must be very trying for her!" + +"When did your brother's ship sail?" + +"On the 25th of March." + +"And this is the 15th of June. The _Esperance_ must have been reported +at Lloyd's long ago." + +"How stupid of me never to think of that," said Lilias, her face +brightening. "But would they not put the arrivals in the papers? I have +certainly looked and never seen it." + +"You have probably overlooked it. I will write and inquire for you. The +_Esperance_, even allowing for delays, has probably reached its +destination some weeks ago. On the other hand it would be scarcely +possible for you to have had a letter from your brother. Yes, you are +right not to be anxious; I will go and have a chat with your father +presently. Is Mrs. Wyndham well?" + +"I think so--fairly well. She is coming to stay with us next week." + +Carr strolled away. + +"What a nice comfortable young man he is turning into," said Marjory, +who came up at that moment. "Ah, yes, your face is brighter already for +having had an interview with him. Whisper no secrets to me. I know--I +know." + +Lilias' clear brown skin was transfused with color. + +"Don't be silly, Marjory," she said. "I don't mind owning that Mr. Carr +_is_ a comfortable person to talk to. He has just been removing my +fears about Gerald." + +"Oh, I thought you had no fears." + +"Well, father's fears, then. He has been saying things to me which will +remove my father's fears completely." + +"That is right--Heaven be praised. You and the rector are nothing but a +pair of old croaks lately. Hey-ho! I am perfectly weary of your long +faces and your apprehensions. Thank goodness. Val is coming; she'll +wake us up a little." + +Lilias opened her dark eyes. + +"I did not know you cared so much for Valentine," she said. + +"I admired her very much the last time I saw her. That was a month +ago--she seemed so spirited and courageous. I used to think her +something of a doll, but she's a woman now, and a fine one. Perhaps +it's the thought of the baby coming." + +"Or perhaps," said Lilias, "she has found out at last what our Gerald +is." + +"Both, most likely," said Marjory. "Anyhow, she's changed; and the +funniest part is that that old man----" + +"What old man, Marjory?" + +"Don't interrupt me--her father. I always call him that old man--well, +I think he's afraid of her. She doesn't pet him the way she used, but +she's very gentle with him. Oh, she's a good bit altered; there's +something in her now." + +"I suppose there was always something in her," said Lilias. "For +Gerald"--her lips trembled--"gave up so much for her." + +"No more than any man gives up for any woman," said Marjory. "A man +shall leave his father and mother. Oh, yes, poor old Lil, I know how +you felt it. You always made an idol of Gerald. I suppose you'll marry +some day; you are so pretty--and h'm--h'm--there's somebody waiting for +somebody--there, I don't want to tease, only when you do marry, my +pretty sister, I wonder if he'll come inside Gerald in your heart." + +"I won't marry until I love some one even better than my only brother," +replied Lilias in a grave voice. "That time has not come yet," she +added, and then she turned away. + +The games went on as fast as ever; Marjory romped with the merriest. +Lilias was graver than her sister, not so fond of pastimes, perhaps not +quite so generally popular. She went into the house, sat down by the +organ in the hall and began to play. She had almost as much talent as +Gerald; her fingers wandered over the keys, she was in a dreamy mood, +and her thoughts were carrying her back to a bygone scene--to Gerald's +face on that Sunday night. She heard again the rich tones of his voice, +and heard his words:-- + + "Till in the ocean of Thy love + We loose ourselves in Heaven above." + +"Oh, Gerald," she said with a kind of sob, "things have been hard for +me since you went away. It was not your marriage alone, I had prepared +myself for that; but it was more--it was more. The Church of God--you +gave that up. Yes, yes. There has been a shut door between us. Gerald, +since you and Valentine first met; and where are you now--where are you +now?" + +"Lilias," said little Joan running in breathlessly, "father wants you +in his study, quickly. I don't think he's quite well. He has just had a +letter, and he looks so queer." + +"I'll go to him at once," said Lilias. + +She could be apprehensive enough, but in real danger, in times of real +anxiety, her head could be cool and her steps firm. + +"Yes, father," she said, motioning the frightened little Joan away. + +She shut the library door behind her. + +"Yes, father. What is it? Jo says that you have got a letter, and that +you want me." + +"Oh, I don't suppose it's anything," said the rector. "That is, I don't +mean to be uneasy. Here's the letter. Lilias. You ought to read it, +perhaps. It's from Paget. He is evidently nervous himself, but I don't +suppose there is any need. Read it, and tell me what you think." + +The rector thrust a sheet of paper into his daughter's hand. Then went +over to one of his book shelves and pretended to be busy rummaging up +some folios. Lilias read as follows:-- + + MY DEAR SIR,--I write on a subject of some little anxiety. I did + not wish to trouble you before it was necessary, but now I confess + that we--I refer to my house of business--have cause to feel + uneasiness with regard to the fate of the _Esperance_. She is quite + a month overdue at Sydney; even allowing for all possible delays, + she is at least that time overdue. The last tidings of her were + from the Cape, and it is feared from their date that she must have + encountered rough weather in the Southern Ocean. Nothing is known, + however, and every hour we look for a cable announcing her arrival + at Melbourne if not at Sydney. It is possible she may have been + injured, which will account for the delay, but I scarcely apprehend + anything worse. I ought scarcely to say that I am anxious; up to + the present there is no real cause to apprehend anything worse than + an accident to the vessel. Vessels are often a month behind their + time, and all is satisfactorily explained at the end. I am now + troubling you with regard to another matter. I do not want my + daughter and your son's wife to be needlessly alarmed. It is most + important that her mind should be kept free from apprehension until + after the birth of their child. You kindly asked her to go to see + you. Can you have her at the rectory at once? And will you send + Lilias to fetch her? I know you and yours will keep all fears from + her, and, poor child, she reads my face like a book. + + Yours faithfully, + + "MORTIMER PAGET." + + + +"Well, Lilias," said the rector. "Well? He's a little over nervous, +isn't he, eh? Vessels are often a month overdue. Eh, Lilias? But of +course they are. Somehow I'm not nervous since I got that letter. I was +before, but not now." + +He rubbed his hands together as he spoke. + +"It's summer now, and we'll have Gerald back before the next snow +comes. I told the boy so when he bid me good-bye; he was a bit upset +that night after you girls went to bed. Poor fellow, I had quite to +cheer him; he's a very affectionate lad. No, I'm not nervous, and I +wonder at Paget. But what do _you_ think, Lilias?" + +Lilias folded up the letter, and put it back in her old father's hand. +Then she stole her arm round his neck, and kissed him. + +"We will be brave," she said. "If we have fears we won't speak of them; +we have got to think of Valentine now, not of ourselves." + +The rector almost shook Lilias' hand from his neck. + +"Fears," he said, in a light and cheerful voice, a voice which was +belied by his tremulous hands, and by his almost petulant movement. +"Fears! my dear girl, they really don't exist. At this moment, were we +clairvoyant, we should see Gerald either rising leisurely from a good +night's rest, or sitting down to his breakfast in one of those +luxurious houses one reads of in Froude's 'Oceana.' Vessels like the +_Esperance_ don't go to the bottom. Now, Lil, at what hour will you go +to fetch Valentine? You will go up to town to-morrow, of course." + +"By the first train," replied Lilias. Her lips quivered. She turned +away; there was nothing more to be said. Her father's manner did not in +the least deceive her. + +"Dear old man!" she said to herself. "If he can be brave, so will I. +But oh, Gerald, does any heart ache more for you than the heart of your +sister Lilias?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + +Valentine had got a blow. The first real great blow which had ever been +dealt to her. It had a most curious effect. Instead of stunning or +rendering her weak and incapable, it suddenly changed her from a child +into a practical and clever and wide-awake woman. The very quality of +her voice changed. It became full, and inspired respect the moment she +spoke. She was quite aware that her father had deceived her, that he +did not mean her to accompany Gerald to Sydney. + +She said nothing about this knowledge--not even that evening when she +got home and found her father looking ten years older, but standing on +the step of her own little home waiting for her. + +"I was too late," she said, quietly. "The _Esperance_ sailed four hours +before its time. I must do without Gerald for six months; in six months +he will be home." + +"In six months," echoed Mr. Paget, following her upstairs to the +drawing-room. "Kiss me, my darling," he said. "Valentine, you will come +back to your own home to-morrow." + +Valentine raised her cheek to meet her father's lips. + +"I think I would rather remain here," she said. "This, after all, is my +only real home; you don't mind my keeping the house, do you, father?" + +"No, my dear, if you wish it. Only I thought----" His last words came +out almost tremulously. + +"Sometimes we are mistaken in our thoughts," responded Valentine. "I +should like best to stay on in my husband's house. Six months will not +be long passing; and--father, I have some news for you. In July--if I +live until July--God is going to give me a child--Gerald's child and +mine. I should like it to be born here." + +"Thank God," exclaimed Mr. Paget. "I am very glad of this, Valentine," +he said. "This--this--is an inestimable mercy. I hope your child will +be a son. My dear daughter, this news lifts a great weight off my +mind." + +He looked what he felt, delighted. + +"Of course you must live wherever you like best," he said. "July--this +is March--the child's father will be----" but he did not finish this +sentence. + +He went away soon afterwards. Ten years had been added to his life in +that one single day. + +He knew, one glance into Valentine's eyes told him, that she no longer +believed in him. What was any success with the heart of his darling +turned aside? + +He walked home feeling tottering and feeble; he had had a blow, but +also a strong consolation--his daughter's child--his grandson. Of +course the child should be a boy. There was something to live for in +such news as this. A boy to step into his shoes by-and-bye--to keep up +the credit of the old house; a boy who should have no shame on him, and +no dark history. Yes, yes, this was very good news, and unlooked for; +he had much to live for yet. + +After this Mr. Paget followed his daughter about like a shadow. Every +day her mind and her powers were developing in fresh directions. She +had certainly lost some of the charm of her childish ways, but her gain +had been greater than her loss. Her face had always been spirituelle, +the expression sprightly, the eyes under their arched brows full of +light. People had spoken of the girlish face as beautiful, but now that +it belonged to a grave and patient, in some respects a suffering woman, +they found that it possessed more than ordinary loveliness. The soul +had come back again into Valentine's eyes. She knew two things. She +was loved--her husband told her that no woman had ever been loved so +well before. She was also to become a mother. She considered herself, +notwithstanding her crosses, blessed among women, and she resolved to +live worthily. + +Patience and faith both were hers, and whenever she felt inclined to +rebel, to fret, to fume, she thought of the day when she should show +her baby to her husband, and tell him face to face that all her heart, +all her best affections were divided between him and their child. + +She kept to her resolution of living on in the little house in +Park-Lane. She led a busy life, interesting herself a good deal in the +anxieties and cares of others. When a woman takes up that _role_ she +always finds abundance to do, for there are few pairs of shoulders that +have not a burden to carry. She also wrote by every mail to her +husband. She had already received one letter from him, posted at +Teneriffe. This letter was affectionate--cheerful. Valentine read it +over and over. It was a very nice letter, but its words did not reach +down into her heart as that other letter of Gerald's, written before he +sailed, had done. She was puzzled by it. Still she owned to herself +that it was just the letter she ought to receive, just the pleasant +happy words of a man who was leading a busy and useful life; who was +going away for a definite object, and hoped soon to return to his wife +and his home. + +All went well with Valentine until a certain day. She rose as usual on +the morning of that day, went down to breakfast, opened one or two +letters, attended to a couple of domestic matters, and went slowly back +to the drawing-room. She liked to dust and tidy her little drawing-room +herself. She had put it in order this morning, had arranged fresh +flowers in the vases, and was finally giving one or two fresh touches +to Gerald's violin, which she always kept near her own piano, when she +was startled by the consciousness that she was not alone. + +She raised her head, turned quickly, a cold air seemed to blow on her +face. + +"Valentine!" said her husbands voice, in a tone of unspeakable agony. + +She fancied she even saw his shadowy outline. She stretched out her +arms to him--he faded away. + + * * * * * + +That afternoon Mrs. Wyndham paid her father a visit in the City. She +was shown into his private room by Helps, who eyed her from head to +foot with great anxiety. + +Mr. Paget looked into her face and grew perceptibly paler. He was +certainly nervous in these days--nervous, and very much aged in +appearance. + +"Is anything wrong, Valentine?" he could not help saying to his +daughter. It was the last sentence he wished to pass his lips--he bit +them with vexation after the words had escaped them. + +"Sit down, my dear; have you come to take me for a drive, +like--like--old times?" + +"I have not, father. I have come to know when you expect to hear +tidings of the arrival of the _Esperance_ at Sydney." + +"Not yet, Valentine. Impossible so soon. In any case we shall have a +cable from Melbourne first--the vessel will touch there." + +"When are you likely to hear from Melbourne?" + +"Not for some days yet." + +"But you know the probable time. Can you not ascertain it? Will you +hear in ten days? In a week? In three days?" + +"You are persistent, Valentine." + +Mr. Paget raised his eyes and looked at her from head to foot. + +"I will ascertain," he said in an almost cold voice, as he sounded an +electric bell by his side. + +Helps answered the summons. + +"Helps, when is the _Esperance_ due at Melbourne?" + +Again Helps glanced quickly at Mrs. Wyndham; he was standing rather +behind her, but could catch a glimpse of her face. + +"By the end of May," he said, speaking slowly. His quick eyes sought +his chief's; they took their cue. "Not sooner," he continued. "Possibly +by the end of May." + +"Thank you," said Valentine. + +The man withdrew. + +"I have nearly a month to wait," she said, rising and looking at her +father. "I did not know that the voyage would be such a lengthy one. +When you do hear the news will be bad, father; yes, the news will be +bad. I have nothing to say about it, no explanation to offer, only I +know." + +Before Mr. Paget could make a single reply, Valentine had left him. He +was decidedly alarmed about her. + +"Can she be going out of her mind?" he soliloquized. "Women sometimes +do before the birth of their children. What did she mean? It is +impossible for her to know anything. Pshaw! What is there to know? I +verily believe I am cultivating that abomination of the age--nerves!" + +Whatever Valentine did mean, she met her father that evening as if +nothing had happened. She was bright, even cheerful; she played and +sang for him. He concluded that she was not out of her mind, that she +had simply had a fit of the dismals, and dismissed the matter. + +The month passed by, slowly for Valentine--very slowly, also, for her +father. It passed into space, and there was no news of the _Esperance_. +More days went by, no news, no tidings of any sort. Valentine thought +the vessel was a fortnight overdue. Her father knew that it was at +least a month behind its time. When he wrote his letter to the rector +of Jewsbury-on-the-Wold he felt even more anxious than his words seemed +to admit. + +The day after the receipt of this letter Lilias came to town and took +Valentine home with her. The next morning Mr. Paget went as usual to +his office. His first inquiry was for news of the _Esperance_. The +invariable answer awaited him. + +"No tidings as yet." + +He went into the snug inner room where he lunched, where Valentine's +picture hung, and where he had made terms with Gerald Wyndham. He sank +down into an easy-chair, and covered his face with his hands. + +"Would to God this suspense were at an end," he said. + +The words had scarcely passed his lips when Helps knocked for admission +at the inner door, he opened it, caught a glimpse of his servant's +face, and fell back. + +"You heard," he said. "Come in and tell me quick. The _Esperance_ is +lost, and every soul on board----" + +"Hush, sir," said Helps. "There's no news of the _Esperance_. Command +yourself, sir. It isn't that--it's the other thing. The young gentleman +from India, he's outside--he wants to see you." + +"Good God, Helps. Positively I'm faint. Shut the door for a moment; he +has come, then. You are sure?" + +"This is his card, sir. Mr. George Carmichael." + +"Give me a moment's time, Helps. So he has come. It would have been all +right but for this confounded uncertainty with regard to the +_Esperance_. But it is all right, of course. Plans such as mine don't +fail, they are too carefully made. All the same, I am shaken, Helps. +Helps, I am growing into an old man." + +"You do look queer, Mr. Paget; have a little brandy, sir; you'd +better." + +"Thank you; a little, then. Open that cupboard, you will find the +flask. Brandy steadies the nerves. Now I am better. Helps, it was in +this room I made terms with young Wyndham." + +"God forgive you, sir, it was." + +"Why do you say that? You did not disapprove at the time." + +"I didn't know Mr. Wyndham, sir; had I known, I wouldn't have allowed +breathing man to harm a hair of his head." + +"How would you have prevented it?" + +"How?" + +The old clerk's face took an ugly look. + +"Split on you, and gone to prison, of course," he said. "Now, shall I +send Mr. George Carmichael in? It was for his sake you did it. My God, +what a sin you sinned! I see Mr. Wyndham's face every night of my life. +Good God, why should men like him be hurled out of the world because of +sinners like you and me?" + +"He's not hurled out of the world," exclaimed Mr. Paget. + +He rose and swore a great oath. Then he said in a quieter voice:-- + +"Ask Mr. Carmichael to step into my office." + +"Into this room, sir?" + +"Into this room. Go, fool." + +Certainly Mr. Paget had some admirable qualities. By the time a +pale-faced, slight, languid-looking man made his appearance, he was +perfectly calm and self-possessed. He spoke in a courteous tone to his +visitor, and bade him be seated. + +They exchanged a few common-places. Then Mr. George Carmichael, who +showed far more uneasiness than his host, explained the motive of his +visit. + +"You knew my father," he said. "Owing to a strange circumstance, which +perhaps you are aware of, but which scarcely concerns the object of +this call, certain papers of importance did not come into my hands +until I was of age. These are the papers." + +He placed two yellow documents on the table. + +"I find by these that I am entitled to money which you hold in trust." + +"You are," said Mr. Paget, with a kindly smile. + +"I am puzzled to know why I was never made aware of the fact. I was +brought up as a poor man. I had no expectations. I have not been +educated to meet the position which in reality awaited me. Somebody has +done me a wrong." + +"I assure you not me, Mr. Carmichael. Perhaps, however, I can throw +some light on the subject. If you will do me the favor of dining with +me some evening we can talk the matter over at our leisure." + +"Thank you, I have very little leisure." + +The stranger was wonderfully restless. + +"After a struggle I have succeeded in obtaining a good post in +Calcutta. I hurried over to see you. I must hurry back to my work. Oh, +yes, thanks, I like India. The main point is, when can you hand me over +my money. With interest it amounts to----" + +"Including interest it amounts to eighty thousand pounds, Mr. +Carmichael. Allow me to congratulate you, sir, as a man of fortune. +There is no need to hurry back to that beggarly clerkship." + +"It's not a clerkship, Mr. Paget, nor beggarly. I'm a partner in a +rising concern. The other man's name is Parr; he has a wife and +children, and I wouldn't desert him for the world. Eighty thousand +pounds! By Jove, won't Parr open his eyes." + +Mr. George Carmichael was now so excited that his shyness vanished. + +"When can I have my money, sir?" + +"In a month's time." + +"Not until then? I wanted to go back to India next week." + +"It can be sent after you." + +A slow suspicious smile crept round the young man's lips; he looked +more well-bred than he was. + +"None of that," he said. "I don't stir until I get the cheque. I say, +can't you give it me at once? It's mine." + +"Not a day sooner than a month. I must take that time to realize so +large a sum. You shall have it this day month." + +"Beastly inconvenient. Parr will be in no end of a taking. I suppose +there's no help for it, however." + +"None." + +"This is the 17th of June. Now you're not playing me a trick, are you? +You'll pay me over that money all square on the 17th of July." + +Mr. Paget had an imposing presence. He rose now, slowly, stood on the +hearthrug, under his daughter's picture, and looked down at his guest. + +"I am sorry for you," he said. "Your education has certainly been +imperfect. Your father was a gentleman, and my friend. You, I regret to +say, are not a gentleman. I don't repeat my invitation to dine at my +house. With regard to the money it shall be in your hands on the 17th +July. I am rather pressed for time this morning, Mr. Carmichael, and +must ask you to leave me. Stay, however, a moment. You are, of course, +prepared to give me all proofs of identity?" + +"What do you mean, sir?" + +"What I say. The certificate of the marriage of your parents and +certificate of the proof that you are the person you represent yourself +to be must be forthcoming. I must also have letters from your friends +in India. No doubt, of course--no doubt who you are, but these things +are necessary." + +Notwithstanding that he was the owner of eighty thousand pounds, Mr. +George Carmichael left the august presence of the head of Paget +Brothers feeling somewhat crestfallen. + +He had scarcely done so before Helps rushed in. + +"A cable, sir! Praise the Lord, a cable at last!" + +He thrust the sheet of paper into his employer's hands. It came from +Melbourne, and bore the date of the day before. + + "_Esperance_ arrived safely. Delay caused by broken machinery. + Accident of a painful nature on board. Full particulars by mail. + + "JELLYBY." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + +Mr. Paget was most careful that the full contents of the cable did not +go to his daughter at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. He read it three or four +times, then he took up a telegraph form and wired to her as follows:-- + + "_Esperance_ arrived safely. Delay caused by injury to machinery." + +This telegram caused intense rejoicing at the rectory, and Mr. Paget +had his gloomy part to himself. He conned that part over and over. + +A serious accident. To whom? About whom? What a fool that Jellyby was +not to have given him more particulars. Why did that part of the +cablegram fill him with consternation? Why should he feel so certain +that the accident in question referred to his son-in-law? Well, he must +wait over a month for news, and during that month he must collect +together eighty thousand pounds. Surely he had enough to think of. Why +should his thoughts revert to Wyndham with an ever-increasing dread? + +"Wyndham is safe enough," he said. "Jolly enough, too, I make no doubt. +His money waits for him at Ballarat. Of course bad news will come, but +_I_ shall see through it. Oh, yes, _I_ shall see through it fast +enough." + +Days of suspense are hard days--long and weary days. As these days +crept one by one away Mr. Paget became by no means an easy person to +live with. His temper grew morose, he was irritable, manifestly ill at +ease, and he would often for hours scarcely utter a word. + +The 17th of July passed. Mr. Carmichael again called for his money. A +part was paid to him, the balance the head of the great shipping firm +assured the young man could not possibly be forthcoming for another +month or six weeks. + +"I am sorry," Mr. Paget said, "extremely sorry not to be able to fulfil +my word to the letter. But I must have time to realize such a large +sum, and I greatly fear I must claim it." + +Mr. Carmichael had a cheque in his hand for ten thousand pounds. He +could scarcely feel discontented at such a moment, and took his +departure grumbling but elated. + +"Helps," said Mr. Paget, "I have taken that ten thousand pounds out of +the business, and it can ill afford to lose it. If news does not come +soon we are undone, and all our plotting and planning won't save the +old place nor the honor of the old house." + +"No fear," muttered Helps. "The news will come. I have bad dreams at +night. The house will be saved. Don't you fret, Mr. Paget." + +He went out of the room looking as morose and ugly as possible, and +Mortimer Paget hurled no blessings after him. + +The next day was fraught with tidings. A thick packet lay on the +chief's desk, bearing the imprint of the _Esperance_ on it. By the side +of the packet was a telegram. He opened the telegram first:-- + + Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, 10 a.m. + + "Valentine had a son this morning. Both doing well." + +The tears absolutely sprang to Mr. Paget's eyes. His hands trembled; he +looked round furtively; there was no one by. Then he raised the +telegram to his lips and kissed it. Valentine had a son--he had a +grandson. Another head of the old house had arisen on the horizon. + +He rang his electric bell; he was so excited that he could not keep +these tidings to himself. + +"I have sent for you to receive your congratulations, Helps," he said; +"and--and here's a cheque for ten pounds. You must go home early and +have a good supper--champagne and all that sort of thing. Not a word, +Helps, my good fellow, you deserve it. You quite deserve it!" + +"May I ask what for, Mr. Paget? Forgive me, sir. I see that the packet +from the _Esperance_ has come." + +"So it has. It can wait. Take your money, Helps, and drink my +grandson's health. He arrived this morning, bless him--my daughter had +a son this morning." + +"Indeed, sir. It's a pity the father isn't there. It would have been +pretty to have seen Mr. Wyndham as a father. Yes, sir. I'm glad your +young lady is doing well. Babes come with trouble, and it seems to me +they mostly go with trouble. All the same, we make a fuss of them--and +the world's too full as it is." + +"This child supplies a long felt need," replied the baby's grandfather, +frowning. "He is the future head of the house." + +"Poor innocent. Yes, sir, I congratulate you as in duty bound. You'll +soon read that packet, won't you, sir. It seems a sort of a coincidence +like, getting news of the father and the babe in one breath." + +"I'll read the packet presently," said Mr. Paget. "Go away now, Helps; +don't disturb me." + +Left alone, the pleased man spread out the pink sheet of paper in such +a position that his eye could constantly rest on it. Then he broke the +seal of Captain Jellyby's yarn, and began to read. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + + + _Esperance_, April 10. + + "MY DEAR SIR,-- + + "I begin a letter to you under peculiarly afflicting circumstances. + Your son-in-law, the favorite of every one on board, one of the + nicest young gentlemen I have had the luck to meet, fell overboard + last night, between nine and ten o'clock, when a very heavy sea was + running. He was standing at the wheel, talking to a sailor of the + name of Loggan. Loggan said he was very cheerful and keen to watch + the storm. He was helping to tighten up a bit of rope when the boat + gave a lurch. Loggan shouted to him to take care, but he was taken + off his feet, and the next moment was in the water. We put out the + boats and did all in our power, but in addition to the storm the + night was very dark, and we never saw nor heard anything more of + the unfortunate young gentleman. The night was so rough he must + have gone to the bottom almost directly. I cannot express to you, + sir, what a gloom this has cast upon all on board. As I said + already, your son-in-law was beloved by passengers and sailors + alike. His death was due to the most ordinary accident. + + "Well, sir, regrets are useless, but if regrets would bring Mr. + Wyndham back, he would be safe and well now; he was one of the most + taking young men I ever came across, and also one of the best. + Please give my respectful condolences to his poor young widow----" + +Here there was a break in the narrative. It was taken up some days +later. + + "I had scarcely written the last when an awful thing happened. + There was a fearful crash on board, and in short, sir, our funnel + was blown down. I can scarcely go into particulars now, but for + many days we lay at the mercy of the waves, and I never thought to + see land any more. It speaks well for the worthiness of the + _Esperance_ that she weathered such a gale. But for many days and + nights the destruction to your property, for the water poured in in + all parts, and the miserable state of the passengers, baffles + description. The ship was in such a condition that we could not use + steam, and when the storm abated had to drift as best we could. + For our main masts were also broken, and we could put on scarcely + any sail. Our provisions were also becoming short. + + "A week ago, by the mercy of God, we came within hail of the + steamer _Salamanca_, which towed us into port, and the _Esperance_ + has been put into dock at Melbourne for repairs. + + "Under these appalling circumstances, Mr. Wyndham's loss has not + been forgotten, but to a certain extent cast on one side. Perhaps I + ought to say here; sir, that when your son-in-law commenced his + voyage to Sydney under my auspices, he appeared to be in such a + state of agitation, and in such distress of mind, that I feared for + his brain, and wondered if you had sent him on this voyage by a + doctor's orders. He made also a request to me which seemed to + confirm this view. He begged me not to let out to anyone on board + the smallest particulars (I really did not know any) of his + history. In especial he did not wish his wife spoken of. He looked + strange when he made these requests, and even now I can see the + despair in his eyes when I refused--you will remember, sir, by your + express desire--to touch at Plymouth. I may as well say frankly, + that had Mr. Wyndham continued as depressed as he was the first few + days of the voyage, I should have scarcely considered his untimely + end altogether due to accident. But I am happy to be able to + reassure your mind on that point. That he felt the separation from + his wife terribly at first there is no doubt, but there is also no + doubt that he got over this feeling, that he was healthily happy, + and altogether the brightest fellow on board. In short, sir, he was + the life of the ship; even now we are never done lamenting him. + Untimely as his fate was, no one could have been more ready to rush + suddenly into the presence of his Maker. I enclose with this a + formal certificate of Mr. Wyndham's death, with the latitude and + longitude of the exact spot where he must have gone down accurately + described. This certificate is duly attested by the Consul here, + and I delayed one day in writing to you in order that it should go. + + "I remain, sir, + + "Yours respectfully, + + "HARRY JELLYBY." + + "P.S.--I forgot to mention that two of our boats have been absolutely + lost; but I will send you a full list of casualties by next mail." + + +Helps had never felt more restless than he did that morning; he could +not attend to his ordinary avocations. Truth to tell, Helps' position +in the house of Paget Brothers had always been more or less a dubious +one. It was patent to all that he was confided in to a remarkable +degree by the head of the house. It was also observed that he had no +special or defined post. In short that he did a little of everybody's +work, and seemed to have nothing absolutely depending on himself. + +All the same, when Helps was away the whole establishment felt a loss. +If the old clerk was useful for no other purpose, he was at least +valuable as a scape-goat. He could bear blame which belonged to others. +It was convenient to make excuses, and to shift uncomfortable omissions +of all sorts from one's own shoulders. + +"Oh, I thought Helps would have seen to that." + +Helps saw to a great deal, and was perfectly indifferent to these +inuendoes. Of one thing he was certain, that they would never reach the +chief's ears. + +On this particular morning Helps would assist no one; he had ten pounds +in his pocket, and he knew that the future owner of the great business +lay in his cradle at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. Little cared he for that. + +"What news of Mr. Wyndham?" This was his thought of thoughts. "What +secret lies hidden within that sealed packet? What is my master doing +now? When will he ring for me? How soon shall I know the best and the +worst? Oh, God, why did I let that young man go? Why didn't I split? +What's prison, after all? My God, what _is_ prison compared to a heart +on fire!" + +Helps pottered about. He was a very wizened grey little fellow. The +clerks found him decidedly in the way. They muttered to one another +about him, and Mr. Manners, one of the juniors, requested him in a very +cutting voice to shut the door and go away. + +Helps obeyed the command to the very letter. By this time his state of +mind might have been described as on the rack. For two hours Mr. Paget +had been reading that letter. Impossible; no letter would take that +time to read. Why had he not rung? Surely he must know what Helps was +enduring. Surely at this crisis of his fate--at this crisis of both +their fates--he must want to see his faithful servant. Why then did he +not ring? + +At last in despair Helps knocked at the door of the outer office. There +was no answer. He turned the handle, pushed the door ajar and went in. +The room was empty. Mr. Paget's pile of ordinary business letters lay +unopened on his desk. Helps went up to the door of the inner room, and +pressed his ear against the keyhole. There was not a stir within. He +knocked against a chair, and threw down a book on purpose. If anything +living would bring Mr. Paget out it was the idea of anyone entering, or +disarranging matters in his office. Helps disarranged matters wildly; +he threw down several books, he upset more than one chair; still the +master did not appear. At last he knocked at the door of the inner +room. There was no response. Then he knocked again, louder. Then he +hammered with his fists. Then he shook the door. No response. The inner +room might as well have been a grave. He rushed away at last for tools +to break open the door. He was terribly frightened, but even now he had +sufficient presence of mind not to bring a third person to share his +master's secret. He came back with a pick-lock, a hammer and one or two +other implements. He locked the door of the outer office, and then he +set boldly to work. He did not care what din he made; he was past all +thought of that now. The clerks outside got into a frantic state of +excitement; but that fact, had he known it, would have made no +difference to Helps. + +At last his efforts were crowned with success. The heavy door yielded, +and flew open with a bang. Helps fell forward into the room himself. He +jumped up hastily. A quiet, orderly, snug room! The picture of a fair +and lovely girl looking down from the wall! a man with grey hair +stretched on the hearthrug under the picture! a man with no life, nor +motion, nor movement. Helps flew to his master. Was he dead? No, the +eyes were wide open; they looked at Helps, and one of the hands was +stretched out, and clutched at Helps' arm, and pulled it wildly aside. + +"What is it, my dear master?" said the man, for there was that in the +face which would have melted any heart to pity. + +"Don't! Stand out of my light," said Mr. Paget. "Hold me--steady +me--let me get up. He's there--there by the window!" + +"Who, my dear sir? Who?" + +"The man I've murdered! He's there. Between me and the light. It's +done. He's standing between me and the light. Tell him to move away. I +have murdered him! I know that. Between me and the light--the _light_! +Tell him to move away--tell him--tell him!" + +Mortimer Paget gave a great shriek, and covered his terrified eyes with +his trembling hands! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + + +"What is the matter, Lilias? I did not do anything wrong." + +The speaker was Augusta Wyndham. + +Three years have passed away since she last appeared in this story; she +is grown up now, somewhat lanky still, with rather fierce dark eyes, +and a somewhat thin pronounced face. She is the kind of girl who at +eighteen is still all angles, but there are possibilities for her, and +at five and twenty, if time deals kindly with her, and circumstances +are not too disastrous, she might be rounded, softened, she might have +developed into a handsome woman. + +"What is it, Lilias?" she said now. "Why do you look at me like that?" + +"It is the same old story, Gussie," replied Lilias, whose brown cheeks +were paler, and her sweet eyes larger than of old; "you are always +wanting in thought. It was thoughtless of you to make Valentine walk +home, and with little Gerry, too. She will come in fagged and have a +headache. I relied on your seeing to her, Gussie; when I asked you to +take the pony chaise I thought of her more than you, and now you've +come back in it all alone, without even fetching baby." + +"Well, Lilias." Augusta paused, drew herself up, leant against the +nearest paling, crossed her legs, and in a provokingly petulant voice +began to speak. + +"With how much more of all that is careless and all that is odious are +you going to charge me?" she said. "Oh, of course, 'Gussie never can +think.' Now I'll tell you what this objectionable young woman Augusta +did, and then you can judge for yourself. I drove to Netley Farm, and +got the butter and the eggs, and then I went on to see old James Holt, +the gardener, for I thought he might have those bulbs we wanted ready. +Then I drew up at the turnstile, and waited for that precious Mrs. Val +of yours." + +"Don't," said Lilias. "Remember whose----" + +"As if I ever forget--but he--he had others beside her--he never had +any Augusta except me," two great tears gathered in the great brown +eyes; they were dashed hastily aside, and the speaker went on. + +"There's twice too much made of her, and that's a fact. You live for +her, you're her slave, Lilias. It's perfectly ridiculous--it's absurd. +You have sunk your whole life into hers, and since Marjory's wedding +things have been worse. You simply have no life but in her. He wouldn't +wish it; he hated anyone to be unselfish except himself. Well, +then--oh, then, I won't vex the dear old thing. Have you forgiven me, +Lil? I know I'm such a chatter-pate. I hope you have forgiven me." + +"Of course I have, Gussie. I'm not angry with you, there's nothing to +be angry about. You are a faulty creature, I admit, but I also declare +you to be one of the greatest comforts of my life." + +"Well, that's all right--that's as it should be. Now for my narrative. +I waited by the turnpike. Valentine and baby were to meet me there. No +sign of them. I waited a long time. Then I tied Bob to the gate, and +started on discovery bent. You know it is a pretty lane beyond the +turnpike, the hedges hid me. I walked along, whistling and shaking my +whip. Presently I was assailed by the tuneful duet of two voices. I +climbed the hedge and peeped over. I looked into a field. What did I +see? Now, Lilias the wise, guess what I saw?" + +"Valentine and our little Gerald," responded Lilias. "She was talking +to him; she has a sweet voice, and surely there never was a dearer +little pipe than wee Gerry's. They must have looked pretty sitting on +the grass." + +"They looked very pretty--but your picture is not quite correct. For +instance, baby was sound asleep." + +"Oh, then, she had him in her arms, and was cooing to him. A lovelier +scene than ever, Augusta." + +"A very lovely scene, Lilias; only, one woman's voice would not make a +duet." + +Something in Augusta's eyes caused Lilias to droop her own. She turned +aside to pick a spray of briony. + +"Tell me what you saw," she said abruptly. + +"I saw Valentine and Adrian Carr. They were sitting close together, and +baby was asleep on _his_ breast, not on hers, and he was comforting +her, for when I peeped over I saw him touch her hand, and then I saw +her raise her handkerchief and wipe away some tears. Crocodile's tears, +I call them. Now, Lilias, out of my way. I mean to vault over this +gate." + +"What for, dear?" + +"To relieve my feelings. Now I'm better. Won't you have a try?" + +"No, thank you, I don't vault gates." + +"Aren't you going to show anything? Good gracious, I should simply +explode if I had to keep in things the way you do. Now, what's the +matter? You look white all the same; whiter than you did ten minutes +ago. Oh, if it was me, I couldn't keep still. I should roar like a +wounded lion." + +"But I am not a wounded lion, Augusta, dear." + +Lilias laid her hand on her sister's shoulder. + +"I am older than you," she continued, "and perhaps quieter. Life has +made me quieter. We won't say anything about what you saw, Augusta. +Perhaps none of us have such a burden to bear as Valentine." + +"Now, Lilias, what stuff you talk. Oh, she's a humbug, and I hate her. +There, I will say it, just for once. She took Gerald away, and now she +wants to take Adrian from you. Oh, I know you're an angel--you'd bear +anything, but I'm not quite a fool." + +"They are coming; you _must_ hush," said Lilias, putting her hand +across her young sister's lips. + +Augusta cast two wrathful eyes behind her, lightly vaulted back over +the gate, and vanished from view round the first corner. Lilias opened +the gate, and went slowly to meet the group who were coming down the +dusty country road. + +Valentine was in black, but not in widow's weeds. She had a shady hat +over her clustering bright hair, and round this hat, the baby, little +Gerry, had stuck quantities of leaves and grasses and what wild flowers +his baby fingers could clutch. With one hand she was holding up her +long dress; her other held a basket of primroses, and her face, bright +now with color in the cheeks, laughter on the lips, and the fire of +affection in the eyes, was raised to where her sturdy little son sat on +Carr's broad shoulder. + +The child was a handsome little fellow, cast in a far more masculine +mould than his father, to whom he bore scarcely any resemblance. + +As Lilias, in her dark grey dress, approached, she looked altogether a +more sorrowful and grief-touched figure than the graceful, almost +childish young widow who came to meet her. + +So Carr thought, as with a softened light in his eyes he glanced at +Lilias. + +"A certain part of her heart was broken three years ago," he inwardly +commented. "Can I--is it in my power--will it ever be in my power to +comfort her?" + +But Lilias, knowing nothing of these feelings, only noted the +happy-looking picture. + +"Here we are!" said Carr, catching the boy from his shoulder and +letting him jump to the ground. "Run to your auntie now, little man." + +Off waddled the small fat legs. Lilias stooped and received the +somewhat dusty embrace of two rounded arms, while cherub lips were +pressed on hers. + +"You do comfort me, little Gerry," she gasped under her breath. + +Then she rose, almost staggering under his weight. + +"Let me carry him for you," said Carr, coming up to her. + +"No, thank you, I like to have him," she said; and she turned and +walked by Valentine's side. + +"Are you tired, Val? I did not mean you to walk home. I sent Augusta +with Bob and the basket chaise. I thought you knew they were to meet +you at the turnpike." + +"I'm afraid I forgot," answered Valentine. "I met Mr. Carr, and we came +to a delicious field, full of primroses, and baby wanted to pick lots, +didn't you, treasure? We sat and had a rest; I am not very tired, and +Mr. Carr carried this big boy all the way home. Hey-ho," she continued, +throwing off her hat, and showing a head as full of clustering +richly-colored hair as of old, "what a lovely day it is, it makes me +feel young. Come along, baby, we'll race together to the house. It's +time for you to go to sleep, little master. Now, then--baby first, +mother after--one, two, three and away!" + +The child shouted with glee, the mother raced after him, they +disappeared through the rose-covered porch of the old rectory. Lilias +raised two eyes full of pain to Carr's. + +"Is she beginning to forget?" she asked. + +"No; why should you say so? She will never forget." + +"She looked so young just now--so like a child. Poor Val! She was only +twenty-two her last birthday. Mr. Carr. I don't want her to forget." + +"In one sense rest assured she never will--in another--would you wish +her to endure a life-long pain?" + +"I would--I would. It was done for her--she must never forget." + +"You always allow me to say plain words, don't you?" said Carr. "May I +say some now?" + +"Say anything you please, only don't teach her to forget." + +"What do you mean?" + +The man's eyes blazed. Lilias colored all over her face. + +"I mean nothing," she said hurriedly. "Come into the flower-garden. We +shall have a great show of roses this year. Come and look at the buds. +You were going to say something to me," she added presently. + +"Yes. I was going to prepare you for what may come by-and-bye. It is +possible that in the future--remember. I don't know anything--but it is +possible that in the future your young sister-in-law may once more be +happy. I don't know how--I am not going to prognosticate anything, but +I think as a rule one may safely infer that the very bitterest grief, +the most poignant sorrows which come before twenty are not abiding. +Mrs. Wyndham has her child. It would not do for the child to associate +only sorrow with the mother's face. Some time in the future she will be +happy again. It is my opinion that your brother would be glad of this." + +"Hush; you don't know. My brother--my only brother! I at least can +never be the Lilias of old." + +"I believe you," said Carr much moved by her tone. "You, too, are very +young; but in your heart, Miss Wyndham, in your heart, you were an +older woman, a woman more acquainted with the grave side of life, than +that poor young thing was when the blow fell." + +Lilias did not answer for a moment or two. + +"I am glad Marjory is out of it all," she said then. "You know what a +long nervous illness she had at the time. Dear old Marjory, she was +such a tempestuous darling." + +"But she is happy now." + +"Oh, yes, she has her husband. Philip is very good, he suits Marjory. +Yes, she is quite happy now, and I am not miserable--you mustn't think +it. I know in whom I have believed." + +Her eyes were raised to the sky overhead. + +"I know He won't fail me. Some day Gerald and I shall meet." + +"Some day, assuredly," answered Carr. + +"And in the meantime, I am not unhappy, only I don't intend ever to +forget. Nor shall she." + +"One question," said Carr. "Have you heard news lately of Mrs. +Wyndham's father?" + +"I believe he has recovered. He never comes here. I must own I have a +great antipathy to Valentine's father. I don't want to hear of him nor +to think of him." + +"I can understand that. Still, if it will not trouble you greatly I +should like to ask you a question or two with regard to him. He was +very ill, at the--at the time, wasn't he?" + +"He was very ill, mentally, he was quite off his head for several +months." + +"Don't you think that was rather strange?" + +"I never thought much about it, as far as he was concerned. Of course +he must have had a dreadful shock." + +"But not such a shock as you had. Not a shock to be named with what +that poor girl, his daughter, went through. Your brother was not his +own son, and--and----" + +"I never thought about it, Mr. Carr. I heard that he was ill, and that +the illness was mental. He has been quite well again for some time." + +"I assure you you're mistaken. I met him a fortnight ago in town. I +never saw a man so completely altered in the whole course of my life." + +"Please don't tell me about him. It never was, nor could be, an +interesting subject. Ah, there is my dear father calling me. I must run +to him." + +The rector was seen approaching. His figure was slightly more bent, and +his hair whiter than of old. Lilias linked her hand within his arm, and +Carr turned away. + +"I can never have it out with her," he said to himself. "I never seem +to have the courage when I'm with her. And besides, I don't believe +she'd leave her father. But if she did--if I ever could hope to win her +for my wife, then I might venture to whisper to her some of my +suspicions. How little she guesses what my thoughts are. Can I act in +any way without consulting her? I have a good mind to try." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + + +The house of Paget Brothers was never more flourishing than during the +spring and summer of 18--. It was three years since the death of its +junior partner, Gerald Wyndham, and three years since Mortimer Paget +had paid away in full the trust money of eighty thousand pounds which +he owed to George Carmichael, of the firm of Carmichael, Parr and Co., +Calcutta. Although none of the parties concerned quite intended it, +certain portions of the story of this trust got abroad, and became the +subject of a nine days' gossip in the City and elsewhere. It had never +even been whispered that Paget Brothers were in difficulties. Still +such a sum would not be easy to find even in the wealthiest concern. +Then the fact also trickled out that Wyndham's life had been insured, +heavily insured, in three or four different offices. His death must +have come in handily, people said, and they said no more--just then. + +The fact was, that had one been even inclined to suspect foul play, Mr. +Paget's dangerous illness at the time would have prevented their doing +so. Surely no man ever before grieved so bitterly for a dead son-in-law +as did this man. The blow had felled him with a stroke. For many months +his mind gave way utterly. The words spoken in delirium are seldom +considered valuable. What Mr. Paget did or said during the dark summer +which followed Wyndham's death never got known. In the autumn he was +better; that winter he went abroad, and the following spring he once +more was seen in the City. + +He looked very old, people said, but he was as shrewd and careful a +business man as ever. + +"I have to put things in order for my grandson," he would say. + +Nobody ever saw him smile just then, but a light used to come into his +sunken dark eyes when the child's name was mentioned. + +Valentine and the boy spent most of their time in the old house in +Park-Lane. She was very gentle with her father, but the relations they +had once borne to each other were completely altered. He now rather +shrank from her society. She had to seek him, not he her. He was +manifestly ill at ease when in her presence. It was almost impossible +to get him to come to see her in her own house. When he did so he was +attacked by a curious nervousness. He could seldom sit still; he often +started and looked behind him. Once or twice he perceptibly changed +color, and on all occasions he gave a sigh of relief when he said +good-bye. + +The child visited his grandfather oftener than the mother did. With the +child Mortimer Paget was absolutely at home and happy. + +The third summer after Wyndham's death passed away. Valentine spent +most of the time at Jewsbury-on-the-Wold. Mr. Paget went abroad, as he +always did, during August and September. In October he was once more in +town. Valentine came back to London, and their small world settled down +for its usual winter routine. + +On all sides there were talks of this special winter proving a hard +one, the cold commenced early and lasted long. In all the poorer +quarters of the great city there were signs of distress. Want is a +haggard dame. Once known her face is dreaded. As the days grew short, +the darkness deepened, and the fogs became frequent, she was often seen +stalking about the streets. Poorly clad children, shivering women, +despairing defiant-looking men all trembled and fled before her. The +cold was intense, work became slack, and then, to increase all other +evils, the great cruel monster, Strike, put down his iron heel. Want is +his invariable handmaid. Between them they did much havoc. + +It was on a certain short November day of this special winter that +Mortimer Paget arrived early at his office. He drove there in his +comfortable brougham, and stepped out into the winter cold and fog, +wrapped up in his rich furs. As he did so a woman with two small +children came hastily up, cast a furtive glance to right and left, saw +no policeman near, and begged in a high piteous whining voice for alms. + +Mr. Paget had never been known to give alms indiscriminately. He was +not an uncharitable man, but he hated beggars. He took not the least +notice of the woman, although she pushed one of the hungry children +forward who raised two piteous blue eyes to the hard man's face. + +"Even a couple of pence!" she implored. "The father's on strike, and +they've had nothing to eat since yesterday morning." + +"I don't give indiscriminate charity," said Mr. Paget. "If your case is +genuine, you had better apply at the nearest office of the Charity +Organization." + +He was pushing open the outer office door when something arrested his +attention. + +A man came hurriedly up from a side street, touched the woman on the +shoulder, lifted one of the hungry children into his arms, and the +whole party hurried away. The man was painfully thin, very shabbily +dressed, in a long frock coat, which was buttoned tight. He had a beard +and moustache, and a soft slouch hat was pushed well forward over his +eyes. + +The woman's face lit up when she saw him. Both the children smiled, and +the whole group moved rapidly away. + +The effect of this shabby man's presence on those three helpless and +starving creatures was as if the sun had come out. Mr. Paget staggered +to his office, walked through the outer rooms as if he were dazed, +sought his sanctum, and sat down shaking in every limb. + +Since his strange illness of three years ago, Helps had been more like +a servant and nurse to him than an ordinary clerk. It was his custom to +attend his master on his first arrival, to see to his creature +comforts, to watch his moods. + +Helps came in as usual this morning. Mr. Paget had removed his hat, and +was gazing in a dull vacant way straight before him. + +"You are not yourself this morning, sir," said the clerk. + +He pushed a footstool under the old man's feet, removed the fur-lined +overcoat and took it away. Then standing in front of him he again +said:-- + +"Sir, you are not yourself to-day." + +"The old thing, Helps," said Mr. Paget. He shook himself free of some +kind of trance with an effort. "The doctors said I should be quite well +again, as well as ever. They are mistaken, I shall never be quite well. +I saw him in the street just now, Helps." + +"Indeed, sir?" + +It was Helps' _role_ as much as possible to humor his patient. + +"Yes, I saw him just now--he takes many guises; he was in a new one +to-day--a starved clerk out of employment. That was his guise to-day. I +should not have recognized him but for his hand. Perhaps you remember +Wyndham's hand, Helps? Very slender, long and tapered--the hand of a +musician. He took a ragged child in his arms, and his hand--there was +nothing weak about it--clasped another child who was also starved and +hungry. Undoubtedly it was Wyndham--Wyndham in a new guise--he will +never leave me alone." + +"If I were you, Mr. Paget," said Helps after a pause. "I'd open the +letters that are waiting for replies. You know what the doctor said, +that when the fancy came you mustn't dwell on it. You must be sure and +certain not to let it take a hold on you, sir. Now you know, just as +well as I do, that you didn't see poor Mr. Wyndham--may Heaven preserve +his soul! Is it likely now, sir, that a spirit like Mr. Wyndham's, +happy above the sky with the angels, would come down on earth to +trouble and haunt you? Is it likely now, sir? If I were you I'd cast +the fancy from me!" + +Mr. Paget raised his hand to sweep back the white hair from his hollow, +lined face. + +"You believe in heaven then, Helps?" + +"I do for some folks, sir. I believe in it for Mr. Gerald Wyndham." + +"Fudge; you thought too well of the fellow. Do you believe in heaven +for suicides?" + +"Sir--no, sir--his death came by accident." + +"It did not; he couldn't go through with the sacrifice, so he ended his +life, and he haunts me, curse him!" + +"Mr. Paget, I hope God will forgive you." + +"He won't, so you needn't waste your hopes. A man has cast his blood +upon my soul. Nothing can wash the blood away. Helps, I'm the most +miserable being on earth. I walk through hell fire every day." + +"Have your quieting mixture, sir; you know the doctor said you must not +excite yourself. There, now you are better. Shall I help you to open +your letters, sir?" + +"Yes, Helps, do; you're a good soul, Helps. Don't leave me this +morning; he'll come in at the door if you do." + +There came a tap at the outer office. Some one wanted to speak to the +chief. A great name was announced. + +In a moment Mr. Paget, from being the limp, abject wretch whom Helps +had daily to comfort and sustain, became erect and rigid. From head to +foot he clothed himself as in a mask. Erect as in his younger days he +walked into the outer room, and for two hours discussed a matter which +involved the loss or gain of thousands. + +When his visitor left him he did so with the inward remark:-- + +"Certainly Paget's intellect and nerve may be considered colossal." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + + +Esther Helps still took charge of her father's house in Acacia Villas. +She was still Esther Helps. Perhaps a more beautiful Esther than of +old; a little steadier, too, a little graver--altogether a better girl. + +For some unaccountable reason, after that night at the theatre when +Wyndham had sat by her side and taken her back from destruction to her +father's arms, she had almost ceased to flirt. She said nothing now +about marrying a gentleman some day, and as the men who were not +gentlemen found she would have nothing to do with them, it began to be +an almost understood thing among her friends that Esther, lovely as she +was, would not marry. This resolve on her part, for it amounted to an +unspoken resolve, was followed by other changes. She turned her +attention to her hitherto sadly neglected mind. She read poetry with +Cherry, and history and literature generally by herself. Then she tried +to improve her mode of speech, and studied works on etiquette, and for +a short time became frightfully stilted and artificial. This phase, +however, did hot last long. The girl had really a warm and affectionate +heart, and that heart all of a sudden had been set on fire. The flame +never went out. It was a holy flame, and it raised and purified her +whole nature. + +She loved Wyndham as she might have loved Christ had He been on earth. +Wyndham seemed to her to be the embodiment of all nobility. He had +saved her, none knew better than she did from how much. It was the +least she could do to make her whole life worthy of her savior. She +guessed by instinct that he liked refinement, and gentle speech, and +womanly ways. So it became her aim in life to seek after those things, +and as far as possible to acquire them. + +Then the news of his death reached her. Only Cherry knew how night +after night Esther cried herself to sleep. Only Cherry guessed why +Esther's cheeks were so sunken and her eyes so heavy. Her violent +grief, however, soon found consolation. Gerald had always been only a +star to be gazed at from a distance; he was still that. When she +thought of heaven she pictured seeing him there first of all. She +thought that when the time came for her to go there he might stand +somewhere near the gates and smile to see how she, too, had conquered, +and was worthy. + +Now she turned her attention to works of charity, to a life of +religion. It was all done for the sake of an idol, but the result had +turned this flippant, worldly, vain creature into a sweet woman, strong +in the singleness of her aim. + +Esther cared nothing at all about dress now. She would have joined a +Deaconess' Institution but she did not care to leave her father. She +did a great deal of work, however, amongst the poor, and at the +beginning of this severe winter she joined a band of working sisters in +East London as an associate. She usually went away to her work +immediately after breakfast, returning often not until late at night, +but as she wore the uniform of the association, beautiful as she was +she could venture into the lowest quarters, and almost come home at any +hour without rendering herself liable to insult. + +One night as Cherry was preparing supper she was surprised to hear +Esther's step in the passage two or three hours before her usual time +of returning. Cherry was still the same strange mixture of poet and +cook that she had ever been. With the "Lays of Ancient Rome" in one +hand and her frying-pan held aloft in the other, she rushed out to know +what was the matter. + +"Why, Essie," she exclaimed, catching sight of her cousin's face. +"You're ill, Essie; come in and sit down by the fire. I do hope to +goodness you haven't gone and caught nothing." + +"I have caught nothing," said Esther. "I am not ill." + +She untied her bonnet strings and loosened her long straight cloak. + +"Is father in, Cherry? I want to see him the minute he returns." + +"You'll have to wait then," said Cherry, turning away in a half +offended manner. If Esther did not choose to confide in her she was not +going to force confidence. + +She resumed her cooking with vigor, reading aloud portions from the +volume on her knees as she did so. + + "The Lady Jane was tall and slim; + The Lady Jane was fair----" + +"Essie, I wish you wouldn't fidget so. Whatever is the matter?" + +"I want my father," repeated Esther. + +"Well, he's not in. Uncle's never back till an hour after this. I tell +him he's more and more of a nurse and less and less of a clerk every +day of his life; he don't like it, but it's true. That old Mr. Paget is +past bearing." + +Esther rose with a sigh, folded her cloak, laid it on a chair, placed +her bonnet on top of it, and going over to the fireplace gazed into the +flames. + +Cherry's cooking frizzled and bubbled in the pan, Cherry's own head was +bent over her book. + +"This is the rarest fun," she exclaimed suddenly. "Didn't Lady Jane pay +Sir Thomas out? Lord, it were prime. You never will read the 'Ingoldsby +Legends,' Esther. Now I call them about the best things going. How +white you do look. Well, it's a good thing you are in time for a bit of +supper. I have fried eggs and tomatoes to-night, browned up a new way. +Why don't you take your cloak and bonnet upstairs, Essie, and sit down +easy like? It fidgets one to see you shifting from one foot to another +all the time." + +"I'm going out again in a minute," said Esther. "I came in early +because I wanted my father. Oh, there's his latch-key in the door at +last. Don't you come, Cherry. I want to speak to him by myself." + +Cherry's hot face grew a little redder. + +"I like that," she said to herself. "It's drudge, drudge with +me--drudge, drudge from morning till night; and now she won't even tell +me her secrets. I never has no livening up. I liked her better when she +was flighty and flirty, that I did--a deal better. We'll, I'll see what +comes of that poor Sir Thomas." + +Meanwhile Esther, with one hand on her father's shoulder, was talking +to him earnestly. + +"I want you to come back with me, father--back this very minute." + +"Where to, child?" + +"To Commercial Road. There's to be a big meeting of the unemployed, and +the Sisters and I, we was to give supper to some of the women and +children. The meeting will be in the room below, and the supper above. +I want you to come. Some gentlemen are going to speak to them; it won't +be riotous." + +Helps drew a deep sigh. It was a damp drizzling night, and he was +tired. + +"Can't you let me be this time, Essie?" he said. + +"No, father, no, you must come to-night." + +"But I can't do nothing for the poor fellows. I pity them, of course, +but what can I do?" + +"Nothing, only come to the meeting." + +"But what for, Essie?" + +"To please me, if for no other reason." + +"Oh, if you put it in that way." + +"Yes, I put it that way. You needn't take off your great coat. I'll +have my cloak and bonnet on again in a jiffy." + +"What, child, am I to have no supper?" + +Poor Helps found the smell from the kitchen very appetising. + +"Afterwards, when you come back. Everything good when you come back. +Now, do come. It is so important." + +She almost dragged him away. Cherry heard the house door bang after the +two. + +"Well, I'm done," she exclaimed! "See if I'll cook for nobody another +time." + +Esther and her father found an omnibus at the corner of their street. +In a little over half-an-hour they were in Commercial Road; a few +minutes later they found themselves in the large barn-like building +which was devoted to this particular mission. + +The ground floor consisted of one huge room, which was already packed +with hungry-looking men and half-grown boys. + +"Stand near the door," said Esther, giving her father explicit +directions. "Don't stay where the light will fall on your face. Stand +where you can look but can't be seen." + +"You don't want me to be a spy, child. What is the meaning of all +this?" + +"You can put any meaning you like on it. Only do what I tell you. I +want you to watch the men as they come in and out of the room. Watch +them all; don't let one escape you. Stay until the meeting is over. +Then tell me afterwards if there is any one here whom you know." + +"What is the girl up to?" muttered Helps. + +But Esther had already slipped upstairs. He heard sounds overhead, and +women and children going up the stairs in groups; he saw more than one +bright-looking Sister rushing about, busy, eager, and hopeful. Then the +sounds within the large lower room showed him that the meeting had +begun, and he turned his attention to the task set him by his daughter. + +Certainly Esther was a queer girl, a dear, beautiful girl, but queer +all the same. In what a ridiculous position she had placed him in; a +tired elderly clerk. He was hungry, and he wanted his supper; he was +weary, and he sighed for his pipe and his easy-chair. What had he in +common with the men who filled this room. Some of them, undoubtedly, +were greatly to be pitied, but many of them only came for the sake of +making a fuss and getting noticed. Anyhow, _he_ could not help them, +and what did Esther mean by getting him to stand in this draughty +doorway on the chance of seeing an old acquaintance; he was not so much +interested in old acquaintances as she imagined. + +The room was now packed, and the gentleman who occupied the platform, a +very earnest, energetic, thoughtful speaker, had evidently gained full +attention. Helps almost forgot Esther in the interest with which he +listened. One or two men offered to make way for him to go further into +the room; but this he declined. He did not suppose any friend of +Esther's would appear; still he must be true to the girl, and keep the +draughty post she had assigned him. + +At the close of the first address, just when a vociferous clapping was +at its height, Helps observed a tall very thin man elbowing his way +through the crowd. This crowd of working men and boys would not as a +rule be prepared to show either forbearance or politeness. But the +stranger with a word whispered here, or a nod directed there, seemed to +find "open sesame" wherever he turned. Soon he had piloted his way +through this great crowd of human beings almost to the platform. +Finally he arrested his progress near a pillar against which he leaned +with his arms folded. He was more poorly dressed than most of the men +present, but he had one peculiarity which rendered him distinguishable; +he persistently kept his soft felt hat on, and well pushed forward over +his eyes. + +Helps noticed him, he could scarcely himself tell why. The man was +poor, thin. Helps could not get a glimpse of his face, but there was +something in his bearing which was at once familiar and bespoke the +gentleman. + +"Poor chap, he has seen better days," muttered Helps. "Somehow, he +don't seem altogether strange, either." + +Then he turned his attention once more to watch for the acquaintance +whom Esther did not want him to miss. + +The meeting came to an end and the men began to stream out. Helps kept +his post. Suddenly he felt a light hand touch his arm; he turned; his +daughter, her eyes gleaming with the wildest excitement, was standing +by his side. + +"Have you seen him, father?" + +"Who, child--who? I'm precious hungry, and that's the truth, Esther." + +"Never mind your hunger now--you have not let him escape--oh, don't +tell me that." + +"Essie, I think you have taken leave of your senses to-night. Who is it +that I have not let escape?" + +"A tall man in a frock coat, different from the others; he has a beard, +and he wears his hat well pushed forward; his hands are white. You must +have noticed him; he is certain to be here. You did not let him go?" + +"I know now whom you mean," said Helps. "I saw the fellow. Yes, he is +still in the room." + +"You did not recognize him, father?" + +"No, child. That is, I seem to know something about him. Whatever are +you driving at, Esther?" + +"Nothing--nothing--nothing. Go, follow the man with the frock coat. +Don't let him see you. Find out where he lives, then bring me word. +Go. Go. You'll miss him if you don't." + +She disappeared, flying upstairs again, light as a feather. + +Helps found himself impelled against his will to obey her. + +"Here's a pretty state of things," he muttered. "Here am I, faint for +want of food, set to follow a chap nobody knows nothing about through +the slums." + +It never occurred to Helps, however, not to obey the earnest dictates +of his daughter. + +He was to give chase. Accordingly he did so. He did so warily. Dodging +sometimes into the road, sometimes behind a lamp post in case the tall +man should see him. Soon he became interested in the work. The figure +on in the front, which never by any chance looked back, but pursued its +course undeviatingly, struck Helps once more with that strange sense of +familiarity. + +Where had he seen a back like that? Those steps, too, the very way the +man walked gave him a queer sensation. He was as poor looking a chap as +Helps had ever glanced at, and yet the steps were not unknown--the +figure must have haunted the little clerk in some of his dreams. + +The pursuer and pursued soon found themselves in quarters altogether +new to Helps. More and more squalid grew the streets, more and more +ruffianly grew the people. There never was a little man less likely to +attract attention than this clerk with his humble unpretentious dress +and mien. But in these streets he felt himself remarkable. A whole +coat, unpatched trousers, were things to wonder at here. The men and +the women, too, took to jostling him as he passed. One bold-faced girl +tilted his hat well forward over his eyes, and ran away with a loud +laugh. + +Helps felt that even for Esther's sake he could not proceed any +further. He was about to turn back when another glance at the figure +before him brought such a rush of dazed wonderment, of uncanny +familiarity, that all thought of his own possible danger deserted him, +and he walked on, eager as Esther herself now in pursuit. + +All this time they had been going in the direction of the docks. +Suddenly they turned down a very badly lighted side street. There was a +great brewery here, and the wall of the brewery formed for a long way +one side of the street. It was so narrow as to be little better than a +lane, and instead of being a crowded thoroughfare was now almost +deserted. Here and there in the brewery wall were niches. Not one of +these niches was empty. Each held its human being--man, woman, or +child. It seemed to be with a purpose that the tall stranger came here. +He slackened his pace, pushed his hat a little back, and began to +perform certain small ministrations for the poor creatures who were to +pass the night on the cold damp pavement. + +A little girl was asleep in one of the niches; he wrapped her shawl +more closely round her, tucking it in so as to protect her feet. Her +hair hung in a tangled mass over her forehead. He pushed it back with a +tender hand. Finally he pressed into the little thin palm two +lollypops; they would give comfort to the child when she awoke. + +Helps kept behind, well in the shadow; he was absolutely trembling now +with suppressed excitement. He had seen by the glitter of the flaring +gas the white hand of the man as he pushed back the child's elf-locks. +The two went on again a few steps. The man in front stopped +suddenly--they were passing another niche. It had its occupant. A girl +was stretched prone on the ground--a girl whose only covering was rags. +As they approached, she groaned. In an instant the stranger was bending +over her. + +"You are very ill, I fear. Can I help you?" + +"Eh? What's that?" exclaimed the girl. + +She raised her head, stretching out something which was more like a +claw than a hand. + +"What's that noise?" she repeated. + +The noise had been made by Helps. It was an amazed terrified outcry +when he heard the voice of the man who was bending over the girl. The +man himself had observed nothing. + +"You are very ill," he repeated. "You ought to be in a hospital." + +"No, no, none of that," she said, clutching hold of his hand. "I ha' +lain down to die. Let me die. I wor starving--the pain wor awful. Now +I'm easy. Don't touch me--don't lift me; I'm easy--I'm a-goin' to die." + +The stranger knelt a little lower. + +"I won't hurt you," he said. "I will sit here by your side. Don't be +frightened. I am going to raise your head--a little--a very little. Now +it rests on my knee. That is better." + +"Eh, you're a good man; yes, that's nice." + +Her breath came in great pants. Presently she began to wander. + +"Is that you, mother? Mother, I've been such a bad gel--bad every way. +The Almighty's punishing me. I'm dying, and He's a sending me to hell." + +"No," said the quiet voice of the man. "No; _you_ are the one He wants. +He is seeking _you_." + +"Eh?" she said. Once more her clouded brain cleared. "Eh, how my breath +does go. I'm a-going to hell!" + +"No. He has sent me to find you; you are not going there." + +"How do you know?" + +She turned herself an inch or two in her astonishment and stared up at +him. + +Something in his face seemed to fill her with astonishment. + +"Take off your hat," she said. "Are you Jesus Christ?" + +It was at this juncture that Helps turned and fled. + +He ran as he never ran before in the whole course of his life. Nobody +saw him go, and nobody obstructed him in his headlong flight. Presently +he got back to the Mission Hall. The place was closed and dark. He was +turning away when a woman came out of the deep shelter of the doorway +and touched his arm. + +"Essie, is that you? My God, Essie, I've seen a ghost!" + +"No, father, no--a living man." + +"This is awful, child. I'm shaking all over. I'd sooner be in my grave +than go through such a thing again." + +"Lean on me, father. We'll walk a bit, and soon find a cab-stand. We'll +have a cab home. It's about time you had your supper. Don't talk a bit. +Get back your poor breath." + +As they were driving home a few minutes later, in a hansom, she turned +suddenly. + +"And you've got Mr. Wyndham's address?" + +"Good heavens, Essie, don't say his name like that! I suppose it's a +sign of the end that I should have seen a spirit." + +"Nonsense, father, you saw no spirit. That's Mr. Gerald Wyndham in the +flesh, as much as you and I are in the flesh. You saw no spirit, but a +living man. I recognized him this morning, but I wasn't going to take +my own word for it, so I got you to look him up. They call him Brother +Jerome down here. Nobody knows anything at all about him, how he lives, +nor nothing; only that he goes in and out amongst the people, and is +always comforting this one or cheering that, and quieting down rows, +and soothing people, and--and--doing more in a day than the Sisters or +I could do in a week. I've heard of him for a month past, but I only +saw him to-day. He's a mystery, and people wonder about him, and no one +can tell how he lives, nor where he sleeps. _I_ know, though. He sleeps +out of doors, and he starves. He shan't starve any longer." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + + +"Esther," said Helps, late that night, after Cherry, in a very sulky +humor, had gone to bed, "Esther, this is a very terrible, a very awful +thing for me!" + +"How so, father!" + +She was kneeling by his side. Now she put her arm round his neck, and +looked into his face. Her beating, throbbing, exulting heart told her +that her discovery of that day was new life to her. + +"I am glad," she continued, after a solemn pause; "yes. I don't mind +owning I am very glad that a good man like Mr. Wyndham still lives." + +"Child, you don't know what you are talking about. It is +awful--awful--his coming back. Even if he is alive he ought to have +stayed away. His coming back like this is terrible. It means, it +means----" + +"What, father?" + +"Child, it must never be known: he must be warned; he must go away at +once. Suppose anybody else saw him?" + +"Father," said Esther. + +She rose and stood over the shrinking old man. + +"You have got to tell me the meaning of those queer words of yours. I +guessed there was a mystery about Mr. Wyndham; now I am certain. If I +don't know it before I leave the room to-night, I'll make mischief. +There!" + +"Essie--Essie--I thought you had turned into a good girl." + +"I'll turn bad again. Listen. I love that man. Not as a girl loves her +lover--not as a wife cares for her husband. He is married, and I +should not be ashamed to tell his wife how I love him. I glory in my +love; he saved me. Father, I wasn't coming home at all that night. He +saved me; you can understand how I feel for him. My life wouldn't be a +great deal to give up for him. There has been mischief done to him, +that I am sure. Now tell me the truth; then I'll know how to act. Oh, +father, you're the dearest and the kindest. Tell me the truth and you +won't repent it." + +"No, Essie, child, I don't suppose I shall repent. Sit there. You know +too much, you may as well know all. Mr. Wyndham's life was insured." + +"Yes?" + +"Heavily, mark you, heavily." + +"Yes." She covered her face with her hands. "Let me think. Say, +father"--she flung her hands into her lap--"was this done on purpose?" + +"Ay, child, ay; and a better man never lived. Ay, it was done on +purpose." + +"He was meant not to come back?" + +"That's it, Essie, my dear. That's it." + +"I see; yes, I see. Was the insurance money paid?" + +"Every farthing of it, child. A large sum paid in full." + +"If he appeared again it would have to be refunded?" + +"If it could be, child." + +"If it couldn't?" + +"Then the story, the black story of why it was wanted, would have to +come out; and--and--Esther, is the door locked? Come close, Essie. Your +old father and my master would end our days in penal servitude." + +"Now I see," said Esther. + +She did not scream nor utter any loud exclamation, but began to pace +softly up and down the room. Mentally she was a strong girl; her calm +in this emergency proved her mettle. + +After a few moments Helps began to speak; his words were wild and +broken. + +"Over and over I thought I'd rather," he said. "Over, and over, and +over--when I saw what it meant for him, poor young gentleman. But I +can't, Essie, I can't. When it comes to the pinch I can't do it. We +thought he was dead, my master and I, and my master he went off his +head. And over he said, yes, over and over--'Helps, a clean cell and a +clean heart would be heaven to this.' But, bless you, Essie, he +couldn't stand it either at the pinch. We thought Mr. Wyndham lying +under the sea. Oh, poor young gentleman, he had no right to come back." + +"No right? He has a wife and a child." + +"A widow and orphan, you mean. No, Esther, he should have stayed away. +He made a vow, and he should have stuck to it." + +"He has not broken his vow, father. Oh, father, what a wicked thing you +have done; you and that master to whom you have given your life. Now +let me think." + +"You won't send me to prison, Esther?" + +"No, no. Sit down. I must think things out. Even now I don't know +clearly about Mr. Wyndham; you have only treated me to +half-confidences. Stay, though, I don't wish to hear more. You mustn't +go to prison. Mr. Wyndham mustn't starve. I have it. Mr. Wyndham shall +come here." + +"Esther!" + +Poor old Helps uttered a shriek, which caused Cherry to turn uneasily +on her pillow. + +"Keep yourself quiet, father. I'm a determined woman, and this thing +shall be. Mr. Wyndham shall eat of our bread, and we will shelter him; +and I--I, Esther Helps--will undertake to guard his secret and yours. +No one living shall guess who he is." + +"You forget--oh, this is an awful thing to do. You forget--there's +Cherry." + +"I'll blind Cherry. If I can't, she must go. I shall bring Mr. Wyndham +home to-morrow night!" + +"Esther, this will kill me." + +"No, it won't. On the contrary, you'll be a better and a happier man. +You wouldn't have him starve, when through him you have your liberty? +I'm ashamed of you." + +She lit her candle and walked away. + +Old Helps never went to bed that night. + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + + +Esther did not go out next morning. Cherry was surprised at this. Helps +went off at his usual hour. Cherry noticed that he ate little or no +breakfast; but Esther did not stir. She sat quietly by the breakfast +table. She ate well and deliberately. Her eyes were bright, her whole +face was full of light and expression. + +"Ain't you going down as usual to these dirty slums?" quoth Cherry. +"I'm sick of them. You and your clothes both coming in so draggled like +at night. I'm sick of the slums. But perhaps you mean to give them up." + +"Oh, no," said Esther, waking from a reverie into which she had fallen, +"but I'm not going this morning. I've something else to attend to." + +"Then perhaps, Esther," said Cherry, with her round eyes sparkling, +"you'd maybe think to remember your promise of getting that pink gauze +dress out of your trunk; you know you promised it to me, and I've a +mind to make it up with yellow bows. I'm sure to want it for something +about Christmas." + +"You shall have it," said Esther, in a sharp, short voice. + +The abstracted look returned to her face. She gazed out of the window. + +"Law, Essie, ain't you changed, and for the worse, I take it!" remarked +Cherry. "I liked you a sight better when you were flighty and +frivolous. Do you remember the night you went to the theatre with that +Captain something or other? My word, wasn't uncle in a taking. 'Twas I +found your tickets, and put uncle up to getting a seat near you. +Weren't you struck all of a heap when you found him there? I never +heard how you took it." + +"Hush," said Esther, rising to her feet, her face growing very white. +"I was mad, then, but I was saved. That's enough about it. Cherry, you +know the box-room?" + +"Yes," said Cherry. "It's stuffed pretty well, too. Mostly with your +trunks, what you say belonged to your mother." + +"So they did. Well, they must go downstairs." + +"Wherever to? There isn't a corner for them in this scrap of a house." + +"Corners must be found. Some of the trunks can go in our bedroom--some +into father's; some into the passage, some into the drawing-room if +necessary. You needn't stare, it has got to be done." + +Esther stamped her foot and looked so imperious that Cherry shrank +away. + +"I suppose you're a bit mad again," she muttered, and she began to +collect the breakfast things on a tray. + +"Stop, Cherry, we may as well talk this out. I'll go upstairs now and +help you with the boxes. Then we'll clean out the attic; if I had time +I'd paper it, but there ain't. Then I'm going out to buy a bedstead and +bedding, and a table and washhand stand. The attic is to be made into a +bedroom for----" + +Here she paused. + +"Well," said Cherry, "for whom, in the name of goodness?" + +Esther gulped something down in her throat. + +"There's a good man in the East of London, a very good man; he has no +money, and he's starving, and he has to sleep out of doors; and--and--I +can't stand it, Cherry--and I spoke to father, and we have agreed that +he shall have the attic and his food. That's it, his name is Brother +Jerome; he's a sort of an angel for goodness." + +"Slums again," said Cherry; "I'll have nothing to do with it." + +She took up her tray and marched into the kitchen. Esther waited a +minute or two, then she went to her room, put on a coarse check apron, +and mounted the narrow attic stairs. She commenced pulling the trunks +about; she could not lift them alone, but she intended to push them to +the head of the stairs and then shove them down. + +Presently a thumping step was heard, and Cherry's round face appeared. + +"Disgusting job, I call it," she said; "but if I must help you, I +suppose I must. I was going to learn 'Lord Tom Noddy' this morning. I +thought I might wear the pink gauze with yellow bows, and recite it at +Uncle Dan's Christmas party. Cousin Tom says I'm real dramatic when I'm +excited, and that's a beautiful piece, so rhythmic and flowing. But +then we all have to bend to you, Esther, and if I must help you I +suppose I must." + +"I think you had better, dear, and some day perhaps you won't be sorry. +He's a good man, Brother Jerome is, he won't be no trouble. I'll clean +his room for him myself once it's put in order, and he's sure to go out +early in the morning. He'll breakfast upstairs, and I'll take him his +breakfast, and his supper shall be ready for him here at night. We must +see if that chimney will draw, Cherry, for of course he'll want his bit +of fire." + +After this the two girls worked with a will; they cleaned and polished +the tiny window, they scrubbed the floor and brushed down the walls, +and polished the little grate. Then Esther went out and made her +purchases. The greater part of a five pound note was expended, and by +the afternoon Gerald Wyndham's room was ready for him. + +"Brother Jerome will come home with me to-night. Cherry," said Esther. +"I may be late--I'm sure to be late--you needn't sit up." + +"But I'd like to see him. Slums or no slums, he has given me a pair of +stiff arms, and I want to find out if he's worth them." + +"Oh, he's nothing to look at. Just a tall, thin, starved-looking man. +He'll be shy, maybe, of coming, and you'd much better go to bed. You'll +leave some supper ready in his room." + +"What shall I leave?" + +"Oh, a jug of beer and some cheese, and the cold meat and some bread +and butter. That's all, he's accustomed to roughing it." + +"My word, you call that roughing. Then the slums can't be so bad. I +always thought there was an uncommon fuss made about them. Now I'll get +to 'Lord Tom Noddy,' and learn off a good bit before tea time; you +might hear me recite if you had a mind, Essie." + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + + +"Oh, yes, she's the sweetest missus in the world!" + +That was the universal opinion of the servants who worked for Valentine +Wyndham. They never wanted to leave her, they never grumbled about her, +nor thought her gentle orders hard. The nurse, the cook, the housemaid, +stayed on, the idea of change did not occur to them. + +Valentine and her little son came back to the house in town at the end +of October. Lilias came with them, and Adrian Carr often ran up to town +and paid a visit to the two. + +One day he came with a piece of news. He had got the offer of an +incumbency not very far from Park-Lane. A fashionable church wanted a +good preacher. Carr had long ago developed unusual powers as a pulpit +orator, and the post, with a good emolument, was offered to him. He +came to consult Lilias and Valentine in the matter. + +"Of course you must go," said Lilias. "My father will miss you--we +shall all--but that isn't the point. This is a good thing for you--a +great thing--you must certainly go." + +"And I can often see you," responded Carr, eagerly. "Mrs. Wyndham will +let me come here, I hope, and you will often be here." + +"I wish you would spend the winter with me, Lilias," said Valentine. +She had interpreted aright the expression in Carr's eyes, and soon +afterwards she left the room. + +She went up to her own room, shut and locked the door, and then stood +gazing into the fire with her hands tightly locked together. She +inherited one gift from her father. She, too, could wear a mask. Now +it dropped from her, and her young face looked lined and old. + +"It isn't the grief of losing him," she murmured under her breath. +"It's the pain--the haunting fear--that things are wrong. Have I known +my father all these years not to note the change in him? He shrinks +from me--he dreads me. Why? His conscience is guilty. Oh, Gerald, if I +had only let you look into my heart, perhaps you would not have gone +away. Oh, if only I had been in time to go on board the _Esperance_ you +would have been living now. Yes, Gerald, the terror never leaves me day +and night; you are dead, but God did not mean you to die. My own +Gerald--my heart would have been broken, or I should have lost my +reason, if I had not confided my fears to Mr. Carr. Some people perhaps +think I have forgotten--some again that I have ceased to love my +husband. How little they know! Of course I am bright outwardly. But my +heart is old and broken. I have had a very sad life--I am a very +unhappy woman. Only for little Gerry I couldn't live. He is sweet, but +I wish he were more like his father. Ah, there is nurse's knock at the +door. Coming, nurse. Is baby with you?" + +Mrs. Wyndham unlocked her door, and a little round, dimpled, +brown-tinted child scampered in. He was followed by his nurse, a grave, +nice-looking woman of about thirty. She was a widow, and had a son of +her own. + +"Has baby come to say good-night, Annette? Come here, sweet. Come into +mother's arms." + +She sat down on a low chair by the fire, and the little man climbed on +her knee. + +"I don't _'ike_ oo. I _'ove_ oo," he said. + +"He's always saying that, ma'am," remarked the nurse. "He likes his +toys--he loves his mother." + +"Course I 'ove my mother." + +He laid his brown curly head on her breast. + +"Nurse, is anything the matter? You don't look well." + +"That's it, madam. I'm not ill in body, but I'm sore fretted in mind. +Now, baby, darling, don't you pull your dear ma to bits! The fact is, +ma'am, and sore I am to say it, I'm afraid I must leave this precious +child." + +"Nurse!" + +Valentine's arms dropped away from baby; baby raised his own curly +head, and fixed his brown eyes on the woman, his rosy lips pouted. + +"Sore I am to say it, ma'am," repeated Annette, "but there's no help. +I've put off the evil day all I could, ma'am; but my mother's old, and +my own boy has been ill, and she says I must go home and see after them +both. Of course, madam, I'll suit your convenience as to the time of my +going, and I hope you'll get some one else as will love the dear child. +Come to bed, master baby, dear; your mother wants to go down to +dinner." + + * * * * * + +A few days after this, as Helps was taking his comfortable breakfast, +cooked to perfection by Cherry's willing hands, he raised his eyes +suddenly, looked across at his daughter Esther, and made a remark. + +"I'm told poor young madam is in no end of a taking." + +"What young madam, father?" + +"Mrs. Wyndham. The nurse is going and the child has got whooping cough. +He's bad, too, poor little 'un, and frets about the nurse like +anything. My master's in a way, too; he's wrapped up in that little +lad. It was he told me; he said perhaps you'd know of a nurse as would +suit, Esther." + +"Don't stare so, Cherry," said Esther. "Anybody would think father was +talking of ghosts, to see the bigness of your eyes. Well, father, yes, +I'll think about a nurse. I'm sorry the child is ill." + +"Don't you go and get a nurse from the slums," retorted Cherry. "You're +all slums, you are. My word, I am having a time since that new lodger +took possession." + +Here Cherry paused to pour fresh water into the tea-pot. Esther and her +father exchanged frightened glances. + +"Brother Jerome, indeed!" proceeded this energetic young person. "He's +a mighty uneasy sort of Brother Jerome. His good deeds don't seem to +quieten him, anyway. And why does he always keep a hat stuck on his +head, and never raise it when he passes me on the stairs. I know I'm +broad and I'm stout, and I've no looks to boast of, but it's meant for +men to raise their hats to women, and I don't see why he shouldn't. +Then at night he walks the boards overhead fit to work on anybody's +nerves. I don't recite half so dramatic as I did, because I can't get +my sleep unbroken." + +"Your tongue ain't stopped, anyway," said her uncle, almost crossly. +"Esther, you'll think about the nurse for young madam." + +He rose and left the room. + +Esther sat still a little longer. She heard Cherry rattling the plates +in the kitchen. Presently, she got up, put on her bonnet and cloak, +called good-bye to her cousin, and went out. There could scarcely be a +better Sister of the Poor than Esther Helps. She was near enough to +them socially to understand their sorrows. She had never known +starvation, but she could take in what tiny means meant--their mode of +speech was comprehensible to her, she was sufficiently unfastidious to +go into their dirty rooms, to witness their uncouth, semi-savage ways +without repulsion. She liked the life, it suited her, and her it. She +was the kind of woman to be popular as a district visitor. She had +abundance of both sympathy and tact. When her sympathies were aroused, +her manners could be affectionate. In addition, she had a very lovely +face. The poor of East London adore beauty; it comes so rarely near +them in any case that they look upon it as an inestimable treasure. The +women and children liked to watch Esther when she talked and when she +smiled. The men treated her with the respect due to a regal presence. + +Esther went down as usual to her mission work to-day. Sister Josephine, +the head of this branch of work, greeted the handsome girl with a smile +when she came in, drew her aside, and spoke to her about a particularly +difficult undertaking which was soon to be commenced. This undertaking +would require the utmost tact and talent; the sister asked Esther if +she would be willing to become the head of the movement. + +"I don't know anyone more suitable," she said in conclusion. "Only if +you come, you must consent to sleep away from home. Some of our +work--our principal work--will take place at night." + +Esther's clear ivory-tinted skin became a shade paler. She looked full +at the sister with troubled but unshrinking eyes. + +"You do me a great honor," she said. "But I am afraid I must decline +it. At present I cannot sleep away from home. It is also possible--yes, +it is quite possible--that I may have to give up the work altogether +for a time." + +"Esther, are you putting your hand to the plough and looking back?" + +"I don't know, Sister Josephine. Perhaps I am." + +The sister laid her hand solemnly on the girl's arm. + +"Esther, if you love anyone better than God, you have no right to come +here," she said. + +Then she turned away and walked sorrowfully down the long mission room. +She was disappointed in Esther Helps, and though Esther's own heart +never faltered, she felt a sharp pang pierce it. + +That night she came home late. + +"Has Brother Jerome come in?" she asked Cherry. + +"No. How you do fash about that man! His supper's waiting for him, and +I saw to his fire. Now I'm going to bed. I'm dead tired." + +"Do, Cherry. I'll sit up for Brother Jerome." + +"Ask him, for goodness sake, not to march the boards so frequent. He'll +have my grey hairs to account for. He's picked up a cough, too, and +between the creaking of the boards, and the coughing, I have nice +nights lately." + +"You study too much, Cherry, or you wouldn't mind such little noises. +Now go to bed, dear. I'll give Brother Jerome a hint." + +"Good-night, Esther. Uncle's been in bed an hour or more. I hope that +brother of the slums won't keep you long." + +Cherry ran upstairs, and Esther went into the bright warm little +kitchen. She left the door wide open, and then she sat and waited. + +The substance of Sister Josephine's words rang in her ears. + +"If you love another better than God, you have no right to come here." + +Did she love another better than God? No, no, impossible. A man had +influenced her life, and because of his influence she had given herself +up, soul and body, to God's service. How could she love the man best? +He had only pointed to the higher way. + +Then she heard his step outside; his latch-key in the door, and she +felt herself tremble. He went straight upstairs, never glancing in the +direction of the kitchen; as he went he coughed, and his cough sounded +hollow. His figure, never remarkably upright, was much bent. + +Esther waited a few minutes; then, her heart going pit-a-pat, she crept +very softly upstairs, passed her own room and Cherry's, and knocked at +Wyndham's door. + +He came and opened it. + +"Can I speak with you, brother?" + +"Certainly. Come in, Esther?" + +The attic had been converted into a wonderfully snug apartment. The bed +and washing apparatus were curtained off, and the part of the room +which surrounded the hearth revealed a bright fire, a little table on +which a tempting cold supper was spread, and a deep easy chair. + +"Sit down, brother," said Esther, "and eat. Let me help you. I can talk +while you eat your supper. Are you very tired to-night? Yes, I am +afraid you are dreadfully tired." + +"I am always tired, Esther. That is in the condition of things." + +He sank back into his chair as if he were too weary to keep out of it. +Then, with a flash of the old Gerald Wyndham in his eyes and manner, he +sprang up. + +"I was forgetting myself. Will you sit here!" + +"What do you take me for, Mr.--Brother Jerome, I mean. I have come up +here to see you eat, to see you rest, and to--to--talk to you." + +"Esther, I have no words to thank you. You are, yes, you are the +noblest woman I know." + +She flushed all over; her eyes shone. + +"And isn't that thanks for ever and ever?" she said in a voice in which +passion trembled. + +Wyndham did not notice. He had taken off his hat, and Cherry's good +supper stood by his side. He ate a little, then put down his knife and +fork. + +"Ain't you hungry, sir?" + +"No. At first, when I came here, I was so starved that I never could +eat enough. Now I am the other way, not hungry at all." + +"And, sir, you have got a cough." + +"Yes, I had a very bad wetting last week, and a cough is the result. +Strange. I had no cough when I slept out of doors." + +"Mr. Wynd--Brother Jerome, I mean, you wouldn't go back to that old +life? Say you wouldn't go back." + +The almost anguish in her voice penetrated for the first time to +Wyndham's ear. He gave her a startled glance, then said with warmth:-- + +"Esther, you and your father have been good Samaritans to me; as long +as it is safe I will stay with you." + +"It shall and must be safe. Who would look for you here, of all places, +when they think you are buried under the waves of the sea?" + +"That is true. I expect it is perfectly safe for me to stay." + +He lay back in his chair, and gazed into the fire; he had almost +forgotten Esther's presence. + +"And you like it--you feel happier since you came?" she asked, +presently, in a timid voice. + +"What did you say?" + +"Mr. Wyndham," the forbidden name came out with a burst, "do tell poor +Esther Helps that you are happier since she found you." + +She had fallen on her knees, the tears were streaming from her eyes; +she held out her hands to him. + +"Oh," she said, "I would give my life for yours." + +In a moment Wyndham's dreamy attitude left him; he sprang to his feet, +all alive and keen and watchful. He was the old Wyndham; his eyes were +full of pity, which made his whole face radiant. + +"Hush," he said. "Get up. Don't say any more. Not another word--not a +syllable. You forget yourself. Esther. I saved you once--I must save +you again. Sit there, yes, there; I am quite strong. I must tell you +the truth. Esther, I said just now that you were the noblest woman I +know. You must go on being noble. I will stay here on that condition." + +"Oh, sir, will you?" Poor Esther would have liked to shrink through the +very boards. "Will you forgive me, sir?" + +"Hush; don't talk about forgiveness. There is nothing to forgive. +Esther, I will show you how much I trust you. I will talk to you about +my wife. I will tell you a little of my story; I mean the part I can +tell without implicating others." + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + + +Esther was now seated in the easy-chair; Wyndham stood by the +mantel-piece. He had got a shock, and that shock had given him +strength, and a good deal of his old manner. + +"Esther," he said, "I cannot tell you all the story, but some of it I +should like you to hear. You are a friend to me, Esther, and the part +that relates to myself I will confide to you." + +"Sir, I know the other part; you have been the victim of a wicked man." + +"Hush; I don't wish to speak about anyone but myself. I don't blame +anyone but myself. I loved a woman, Esther Helps, so much better than +myself that for her sake I resolved to die to the world. I need not +give you the reason of this. It seemed to me necessary for her +happiness that I should do this; and I did not think it too much to do. +I married my wife knowing that the great love I had for her was not +returned. This seemed all for the best, as when I died, as die to all +appearance I should, her heart would not be broken. She could continue +to live happy and honored. Do you follow me?" + +"Yes, sir, yes. Are you tired? Will you sit, Mr. Wyndham?" + +"I was never less tired. When I speak of my wife I feel as if a fresh +vigor were coming into me. We were married, and I soon found that I had +overtaxed my own resolve. In one particular I could not complete the +sacrifice I had undertaken. I tried to make her love me, and for a +time--a short time--I thought I had succeeded." + +The speaker paused, and the eagerness of his tone changed. + +"I failed. The heart that I most craved for was not to be mine. I +tested it, but it did not respond. This was best, no doubt, but the +fact preyed on me dreadfully. I went on board the _Esperance_, and, +then, God forgive me, the thought took possession of me, the idea +overmastered me, that I would make my fictitious death real. Everything +had been carefully arranged with regard to my apparent death. That part +implicates others, so I will not touch upon it. I resolved to make +certainty doubly certain by dying in earnest. Thus my wife's future +would be assured. My death would be real, the thing that might come +upon her would be averted for ever. I was in a condition when I could +not balance right and wrong; but my intellect was sufficiently keen and +sensible to make me prepare for the deed I contemplated. I took steps +which would prevent anyone on board thinking that I had fallen +overboard by design. My death would be attributed to the merest +accident. Thus all was made absolutely safe. What is the matter, +Esther?" + +"Oh, Mr. Wyndham! Oh, you frighten me. Did you--did you think of your +soul, sir?" + +"I did, Esther. But I loved my wife better than my hope of heaven. I +resolved to risk even that for her. As I tell you, I had no sense of +personal right or wrong at that time. You see that I am a very wicked +man, Esther--no hero--a man who yielded to a dire temptation. I won't +talk about this. The night came, and I dropped into the water. There +was a storm that night. It was dark, but now and then the stars could +be seen through the rifts of the clouds. As I leapt overboard I looked +up, and saw the brightness of the Southern Cross. Then I went under. +The great waves closed over my head. The next instant I came to the +surface only possessed with one fierce frantic desire, to save the life +I meant to throw away. Better be a living dog than a dead lion, I said +to myself. Yes, I would live--if only like the miserable dogs of +Eastern towns, w ould live as the outcast, as the scum of the earth--I +would live. I had done a horrible thing in seeking to throw away my +life. I cried aloud in an anguish of terror:--'God spare me! God leave +my breath in my body! Don't take my spirit before the judgment seat!' +Through the rifts in the clouds I saw a boat at a little distance +manned by some of the sailors who were looking for me. I shouted, but +no living voice could be heard in the gale. Then I resolved to husband +my strength. I was an excellent swimmer, and I could always float like +a cork. I could not swim in that sea, but I could lie quite passive on +the waves. I turned on my back, and waited for the issue of events. I +closed my eyes and felt myself being moved up and down. The motion in +itself was not unpleasant. The waves were wonderfully buoyant. Instead +of losing my strength I was rested. My heart beat steadily. I knew that +my chance of life depended on my keeping very cool. Presently something +struck me. I put out my hand and grasped a floating oar. By means of +the oar I knew that unless I froze with the cold I could keep above the +water for hours. I placed it under my arms and kept above the water +with very little effort. + +"The cold, however, was intense, and I doubt that I could have lived +till morning had not another chance of deliverance just then appeared. +The clouds had almost cleared from the sky, and by the brightness of +the southern constellations I saw something gleaming white a little +further off. It was not the ship, which must have been a league or two +away by now, but something I could see in my present horizontal +position. I ventured to raise my head a very little, and saw a boat--a +boat painted white--which, strange to say, had not been overturned by +the roughness of the waves. It was gently floating onwards in my +direction. The name _Esperance_ was painted in gold letters on the +outside of the boat, near the bow. I guessed at once what had +happened. One of the ships' boats had got loose from its moorings in +the gale, and was now sent to me as an ark of deliverance. It was +evidently on one of the ship's oars, too, that I was supporting my +head. + +"Then I saw that God did not mean me to die, and a great glow of +gratitude and even happiness ran through me. You will wonder at this, +but you don't know how horrible death looked in the jaws of that angry +sea. + +"The boat came nearer, and nearer and my happiness and sense of relief +grew to almost rapture. I cried aloud:--'God. I thank Thee! Take the +life you have thought worth preserving almost through a miracle, as +your own absolutely. Take my body, take my spirit, to spend, to +worship, to lose myself in Thee!' Then the boat came up, and I had to +duck under to avoid being stunned by her. + +"It is no easy matter to get into an empty boat in a rough sea. My +hands were almost numb, too, for I had been a couple of hours in the +water. I felt, however, quite cool, self-possessed and quiet. I could +think clearly, and bring my little knowledge of boats to my aid. I knew +my only chance of not upsetting the boat was to climb over by the +stern. This, after tremendous difficulties, I accomplished. I lay in +the bottom of the boat for some time quite unconscious. When at last I +was able to rouse myself, daylight had come and the storm had gone +down. My clothes were drenched through with salt water. I could not +keep from shivering, and every bone ached. I was not the least hungry, +but I was consumed with thirst. There were two or three oars lashed to +the side of the boat. I could row, therefore, and the exercise warmed +me. Presently the sun came up in the heavens. I was glad of this, but +its rays beating on my uncovered head soon produced headache, which in +its turn brought on a queer giddiness and a feeling of sickness. I saw +now that I was going to be very ill, and I wondered how long I should +retain my senses. I knew that it behoved me to be very careful. I was +alive, but for my wife's sake I must appear to be dead. I saw that I +had taken the very best possible step to insure this end, and if I +could only carry on my purpose to its conclusion I should have adopted +a far better plan for securing the establishment of my own apparent +death than the one originally devised for me. + +"Aching as I did from head to foot I found it difficult to keep my +thoughts collected. I managed, however, to do so, and also to scratch +out the name of the _Esperance_ from the bows of the boat. This I +accomplished with my pocket knife. I also cut away my own name from my +linen, and from two handkerchiefs which I found in my pockets. These +handkerchiefs had been marked by my wife. After this I knew there was +no more I could do. I must drift along and take my chance of being +picked up. I cannot recall how I passed the day. I believe I rowed a +little when I felt cold; but the greater part of the time I simply +allowed the boat to drift. + +"That evening I was picked up by a trading vessel bound for the Cape. +Its crew were mostly Dutch, and several of the sailors were black. I +faintly remember going on board the vessel. Then all memory leaves me. +I had a long illness--a fever which changed me, turning my hair very +grey. I grew a beard in my illness, and would not allow it to be +removed when I got better, as I knew that in the future I must live +under the shadow of death, I must completely sink the identity which +made life of value. + +"I was put into hospital when we arrived at Cape Town, and when I got +better was given a small purse of money, which had been collected by +some people who professed to take an interest in me. On the day I left +the hospital I really commenced my new life. + +"It is unnecessary to tell you all that followed. I had not forgotten +my vow--the vow I made to God verily out of the deeps. I determined, +as far as it was in me, absolutely to renounce myself and to live for +God as He reveals himself in suffering man. I did not resolve to do +this with any ulterior motive of saving my own soul, and atoning for +the sin of the past. I felt that God deserved all that I could possibly +give Him, and to give it absolutely and without reservation kept me, I +believe, from losing my senses. For a time all went well. Then the +hunger which had been my curse came back. You will ask what that was. +It was a sense of utter starvation which no physical food could +satisfy, which no mental food could appease. I _must_ get near my wife. +I had sinned for her, and now I could not keep away from her. I must at +least live in the same country. I prayed against this hunger; I fought +with it. I struggled with it, but I could not beat it down. A year ago +I came back to England. I came to London, to the safest place for a man +who must hide. Willing hands are always needed to help to lighten some +of the load of misery in this great city. I called myself Brother +Jerome, and presently I found my niche. I worked, and I could have been +happy. Yes, starving in body, with nowhere to lay my head, I could have +been happy following _The_ Blessed example, but for the hunger which +always drove me mad, which was gnawing at my heart, which gnaws there +still--which--Esther--Esther Helps--is--killing me!" + +Wyndham dropped his head on his hands. He uttered one groan. When he +raised his head again his eyes were wet. + +"I am close to my wife," he said; "but I have never heard of her +once--not once since I returned." + +Then he sat down in the chair which Esther rose from. He began to cough +again, and Esther saw the drops of sweat standing large on his +forehead. + +It was now her turn to speak. She stood upright--a tall, slim woman--a +woman who had gone through a change so great as almost to amount to a +new birth--while Wyndham had been telling his story. + +"Now," she said, "I am happy. I praise God for His mercies, for it is +given to me to comfort you." + +Wyndham raised his head; he was too exhausted to ask her what she +meant, except with his eyes. + +"Your wife is well, and from this day forth you shall hear news of her, +fresh news, once a week. Every Sunday you shall hear." + +"Esther, don't torture me. Are you telling me truth?" + +"I am telling you the solemn truth. Would I lie to a man like you? Mr. +Wyndham, do you know, has anyone ever told you that you have a child?" + +"Nobody. Is this the case? My God, a child!" + +"Yes, sir, a little boy; he is called after you. He is three years old. +You'd like to see him, maybe?" + +"Good heavens, Esther, this is like new wine to me. I have a son of my +own--Valentine's son!" + +He began to pace the floor. + +"And you would like to see him, wouldn't you, sir?" + +"Yes--no--the joy might kill me. People have died of joy." + +"You wouldn't die of joy, sir. It has always been the other way with +you. Joy would make you live, would cure that cough, and that sinking +feeling you have told me of." + +"And the hunger, Esther--the hunger which gnaws and gnaws. Esther, you +are a wonderful woman." + +"Sit down, Mr. Wyndham. Keep quiet. Don't get excited. I'll do this for +you. I made up the plan this morning. It was about that I came to speak +to you. The baby wants a new nurse. To-morrow I am going to offer for +the place. I shall get it, too, no fear of that. I shall live in the +same house as your wife, every night your son will sleep in my arms. +Each Sunday I come here with my news--my weekful of news. Some day I +bring your son. What more natural than that I should come to my father +once a week. Who will suspect? Mr. Wyndham, that hunger of yours shall +have one weekly meal. No fear, no fear. And now, sir, go to bed, and +may God Almighty bless you!" + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + + +Valentine Wyndham had often said that no greater treasure of a nurse +could be found than the one who came to her when little Gerald was a +month old. When she saw Esther, however, she changed her mind. Esther +was superior to Annette in personal appearance, in intellect, and in a +curious unspoken intangible sympathy which brought a strange sense of +comfort to Valentine's strained and worn heart. Esther was full of +tact. She was not demonstrative, but her every look and word expressed +loving interest. Baby very soon ceased to fret for Annette. With a +child's fickleness he boldly declared that he liked "noo nurse better +than old nurse." His most loving word for Esther was "noo nurse," and +he was always contented and happy when he lay in noo nurse's arms and +listened to her stories. She had wonderful stories for him, stories +which she never dreamt of telling in his mother's presence, stories +which always led to one termination--a termination which had a +wonderful fascination for baby. They were about little fatherless boys, +who in the most unlooked for ways found their fathers. Baby revelled in +these tales. + +"I'se not got a farwer, noo nursie," he would generally end +sorrowfully. + +Then Esther would kiss him, and tell him to wait, and to watch for the +good fairies who were so kind to little boys. + +His whooping cough soon got better, and he was able to go out. One day +Esther took him early into the Park. He was dressed all in white fur. +Esther told him he looked like Baby Bunting. + +"But I haven't got a farwer to buy me a wabbit-skin," quoth baby. + +That day, however, the father he did not know pressed two or three +burning kisses on his round cheek. Esther sat down on a chair near a +very worn and shabby-looking man. His back was partly to her. She said +a word and he turned round. He looked at the child. Suddenly a light +filled his sunken eyes--a beautiful light. He stretched out his arms, +and straight as an arrow from a bow, Baby Bunting found a shelter in +their close embrace. + +"Kiss me," said the man. + +The little lips pressed his cheek. + +"I 'ove oo," said baby, in his contented voice. "Has 'oo little boys of +'oo own?" + +"One little boy." + +"Oo 'ove him, I pose?" + +"Ay." + +Three kisses were pressed on baby's face and he was returned to Esther. + +"Nice man," he said patronizingly, by-and-bye. "But he gived raver hard +kisses when he crunched me up." + +That evening baby told his mother that a man met him in the Park, who +kissed him and looked sad, and said he had a little boy of his own. + +"And he crunched me up with kisses, mover," concluded baby. + +"Was this man a friend of yours, Esther?" queried Mrs. Wyndham. + +"Yes, madam, a friend of mine, and of my father's. A gentleman with a +very sorrowful story. I think it comforted him to kiss master baby." + +Esther was a woman of acute observation. It seemed to her that if there +was an individual on earth to be envied it was Valentine Wyndham. What +matter though she thought herself a widow? Still she had won a love of +a quality and depth which surely must satisfy the most exacting heart. +Esther often said to herself that if she were Valentine she must surely +rest content. As to her forgetting Wyndham that could surely, surely +never be. + +These were Esther's thoughts, always supposing the case to be her own; +but she had not been many weeks in the house in Park-Lane before she +began to open her eyes and to suspect that matters were otherwise with +her young mistress. Valentine, although still a wife, supposed herself +a widow. All the world thought her such. What more natural than that +she should turn her thoughts once more to love. At the time of her +supposed widowhood she was under twenty years of age. Why should she +mourn for her young husband all her days? Surely there was somebody who +considered that she ought not to mourn--somebody who came almost daily +to the house, whom Mrs. Wyndham liked to talk to. For Esther noticed +that her eyes were bright after Adrian Carr went away. She did not +guess that their brightness was generally caused by the shedding of +tears. + +Esther began to feel very uncomfortable. Should she or should she not +tell Wyndham of the danger which was threatening Valentine? + +There came a Sunday when Mrs. Wyndham entered her nursery with a +request. + +"Nurse, my head aches dreadfully. I know you stipulated to have every +Sunday afternoon to yourself, but if you could stay at home to-day I +should be grateful." + +No one could make requests more sweetly than Valentine, and Esther felt +herself coloring up with the pain of refusing. + +"I am very sorry, madam," she said in a low constrained voice; +"but--but--my father will expect me. You know it was an understood +thing, madam, that I was to see him once a week. You remember my +telling you I am his only child." + +"Yes, yes," said Valentine, "and I have thought of that. If you will +take care of Gerry this one afternoon I will send the page in a cab to +your home to fetch your father here." Esther changed color, from red to +white. + +"I am more sorry than I can express, my dear madam, but it would make +all the difference to my father seeing me in my own little home and +here. My father is very humble in his ways, dear madam. I think, +perhaps, if you have a headache, Jane, the under housemaid, might be +trusted for once with master baby." + +"Jane has already gone out," replied Valentine coldly. Then with an +effort she swallowed down her resentment. "I will be frank with you, +Esther," she said. "If it was simply a headache I could certainly take +care of my little boy, even at some inconvenience. But there is more +behind. I promised Miss Wyndham, who is now in town, to meet her this +afternoon at Mr. Carr's new church. She is most anxious to hear him +preach, and I should be sorry to disappoint her." + +"You mean _you_ are anxious to hear him preach," quoth Esther, under +her breath. "And is it on that account I will leave a hungry heart to +starve?" Aloud she said: "Do you object to my taking master baby with +me, madam?" + +"I do object. The child must not be out so late. Then you distinctly +refuse to accommodate me, Esther?" + +"I am obliged to adhere to our arrangement, Mrs. Wyndham. I am truly +sorry." + +Valentine held out her hand to her little boy. + +"Come, then, Baby Bunting," she said. "Mother will play with her boy; +and poor Aunt Lilias must go to church alone." + +She did not look at Esther, but went quietly away, holding the child's +hand. + +"What a brute I am," soliloquized the nurse. "And yet, she, poor young +lady, how can she--how can she forget?" + +Esther's home was in all its Sunday quiet when she reached it. Helps +was having his afternoon siesta in the kitchen. Cherry was spending the +day with the cousins who admired her recitations. Helps started out of +his slumbers when his daughter came in. + +"Essie," he said, "I'm glad you've come. That young man upstairs is +very ill." + +Esther felt her heart sinking down. She pressed her hand to her side. + +"Is he worse, father?" she gasped. + +"Oh, I don't know that he's worse; he's bad enough as it is, without +going in for being worse. He coughs constant, and Cherry says he don't +eat enough to keep a robin going. Esther, I wish to goodness we could +get him out of this." + +"Why so, father? He doesn't hurt you. Even Cherry can't name any fault +in him." + +"No, but suppose he was to die here. There'd be an inquest, maybe, and +all kinds of questions. Well, I'm not hard-hearted, but I do wish he'd +go." + +Esther sank down into the nearest chair. + +"You speak cruel words now and then, father," she said. "Who talks of +dying? _He_ won't die. If it comes to that, or any chance of it, I'll +come back and nurse him to life again." + +"Essie, you think a sight of that young man." + +"Well, I do. I'm not going to deny it. I'm going upstairs to see him +now." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +AT THE SOUND OF THE CLOCK. + + +She left the room, tripping lightly upstairs in her neat nurse's dress. +When she got to Wyndham's door and knocked gently for admission her +heart, however, was beating so wildly that she feared he might notice +it. + +"Come in," said his voice; she entered. + +He was lying back in his easy-chair. When he saw Esther he took off the +soft hat which he always wore in Cherry's presence, and greeted her +with that brightness in his eyes which was the greatest reward he could +possibly offer her. + +"You are a little late," he said; "but I thought you would not fail +me." + +"I won't ever fail you, Mr. Wyndham; you know that." + +"Esther, it is safer to call me Brother Jerome." + +"Not at the present moment. The house is empty but for my father. +Still, if you wish it, sir." + +"I think I do wish it. A habit is a habit. The name may slip out at a +wrong moment, and then--my God, think what would happen then!" + +"Don't excite yourself, sir. Esther Helps is never likely to forget +herself. Still I see the sense of your wishes. You are Brother Jerome +to me always from this out. And now, before I go any further, I want to +state a fact. Brother Jerome, you are ill." + +"I am ill, Esther. Ill, nigh unto death." + +"My God, you shan't die!" + +"Hush; the question of dying does not rest with you or me. I want to +die, so probably I shall live." + +"You look like dying. Does Cherry feed you well?" + +"Better than well. I want for nothing." + +"Is your fire kept up all night?" + +"Esther, I have not come to requiring a night nurse yet. My fire goes +out in the early hours before the dawn." + +"The coldest part of the twenty-four hours. Brother Jerome, you must +give up visiting in East London at present." + +"No, not while I can crawl. You forget that on a certain night I +surrendered my body as well as my spirit to the service of comfort. +While I can comfort others I will. There is nothing else left to me." + +"Then, sir, you will die--you will deliberately kill yourself." + +"No, I tried that once. I won't again. Esther, what is the matter? You +are a good girl. It is a mistake for you to waste your pity on me." + +"You must forgive me, sir. Pity comes to one unbidden. Pity--and--and +sympathy. If you get worse, I shall leave my situation and come home +and nurse you." + +"Then you will indeed kill me. You will take away my last hope. My one +goblet of new wine will be denied me. Then I shall truly die. Esther, +what is your budget of news? How is my wife? Begin--go on--tell me +everything." + +"Mrs. Wyndham is well, sir." + +"Well? Do you mean by that that she is happy? Does she laugh much? Does +she sing?" + +"Sometimes she laughs. Once I heard her sing." + +"Only once, Esther? She had a very sweet voice. I used sometimes to +tell her that it was never silent." + +"Once, sir, I heard her sing." + +"Oh, once? Was it a cheerful song?" + +"It was on a Sunday evening. She was singing to your little boy. I +think she sang the 'Happy Land.' I don't quite remember. I came to +fetch the boy to bed, and she was singing to him. She took her hands +off the piano suddenly when I came in, and there were tears in her +eyes." + +"Tears? She was always sensitive to music. And yet you say she does not +look sad." + +"I should not call her sad, Brother Jerome. Her face is calm and quiet. +I think she is a very good young lady." + +"You need not tell me that, Esther; you managed very well about the +boy." + +"Thank you, sir. I think I did. What did you feel when you saw him, +sir?" + +"Rapture. All my blood flowed swiftly. I lived and breathed. I had an +exquisite five minutes." + +"The boy is not like his mother, sir." + +"No, nor like me. He resembles my sister Lilias. Esther, I must see him +again." + +"You shall, by-and-bye, but not too soon. We must not run any risks." + +"Certainly not. I will have much patience. Hold out the hope only, and +I will cling to it indefinitely." + +"You shall see the child again, Brother Jerome." + +"God abundantly bless you. Now go on. Tell me more. How does my wife +spend her time? Has she many visitors?" + +"Sometimes her father." + +"Only sometimes? They used to be inseparable." + +"Not now, sir. There is something wrong between them. When they meet +they are constrained with one another, and they don't meet very often. +I have orders, though, to take the child every morning to see Mr. +Paget." + +"Have you? I am sorry for that. He kisses my son, does he?" + +"Yes, sir. He seems wrapped up in him; he----" + +"Don't talk of him. That subject turns my blood into vinegar. Go on. +Tell me more. What other visitor has my wife?" + +"Sometimes your sister, Miss Lilias Wyndham." + +"My sister? Esther, you don't know what that name recalls. All the old +innocent days; the little hymns before we went to bed, and the little +prayers at our mother's knee. I don't think I can bear to hear much +about Lilias; but I am glad she loves my wife." + +"She does, sir. She is devoted to Mrs. Wyndham. I don't think any other +visitors come except Mr. Carr." + +"Adrian Carr, a clergyman?" + +Wyndham's tone had suddenly become alert and wakeful. + +"I believe the gentleman's name is the Rev. Adrian Carr, Brother +Jerome." + +"Why do you speak in that guarded voice, Esther? Have you anything to +conceal?" + +"No, sir, no. Don't excite yourself. I conceal nothing; he comes, that +is all." + +"But surely, not often? He is my father's curate; he cannot often come +to London." + +"He is not Mr. Wyndham's curate now, sir; he has a church of his own, +St. Jude's they call it, at the corner of Butler-street." + +"And he comes constantly to my house? To--to see my wife?" + +"Your--your widow, sir." + +"God help me, Esther! God help me! How am I to endure this! My poor--my +beloved--my sweet--and are you exposed to this? Esther, Esther, this +care turns me into a madman." + +"You must stay quiet, Brother Jerome. Mr. Carr comes, and your--your +widow sees him." + +"Do you think she likes him?" + +"Oh, sir, I would rather die than have to tell it to you." + +"I cannot listen to your sentimentalisms. Does my wife seem happy when +Adrian Carr calls upon her?" + +"I think she is interested in him, Brother Jerome." + +"Does she see him alone?" + +"Often alone." + +"And you say she seems pleased?" + +"I think so. It is incomprehensible to me." + +"Never mind whether you understand it or not. Do you know that by this +news you are turning me into a devil? I'll risk everything--everything. +I'll expose the whole vile conspiracy if my wife is entrapped into +engaging herself to Adrian Carr." + +Brother Jerome was no longer a weak-looking invalid; he began to pace +his attic floor; a fire burnt in his sunken eyes, and he clenched his +thin hands. For the time he was strong. + +"Listen to me, Esther Helps. My wife shall run no risk of that kind. It +was in the contract that _that_ should be prevented. I sinned for +her--yes, I willingly sinned for her--but she shall never sin for me. +Rather than that we'll all go to penal servitude. I, and your father, +and her father." + +"Do quiet yourself, Mr. Wyndham. There may be nothing in what I told +you." + +Esther felt really frightened. + +"Perhaps the gentleman comes to see your sister, Miss Wyndham. He +certainly comes, but--but----" + +"Esther, the whole thing must be put a stop to--the faintest shadow of +risk must not be run. My wife thinks herself a widow, but she must +retain the feelings of a wife. It must be impossible for her, while I +live, to think of another man." + +"Can you not bring yourself back to her memory, sir? Is there no way?" + +"That is a good thought. Don't speak for a little. Let me think." + +Wyndham continued to pace the floor. Esther softly built up the fire +with trembling fingers. In this mood she was afraid of Wyndham. That +fire in his eyes was new to her. She was cowed--she shivered. With her +mental vision she already saw her grey-headed father in the prisoner's +dock. + +"Esther," said Wyndham, coming up to her suddenly. "I have thought of a +plan. It won't implicate anyone, and if a chord in Valentine's heart +still beats true to me this must touch it. At what hour does Carr +generally call to see my wife?" + +"He is a busy man; he comes mostly at night, about nine o'clock. He has +a cup of tea, and goes away at ten. When Miss Wyndham is there he +sometimes stays on till nearly eleven." + +"He comes every night?" + +"Almost every night." + +"And he leaves at ten?" + +"A few minutes after ten. When the clock strikes ten it seems to be a +sort of a signal to him, and he gets up and goes away." + +"Thank you. Ten, then, will be the hour. Esther, something else may +happen at ten of the clock. You need not look so white. I said no risk +would be run. It is possible, however, that my wife may be agitated. +No, you don't suppose I am going to reveal myself to her--nothing of +the sort. Still, something will happen which may break down her nerve +and her calm. In that case she may even appeal to you, Esther, you will +be very guarded. You must remember that on the success of this scheme +of mine depends your father's safety, for if she engages herself to +Carr I swear by the God above me that we three, Paget, your father, and +I, go to prison." + +"Sir, I must own that I feel dreadfully frightened." + +"Poor Esther! And you don't deserve it, for you are the best of girls +and quite innocent. But that is ever the way. The innocent bear the +sins of the guilty. In this matter, however, Esther, you must trust +me, and keep your own counsel. Now, I want to know if you have any +money you can lend me?" + +"I have two sovereigns in my purse, sir. Will that do?" + +"Plentifully. I will tell you what I want the money for. I want to hire +a violin--a good one. Once, Esther, I used to express my feelings +through the violin. It talked for me. It revealed some of the tortures +of my soul. The violin shall speak again and to my wife. Now you are +prepared at all points. Good-bye. Be as brave as you are good, and the +worst may be averted." + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + + +On the following night, as Esther was preparing to go to bed, the +nursery door was suddenly opened and Mrs. Wyndham entered. + +"Esther," she said, "I want baby." + +"He is sound asleep, madam. You would not wake him?" + +"He can be moved without disturbing him. I want him to sleep in my bed. +I want his company. My little child?" + +She was trembling. She caught hold of the rails of the baby's cot. + +"Little children are sacred innocent things, aren't they, nurse? I want +my little child to-night." + +"Strange," thought Esther. "I listened with all my might, and I could +not hear anything except the usual barrel organs and German bands in +the street. But she has heard something, there isn't a doubt. How queer +and shaken she looks. Poor young thing, I do pity her; she can't help +thinking she is a widow when she is a wife." + +Aloud Esther complied with Mrs. Wyndham's request cheerfully. + +"Certainly, madam. The child will never know that we are moving him. If +you will go on to your room, ma'am, I'll follow with master baby." + +Mrs. Wyndham turned away at once. + +When the nurse entered her mistress' room with the child, there was a +soft nest made in the big bed to receive him, and the fire in the grate +cast a cheerful glow over everything. + +"Let me kiss him," said the mother. "My darling, my beloved. I'll take +him into my arms presently, nurse, and then all fears will fly away." + +"Fears, Mrs. Wyndham? No one ought to fear in this cheerful room." + +"Perhaps not, nurse; but sometimes I am superstitious--painfully so. +Yes, put baby there. Is he not a handsome boy? Although I could wish he +were more like his father." + +"He seems to feature your sister-in-law, Miss Lilias Wyndham, madam." + +"How queer that you should find that out! He is not like what Lilias is +now, but they all say she was just such another little child. Nurse, I +hate high winds--there is going to be a storm to-night." + +"Would you like me to sleep on the sofa in your room, madam?" + +"Yes, no--yes, oh, yes." + +"I will bring a shawl, and wrap it round me and lie down." + +"No, don't, nurse, don't. I must not yield to this nameless thing. I +must--I will be brave. And the child, my own little child, will comfort +me." + +"What is the nameless thing, dear madam?" + +"I cannot--I won't speak of it. Esther, are you--are you _going_?" + +"Certainly not, Mrs. Wyndham. I mean, not yet." + +"That is right. Take this chair; warm yourself. Esther. I don't look on +you as an ordinary nurse. Long ago I used to be so much interested in +you." + +"It was very kind of you, madam; young ladies, as a rule, have no time +to interest themselves in poor girls." + +"But I had plenty of time, and did interest myself. My father was +always so much attached to yours. I was an only child and you were an +only child. I used to wonder if you and your father cared for each +other as passionately, as loyally, as I and my father cared." + +"I don't know that, madam; we did love each other. Our love remains +unchanged. True love ought never to change, ought it?" + +"It ought never to change," repeated Mrs. Wyndham. Her face grew white, +her lips trembled. "Sometimes true love is killed by a blow," she said +suddenly. Then her expression changed again, she tried to look +cheerful. "I won't talk any more. I am sleepy, and that nest near baby +looks inviting. Good-night, dear nurse." + +"Let me undress you, ma'am. Let me see you in your nest beside the +child." + +"No. Go now. Or rather--rather--_stay a moment or two longer_. Esther, +had you ever the heartache?" + +"There are a few women, madam, who don't know what the heartache +means." + +"I suppose that is true. Once I knew nothing about it. Esther, you are +lucky never to have married." + +Esther Helps made no response. + +"To marry--to love--and then to lose," dreamily murmured Mrs. Wyndham. +"To love, and then to lose. Esther, it is a dreadful thing to be a +widow, when you are young." + +"But the widow can become a wife again," suddenly replied Esther. + +The words seemed forced from her lips; she was sorry the moment she had +uttered them. + +Mrs. Wyndham opened her big eyes wide. + +"I suppose the widows who can become wives again have not lost much," +she responded in a cold voice. + +Then she moved over to the bedside and began to undress. + +A few moments later Esther left her. She felt puzzled, perplexed, +unhappy. She had no key to the thoughts which were passing in her +mistress' mind. Her impression was that Valentine loved Carr, but felt +a certain shame at the fact. + +The next evening the vicar of St. Jude's called again. He came +hurriedly to the door, ran up the stairs without being shown the way, +and entered Valentine's presence with a brisk step. Esther leant over +the banisters to watch him as he entered the drawing-room. It was +half-past nine when he arrived; he had been conducting a prayer meeting +and was later than usual. + +The drawing-room door was shut on the two, and Esther, who had been +sitting with the child, now crept softly downstairs and entered a small +bedroom at the back of the drawing-room. This bedroom also looked on +the street. It was the room occupied by Lilias when she visited her +sister-in-law. Esther closed the door softly behind her. The room was +dark. She went up to the window and looked eagerly up and down the +gaily-lighted street. + +She could distinguish no words, but the soft murmur of voices came to +her through the drawing-room wall. + +"You are better to-night?" said Carr, in a cheery, confident tone; +"although you took it upon yourself to disobey me." + +"I could not go to the prayer-meeting. I could not." + +"Well, well, you must act as you think best; only I don't think staying +at home is the best thing for you." + +"Oh, I shan't get over-nervous; and Lilias is coming to me next week." + +Carr's eyes brightened. + +"That is good," he said. "Well, I must not stay. I just looked in for a +moment. I knew you would not let these superstitious fears get the +better of you. Good-night." + +He held out his hand. Valentine put hers behind her. + +"No," she said; "you always stay until past ten. It was at ten o'clock +last night----" She trembled--more words would not come. + +"And I will stay until past ten to-night," responded Carr resuming his +seat. "Now, don't look at the clock. Turn your thoughts to me and my +affairs. So Miss Wyndham comes here next week?" + +"She does." + +"Shall I put everything to the test, then?" + +Valentine's face grew bright. + +"Oh how earnestly I wish you would," she cried, clasping her hands. + +"Do you, indeed? Then you must think there is some chance for me. The +fact is, Mrs. Wyndham, I am the veriest coward that ever breathed. If I +win, I win for ever. I mean that I am made, body, soul, and spirit. If +I lose, I think morally I shall go under. A main spring will be broken +which has kept me right, kept my eyes looking upwards ever since I knew +your sister Lilias." + +"But even if she refuses you, you will live on," said Valentine, in a +dreamy voice. "We often have to live on when the main spring is broken. +We creep instead of running, that is all." + +"Now you are getting gloomy again. As your spiritual adviser I cannot +permit it. You have put a daring thought into my head, and you are +bound to think of me, not yourself, at present. Will you sing something +to me before I go? You know Lilias' song of triumph; you taught it to +her. Sing it to me to-night, it will be a good omen." + +Valentine hesitated for a moment. Then she went over to the piano and +opened it. Her fingers touched one or two chords tremblingly. Suddenly +she stopped, her face worked. She looked at Carr with a piteous +expression. + +"I cannot sing the triumph song," she said, "it is not in me. I should +do it no justice. This must take its place. But it is not for you, +remember. Oh, no, I pray God never for you. Listen, don't scold me +afterwards. Listen." + +Her fingers ran over the keys, her voice swelled and filled the room:-- + + "The murmur of the mourning ghost + That keeps the shadowy kine. + Oh, Keith of Ravelston. + The sorrows of thy line! + + Ravelston, Ravelston. + The merry path that leads + Down the golden morning hill. + And through the silver meads. + + Ravelston, Ravelston. + The stile beneath the tree. + The maid that kept her mother's kine. + The song that sang she. + + She sang her song, she kept her kine. + She sat beneath the thorn. + When Andrew Keith of Ravelston + Rode through the Monday morn. + + His henchmen sing, his hawk bells ring. + His belted jewels shine-- + O, Keith of Ravelston. + The sorrows of thy line!" + +"Now, good-night," said Valentine, springing to her feet. "Don't +question me about the song. I sang it, but I cannot speak of it. The +clock is about to strike. It is your hour for farewell. Oh, yes, I wish +you all luck--all luck. The clock is striking----! Oh, what a noise +there is in the street!" + +"What a silence you mean," said Carr, as he took her hand. + +It was true. The thunderous rattle of a heavy waggon, the discordant +notes of a brass band, the din of a hurdy-gurdy frightfully out of +tune, suddenly stopped. It was as if a wave of sound had been arrested, +and in the quiet floated up the passionate wail of a soul. There are +no other words to describe what the sound meant. It had a voice and an +interpretation. It was beautiful, but its beauty was torture. Trembling +in every limb, Valentine sprang away from Carr, flew to one of the +French windows, wrested it open, and stepped on to the balcony. She was +in white, and the people in the street could see her. She pressed to +the front of the balcony and looked eagerly up and down. + +The wailing of the lost soul grew more feeble--more faint. It stopped. +There was a pause of half a minute, and then the waggon lumbered on, +and the hurdy-gurdy crashed out its discordant notes. + +"I saw nothing," said Carr, who had followed Mrs. Wyndham on to the +balcony and now led her back to the drawing-room. "I saw nothing," he +repeated. "I mean, I did not see the man who played." + +"But you heard?" + +"Oh, yes, I heard." + +"You could not see. That was spirit music. My husband played. Don't +speak to me; don't touch me; you tried to argue me out of my belief +last night, but even _you_ heard to-night. My husband has come back in +the spirit, and he has played for me. Only _he_ knows that air--only he +in all the world. That was 'Waves.' Once I told you the story of 'Music +waves.'" + +She did not faint, she crouched down by the fire; but no face to be +alive could be whiter than hers. + +"What is the matter, Mr. Carr?" she said suddenly. "Why cannot my +husband's spirit rest? They say that those spirits that are hurried out +of life before their time cannot rest. O, tell me what you think. O, +tell me what it means. You heard the music yourself to-night." + +"I did. I certainly heard it." + +"And at the same hour. When the clock struck." + +"That is a mere coincidence, not worth considering." + +"I don't believe in its being a coincidence." + +She beat her hands passionately together. + +"The thing was planned--he planned it. He will come again to-morrow +night when the clock strikes ten." + +Again she beat her hands together; then she covered her face with them. + +Carr looked at her anxiously. The weird soft wailing music had affected +even his nerves. Of course he did not believe in the supernatural +element, but he was touched by the distress of the woman who was +crouching at his feet. This mental unrest, this superstitious terror, +might have a disastrous effect. He must do his utmost to check it. If +necessary he must even be cruel to be kind. + +"Mrs. Wyndham," he said, "you must go away to-morrow; you must go into +the country for a few days." + +"I will not. I won't stir a step." + +"You ought, your nerves are shaken. There is nothing for shaken nerves +like change of air. Go to Jewsbury-on-the-Wold, and talk to Lilias. +She, too, loved your husband; she will sympathize, but she will not +lose sight of common-sense." + +"I will not stir from here." + +"I think for your child's sake you ought. The child belongs to your +husband as well as you, to your dead husband. The child is fatherless +as far as this world is concerned. You have no right--it is very, very +wicked of you to do anything to make him motherless." + +"What do you mean? Why do you speak to me in that tone? I don't deserve +it." + +"You do." + +"I think you are cruel." + +Valentine's eyes filled with sudden tears. + +"What do you mean by saying that I will leave baby motherless?" + +"I mean that if you encourage the fancy which has now taken possession +of you you are extremely likely to lose your senses--to become, in +short, insane. How can you train your child if you are insane?" + +Valentine shuddered. + +"But I did hear the music," she said. "The old story music that he only +played. How can I doubt the evidence of my senses? Last night at ten +o'clock I heard 'Waves' played on the violin, my husband's favorite +instrument--the melody which he made, the harmony and melody with all +the passion and its story, which he made about himself and me. No one +else could produce those sounds. I heard them last night at ten +o'clock, you were here, but you heard nothing. To-night there was +silence in the street, and we both heard--we both heard." + +"I certainly heard some very melancholy music." + +"Played on the violin?" + +"Yes, played on the violin." + +"In short, you heard 'Waves.'" + +"I heard something which I never heard before. I cannot tell the name." + +"No. What you heard was 'Waves,' in other words the cry of a soul." + +"Mrs. Wyndham, get up. Give me your hand. Look me in the face. Now, +that is better. I am going to talk common-sense to you. You have been +from the first impressed with the idea that foul play was done to your +husband. For a time I own I shared your apprehension. I discovered one +or two things in connection with his death which far more than your +words inclined me to this belief. Since I came to London I have thought +a great deal over the matter. Last week a lucky chance brought me in +communication with Captain Jellyby of the _Esperance_. Ah, you start. I +saw him. I think you would like me to bring him here some night. He +entered into minute particulars of Wyndham's last days. He would like +to tell you the story himself. I can only say that a fairer story could +not be recorded of any man. He was beloved by every one on board the +ship. 'We all loved him,' said Captain Jellyby. 'Emigrants, passengers, +sailors, all alike. Sir,' he said, 'when Mr. Wyndham was washed over, +there wasn't a dry eye on board. But if ever a man humbly and +cheerfully went forth to meet his Creator, he was the man, sir. He met +his death trying to help the man at the wheel. Bless his heart, he +spent all his life trying to help other people.'" + +Valentine was silently crying. + +"You comfort me," she said; "you comfort me much. Go on." + +"That is all, my dear friend, that is all. It set my mind at rest with +regard to your husband. It ought to set yours at rest also. He is a +glorious, and happy spirit in heaven now. Is it likely that he would +come back from there to frighten you for no object or purpose? No, you +must dismiss the idea from your mind." + +"But the music--the unearthly music." + +"Played by a strolling musician with a talent for the thing. That was +all." + +"His air and mine--'Waves.' The air that no one else knew, that was +never written down." + +"You imagined the likeness to the air you mention. Our imaginations +play strange tricks with us. The air played to-night was of a very +minor character, and had notes in common with the one your husband +composed. Hence a fleeting resemblance. It is more natural and in +accordance with sense to believe this than to suppose that your husband +came back from heaven to torture you. Now, good-night. You are good. +You will try and be brave. I ask you to be brave for the sake of your +noble husband's child." + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + + +As Carr was leaving the house he came across Esther, who, very white, +but with a resolute look on her face, met him on the stairs. + +"How is my mistress, sir?" + +Carr felt nettled at her tone. + +"Why do you ask?" he said shortly; "when last you saw her I presume she +was well." + +"No, sir." + +"No?" + +Carr paused. He gave Esther a quick piercing look, and his manner +changed. Her face was strong, it could be relied on. + +"You are the little boy's nurse, are you not?" + +"I am, Mr. Carr." + +"And you are attached to your mistress?" + +Esther hesitated. + +"I--I am," she said, but her voice trembled. + +"Mrs. Wyndham wants some one who can be kind and sympathetic near her. +Some one who can be tactful, and full of common-sense. Her nerves are +greatly shaken. For instance she was much agitated at some music she +heard in the street to-night." + +"I heard it, sir. I was surprised. It wasn't like ordinary music." + +"Oh, you thought so, did you? For heaven's sake don't repeat your +thoughts to Mrs. Wyndham. You look a sensible young woman." + +Esther dropped a curtsey. + +"I hope I am," she said in a demure voice. + +"Has your mistress a maid--a maid she likes?" + +"No. I render her what little services are necessary." + +"Can you stay in her room to-night? She ought not to be alone." + +"I will sleep on the sofa in my mistress' room." + +"That is right. Don't allude to the music in the street if you can help +it." + +Carr ran downstairs and went away, and Esther, slowly and hesitatingly, +entered the drawing-room. + +Mrs. Wyndham was standing with her two arms clasped round her husband's +violin. The tears were raining from her eyes. Before she could +disengage herself Esther saw the action, and a queer pang, half of +pleasure, half of pain, shot through her. She saw at a glance that +Gerald Wyndham's wife cared for no one but her husband. She stepped +across the room quickly, and without any thought of the familiarity of +the action put her hand through her mistress' arm, and led her towards +the door. + +"Come," she said, "you are tired and weak. Master baby is in his nest, +and he wants you. Come, I am going to put you to bed." + +Valentine raised no objection. She was trembling and cold. The tears +were undried on her cheeks; the look of infinite pathetic patience in +her eyes almost crushed Esther Helps. + +"What a fool I was to suppose she didn't love her husband," she +murmured. "As if any woman could be much with him and not love him. Ah, +lucky Mrs. Wyndham--notwithstanding all your sorrow you are the woman I +envy most on earth." + +Valentine did not object to her maid's attentions. She felt shaken and +worn out, and was glad passively to submit. When she was in bed she +spoke for the first time. + +"Esther, get a shawl, and lie here, outside the clothes. It comforts me +to have you near." + +Esther obeyed without any comment. She wrapped a thick shawl around +her, and lay down near the edge of the big bed. Valentine took her +little rosy boy into her arms. + +"Now you must go to sleep, Mrs. Wyndham," said the maid, and she +resolutely shut her own dark eyes. + +For an hour she lay motionless, every nerve keenly awake, and on +tension. For an hour she never lifted her eyelids. At the end of that +time she opened them, and glanced at her mistress. Valentine was lying +as still as if she were carved in marble. Her eyes were wide open. They +were looking straight before her out into the big room. She scarcely +seemed to breathe, and never saw Esther when she glanced at her. + +"This won't do," thought the maid. "Poor little soul, she has got an +awful shock. She will be very ill if I don't do something to rouse and +interest her. I know she loves her husband--I will speak of him." + +Esther moved on purpose somewhat aggressively. Valentine's wide-open +eyes never flinched or changed their expression. The maid touched her +mistress on the shoulder. + +"This isn't good of you," she said; "you ought to be asleep." + +Valentine started and shivered violently. + +"I thought I was asleep," she said. "At any rate I was far away." + +"When people sleep they shut their eyes," quoth Esther. + +"Were mine open? I did not know it. I was looking at a picture--a +picture in real life. It was lovely." + +"I like beautiful pictures," said Esther. "Tell me what you saw." + +By this time these two women had forgotten the relative positions they +bore to each other. Valentine observed no familiarity in Esther's tone. +Esther spoke and thought as though she were Valentine's social equal. +She knew she was above her mentally just then; it was necessary for her +to take the lead. + +"Tell me what you saw, madam," she said. "Describe your beautiful +picture." + +Valentine obeyed with the docility of a child. + +"It was a seaside picture," she began. "The sun was setting, and there +was a path of light across the waters. The path seemed to go right up +into the sky, and melt, and end there. And I--I thought of Jacob's +ladder, from earth to heaven, and the angels walking up and down. On +the shore a man and a girl sat. He had his arm round her waist; and she +was filling her hands with the warm soft sand and letting it dribble +away through her fingers. She was happy. She felt warm and contented, +and protected against the whole world. Although she did not know that +she loved it so much, it was the arm that encircled her that gave her +that feeling." + +Valentine stopped suddenly. + +"That was a pretty picture, madam," said Esther. "A pretty picture, and +you described it well. I suppose the gentleman was the girl's lover or +husband." + +"Her lover and husband in one. They were married. They sat like that +once during their honeymoon. Presently he, the husband, took up his +violin, which he had beside him, and began to play." + +"Don't go into the music part, please, Mrs. Wyndham. I want just to +keep to the picture alone. I want to guess something. I am good at +guessing. You were the happy young girl." + +"I was; oh, I was." + +"And the gentleman was your husband; yes, your husband, whom you dearly +loved." + +"Don't talk of him, he is lost, gone. Esther, I'm a miserable, +miserable woman." + +Her icy quiet was broken up. Long-drawn sobs escaped her; she shivered +as she wept. + +"It is an awful thing to love too late--to love loo late," she moaned. + +"Madam, I'm going to give you some sal-volatile and water: when you +have taken it you shall tell me the whole story from first to last. +Yes, you had better; you have said too much or too little. I may be +able to comfort you if I know all." + +Esther administered the restorative. When the distressful sobs were +quieted, and Mrs. Wyndham lay back exhausted on her pillow, she took +her hand, and said with infinite tact and tenderness:-- + +"You love him you have lost very deeply. Is that not so?" + +"Beyond words to describe." + +"You were young when you were married, Mrs. Wyndham; you are a very +young woman still. Perhaps, as a young girl, as almost a child-girl, +you did not know what great love meant." + +"I always knew what great love meant. As a little girl I used to +idolize my father. I remember when I was very young, not much older +than baby here, lying down on the floor and kissing the carpet over +which his steps had walked. I used to steal into his study and sit like +a mouse; perfectly happy while I was watching him. When I saw his face +that was bliss; when he took me in his arms I thought Heaven could give +me no more. You are an only child, Esther Helps. Did you feel like that +for your father?" + +"No, madam, I always loved my father after a quiet fashion; I love him +after a quiet fashion still. That kind of intense love I did not know. +And you feel it still for Mr. Paget? I suppose it is natural. He is a +handsome gentleman; he has a way about him that attracts people. For +instance, my father would do anything for him. It is still bliss to +you, Mrs. Wyndham, to watch your father's face." + +"Come near to me, Esther; let me whisper to you. That love which I +thought unquenchable is--dead!" + +"Madam, you astonish me! Dead?" + +"It died, Esther Helps, on the morning my husband sailed away." + +"Then you only love your husband now?" + +"I love many people. For instance, this little child; for instance, my +sister Lilias. What I feel for my husband is high above all these +things. I cannot describe it. It lies here--in my heart--and my heart +aches, and aches." + +"It would make Mr. Wyndham very happy to hear you," said Esther. + +Her words were unguarded. Valentine began to sob feebly. + +"He can never hear me," she said. "That is the dreadful part. I loved +him when we were married, but I did not know it. Then the knowledge +came to me, and I was so happy. One evening I told him so. I said, 'I +love you!' I shall never forget his face. Often he was sad, but his +face seemed to shine when I said those words, and he took me in his +arms, and I saw a little way into the depth of his great heart. Soon +after that something happened--I am not going to tell it, it doesn't +matter--please don't hold my hand, Esther. It is very queer that _you_ +should be with me to-night." + +"Why, dear madam? Don't you like to have me with you?" + +"I think I do. I really quite think I do. Still it is strange that you +should be here." + +"Your story interests me wonderfully, Mrs. Wyndham. Will you tell me +more?" + +"There is not a great deal to tell. For a time I misunderstood my +husband, and the love which really filled my heart seemed to go back +and back and back like the waves when the tide is going out. Then the +time came for him to go to Sydney. He could not say good-bye; he wrote +good-bye. He said a strange thing in the middle of the letter; he asked +me if I really loved him to join him the next morning on board the +_Esperance_. Loved him! Of course I loved him! I was so relieved. +Everything was made clear to me. He was first--all others everywhere +were second. My father came in, and I told him what I meant to do. He +was angry, and tried to dissuade me. When he saw that I would not yield +he appeared to consent, and promised to go with me the next morning to +Southampton. The _Esperance_ was not to sail until noon. There seemed +lots of time. Still, for the first time, I began to doubt my father. I +determined not to wait for the train he had arranged to travel by with +me, but to go down by a much earlier one. I went to Southampton with a +German maid I had at the time. We arrived there at eight in the +morning, we reached the docks soon after nine, the _Esperance_ was +away--she had sailed at eight. Don't question me about that day, Esther +Helps. It was on that day my love for my father died." + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + + +It was nearly morning before Mrs. Wyndham fell asleep. Before then, +Esther had said a good deal. + +"I am not surprised at your loving your husband," she began. "Men like +your husband are worth loving. They are loyal, true, and noble. They +make the world a better place. Once your husband helped me. I am going +to tell you the story. + +"Three years ago, Mrs. Wyndham, I was a very different girl from the +one who now is by your side. I was handsome, and vain, and +empty-headed. I thought most of dress and of flirting. I had the +silliest form of ambition. I wanted to be a gentleman's wife. My mother +had been a lady by birth, and I thought it was only due to me to be the +same. My only chance of becoming a lady was by marrying a gentleman, +and I thought surely someone would be found who would make me his wife +for the sake of my handsome face. I had nothing else to recommend me, +Mrs. Wyndham, for I was empty-headed and untrained, and I had a +shallow, vulgar soul. + +"One day I was skating in Regent's Park with some friends. I fell on +the ice and hurt my foot. A gentleman picked me up. I looked into his +face in the bold way I had, and then all of a sudden I felt ashamed of +myself, and I looked down, and a modest, humble womanly feeling crept +over me. The gentleman was your husband, Mr. Wyndham; the expression on +his face impressed me, and I could not forget it. He came to our house +that evening and brought a book to my father, and a present of flowers +from you to me. I felt quite silent and queer when he was in the room; +I did not talk, but I listened to every word he said. He was so +uncommon. I thought what a clergyman he'd make, and how, if he were as +eloquent in his words as in his looks, he might make us all good in +spite of ourselves. He made a great impression on me, and I did not +like to think my low silly thoughts after he had gone. + +"Soon afterwards I made the acquaintance of a Captain Herriot, in +the --th Hussars; he was a very fine gentleman, and had very fine words, +and although I did not love him a bit nor a scrap, he turned my head +with his flattery. He did go on about my face--I don't know how I ever +was goose enough to believe him. He managed to get my secrets out of me +though, and when I told him that I meant to be a gentleman's wife some +day, he said that he was the gentleman, and that I should marry him, +and him alone. I thought that would be fine, and I believed him. He +made all arrangements--oh, how I hate to think of what I afterwards saw +was his real meaning. + +"I was not to let out a thing to my father, and on a certain night we +were to go together to the Gaiety, and he was to take me home +afterwards, and the next morning we were to go to church and be +married. He showed me the license and the ring, and I believed +everything, and thought it would be fine to be the wife of Captain +Herriot. + +"I kept my secret from my father, but Cherry, a cousin who lives with +us, got some of it out of me, for I was mad with vain triumph, and it +was indirectly through her that I came to be delivered. The night +arrived, and I went away from my home thinking how proudly I'd come +back to show myself in a day or two; and how Cherry would open her eyes +when I told her I was the wife of Captain Herriot, of the --th Hussars. +I reached the theatre, and Captain Herriot gave me his arm, and led me +into the house, and we took our places in the stalls. People turned and +looked at me, and Captain Herriot said it was no wonder, for I was the +most beautiful woman in the Gaiety that night. + +"Then the curtain rose, the house was darkened, and some one took the +empty stall at my other side. I turned my head, Mr. Wyndham was sitting +near me. He said a courteous word or two. I bowed my head; I could not +speak. Madam, I did not see that play; I was there, looking on, but I +saw nothing. Captain Herriot whispered in my ear; I pushed away from +him. Suddenly he was horrible to me. I felt like a girl who was placed +between an angel and a devil. Instantly the mask fell from my eyes. +Captain Herriot meant to ruin me, never to marry me. Mr. Wyndham +scarcely said a word to me till the play was over, then he spoke. + +"'Your father wants you,' he said. 'Here is a cab, get into it. I will +take you to your father.' + +"He spoke out, quite loud and clear. I thought Captain Herriot would +have fought him. Not a bit of it. His face turned an ugly color. He +took off his hat to me, and slunk away through the crowd. That was the +last straw. He had not even spirit to fight for the girl who thought +she was about to become his wife. + +"Mr. Wyndham got on the box of the cab, and took me to Mr. Paget's +offices. My old father came out, and helped me out of the cab, and put +his arms round me. He wrung Mr. Wyndham's hand, and said 'God bless +you, sir;' and then he led me inside, and told me how Cherry had +betrayed me, and how he (my father) had taken that stall ticket +intending to sit beside me that night, and give Captain Herriot a blow +in his face afterwards, as he was known to be one of the greatest +scoundrels going. Pressing business kept my father at the office that +night, and Mr. Wyndham promised to go in his place. + +"'There isn't another young gentleman who would do it,' said my father. +'No not another.' + +"After that, madam, I was changed; yes, a good bit. I thought I'd live +more worthy. Mr. Wyndham's face used to come between me and frivolous +ways and vain sins. It seemed as if his were the hand to lead me up. +You don't mind, do you, madam, that he should have rescued one poor +girl from the pit of destruction, and that she should love him--yes, +love him for what he has done?" + +"Oh, Esther, do I mind? Come here, Esther, come here. Let me put my +arms round you. Kiss me. You have lifted something from my heart--how +much you can never know. Esther, _I_ was at the Gaiety that night, and +I saw my husband with you, and I--I doubted him." + +"Madam--_you_?" Esther sprang away--her whole face became crimson. + +"I did, Esther; and that was when my love went away like the tide going +out; but now--now----Esther, lie down. Let me hold your hand. I am +sleepy. I can sleep sweetly now." + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + + +When the wandering minstrel, with his violin under his arm, left the +neighborhood of Park-lane, he walked with a somewhat feeble and +faltering step through Grosvenor-square and into Bond-street. A few +people looked at him as he passed, and a hungry-looking girl who was +leaning against a wall suddenly asked him to play for her. He stopped +at the sound of her voice and said a word or two. + +"I am sorry my violin only knows one air, and I have played it." + +"Can you not play it again?" + +"It is not meant for you, poor girl. Good-night." + +"Good-night, kind sir. I'll say a prayer for you if you like; you look +miserable enough." + +The minstrel removed his soft hat, made a gesture of thanks, and +hurried on. He was going to Queen's Gate. The walk was long, and he was +very feeble. He had a few coins in his pocket from the change of +Esther's sovereigns; he determined to ride, and mounted on the roof of +a Hammersmith omnibus in Piccadilly. + +By-and-bye he reached his destination, and found himself in familiar +ground. He walked slowly now, hesitating--sometimes inclined to turn +back. Presently he reached a house; he went up the steps, and took +shelter for a moment from the biting east winds under the portico. It +was late, but the lights were still shining in the great mansion. + +He was glad of this; he could not have done what he meant to do except +under strong excitement, and sheltered by the friendly gas light. He +turned and gave the visitor's bell a full peal. The door was opened +almost instantly by a liveried footman. + +"Is Mr. Paget within?" + +The man stared. The voice was not only refined, but to a certain extent +familiar. The voice, oh, yes; but then the figure, the thin, long +reed-like figure, slouching forward with weakness, buttoned up tight in +the seedy frock coat whose better days must have been a matter of the +very distant past. + +"Is Mr. Paget within?" + +The tone was so assured and even peremptory that the servant, in spite +of himself, was overawed. + +"I believe so, sir," he said. + +"Ask if I can see him." + +"Mr. Paget is not very well, sir, and it is late." + +"Ask if I can see him." + +The footman turned a little surly. + +"I'll inquire," he said; "he's sure to say no, but I'll inquire. Your +name, if you please. My master will require to know your name." + +"I am known as Brother Jerome. Tell your master that my business is +urgent. Go; I am in a hurry." + +"Rum party, that," murmured the servant. "Don't understand him; don't +like him. All the same, I can't shut the door in his face. He's the +sort of party as has seen better days; 'ope as the umbrellas is safe." + +Then he walked across the hall and entered his master's study. + +The room, with its old oak and painted glass, and electric light, +looked the perfection of comfort. The tall, white-headed man who sat +crushed up in the big armchair was the envied of many. + +"If you please, sir," said the servant. + +"Yes; don't leave the door open. Who were you chatting to in the +hall?" + +"A man who has called, and wants to see you very particular, sir." + +"I can't see him." + +"He says his name is Brother Jerome." + +"I can't see him. Go away, and shut the door." + +"I knew it would be no use," muttered the footman. "Only he seems a +sort of a gentleman, sir, and in trouble like." + +"I can't see him. Shut the door and go away!" + +"Yes, you can see me," said a voice. + +The minstrel walked into the room. + +"Good heavens!" + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + + +At the sound of his voice the footman fell back as white as a sheet. +Mr. Paget rose, walked over to him, took him by the shoulders, and +pushed him out of the room. He locked the door behind him. Then he +turned, and backing step by step almost as far as the window, raised +his hands, and looked at his forbidden visitor with a frozen expression +of horror. + +Wyndham took his hat off and laid it on the table. Mr. Paget raised his +hands, covered his face with them, and groaned. + +"Spirit!" he said. "Spirit, why have you come to torment me before the +time?" + +"I am no spirit," replied Wyndham, "I am a living man--a defrauded and +injured man--but as much alive as you are." + +"It is false--don't touch me--don't come a step nearer--you are +dead--you have been dead for the last three years. On the 25th April, +18--, you committed suicide by jumping into the sea; you did it on +purpose to revenge yourself, and since then you have haunted me, and +made my life as hell. I always said, Wyndham, you would make an awful +ghost--you do, you do." + +"I am not a ghost," said Wyndham. "Touch me, and you will see. This +wrist and hand are thin enough, but they are alive. I fell into the +sea, but I was rescued. I came to you to-night--I troubled you to-night +because you have broken our contract, because----What is the matter? +Touch me, you will see I am no ghost." + +Wyndham came nearer; Mr. Paget uttered a piercing shriek. + +"Don't--don't!" he implored. "You are a lying spirit; you have often +lied--often--to me. You want to take me with you; you know if you touch +me I shall have to go. Don't--oh, I beseech of you, leave me the little +time longer that I've got to live. Don't torment me before the time." + +He dropped on his knees; his streaming white hair fell behind him, his +hands were raised in supplication. + +"Don't," said Wyndham, terribly distressed. "You have wronged me +bitterly, but I, too, am a sinner; I would not willingly hurt mortal on +this earth. Get up, don't degrade yourself. I am a living man like +yourself. I have come to speak to you of my wife--of Valentine." + +"Don't breathe her name. I lost her through you. No, you are dead--I +have murdered you--your blood is on my soul--but I won't go with you +yet, not yet. Ha! ha! I'll outwit you. Don't touch me!" + +He gave another scream, an awful scream, half of triumph, half of +despair, sprang to the door, unlocked it and vanished. + +Wyndham took up his violin and left the house. + +"Mad, poor fellow!" he muttered to himself. "Who'd have thought it? +Even from a worldly point of view what fools people are to sin! What +luck does it ever bring them? He made me his accomplice, his victim, in +order to keep his daughter's love, in order to escape dishonor and +penal servitude. He told me the whole story of that trust money--to be +his if there was no child--to be kept for a child if there was. He was +a good fellow before he got the trust money I have no doubt. The friend +died, and soon afterwards Paget learned that he had left a son behind +him. Mr. Paget told me--how well I remember his face when he told me +how he felt about the son, who was then only an infant, but to whom he +must deliver the trust money when he came of age. 'I wanted that money +badly,' he said, 'and I resolved to suppress the trust papers and use +the money. I thought the chances were that the child would never +know.'" + +The chances, however, were against Mr. Paget. The friend who had left +him the money in trust had not so absolutely believed in him as he +supposed. He had left duplicate papers, and these papers were in the +boy's possession. One day Mr. Paget learned this fact. When he knew +this he knew also that when his friend's son came of age he should have +to repay the trust with interest; in short, he would have to give the +young man the enormous sum of eighty thousand pounds or be branded as a +thief and a criminal. + +"I remember the night he told me this story," concluded Wyndham with a +sigh. + +He was walking slowly now in the direction of the Embankment. + +"So the plot was made up," he continued. "The insurance on my life was +to pay back the trust. Valentine would never know her father's +dishonor. She would continue to love him best of all men, and he would +escape shame, ruin--penal servitude. How have matters turned out? For +the love of a woman I performed my part: for the love of a woman and +self combined, he performed his. How has he fared? The woman ceases to +love him, and he is mad. I--how have matters fared with me? How? The +wages of sin are hard. I saw a sight to-night which might well turn a +stronger brain than mine. I saw my wife, and the man who may soon be +her husband. I must not dwell on that, I dare not." + +Wyndham walked on, a burning fever gave him false strength. He reached +the Embankment and presently sat down near a girl who looked even +poorer and more miserable than himself. There were several men and +girls occupying the same bench. It was a bitter cold, frosty night; +all the seats along the Embankment were full, some poor creatures even +lay about on the pavement. Wyndham turned to look at the slight young +creature by his side. She was very young, rather fair in appearance, +and very poorly clad. + +"You are shivering," said Wyndham, in the voice which still could be +one of the kindest in the world. + +The poor worn young face turned to look at him in surprise and even +confidence. + +"Yes," said the girl. "I'm bitter cold, and numb, and starved. It's a +cruel world, and I hate God Almighty for having made me." + +"Hush, don't say that. It does no good to speak against the one who +loves you. Lean against me. Let me put my arm round you. Think of me as +a brother for the next hour or two. I would not harm a hair of your +head." + +"I believe you," said the girl, beginning to sob. + +With a touching movement of absolute confidence she laid her faded face +against his shoulder. + +"That is better, is it not?" said Wyndham. + +"Yes, thank you, sir. I'm desperate sleepy, and I shan't slip off the +bench now. I was afraid to go to sleep before, for if I slipped off +somebody else would get my seat, and I know I'd be dead if I lay on the +pavement till morning." + +"Well, go to sleep, now. I shan't let you slip off." + +"Sir, how badly you are coughing." + +"I am sorry if my cough disturbs you. I cannot help giving way to it +now and then." + +"Oh, sir, it is not that; you seem like a good angel to me. I even love +the sound of your cough, for it is kind. But have you not a home, sir?" + +"I certainly have a shelter for the night. Not a home in the true sense +of the word." + +"Ought you not to go to your shelter, sir?" + +"No, I shall stay here with you until you have had a good sleep. Now +shut your eyes." + +The girl tried to obey. For about ten minutes she sat quiet, and +Wyndham held her close, trying to impart some of the warmth from his +own body to her frozen frame. Suddenly the girl raised her eyes, looked +him in the face, and smiled. + +"Sir, you are an angel." + +"You make a great mistake. On the contrary I have sinned more deeply +than most." + +"Sir?" + +"It is true." + +"I don't want you to preach to me, sir; but I know from your face +however you have sinned you have been forgiven." + +"You make another mistake; my sin is unabsolved." + +"Sir?" + +The girl's astonishment showed itself in her tone. + +"Don't talk about me," continued Wyndham. "It is a curious fact that I +love God, although it is impossible for Him to forgive me until I do +something which I find impossible to do. I go unforgiven through life, +still I love God. I delight in His justice, I glory in the love He has +even for me, and still more for those who like you can repent and come +to Him, and be really forgiven." + +He paused, he saw that he was talking over the girl's head. Presently +he resumed in a very gentle pleading voice:-- + +"I don't want to hear your story, but----" + +The girl interrupted him with a sort of cry. + +"It is the usual story, sir. There is nothing to conceal. Once I was +innocent, now I am what men and women call _lost_. Lost and fallen. +That's what they say of girls like me." + +"God can say something quite different to you. He can say found and +restored. Listen. No one loves you like God. Loving He forgives. All +things are possible to love." + +"Yes, sir; when you speak like that you make me weep." + +"Crying will do you good. Poor little girl, we are never likely to meet +again in this world. I want you to promise me that you won't turn +against God Almighty. He is your best friend." + +"Sir! And He leaves me to starve. To starve, and sin." + +"He wants you not to sin. The starving, even if it must come, is only a +small matter, for there is the whole of eternity to make up for it. Now +I won't say another word, except to assure you from the lips of a dying +man, for I know I am dying, that God is your best friend, and that He +loves you. Go to sleep." + +The girl smiled again, and presently dropped off into an uneasy slumber +with her head on Wyndham's shoulder. + +By-and-bye a stout woman, with a basket on her arm, came up. She looked +curiously at Wyndham. He saw at a glance that she must have walked from +a long distance, and would like his seat. He beckoned her over. + +"You are tired. Shall I give you my seat?" + +"Eh, sir, you are kind. I have come a long way and am fair spent." + +"You shall sit here, if you will let this tired girl lay her head on +your breast." + +"Eh, but she don't look as good as she might be!" + +"Never mind. Jesus Christ would have let her put her head on His +breast. Thank you, I knew you were a kind hearted woman. She will be +much better near you than near me. Here is a shilling. Give it her when +she wakes. Good-night." + + + + +CHAPTER L. + + +Esther longed to go to Acacia Villas during the week. She often felt on +the point of asking Mrs. Wyndham to give her leave, but then again she +felt afraid to raise suspicions; and besides her mistress was ill, and +clung to her. Although Esther listened with a kind of terror on the +following evening, the sound of the violin was not again heard. + +Sunday came at last, and she could claim her privilege of going home. +She arrived at Acacia Villas with her heart in a tumult. How much she +would have to tell Wyndham! It was in her power to make him happy, to +relieve his heart of its worst load. + +Cherry alone was in the kitchen when she arrived, and Cherry was in a +very snappish humor. + +"No, Esther, I don't know where uncle is. He's not often at home now. I +hear say that Mr. Paget is very bad--gone in the head you know. They'll +have to put him into an asylum, and that'll be a good thing for poor +uncle. Take off your bonnet and cloak, Esther, and have a cup of tea +cosy-like. I'm learning one of Macaulay's Lays now for a recitation. +Maybe you'd hear me a few of the stanzas when you're drinking your +tea." + +"Yes, Cherry, dear, but I want to go up to Brother Jerome first. I can +see him while you're getting the kettle to boil. I've a little parcel +here which I want him to take down to Sister Josephine to the Mission +House to-morrow." + +Cherry laughed in a half-startled way. + +"Don't you know?" she said. + +"Don't I know what?" + +"Why Brother Jerome ain't here; he went out on Tuesday evening and +never came home. I thought, for sure, uncle would have gone and told +you." + +"Never came home since Tuesday? No, I didn't hear." + +Esther sat down and put her hand to her heart. Her face was ghastly. + +"I knew it," murmured Cherry under her breath. "She have gone and +fallen in love with a chap from one of them slums." + +Aloud she said in a brisk tone:-- + +"Yes, he's gone. I don't suppose there's much in it. He were tired of +the attic, that's all. I sleep easy of nights now. No more pacing the +boards overhead, nor hack, hack, hack coughing fit to wake the seven +sleepers. What's the matter, Esther?" + +"You are the most heartless girl I ever met," said Esther. "No, I don't +want your tea." + +She tied her bonnet strings and left the house without glancing at her +crestfallen cousin. + + * * * * * + +That very same afternoon, as Mrs. Wyndham was sitting in her bedroom, +trying to amuse baby, who was in a slightly refractory humor, there +came a sudden message for her. One of the maids came into the room with +the information that Helps was downstairs and wanted to speak to her +directly. + +Mrs. Wyndham had not left her room since Tuesday evening. There was +nothing apparently the matter with her, and yet all through the week +her pulse had beat too quickly, and a hectic color came and went on her +cheeks. She ate very little, she slept badly, and the watchful +expression in her eyes took from their beauty and gave them a strained +appearance. She did not know herself why she was watchful, or what she +was waiting for, but she was consciously nervous and ill at ease. + +When the maid brought the information that Helps was downstairs, her +mistress instantly started to her feet, almost pushing the astonished +and indignant baby aside. + +"Take care of Master Gerry," she said to the girl. "I will go and speak +to Mr. Helps; where is he?" + +"I showed him into the study, ma'am." + +Valentine ran downstairs; her eagerness and impatience and growing +presentiment that something was at hand increased with each step she +took. She entered the study, and said in a brusque voice, and with a +bright color in her cheeks:-- + +"Well?" + +"Mr. Paget has sent me to you, Mrs. Wyndham," said Helps, in his +uniformly weak tones. "Mr. Paget is ill, and he wants to see you at +once." + +Valentine stepped back a pace. + +"My father!" she said. "But he knows I do not care to go to the house." + +"He knows that fact very well, Mrs. Wyndham." + +"Still he sent for me?" + +"He did, madam." + +"Is my father worse than usual?" + +"In some ways he is worse--in some better," replied Helps in a dubious +sort of voice. "If I were you I'd come. Miss Valentine--Mrs. Wyndham, I +mean." + +"Yes, Helps, I'll come; I'll come instantly. Will you fetch a cab for +me?" + +"There's one waiting at the door, ma'am." + +"Very well. I won't even go upstairs. Fetch me my cloak from the stand +in the hall, will you? Now I am ready." + +The two got into the cab and drove away. No one in the house even knew +that they had gone. + +When they arrived at Queen's Gate, Helps still took the lead. + +"Is my father in the library?" asked the daughter. + +"No, Mrs. Wyndham. Mr. Paget has been in his room for the last day or +two. I'll take you to him, if you please, at once." + +"Thank you, Helps." + +Valentine left her cloak in the hall, and followed the old servant +upstairs. + +"Here's Mrs. Wyndham," said Helps, opening the door of the sick man's +room, and then shutting it and going away himself. + +"Here's Valentine," said Mrs. Wyndham, coming forward. "I did not know +you were so ill, father." + +He was dressed, and sitting in a chair. She went up to him and laid her +hand gravely on his arm. + +"You have come, Valentine, you have come. Kneel down by me. Let me look +at you. Valentine, you have come." + +"I have come." + +Never did hungrier eyes look into hers. + +"Kiss me." + +She bent forward at once, and pressed a light kiss on his cheek. + +"Don't do it again," he said. + +He put up his hand and rubbed the place that her lips had touched. + +"There's no love in a kiss like that. Don't give me such another." + +"You are ill, father; I did not know you were so very ill," replied his +daughter in the quiet voice in which she would soothe a little child. + +"I am ill in mind, Valentine, and sometimes my mind affects my body. It +did for the last few days. This afternoon I'm better--I mean I am +better in mind, and I sent for you that I might get the thing over." + +"What thing, father?" + +"Never mind for a moment or two. You used to be so fond of me, little +Val." + +"I used--truly I used!" + +The tears filled her eyes. + +"I thought you'd give me one of the old kisses." + +"I can't. Don't ask it." + +"Is your love dead, child, quite dead?" + +"Don't ask." + +"My God," said the sick man; "her love is dead before she knows--even +before she knows. What a punishment is here?" + +A queer light filled his eyes; Valentine remembered that whispers had +reached her with regard to her father's sanity. She tried again to +soothe him. + +"Let us talk common-places; it does not do every moment to gauge one's +feelings. Shall I tell you about baby?" + +"No, no; don't drag the child's name into the conversation of this +hour. Valentine, one of two things is about to happen to me. I am +either going to die or to become quite hopelessly mad. Before either +thing happens I have a confession to make." + +"Confession? Father!" + +Her face grew very white. + +"Yes. I want to confess to you. It won't pain me so much as it would +have done had any of your love for me survived. It is right you should +know. I have not the least doubt when you do know you will see justice +done. Of late you have not troubled yourself much about my affairs. +Perhaps you do not know that I have practically retired from my +business, and that I have taken steps to vest the whole concern +absolutely in your hands. When you know all you will probably sell it; +but that is your affair. I shall either be in my grave or a madhouse, +so it won't concern me. If any fragment of money survives +afterwards--I mean after you have done what you absolutely consider +just--you must hold it in trust for your son. Now I am ready to begin. +What is the matter, Valentine?" + +"Only that you frighten me very much. I have not been quite--quite well +lately. Do you mind my fetching a chair?" + +"I did not know you were ill, child. Yes, take that chair. Oh, +Valentine, for you my love was true." + +"Father, don't let us go back to that subject. Now I am ready. I will +listen. What have you got to say?" + +"In the first place, I am perfectly sane at this moment." + +"I am sure of that." + +"Now listen. Look away from me, Valentine, while I speak. That is all I +ask." + +Valentine slightly turned her chair; her trembling and excitement had +grown and grown. + +"I am ready. Don't make the story longer than you can help," she said +in a choked voice. + +"Years and years ago, child, before you were born, I was a happy man. I +was honorable then and good; I was the sort of man I pretended to be +afterwards. I married your mother, who died at your birth. I had loved +your mother very dearly. After her death you filled her place. Soon you +did more than fill it; you were everything to me; you gave early +promise of being a more spirited and brilliant woman than your mother. +I lived for you; you were my whole and entire world. + +"Before your birth, Valentine, a friend, a great friend of mine, left +me a large sum of money. He was dying at the time he made his will; his +wife was in New Zealand; he thought it possible that she might soon +give birth to a child. If the child lived, the money was to be kept in +trust for it until its majority. If it died it was to be mine +absolutely. I may as well tell you that my friend's wife was a very +worthless woman, and he was determined she should have nothing to say +to the money. He died--I took possession--a son was born. I knew this +fact, but I was hard pressed at the time, and I stole the money. + +"My belief was that neither the child nor the mother could ever trace +the money. Soon I was disappointed. I received a letter from the boy's +mother which showed me that she knew all, and although not a farthing +could be claimed until the lad came of age, then I must deliver to him +the entire sum with interest. + +"From that moment my punishment began. The trust fund, with interest, +would amount to eighty thousand pounds. Even if I made myself a beggar +I could not restore the whole of this great sum. If I did not restore +it at the coming of age of this young man, I should be doomed to a +felon's cell, and penal servitude. I looked into your face; you loved +me then; you worshipped me. I idolized you. I resolved that disgrace +and ruin should not touch you. + +"Helps and I between us concocted a diabolical plot. Helps was like wax +in my hands; he had helped me to appropriate the money; he knew my +secrets right through. We made the plot, and waited for results. I took +you into society, I wanted you to marry. My object was that you should +marry a man whom you did not love. Wyndham came on the scene; he seemed +a weak sort of fellow--weak, pliable--passionately in love with +you--cursedly poor. Did you speak, Valentine?" + +"No; you must make this story brief, if you please." + +"It can be told in a few more words. I thought I could make Wyndham my +tool. I saw that his passion for you blinded him to almost everything. +Otherwise, he was the most selfless person I ever met. I saw that his +unselfishness would make him strong to endure. His overpowering love +for you would induce him to sacrifice everything for present bliss. +Such a combination of strength and weakness was what I had been +looking for. I told Helps that I had found my man. Helps did not like +it; he had taken an insane fancy for the fellow. What is the matter, +Valentine? How you fidget." + +"You had better be brief. My patience is nearly exhausted." + +"I am very brief. I spoke to Wyndham. I made my bargain; he was to +marry you. Before marriage, with the plausible excuse that the +insurance was to be effected by way of settlement, I paid premiums for +insurances on the young man's life for eighty thousand pounds. I +insured his life in four offices. You were married. He knew what he had +undertaken, and everything went well, except for one cursed fact--you +learned to love the fellow. I nearly went mad when I saw the love for +him growing into your eyes. He was to sail on board the _Esperance_. He +knew, and I knew that he was never coming back. He was to feign death. +Our plans were made carefully. I was to receive a proper certificate, +and with that in my hand I could claim the insurance money. Thus he was +to save you and me from dishonor, which is worse than death. + +"All our plans were laid. I waited for news. Valentine, you make me +strangely nervous. What is the matter with you, child? Are you going to +faint?" + +"No--no--no! Go on--go on! Don't speak to me--don't address me again by +my name. Just go on, or I----Oh, God, I am a desperate woman! Go on, I +must hear the end."yourefforts + +As Valentine grew excited her father became cool and quiet: he waited +until she had done speaking, then dropping his head he continued his +narrative in a dreary monotone. + +"I waited for news--it was long in coming. At last it arrived on the +day my grandson was born. Wyndham had outwitted me. He could not bear +the load of a living death. Shame on him. He could take his bliss, but +not his punishment. He leaped overboard the _Esperance_--he committed +suicide." + +"What? No, never. Don't dare to say such words." + +"I must say them, although they are cruel. He committed suicide, and +then he came to haunt me; he knew that his blood would rest on my soul; +he knew how best to torture me for what I had done to him." + +"One question. Was the insurance money paid?" + +"Was it? Yes. I believe so. That part seemed all of minor importance +afterwards. But I believe it was paid. I think Helps saw to it." + +"You believe that my husband committed suicide, and yet you allowed the +insurance offices to pay." + +"What of that? No one else knew my thoughts." + +"As you say, what of that? Is your story finished?" + +"Nearly. I lost your love, and for the last three years I have been +haunted by Wyndham. I see his shadow everywhere. Once I met him in the +street. A few nights ago he came into the library and confronted me; he +spoke to me and tried to touch me; he pretended he was not dead." + +"What night was that?" + +Valentine's voice had changed; there was a new ring in it. Her father +roused himself from his lethargic attitude to look into her face. "What +night did my husband come to you?" + +"I forget--no, I remember. It was Tuesday night." + +"Did he carry a violin? Speak--did he?" + +"He carried something. It may have been a violin. Do they use such +instruments in the other world? He was a spirit, you know, child. How +queer, how very queer you look!" + +"I feel queer." + +"He wanted me to touch him, child, but I wouldn't. I was too knowing +for that. If you touch a spirit you must go with him. No, no, I knew a +thing worth two of that. He went on telling me he was alive. But I knew +better, he couldn't take me in. Valentine, everything seems so far +away. Valentine, I am faint, faint. Ah, there he is again by the door. +Look! No, he must not touch me--he must not!" + +Valentine glanced round. There was no one present. Then she rang the +bell. It was answered by the old housekeeper. + +"Mrs. Marsh, my father is ill. Will you give him some restorative at +once? And send for the doctor, if necessary. I must go, but I'll come +back if possible to-night." + +She left the room without glancing at the sick man, who followed her to +the door with his dim eyes. She went downstairs, put on her cloak and +left the house. + +She had to walk a little distance before she met a hansom, and one or +two people stared at the tall, slim figure, which was still young and +girlish, but which bore on its proud face such a hard expression, such +a burning defiant light in the eyes. Valentine soon reached home. +Everything was in a whirl in her brain. Esther Helps was standing on +the steps. She flew to Esther, clasped her hands in a grasp of iron, +and said in a husky choked voice:-- + +"Esther, my husband is alive!" + +"He is, dear madam, he is, and I have come to take you to him!" + +"Oh, Esther, thank God!" + +"Come indoors, madam, you have not a moment to lose. We will keep that +cab, if you please. I have only just come back. I was going to seek +you. Stay one moment, Mrs. Wyndham. You are in black; will you put on +your white dress--the one you wore on Tuesday night." + +"Oh, what does it matter? Let me go to him." + +"Little things sometimes matter a great deal; he saw you last in your +white dress." + +"He was really there on Tuesday night?" + +"He was there. Come, I will fly for the dress and put it on you." + +She did so. Valentine put her cloak over it, and the two drove away in +the hansom. Valentine had no ears for the direction given to the +cabman. + +"I am in heaven," she said once, under her breath. "He lives. Now I can +forgive my father!" + +"Madam, your husband is very ill." + +Valentine turned her great shining eyes towards Esther. + +"All the better. I can nurse him," she said, with a smile, and then she +pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and did not speak another +word. + +The cab drew up at one of the entrances to St. Thomas' Hospital. + + + + +CHAPTER LI. + + +"What place is this?" asked the wife. + +She was unacquainted with hospitals and sickness. + +"This is a place where they cure the sick, and succour the dying, dear +Mrs. Wyndham," gently remarked Esther Helps. + +"They cure the sick here, do they? But I will cure my husband myself. I +know the way." She smiled. "Take me to him, Esther. How slow you are. +Beloved Esther--I don't thank you--I have no words to say thank +you--but my heart is so happy I think it will burst." + +The porter came forward, then a nurse. Several ceremonies had to be +gone through, several remarks made, several questions asked. Valentine +heard and saw nothing. Esther helped Valentine to take off her cloak; +and she stood in her simple long plain white dress, with her bright +hair like a glory round her happy face. + +The nurse who finally conducted them to the ward where Wyndham lay +looked at her in a sort of bewilderment. Esther and the nurse went +first, and Valentine slowly followed between the long rows of beds; +some of the men said afterwards that an angel had gone through the ward +on the night that the strolling minstrel, poor fellow, died. The sister +who had charge of the ward turned and whispered a word to Esther, then +she pushed aside a screen which surrounded one of the beds. + +"Your husband is very ill," she said, looking with a world of pity into +Valentine's bright eyes. "You ought to be prepared; he is _very_ ill." + +"Thank you, I am quite prepared. I have come to cure him." + +Then she went inside the screen, and Esther and the nurse remained +without. + +Wyndham was lying with his eyes closed; his sunken cheeks, his deathly +pallor, his quick and hurried breath might have prepared the young wife +for the worst. They did not. She stood for a moment at the foot of the +bed, her hands clasped in ecstasy, her eyes shining, a wonderful smile +bringing back the beauty to her lips. Then she came forward and lay +gently down by the side of the dying man. She slipped her hand under +his head and laid her cheek to his. + +"At last, Gerald," she said, "at last you have come back! You didn't +die. You are changed, greatly changed; but you didn't die, Gerald." + +He opened his eyes and looked her full in the face. + +"Valentine!" + +"Hush, you are too weak to talk. Stay quiet, I am with you. I will +nurse you back to strength. Oh, my darling, you didn't die." + +"Your darling, Valentine? Did you call me your darling?" + +"I said it. I say it. You are all the world to me; without you the +world is empty. Oh, how I love you--how I have loved you for years." + +"Then it was good I didn't die," said Wyndham, he raised his eyes, +looked up and smiled. His smile was one of ecstasy. + +"Of course it was good that you didn't die, and now you are going to +get well. Lie still. Do you like my hand under your head?" + +"Like it?" + +"Yes; you need not tell me. Let me talk to you; don't answer me. +Gerald, my father told me. He told me what he had done; he told me what +you had done. He wants me to forgive him, but I'm not going to forgive +him. I'll never forgive him, Gerald. I have ceased to love him, and +I'll never forgive him; all my love is for you." + +"Not all, wife--not quite all. Give him back a little, and--forgive." + +"How weak you are, Gerald, and your voice sounds miles away." + +"Forgive him, Valentine." + +"Yes, if you wish it. Lie still, darling." + +"Valentine--that money." + +"I know about it--that blood-money. The price of your precious life. It +shall be paid back at once." + +"Then God will forgive me. I thank Him, unspeakably." + +"Gerald, you are very weak. I can scarcely hear your words. Does it +tire you dreadfully to talk? See, I will hold your hand; when you are +too tired to speak your fingers can press mine. Gerald, you were +outside our house on Tuesday night. Yes, I feel the pressure of your +hand; you were there. Gerald, you were very unhappy that night." + +"But not now, darling," replied Wyndham. He had found his voice; his +words came out with sudden strength and joy. "I made a mistake that +night, wife. I won't tell it to you. I made a mistake." + +"And you are really quite, quite happy now." + +"Happy! Sorrow is put behind me--the former things are done away." + +"You will be happier still when you come home to baby and me." + +"You'll come to me, Val; you and the boy." + +"What do you say? I can't hear you." + +"You'll come to me." + +"I am with you." + +"You'll come--_up_--to me." + +Then she began to understand. + +Half-an-hour later the nurse and Esther drew the screen aside and came +in. Valentine's face was nearly as white as Wyndham's. She did not see +the two as they came in. Her eyes were fixed on her husband's, her hand +still held his. + +"He wants a stimulant," said the nurse. + +She poured something out of a bottle and put it between the dying man's +lips. He opened his eyes when she did this, and looked at Valentine. + +"Are you still there? Hold my hand." + +"Do you think I would let it go? I have been wanting this hand to clasp +mine for _so_ long, oh, for _so_ long." + +The nurse again put some stimulant between Gerald's lips. + +"You must not tire his strength, madam," she said. "Even emotion, even +joyful emotion is more than he can bear just now." + +"Is it, nurse? Then I will sit quiet, and not speak. I don't mind how +long I stay, nor how quiet I keep, if only I can save him. Nurse, I +know he is very ill, but, but----" + +Her lips quivered, and her eyes, dry and bright and hungry, were fixed +on the nurse. Wyndham, too, was looking at the nurse with a question +written on his face. She bent down low, and caught his faint whisper. + +"Your husband bids you hope," she said then, turning to Valentine. "He +bids you take courage; he bids you to have the best hope of all--the +hope eternal. Madam, when you clasp hands up there you need not part." + +"Did you tell her to say that to me, Gerald?" asked the wife. "Oh, no, +you couldn't have told her to say those words. Oh, no, you love me too +well to go away." + +"God loves you, Valentine," suddenly said Gerald. "God loves _you_, and +He loves me, and His eternal love will surround us. I up there, you +here. In that love we shall be one." + +Only the nurse knew with what difficulty Wyndham uttered these words, +but Valentine saw the light in his eyes. She bowed her head on his thin +hand, her lips kissed it--she did not speak. + +To the surprise of the sister who had charge of the ward. Wyndham +lingered on for hours--during the greater part of the night. Valentine +and Esther never left him. Esther sat a little in the shadow where her +pale face could scarcely be seen. If she felt personal grief she kept +it under. The chief actors in the tragedy, the cruelly-wronged husband +and wife, absorbed all her thoughts. No, she had no time, no room, to +think of herself. + +Wyndham was going--Brother Jerome would no longer be known in the +streets of East London; the poor, the sorrowful, would grieve at not +seeing his face again. The touch of his hand could no longer +comfort--the light in his eyes could no longer bless. The Mission would +have to do without Brother Jerome--this missioner was about to render +up his account to the Judge of all. + +The little attic in Acacia Villas would also be empty; the tired man +would not need the few comforts that Esther had collected round +him--the tiresome cough, the weary restless step would cease to disturb +Cherry's rest, and Esther's chief object in life would be withdrawn. + +He who for so long was supposed to be dead would be dead in earnest. +Valentine would be a real widow, little Gerald truly an orphan. + +All these thoughts thronged through Esther's mind as she sat in the +shadow behind the screen and listened to the chimes outside as they +proclaimed the passing time, and the passing away also of a life. + +Every moment lives of men go away--souls enter the unknown country. +Some go with regret, some with rejoicing. In some cases there are many +left behind to sorrow--in other cases no one mourns. + +Wyndham had sinned, he had yielded to temptation; he had been weak--a +victim it is true--still a victim who with his eyes open had done a +great wrong. Yet Esther felt that for some at least it was a good thing +that Wyndham was born. + +"I, for one, thank God that I knew him," she murmured. "He has caused +me suffering, but he has raised me. I thank God that I was permitted to +know such a man. The world would, I suppose, speak of him as a sinner, +but to my way of thinking, if ever there was a saint he is one." + +So the night passed on, and Valentine remained motionless by the dying +man's bed. What her thoughts were, none might read. + +At last, towards the break of day, the time when so many souls go away, +Wyndham stirred faintly and opened his eyes. Valentine moved forward +with an eager gesture. He looked at her, but there was no comprehension +in his glance. + +"What is the matter?" said Valentine to the nurse. "I scarcely know +him--his face has altered." + +"It looks young, madam. Dying faces often do so. Hark, he is saying +something." + +"Lilias," said Wyndham. "Lilly--mother calls us--we are to sing our +evening hymn." + + 'Bright in the happy land!' + +"Lilias, do you _hear_ mother; she is calling? Kneel down--our evening +prayers--by mother--we always say our prayers by mother's knee. Kneel, +Lilias, see, my hands are folded--'Our Father'----" + +There was a long pause after the last words, a pause followed by one +more breath of infinite content, and then the nurse closed the dead +man's eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER LII. + +TWO YEARS AFTER. + + +Augusta Wyndham was pacing up and down the broad gravel walk which ran +down the centre of the rectory garden in a state of great excitement. +She was walking quickly, her hands clasped loosely before her, her tall +and rather angular figure drawn up to its full height, her bright black +eyes alert and watchful in their expression. + +"Now, if only they are not interrupted," she said, "if only I can keep +people from going near the rose-walk, he'll do it--I know he'll do +it--I saw it in his eyes when he came up and asked me where Lilias was. +He hasn't been here for six months, and I had given up all hope; but +hope has revived to-day--hope springs eternal in the human breast. Tra +la, la--la, la. Now, Gerry, boy, what do you want?" + +A sturdy little fellow in a sailor suit stood for a moment in the porch +of the old rectory, then ran with a gleeful shout down the gravel walk +towards Augusta. She held out her arms to detain him. + +"Well caught, Gerry," she said. + +"It isn't well caught," he replied with an angry flush. "I don't want +to stay with you, Auntie Gussie; I want to go to my--my own auntie. Let +me pass, please." + +"You saucy boy, auntie's busy; you shall stay with me." + +"I won't. I'll beat you--I won't stay." + +"If I whisper something to you, Gerry--something about Auntie Lil. Now +be quiet, mannikin, and let me say my say. You love Auntie Lil, don't +you?" + +"You know that; you do talk nonsense sometimes. I love father in +heaven, and mother, and Auntie Lil." + +"And me, you little wretch." + +"Sometimes. Let me go to Auntie Lil now." + +"I want to whisper something to you, Gerry. Auntie Lil is talking to +someone she loves much better than you or me or anyone else in the +world, and it would be very unkind to interrupt her." + +Gerry was sitting on Augusta's shoulder. From this elevated position he +could catch a glimpse of a certain grey dress, and a quick flash of +chestnut hair, as the sun shone on it--that dress and that hair +belonged to Auntie Lil. It was no matter at all to Gerry that someone +else walked by her side, that someone was bending his dark head +somewhat close to hers, and that as she listened her steps faltered and +grew slow. + +Gerry's whole soul was wounded by Augusta's words. His Aunt Lilias did +not love anyone better than him. It was his bounden duty, his first +duty in life, to have such an erroneous statement put right at once. + +He put forth all his strength, struggled down from Augusta's shoulders, +and before she was aware of it was speeding like an arrow from a bow to +his target, Lilias. + +"There, now, I give it up," said Augusta. "Awful child, what mischief +may he not make? Don't I hear his shrill voice even here! Oh, I give it +up now; I shall go into the house. The full heat of the sun in July +does not suit me, and if in addition to all other troubles Lilias is to +have a broken heart, I may as well keep in sufficient health to nurse +her." + +Meanwhile Gerry was having a very comfortable time on Carr's shoulder; +his dark eyes were looking at his Aunt Lilias, and his little fat, hot +hand was clasped in hers. + +"Well," he said suddenly, "which is it?" + +"Which is what, Gerry? I don't understand." + +"I think you are stoopid, Auntie Lil. Is it him or me?" + +Then he laid his other fat hand on Carr's forehead. + +"Is it him or me?" said Gerry, "that you love the most of all the +peoples in the world?" + +"It's me, Gerry, it's me," suddenly said Adrian Carr; "but you come +next, dear little man. Kiss him, Lilias, and tell him that he comes +next." + +"Gerald's dear little boy," said Lilias. She took him in her arms and +pressed her head against his chubby neck. + +"Dear, dear little boy," she said. "I think you'll always come second." + +She looked so solemn when she spoke, and so beautiful was the light in +her eyes when she raised her face to look at Gerry, that even he, most +despotic of little mortals, could not but feel satisfied. + +He ran away presently to announce to all and everyone within reach that +Mr. Carr had kissed Auntie Lil like anything, and the newly-betrothed +pair were left alone. + +"At last, Lilias," said Carr. + +She looked shyly into his face. + +"I thought I should never win you," he continued. "I have loved you for +years, and I never had courage to tell you so until to-day." + +"And I have loved you for years," replied Lilias Wyndham. + +"But not best, Lilly. Oh, I have read you like a book. I never came +before Gerald in your heart." + +"No," she said letting go his hand, and moving a step or two away, so +that she should face him. "I love you well, beyond all living men, but +Gerald stands alone. His place can never be filled." + +The tears sprang into her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. + +"And I love you better for loving him so, my darling," answered her +lover. He put his arms round her, and she laid her head on his breast. + +For a long time they paced up and down the Rose-walk. They had much to +say, much to feel, much to be silent over. The air was balmy overhead, +and the rose-leaves were tossed by the light summer breeze against +Lilias' grey dress. + +Presently she began to talk of the past. Carr asked tenderly for +Valentine. + +"Valentine is so noble," replied her sister-in-law. "You don't know +what she has been to me since that day when she and I looked together +at Gerald's dead face. Oh, that day, that dreadful day!" + +"It is past, Lilias. Think of the future, the bright future, and he is +in that brightness now." + +"I know." + +She wiped the tears again from her eyes. Then she continued in a +changed voice:-- + +"I will try and forget that day, which, as you say, is behind Gerald +and me. At the time I could scarcely think of myself. I was so overcome +with the wonderful brave way in which Valentine acted. You know her +father died a month afterwards, and she was so sweet to him. She nursed +him day and night, and did all that woman could do to comfort and +forgive him. His brain was dreadfully clouded, however, and he died at +last in a state of unconsciousness. Then Valentine came out in a new +light. She went to the insurance offices and told the whole story of +the fraud that had been practised on them, and of her husband's part in +it. She told the story in such a way that hard business men, as most of +these men were, wept. Then she sold her father's great shipping +business, which had all been left absolutely to her, and paid back +every penny of the money. + +"Since then, as you know, she and Gerry live here. She is really the +idol of my old father's life; he and she are scarcely ever parted. +Yes, she is a noble woman. When I look at her I say to myself, Gerald, +at least, did not love unworthily." + +"Then she is poor now?" + +"As the world speaks of poverty she is poor. Do you think Valentine +minds that? Oh, how little her father understood her when he thought +that riches were essential to her happiness. No one has simpler tastes +than Valentine. Do you know that she housekeeps now at the rectory, and +we are really much better off than we used to be. Alack and alas! +Adrian, you ought to know in time, I am such a bad housekeeper." + +Lilias laughed quite merrily as she spoke, and Carr's dark face glowed. + +"It is a bargain," he said, "that I take you with your faults and don't +reproach you with them. And what has become of that fine creature, +Esther Helps?" he asked presently. + +"She works in East London, and comes here for her holidays. Sometimes I +think Valentine loves Esther Helps better than anyone in the world +after Gerry." + +"That is scarcely to be wondered at, is it?" + +Just then their conversation was interrupted by some gleeful shouts, +and the four little girls, no longer so very small, came flying round +the corner in hot pursuit of Gerry. + +"Here they is!" exclaimed the small tyrant, gazing round at his devoted +subjects, and pointing with a lofty and condescending air to Adrian and +Lilias. "Here they is!" he said, "and I 'spose they'll do it again if +we ask them." + +"Do what again?" asked Lilias innocently. + +"Why, kiss one another," replied Gerry. "I saw you do it, so don't tell +stories. Joan and Betty they wouldn't believe me. Please do it again, +please do. Mr. Carr, please kiss Auntie Lil again." + +"Oh, fie, Gerry," replied Lilias. She tried to turn away, but Carr went +up to her gravely, and he kissed her brow. + +"There's nothing in it," he continued, looking round at the astonished +little girls. "We are going to be husband and wife in a week or two, +and husbands and wives always kiss one another." + +"Then I was right," said Betty. "Joan and Rosie wouldn't believe me, +but I was right after all. I am glad of that." + +"I believed you, Betty. I always believed you," said Violet. + +"Well, perhaps you did. The others didn't. I'm glad I was right." + +"How were you right, Betty?" asked Carr. + +"Oh, don't ask her, Adrian. Let us come into the house," interrupted +Lilias. + +"Yes, we'll come into the house, of course. But I should like to know +how Betty was right." + +"Why you wanted to kiss her years ago. I knew it, and I said it. Didn't +you, now?" + +"Speak the trufe," suddenly commanded Gerry. + +"Yes, I did," replied Carr. + +When Adrian Carr left the rectory that evening he had to walk down the +dusty road which led straight past the church and the little village +school-house to the railway station. This road was full of associations +to him, and he walked slowly, thinking of past scenes, thanking God for +his present blessings. + +"It was here, by the turnstile, I first saw Lilias," he said to +himself. "She and Marjory were standing together, and she came forward +and looked at me, and asked me in that sweet voice of hers if I were +not Mr. Carr. She reminded me of her brother, whom I just barely knew. +It was a fleeting likeness, seen more at first than afterwards. + +"Here, by this little old school-house the villagers stood and rejoiced +the last day Gerald came home. Poor Wyndham--most blessed and most +miserable of men. Well, he is at rest now, and even here I see the +cross which throws a shadow over his grave!" + +Carr looked at his watch. There was time. He entered the little +church-yard. A green mound, a white cross, several wreaths of flowers, +marked the spot where one who had been much loved in life lay until the +resurrection. The cross was so placed as to bend slightly over the +grave as though to protect it. It bore a very brief inscription:-- + + IN PEACE. + + GERALD WYNDHAM. + AGED 27. + + +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. Sold by +all Druggists. + + =Agents for United States=-- + + CASWELL, MASSEY & CO., New York & Newport. + + +Teeth Like Pearls! + + IS A COMMON EXPRESSION. The way to obtain it, use Dyer's Arnicated + Tooth Paste, fragrant and delicious. Try it. Druggists keep it. + +W.A. DYER & CO., MONTREAL. + + +DR. CHEVALIER'S RED SPRUCE GUM PASTE. + +DR. NELSON'S PRESCRIPTION, + +_GOUDRON de NORWEGE_. + +ARE THE BEST REMEDIES + +For COUGHS and COLDS. + +Insist upon getting one of them. + +25c. each. + +For Sale by all Respectable Druggists. + +LAVIOLETTE & NELSON, Druggists, AGENTS OF FRENCH PATENTS. 1605 Notre +Dame St. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: Burdock BLOOD BITTERS] + +THE KEY TO HEALTH unlocks all the clogged secretions of the Stomach, +Liver. Bowels and Blood, carrying off all humors and impurities from +the entire system, correcting Acidity, and curing Biliousness, +Dyspepsia, Sick Headache. Constipation, Rheumatism, Dropsy, Dry Skin, +Dizziness, Jaundice, Heartburn, Nervous and General Debility, Salt +Rheum, Erysipelas. Scrofula, etc. It purifies and eradicates from the +Blood all poisonous humors, from a common Pimple to the worst +Scrofulous Sore. + + * * * * * + +DYSPEPSINE! + +The Great American Remedy + +FOR DYSPEPSIA + +In all its forms. + +As =Indigestion=, =Flatulency=, =Heartburn=, =Waterbrash=, +=Sick-Headache=, =Constipation=, =Biliousness=, and all forms of +=Dyspepsia=; regulating the action of the stomach, and of the digestive +organs. + + Sold by all druggist, 5Oc. a bottle. + + =Sole Proprietor, WALLACE DAWSON.= + + MONTREAL, CAN., ROUSES POINT, N.Y. + + +BOOKS IN "STAR" SERIES. + + 107. LUCK IN DISGUISE, BY WM. J. ZEXTER .30 + 108. THE BONDMAN, BY HALL CAINE .30 + 109. A MARCH IN THE RANKS, BY JESSIE FOTHERGILL .25 + 110. COSETTE, BY KATHERINE S. MACQUOID .30 + 111. WHOSE WAS THE HAND? BY MISS BRADDON .25 + 112. THE PHANTOM 'RICKSHAW, BY RUDYARD KIPLING .25 + 113. THE STORY OF THE GADSBYS, BY RUDYARD KIPLING .25 + 114. SOLDIERS THREE, AND OTHER TALES, BY RUDYARD KIPLING .25 + 115. PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS, BY RUDYARD KIPLING .25 + 116. THE DEMONIAC, BY WALTER BESANT .25 + 117. BRAVE HEART AND TRUE, BY FLORENCE MARRYAT .25 + 118. WORMWOOD, BY MARIE CORELLI .25 + 119. GOOD BYE, BY JOHN STRANGE WINTER .25 + +For Sale by all Booksellers. + + +_Scarff's Marshmallow Cream_ + +For the Skin and Complexion, superior to anything in use for roughness, +or any irritation of the skin, sunburn, pimples, &c. + + * * * * * + +TRY + +HOREHOUND AND HONEY + +COUGH BALSAM + +For Coughs, Colds, &c., Pleasant, Reliable, Effectual. + + * * * * * + +SCARFF'S + +SAPONACEOUS TOOTH WASH + +CARBOLATED. + +Is the best preparation for Cleansing, Preserving and Beautifying the +Teeth and Gums. + +PREPARED BY + +CHAS. E. SCARFF, CHEMIST AND DRUGGIST + +_2262 St. Catherine Street, opposite Victoria_. + + +CATALOGUE + +OF LOVELL'S + +CANADIAN COPYRIGHT SERIES + +All the books in the Copyright Series are by arrangement with the +Authors, to whom a Royalty is paid, and no American reprints can +lawfully be sold in Canada. + + 54. A Hidden Foe, by G.A. Henty .30 + 53. Lady Maude's Mania, by George Manville Fenn .30 + 51. A Double Knot, by Geo. Manville Fenn .30 + 49. Alas, by Rhoda Broughton .30 + 48. Name and Fame, by Adeline Sergeant .30 + 47. Marcia, by W.E. Norris .30 + 46. Black Box Murder, by Maarten Maartens .30 + 45. Famous or Infamous, by Bertha Thomas .30 + 44. Heart of Gold, by L.T. Meade .30 + 43. Lover or Friend, by Rosa Nouchette Carey .50 + 42. The Chief Justice, by Karl Emil Franzos .30 + 41. Ruffino, by Ouida .30 + 40. The Moment After, by Robert Buchanan .25 + 39. The Great Mill Street Mystery, by Adeline Sergeant .30 + 38. A Smuggler's Secret, by Frank Barrett .30 + 37. A True Friend, by Adeline Sergeant .30 + 36. A Scarlet Sin, by Florence Marryat .30 + 35. A Woman's Heart, by Mrs. Alexander .30 + 34. Her Last Throw, by The Duchess .30 + 33. The Burnt Million, by James Payn .30 + 32. Syrlin, by Ouida .50 + 31. The Lady Egeria, by John Berwick Harwood .30 + 30. By Order of the Czar, by Joseph Hatton .30 + 29. April's Lady, by The Duchess .30 + 28. The Firm of Girdlestone, by A. Conan Doyle .30 + 27. A Girl of the People, by L.T. Meade .30 + 26. Was Ever Woman in this Humor Wooed? by Charles Gibbon .30 + 25. The Mynns' Mystery, by George Manville Fenn .30 + 24. Sylvia Arden, by Oswald Crawford .30 + 23. Nurse Revel's Mistake, by Florence Warden .30 + 22. Hester Hepworth, by Kate Tannatt Woods .30 + 21. Joshua, a Story of Egyptian-Israelitish Life, by Georg Ebers .30 + 20. Hedri; or, Blind Justice, by Helen Mathers .30 + 19. Mount Eden, by Florence Marryat .30 + 18. Earth Born, by Spirito Gentil .30 + 17. Buttons and Bootles' Baby, by John Strange Winter .30 + 16. The Haute Noblesse, by George Manville Fenn .30 + 15. Kit Wyndham; or, Fettered for Life, by Frank Barrett .30 + 14. The Tree of Knowledge, by G.M. Robins .30 + 13. Comedy of a Country House, by Julian Sturgis .30 + 12. A Life Sentence, by Adeline Sergeant .30 + 11. An I.D.B. in South Africa, by Louise Vescelius Sheldon .30 + 10. The Curse of Carne's Hold, by G.A. Henty .30 + 9. That Other Woman, by Annie Thomas .30 + 8. Jezebel's Friends, by Dora Russell .30 + 7. Sophy Carmine, by John Strange Winter .30 + 5. The Luck of the House, by Adeline Sergeant .30 + 4. The Search for Basil Lyndhurst, by Rosa Nouchette Carey .30 + 2. The Fatal Phryne, by F.C. Phillips .30 + 1. The Wing of Azrael, by Mona Caird .30 + + +JOHN LOVELL & SON'S PUBLICATIONS. + + _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 25 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. + + + + +SECOND EDITION. + +"A DAUGHTER OF ST. PETER'S" + +BY JANET C. CONGER. + +(MRS. WM. COX ALLEN.) + + In Paper Cover, 30 Cents, + In Cloth Cover, 50 Cents, + +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. + + + * * * * * + + +Transcriber's Note: Punctuation has been normalized. + +Page 66; removed extra "one" (Wyndham was one one). +Page 336; inserted "be" (lawfully be sold in Canada). + +The list of titles on page 336 is incomplete in the original, +i.e. mlssing: 52, 50, etc. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Life For a Love, by L. T. 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